The Washing Has Dried

Christopher's comment that his new room was just like a hotel jarred me somewhat for I thought, "I don't do room service." His washing was dried, folded and put away and I considered that returning children might prove interesting in the new equation of our home. How wrong I was. The first night that I was cooking he approached me inquiring at what time we started dinner preparations. Prior to him moving out with his mates there had been no we. Dinner was cooked and announced and everyone was seated at the dining room table. What a pleasant surprise to find my son sweating onions with herbs and browning the meat. He even allowed me to add mushrooms. Those are the little items that he searches for intently once cooked and arranges them to be left in neat, little piles on the edge of his plate. Pie tray was greased without request while I thawed pastry and blind baked. I like the new world order. He remained assisting, clearing away until the pie was baking , along with the potatoes that he had peeled in the oven. I have great respect for the young man who came home to roost last week. Thank you for not commenting on my desiger pie top complete with floral pastry cut outs. That must have been challenging. His words, "That is a fancy pie top."

Home To Roost

Oh, It's Great To Be Back Home, Home Is Where I Wanna Be. The list of songs is endless as is Christopher's mountain of washing. Prodigal son and all that, moved back home this week. His plan; to save money, to travel OS next year. Well, if his stack of washing is anything to go by he has been saving money on washing powder for a number of months. From the eight loads of washing it is reasonable to surmise that he bought new shirts when the others required washing. False economy you have to be thinking. A method in his madness. Surely he will not need to buy additional clothing when he travels for he can afford to pack all of his shirts and throw one away each day for at least 2 months before visiting a laundromat.

What are the odds? Fashion fau paux!

Unplanned and unexpected. How often does one wear purple shoes? One could also ask how often does one wear gumboots? The answer to both questions is more often than one might expect. On Mothers' Day, two people in the same house without prior arrangement chose to wear purple footwear. One in gumboots and the other in clogs. Neither had previously owned purple footwear. Perhaps the genetic inheritance is largely responsible for the fashion folly. No sound explanation can justify the purchase of shiny, purple clogs or gumboots? On my part, the purple gumboots replace my others that were victims of the Queensland floods. One boot sprung a leak through the worst of the floods so the pair deserved to be retired with good grace. The story behind the purple clogs may never be known. From my perspective, when gumboots are new, whatever the colour; how long is it before they can tramp through mud and puddle without a second thought for their shiny image?

Scott's Secret

On Friday evening we were to join some friends for dinner in Newcastle. Four of us had not been to this restaurant before but we had heard splendid reports re its cuisine. It was dark and cold as we parked and made our way up the pavement to the advised address. However, when we arrived it appeared to be an abandoned building. On closer inspection we could heard cheerful banter on the other side of an ancient stone wall. A few more steps and we discovered the entry door almost concealed in the street's gloomy light. The door opened and a beautiful experience awaited us. Restoration work had been attended to with utmost care. The bar area with its heavy timbers and high stools a welcome resting spot for the newly arrived from the cold. To the left a small room where diners sat anticipating the delivery of their meal. A short while later we were shown past other rooms where guests were partaking of their dinner. We were shown to the inner sanctum. The inner sanctum! Fire lit, leather chairs and fabric upholstered ottoman and lounges beckoned our party. Tapas selected and ordered before the warmth of the fire. Conversation shared and the Scott Street secret revealed a fine dining experience.

Sam Is 30

There are many among us who believe that life begins at 40. Is that just a rumour invented and then perpetuated by those already well past that milestone in their life? Wonder what Sam thinks? Tonight we are hosting a party to celebrate his 30th Birthday. The blue and silver iced Birthday cake has been secreted in to the refrigerator. Blue and silver balloons are being hung. Go figure. There seems to be no age limit to the need for balloons. Food frozen, packaged and fresh brimming from every receptacle. Chairs cushioned and tables arranged. Weather might be a little cool but often wine has a way of warming from within bones chilled by the night air. The patio heater has been gassed and ready to light. Knee blankets conveniently placed. Cat's in the garden so tomorrow we'll know what transpired when the fairy lights sparkled and the wine corks popped.