Why you are Australian by Nikki Gemmell

Like I need reminding what I love about Australia but what a trip down memory lane this book was. Nikki Gemmell's easy, relatively large print new book 'Why you are Australian' was left on my desk at work by a colleague with a warning scribbled on a bright yellow post-it-note; 'this will make you homesick'. And it did but only a little - the larger emotion was one of joy. Joy that I had been fortunate to grow up in this open sunshine filled land. The story begins with Gemmell opting to take a break from her many years of life as a London expat to return home with her children. A journey prompted by her little boy's matter of fact explanation that the night stars were only seen in movies.

′Achingly I want you to know what it is to be Aussie kids. Where playing barefoot is a signifier of freedom not impoverishment. Where a backyard′s a given not a luxury. Where sunshine and fresh food grow children tall. Where you know what a rash shirt is and a nipper, a Paddle Pop and a Boogie Board.′

This book managed to draw out so many of my childhood experiences and in contrast also reflected on my new experiences as an expat. I had many 'ah ha' and 'oh my gosh you've experienced that too' moments. In the end the book probably had the opposite effect of what was intended. It made me actually want to read more stories about London written by foreigners. I'd like to know more about how others interpret this chameleon of a city, how is it seen through their eyes? The reading list grows again!

Brooklyn

I don't get a lot of reading time lately but now that the little matching pair have been moved into their own room, I'm managing to turn a few pages each night before bed. I'm working my way through a bit of a backlog so I'll admit there's not much point putting the word out there to borrow from my pals. However, I did recently borrow a book from a friend - one that was on the list - and it was a thoroughly enjoyable read (and one that handled the bitsy three-pages-a-night treatment that I could afford it).

One of my mums' group pals was, until recently, a publicist with a big publisher, and one of their clients was Colm Toibin. His last book Brooklyn got lots of publicity when he was out here for the Sydney Writers' Festival earlier this year. My friend met him and said he was just lovely. And then she lent me the book.

It starts in a small Irish town in the '50s and follows the main character, Eilis, to Brooklyn where a job has been found for her in a department store. She is tentative at first, but soon sinks into her new life and the opportunities it can offer her. When she has to return home following a family death, she struggles to decide where she really wants to be and must make a heart-wrenching decision.

It's a beautiful book and has all the things I need in my reading list these days - a great story, likeable characters, beautifully written but nothing tooooooooo challenging, and something that lets me put it down and pick it up a zillion times without losing the thread. And now I have to add Toibin's latest book The Empty Family to my list.

Women's Weekly Retrospective

Borrow a favourite book- perhaps someone you know has a favourite to lend you or you're a member of the local library.

I was lucky enough to be able to borrow THE ORIGINAL (well a reprint of the original) Women's Weekly Birthday Cake Book. My upstairs neighbour Michelle is a great source for things like ginger bread cutters, wizard capes and as it turns out she did not let me down on this sought after beauty. Like many 70's babes, I salivated over the contents each year as my birthday drew near. It is impossible now to get your hands on a copy of the original, but I have recently bought the current edition and enjoyed comparing the influence of political correctness and more relaxed gender depictions over the 30 odd years between the two editions.

For all time sake the jelly pool will always be my favourite. And although my husband claims to have never seen the book (impossible for an aussie I would have thought) I am pretty sure he would have dog eared the cricket pitch as his fav. N.b. the versatility of coloured desiccated coconut - where has that gone over the years.

But it is the gender depictions that really amaze me. Even though it was first published in 1980 (I could have sworn it was earlier) the bra burners had yet to infiltrate the ideas factory of The Women's Weekly. The G is for Girls chapter is devoted to cakes such as Sewing Machines, Kitchens, and Dressing Tables. Whilst the B is for Boys section is devoted to sports of all kinds, and an Alien cake.

I wonder if the emerging enigmatic writer nowadays gets as much inspiration from a Laptop Cake as the old Typewriter Cake could evoke!

And for the record I believe the standard between the original and the later edition has surged. So even though we had the feminist revolution in that time we are expected to be career women, yummy mummies, and now it would seem professional cake decorators.

Here are a few comparisons between the editions - gone is butter cream and in with the stretchy smooth stuff. And after what Greer endured making my wedding cake with the stretchy smooth stuff, I am way too scared to broach it.

And who can forget this one. Clearly before the era of PC birthday parties. I am not sure this would appear in any North American Birthday Party Cake books.

In the era of mass merchandising and brand power, I crumbled and gave my newly 3 year old exactly what he asked for. After all, who can forget the joy of looking at that birthday cake you truly wanted.

Task # 26

Borrow a favourite book- perhaps someone you know has a favourite to lend you or you're a member of the local library.

Dear Greer...

I don't like to whinge, but I think this task might be a bit oriented towards the Tale of Three'ers who aren't actually living at home. Postcards are meant for people who are away to send to people back home, not for those at home to send to others at home. If you know what I mean. Yes, there's something romantic and a bit retro about an economically worded card, scrawled on and stamped and popped in the post.  A brief note to a lover. A quick hi to an old pal. But to be perfectly honest, all the people who I probably need to get in contact with deserve far more than just a postcard - they need a letter or a card (maybe one of the gazillion birth announcement cards I had printed after Pearl and Stella were born) or even a good old-fashioned phone call. But the truth is, I'll probably email them or write on their Wall at some point. So, yes, while I get the underlying purpose of this task, I am struggling with it a bit. I'm not sure who to write to. And I realise now that I've never really needed postcards except when I've been away somewhere, because damned if I could actually find one to buy in the past week. Don't people travelling to Sydney buy postcards to send to their families back home?

In the end, I came at it in reverse. I was in Dymocks today buying a Christmas present (Christmas comes early in our family this year) when, on the way to the counter to pay, I noticed a lonely fragile postcard stand in a dusty corner. I dashed over, hoping to find something a bit more art and a bit less tourist, but it was all tourist. I paid my 50 cents and left, wondering who the hell would be the recipient. And then, glancing at that glorious harbour vista, it came to me.

Many years ago in another lifetime, I was working in a hostel in Berlin and a pair of American brothers came to stay for a few days. Ernie was a fair bit older than Cameron and, if I remember correctly, was treating his little brother to a trip around Europe to celebrate his graduation. Most of the guests stayed in dorms but Ernie and Cameron shared a double room known as the honeymoon suite - something we found hilarious at the time. They were lovely guys, lots of fun and we parted with promises to keep in touch.

Anyway, we didn't, but years later Ernie and I reunited through the magic of Facebook, and that was how I learned Cameron was coming to Sydney on his honeymoon. I met up with him and his new wife down by the harbour one sunny morning in 2008 and had a lovely catch-up. Then a few months later I got a message from them saying their honeymoon had been far more productive than they'd planned, they were expecting a baby, it was a little girl and would I mind terribly if they named her Greer. 

With the Sydney postcard in my hands today, it occurred to me that little Chicago Greer (as I've come to know her) is turning two next month, and as she was conceived in this city and named after one of its most upstanding citizens, perhaps I should drop her a line. 

Happy birthday, Greer! I haven't sent the postcard yet but it's on the list!

One, two, three

I started writing one postcard and suddenly it became three. I can be quite hopeless at keeping in touch with people back home and so the moment I found myself in the post office (just off Trafalgar Square nonetheless) I indulged in reaching out to a few old mates and my two brothers. The latter sent to their shared house in Melbourne more as a reminder that I exist and that perhaps if they pop the card on the beer fridge they'll remember to call from time to time. The other postcards were sent to my first school friend Jane, who I've known since preschool aged three and then one to my friend Biz who joined Jane and I at school in year 7. Two beautiful friends who are now used to my disappearing act yet still have the kindness to welcome me back each time as though it were yesterday. My news to all was short and sweet, not home for Christmas but absolutely back for Easter and can't wait to see them again. Now if only I could do this simple task more often!

Oceans and Friends

My postcard is going to a very dear friend who I don't contact nearly enough. Anne-France Tardiveau Almdal, such a great name isn't it. We met back in 2000, fresh off the boat in New York City, young aspiring actresses from Sydney and Montreux (Switzerland). We were 23. Anne-France and I quickly became friends, she had a wicked sense of humor and was already an accomplished actor. She handled New York with far more grace than I, but that didn't stop us tackling the city by roller blades or bars.

This pic was taken in October 2000, when we made a short film in Montreux, which is undeniably one of the most picturesque places I have ever visited. Yes I was blonde once....

Since then we visited each other or met up where we could; Montreux, Paris, LA, Sydney. Our lives have often felt on parallel. We were at each others weddings and along the way have many great memories over bottles of wine - Talking about theatre, husbands, families, and now kids. The last time I saw Anne-France was three years ago now in Paris, where she was in a comedy play and I was lucky enough to meet her beautiful baby girl, Charlie. Since then there has been Hugo (me), Cameron (AF), and the tiniest Nikki (AF) and I guess my bump will be a babe before we meet again. Mmmmm three and a half years and 4 kids later. Anyway I often think about Anne-France and her life in the heartbreakingly beautiful Swiss countryside and the balances we both now experience with family and creativity and the glorious blend when it meets.

We hope to meet next year, and Mauritius has been mentioned. There are lots of places in between Hong Kong and Switzerland. And I hope hope we can manage it, amongst the billions of reasons not to.

The postcard I am sending is one of my favourite Hong Kong images. It is the old airport (as recent as 1996). A world away from Hong Kong's illustrious airport today. But this picture sums up so much about order and chaos that is perfectly mastered in this city.