The reindeer in Finland are getting nervous. Christmas is nigh.

In the local Highlands Newspaper I noticed an advertisement seeking volunteers to act as Santa. Experience not required, but joviality and those with a deep ho, ho ho given preference. Females with rich chest resonance and dark vocal qualities accepted too. Glass ceilings are being broken here!.

Christmases are coming earlier and with greater urgency. We don’t want to miss out. Business is business and it can’t be harmful if we get the consumer alerted out of their winter slumber a bit earlier. Soon, the heat will be upon us. The cicadas are bursting out of their seventeen year wait already.

http://www.abc.net.au/science/articles/2001/02/17/2822486.htm

The Big W store near us has unpacked the Christmas cards and the novelty store nearby is selling beards, holy tinsels and mitres for aspiring Santas. It took us a couple of years to get used to this tropical Christmas. Instead of Holland’s snow and fondant we were supposed to take to beer, barbequed prawns and gherkins pierced enfolded in ham. The first Christmas in church the solemn suit was replaced by singlets, shorts and sweat. The local priest was not unknown to exude alcohol vapours when giving communion at the mid-night mass. Huge bogon moths would swirl around the lights as well as the heads of this herd of pious but slightly inebriated parishioners. One could almost hear the refrain; ‘Rudolf the red nosed reindeer.’

It did not help Dad’s resolve to accept this different type of Christmas. The jolliness of Australian Santa wasn’t really any different from the more solemn North European version, although at the time when we left in 1956, I don’t think that buying presents and spending money was as yet a big deal. It was more atmospheric and certainly a celebration and time of joy in each other and family, including the community. We would go around shaking hands. I suspect that my parents would have missed their own country most at times of Christmas.

We, the kids, would of course be found on the beach and surf, get coconut oil sprayed to hasten the browning up, and eat hot chips when hungry. I had an enormous balsa wood surfboard which I would paddle beyond the surf and miraculously did manage to ride some waves back in. Now, sharks and high rates of melanoma have put a dent in that part of culture. The beaches are notably quieter. Many a surfie is seen scanning the water for any sharks while shark spotting aeroplanes circle overhead. It must be tempting for sharks to see those legs dangling from surfboards. It is their territory.

Perhaps, bush walking and outback adventures will now become more popular. It is rather nice to sit in the shade of a large coolabah tree, sip a cool beer taken from the esky while having a small fire on which to cook some cutlets of lamb or even prawns. At least, your worst opponents might be a snake that got disturbed by you. We are reassured that snakes generally are shy and tend to crawl away. That must be so reassuring. I would rather go bush than surf in the sea.

In any case, Christmas is still three months away. I find the whole idea of yet another Christmas coming a bit disconcerting.

The ducks know: Bin liners rarely match kitchen tidies.

The flooded creek

In five weeks time it will all be over folks. Don’t give in now. I know, I know, the running of the Christmas shoppers has started early this year. Santas are already in short supply. Some are now being lured away by Captains of Cash Registers (CCR’s) from underneath bridges and wheelie bins. I already noticed an abandoned trolley. Its owner sobbing (inconsolably) nearby. Her tears wetting the grass but some ducks were consoling her. Ducks are good at that. You can tell by their kind eyes. They always seem to be saying “It is never too late to reform”, repent, all will come good.”

There is hope growing eternally, especially along our creek at the back of our house. Each year and few weeks prior to Christmas, more and more elderly but still in revolutionary spirits, are to be found fondly looking into reflections of the creek’s water bubbling demurely over reeds and rushes. Some have, very wisely, taken the grandkids, to partake in the simple act of feeding wise ducks. For those with insight into the real spirit of Christmas it is the only thing left to do. Seek an answer in duck’s eyes and listen to flowing waters. Give generously to ducks.

We know the pull of materialism is strong and overwhelming. Most succumb to drop-dead shopping-malls, only to be taken by howling ambulance to hospital and hoisted into emergency beds, still warm from  previous shoppers still with laden trolley’s frozen turkeys oozing bags of Violent crumble and 2 kilos of acidly sweetened jute bags of Mars Bars. Jingle bells, jingle bells!

We are almost ready to go for our daily walk and meet up with the elderly but true believers at the creek. I know the ducks will be waiting and Milo is respectful, even considerate, seeing we are feeding the ducks food that he normally would receive. Good Boy!

We had a bad fish yesterday. The kitchen still smells even though I cooked the fish on the Webber outside. It wasn’t a good meal. The sauce was far too spicy. I had bought a jar of Sambal Oelek and even half a tea-spoon proved too much. Fortunately Helvi had also opened a jar of Hak’s sweet red cabbage that somehow diluted the chilli taste. Sundays are not good for fish buying. I should have known. Since buying the fish cook book I seem to want to try out recipes. Why are the pictures of food books so alluring? We ended up squabbling because the meal was almost inedible. Yet, the intention was so noble and good.

This morning I discovered the reason for the fish smell. The foil that the fish was baked in was doing its stinking job in the kitchen tidy. I had once again bought a large roll of those plastic tidy bags that never seem to fit the tidy. Either too big, too small or without handles. We even bought a large roll and then went shopping for the tidy so that both would match. Alas, even though they were matched, the bags did not have handles allowing it to be tightened into a bag without any spillage on the floor. The bags just had four flaps that somehow hung listlessly over the edge of the kitchen tidy. It is quite an art to then lift it out of its tidy without a nervous break-down.

We need the ducks this morning. They know and understand!

 

 

Rattling Sabres and Victa’s

“We had this hysteria a few weeks ago when hundreds of police came swooping down on a few that were supposed to be heading towards wiping Australia of the map. There were photos of men with hands tied behind their backs, sitting on suburban nature strips surrounded by masked menacing looking men with guns handy.

Soon after jets were scrambling towards the middle East and the whole country petrified of swords and sounds of manic mid-night cackling by deranged Islamic fanatics. And since then? Niente, niks, rien, nothing, nichts.

The same as ever, queuing in traffic, gas-bills being paid, the cabbage in the fridge, the rattle of the Victa lawnmower at week-ends.

And now… this unholy cabinet united in involving us in yet another war”. Good sense has now taken leave with charlatans, foxtrotting generals, and palm readers in control.

It is now time to put on the sausages. There is nothing like taking stock, reflect on folly, indulge in purple prose, escape in flights of fancy and light the newest barbeque. We have bought one of those Mexican chimineas. A biscuit glazed clay bulbous pot on steel stand with embossed iguanas on the outside. Helvi and I, like true Mexican tribesmen used to, sit around and contemplate while baste the sausage, bung in the prawns, imbibe a Shiraz.

“Can you try not fall asleep when I am talking to you G, or, if you do, I’ll go upstairs to the putor”. “Sorry dear, I am just looking at the flames of the fire,”and relishing your latest post on suggesting putting a Burqa on Abbott, seeing all his decisions are now cloaked in secrecy.” ” I thought it was so apt.” “Don’t pull the flattering one on me, you’re eyes were closed.” “I know you so well.” ” So do I.” “I think the sausages are ready now, can you get the plates?” “Yes dear. Any tom sauce?” “No tom sauce for you G”, it is bad stuff.” “Is it? I am still here!” “Yes, you are telling me.” Sigh!

Domestic bliss around the clay iguana pot.

The silliness of the debate on burqas and Parliamentary security. I can just imagine the upcoming debate on fanatic Santas riding on reindeer, hiding their true faces. God knows what evil lurks behind those beards and red robes. How did they ever infiltrate our lovely sun-kissed country and culture. Did they sneak in on rickety boats? What are their evil aims and why have kiddies in their laps?

There is a lot there!

Milo’s Christmas present

No Christmas can be celebrated without considering all animals. The entire Noah’s Ark will be lit up, festooned with pretty baubles and thousands of flickering multi coloured lights, all provided by a solar panel fastened to the main mast. When reindeer have finished their endless flights over rooftops, they too will be asked to join the party.

The table has been set for twelve thousand two hundred forty four guests including four lions, nine elephants and many birds including a pair of wedge tail eagles, a robin and twenty two sparrows. Milo is at the head of the table ( he insisted on it) well away from the possum family who are safely seated and protected in between the jaguars and hyenas. A solitary skunk will be allowed to crawl around underneath the table after promising he won’t look up any stockinged thighs of belted Galloways.

As a special gesture of goodwill and sweetness AC/DC are providing the music with a few solitary violin pieces by Vivaldi during the eating of the Pavlova in memory of Анна Павловна (Матвеевна)The principal ballerina of the Russian Ballet. It was a special request by Milo, who as some of you might now, has been practising his very graceful leaping up into trees. (to try and kill possums, but we won’t talk about that, will we?).

Even so, we know the animal world is very much involved in feelings (more than many people animals) and even though the pavlova is sweet on popular request they insist on seeing, as is their wont every year, yet again a performance of her ” The dying Swan”. This lovely piece was projected on a large screen.

The whole table became quiet and many looked down on their plate of Pavlova struggling with the eating of something so sweet and at the same time seeing the real Anna Pavlova so graceful, yet so tragic. They reflected on how, they too would, at some stage follow life and succumb, like the swan, to a dying. It was so and no one would ever be denied this final dance. Was it something that could even be looked forward to? Ah, the mystery of life.

The animal world reflected deeply on one of life’s deep questions. One of the elephants had tears in his eyes; he told the giraffe next to him, the Couscous was repeating on him, and he needed to stretch his trunk. Needless to point out that the Christmas dinner was totally vegetarian. One can imagine if a roast pork had been served up or worse, a leg of lamb. The horror, the horror. Even a single prawn would have caused a solidarity of revulsion amongst all the animals.

Milo, in the meantime, felt that the table ought to be brought back to a more cheerful festive mood and decided to pull some crackers with good old silly corny jokes.

Why did Santa’s helper see the doctor?
Because he had a low “elf” esteem!
What happened to the man who stole an Advent Calendar?
He got 25 days!
What kind of motorbike does Santa ride?
A Holly Davidson!
What do you call Santa’s little helpers?
Subordinate clauses!

Happy Christmas to all the animals (and people too, if they stay good) from Milo and his best adult friends.

The vertical Food Phenomenon

The vertical Food Phenomenom.

Santa has come early at the hardware-trade, at least here in Mittagong. Driving back late from Sydney, a large solar driven multi coloured sign heralded that ‘face painting’ would be a daily event at Bunnings together with ‘cooking lessons’. You would have to give it to them. Such entrepreneurial spirits flashing every few seconds. Who would have thought hardware shops would give cooking lessons? It is not as if cooking food has been put on the backburner, and people are just eating cold cabbage with tripe.

You only have to turn on the TV, morning or night, to hear and see someone holding up some latest morsel, glistening with juices and with contrasting colours. The cook or taster pronouncing…’oh, yum’ with ‘oh…wow’ second and a somewhat lamer third coming in at ‘how nice’.

I have yet to hear oh… how fucking awful, or even oh yuck, while heaving and retching! Surely, sometimes the result is not up to scratch and the viewer would be so much happier, if, just sometimes, the culinary result was less than planned like the viewers own efforts in the caesarstone kitchen with the multi story oven.

Just consider how on TV cooking is often done under the most harrowing conditions.  Last week on TV a dish was cooked in the middle of a raging Mekong river on a rickety boat and with just one small hardly flickering little flame in the middle of a torrential monsoonal downpour… Yet, the result was stunning and again it was held up as a trophy of cooking art regardless or perhaps because of those dire adversarial circumstances.

The viewer could not but become deeply depressed with their own miserable result of a limp pale yellow poached egg staring at them on a piece of toast which was only just made edible by scraping the charcoal off. No, “oh yum”. Not even a single “how nice’.”

How disconcerting it is for us, salivating viewers, to then, often within the same hour, advertisements are shown urging us to give generously to World Vision. The tearstained mother holding up a dying baby, children reduced to eating crispy insects to just stay alive another day. It would be so much better and more sensitive if those ads were shown during that Ancestry.com ‘where do you come from’ programs, together with funeral insurances enticements. How glorious that elderly couple beam at us. They are so happy with their funeral ‘plan’ while their well fed grand-daughter stares out from the top of a bridge over the expanse of a lovely flowing river. Her life is just starting but ours might need a coffin ‘plan;’ but look, we are still living it up to the hilt! But… we don’t want to burden anyone with our funeral. Geez, what would our kids do without us having a plan; bury us in the back-yard?

The cooking program also often shows us food precariously stacked upwards, like a block of home units. Why does it have to be vertical? Are we running out of space? Is this what overpopulation has caused? Or is it because the top layer is closer to our mouth? Everything has to be so effortless lately; perhaps lifting the spoon up is now being investigated by the cooking moguls.

Easy does it. It is the same with the modern cloth line. All clothes have to be taken off the line with one magic swoop. Rrrrt it goes and the washing line is empty ready for the next run.  Very tempting this is, with time so short and busy mothers and (some fathers) driving kids to schools, ballet, and flute and sax lessons. It all has to be so very Rrrrrt now and in split second timing.

Anyway, Bunnings has weighed in with also giving cooking lessons, competing with the outside Barbeque sausage sandwich stall run by the Lions Club. Perhaps it is to entice the sale of outdoor kitchens. Has anyone seen the latest of those? Enormous outdoor stainless steel kitchens costing as much as houses, are now up for sale. They include water taps, rotisserie, and fridge with ice making and fish scaling capability, a fiery turbo driven stone lined pizza oven and ample storage to hold the suckling pig.

I am still getting over assembling a modest two burner affair some years ago. Boy, did it have many nuts and bolts with matching Allen key. It took me 12 hours and had to turn the whole contraption upside down to retrieve a single nut that had fallen in a steep crevice behind one of the burners. Finally a team of mental health experts overseen by a crack psychiatrist were called in to counsel me while I was finishing the job.

It seems that eating is now a disorder for more than a million Australians. Binge eating and binge starving is now all the go. We just don’t seem to be able to get our eating habits right. Yet, it used to be so simple.

We ate to survive.