Just taking it slow

Yes, I have been out of action for a while - lots of work, limited spare time and in my spare time I've been reading cooking magazines: my very own 'gastro-porn'. A big thanks to Delicious for the relaxation, enjoyment and inspiration.

Having logged on a caught up with outstanding emails, look what I found?

Well, actually my big sister found this, but that led me into my own world of Bobby Sherman wonder on YouTube. I've not trawled YouTube previously, so it was a new and exciting place. I discovered the theme song to Here Come The Brides a song aka Seattle, as well as Bobby Sherman TV commercials, fan sites ... it was enjoyable and unexpected! (btw, did you know Bobby is a grandfather again?)

I also discovered the opening theme of my late 1970's favourite show - Family. My BM, Roogirl and I found a shared love for this show.

Hey, just be thankful I didn't post the link to the Partridge Family theme song!!!

The cream rises to the top

There was a time when I enjoyed the actual count part of the Brownlow medal count. This was when I was younger and completely engrossed in all things sport. Now as a mature woman of a certain age, I do still appreciate the drama of a close count, although the hideous lengthy pauses that Andrew Demetriou injects into the count remind me of Keanu Reeves' overacting (sorry, Keanu, you know I love you!) "Geelong, 3 votes, J ...
...
Bartel".
btw, congratulations to Geelong's Jimmy (or is that now James) Bartel.

Anyway, now I enjoy the red carpet arrivals beforehand and especially enjoy the Tuesday morning newspaper websites for a complete view of the best and worst of couture.

While the gentlemen have been instructed to wear black tie & dinner suits, the women are free to explore an often brazen use of colour and design.





Now before reviewing the colour and style of the frocks, I feel the need to make a comment about the pretty young things that drape the arm of a footballer. The excess use of spray tan (I do hope it's not a solarium tan), peroxide and silicone does tend to make the young women on the carpet blend in together. A few looked like they hadn't eaten in weeks to fit into their frocks and also looked ill as a result. Please, young women of our future, trust yourself and what you like, not what a man, a magazine or the media tell you!! (here endeth today's lesson) Black was an ever popular stalwart, and while totally respectable at a black tie event, the preponderance of black made only the most stunningly good (or bad) of black dresses stand out.






Cream seems to be an early leader in the spring fashion stakes in Melbourne. I must keep an eye out for similar trends as the Spring Racing Carnival commences.




However, this year, I was pleasantly surprised by the bold (far from brazen) use of colour and variable hemlines.


And the winner? How can I go past Susie Koutafides - a mother of 2 has no right to look that good in a skimpy cream number, and perfectly sets off the pecs and shoulders on her arm (that's them at the right of the photo)



(photos courtesy of Herald Sun)

A wall of words

I love words. (no big surprise there to anyone who's listened to me ramble on)

I'm not sure of it's origin, but I can always remember finding joy in a story book, whether read by my parents, aunt or siblings (occasionally). When at primary school, my treat for a good report card was the choice of one or more books through the school book club. The number of books I was allowed to buy directly related to my grades and teacher comments - I received bonus points for effort and being well behaved.

As I have mentioned, I'm in the market for a new home, and in that process will be selling my current unit, which has served me so well. To keep that process moving along, I had a couple of schmoozy types real estate agents around to my place last week. While both gave me a similar quote on the value of my place, their manner and approach varied. Having wandered through the 4 rooms, we quickly reached my junk spare room, with its single bed, 1970's style laminated desk, built in linen closet (aka wardrobe) and library.

You see, to me, 8 shelves running the length of a wall and filling the entire height constitutes a library. My Dad lovingly varnished the 2 wide, 3 medium and 3 narrow pine shelves; installed brackets and created a functional and yes, quite stylish framework for my many books. As I stood back admiring my library, one of the aforementioned schmoozy types real estate agents commented that 'they (the shelves) are removable - good' and proceeded to make a note in his fancy leather compendium. I stood, mouth agape with horror - guess who won't be getting my business?

Once I'd pushed him out the door said goodbye, I returned to my spare room and resumed my reverie. OK, I admit, I am now trying to store 2 layers of books on each shelf, and one shelf has been given over to videos (remember those quaint historical artifacts?), but once I tidy it up a bit (?), those shelves contain some of the best memories of my life.

The whole top shelf is devoted to Enid Blyton, and a few other childhood favourites. A delicate hardbook copy of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang brings back memories of accusing my parents of skipping bits of the story, as they read me that book for the 75th time and I recited the story.

I have an eclectic mix of biographies, recipe books, a compendium of Winnie the Pooh and poetry. I also have the complete sets of Narnia, Anne of Green Gables and nearly all of Beatrix Potter.

Of course, I have the complete works of Jane Austen, as well as the Brontes (though not all of those books have been read). My copies of Pride & Prejudice and Persuasion are lovingly dog-eared and almost spineless. They sit alongside economics, psychology and employment law text books, and close to atlases and other reference books (including a thesaurus passed down from mother to daughter). It's not quite the dewey decimal system, but there is logic to the collection.

Imagine my joy when my good friend and exercise buddy lurextoga showed me this link to a website on which you can record all of your books - oh wow, I think I'm in heaven!! I look forward to spending many constructive hours documenting my wall of words.

... and here's just the start of my collection, by me!!!

What I MEANT to say was ...

So many good ideas that don't quite come off...

I have finally mastered loading a picture to my profile (with a little help from my friend 'Delamare'). This is the picture over there (look right).

Yes, I know that you can't see it, but it was a really good idea at the time.

It is a scanned copy of a card from the Ink Group that I have had in my 'cards that may come in handy' shoe box. I also have a number of cards for my BM 'Roogirl' who appreciates and sometimes shares my wierd sense of humour.

Anyway, to put you out of your misery, here's a larger version of this card/ comic/ thing that I just think fits me - enjoy!

Happy 99th Birthday to 'the Don'

Today would have been Sir Donald George Bradman's 99th birthday, had he survived beyond 25th February 2001.

As previously mentioned, I have a passion for cricket, specifically test cricket. I think it was born at age 10, when my father gave me his boyhood copy of Sir Donald Bradman, a 1960's biography in the Red Lion Lives series. Having already shown a love of balls and bats over dolls and dress ups, Dad saw an opportunity to share his love of sport in his tomboy daughter.

During the Australian tour to the West Indies in 1975, Dad and I would listen to the ABC transistor radio in the morning over breakfast, and I began my love affair with a daily newsaper as I kept track of all scores in my cricket tour magazine (which this bower bird still has). Therafter, the annual ABC cricket magazine and ABC cricket yearbook were 'must have's. I did toy with the channel nine version one year, but it just wasn't the same. ABC test cricket coverage is compulsory listening. I do miss Tim Lane, but Glenn Mitchell is improving.

By the way, do you know that the ABC has the same post box address in each capital city in Australia?

Q: What is it & why?

...

A: PO Box 9994 - this is Don Bradman's test batting average - 99.94


Well, happy birthday to the great man, wherever you are. I hope you admire the dedication and commitment of the current crop of custodians of the baggy green cap. I also hope you see the recent progression in their sportsmanship, but never a reduction in their intensity.

Living Life to the 'Fore'!

I have a sneaking suspicion that I've developed a very strong habit. I'm stopping short of calling it an addiction, from a point of comparison with my history and with others, but it is regular and much enjoyed habit.

Previously, I played competitive hockey. It was at quite a high level, and with and against some significantly better players than me. For the most part I held my own on the field, and I knew that I was addicted to THAT game. I played, coached, managed teams, administered clubs and associations, and even participated in the orchestration of an administrative coup! I took holidays to manage teams, I even took holidays to watch or organise tournaments. I loved the sport, and thought that what I loved most was the fierce competition ... I certainly played in a manner that suggested that I loved the competition!

Wisely however, I stopped 'cold turkey', and moved on to devote my available time to study and to watch my beloved Blues. What I discovered was a pleasant surprise and what I missed the most about hockey was not the competition, but the cameraderie. We devoted a lot of time to our games and our teammates, and combined that with family and developing careers.

While a few former teammates continued to play competitively (and one still does - much to her credit), we found an shared outlet post hockey that meets our needs for physical effort (to varying degrees), displays of skill (to varying degrees) and socialising (to a large degree). Sometimes the post round hot chocolate or latte is the best part of the round, and sometimes it is the 'team birdie' count. More often than not (quite possibly due to Melbourne's drought) we enjoy the best part of the day on the golf course - laughing with the kookaburras, smiling at the joggers and cyclists as they move past at a fair pace, or admiring the flora and fauna.

There is certainly enough time during nine holes of golf to catch up on all the activities of 4 women's busy weeks, as well as go a good way towards solving the problems with society. Despite the dawn start on a Saturday morning, I've grown to look forward to my weekly golf hit (sic) and always leave the club with a smile on my face, more often than not, regardless of the score.

Yep, this certainly is a healthy passtime - for mind and body!

Yoo hoo, anyone there?

I've been quiet on the blogfront in the past few weeks; not quite sure why, but expect it has something to do with:

• working long hours (often sitting at a computer) and not wanting to do the same when I arrive home and change from my 'binding' work clothes to my soft and comfy flannelette 'Winnie the Pooh' pjs


• having full days away from home each weekend (football, socialising, appointments etc). leaving very few spare hours to do housework (yes, people who know me can laugh at that - but having clean clothes is very important, even if a clean bedroom is not)


• avoiding delving any more deeply into my 'feelings'

I currently have a manager who is trained as a psychologist. Now while I did study psychology at university (as part of my business degree), I preferred the statistics and reality/perception side of psychology. Empathy, id, ego, superego (ooh, eminds me of a few around here) etc were all just a bit too esoteric. Give me concrete and logic every time, please!

Like all of us, we have had 'good' managers and 'bad' managers. My definition of a 'good' manager encompasses someone who treats you as an intellectual equal; who asks for your opinions on work matters and actually listens to your reply; provides support in terms of actions (not just words); and who recognises whether the work you do is effective or not. From my experience, 'bad' managers can be summarised as psychologists who pander to the egos of those in higher roles to get where they want to go.

This is the second time that I've had a manager who is a psychologist, and having just survived a 'psycho' manager as an impressionable 24 year old, I am having chilling flashbacks. My self defence mechanisms back then against the taking credit for my work and words that were not backed up by consistent actions, included internalising my anger & frustration and eventually becoming a virtual solo worker. This time around as a more seasoned and slightly more mature professional, I'm fighting those urges to revert to that behaviour.

My dear colleague 'super V', has given me a book entitled snakes in suits. It is splendidly realistic and I can identify many familiar charateristics. It also provides great insight into effective ways of managing said snakes. My manager may try to get inside my head, but thanks to friends and experience, the person who opens the door (just a crack) won't be letting her in.