Can anyone explain why it is that kitchen implements, if shoved promiscuously and willy-nilly into an overcrowded drawer, appear to breed and multiply (giving forth in the process such nightmares as what seems to be the bastard offspring of a butter-curler and a melon-baller), but that socks and underwear, kept in a similar environment, do the opposite, so that you end up unable to find any clean bras except the itchy red lace one?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Showing posts with label Domesticity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Domesticity. Show all posts
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Two ways of seeing the glass
GLASS HALF EMPTY
When you accidentally dislodged the small decorative basket that sits on top of the bathroom cabinet and contains dozens of small items pertitent to female grooming and titivation, and said decorative basket fell off the cabinet, there was a mighty clattering and smashing on the tiled floor.
GLASS HALF FULL
Only one thing actually broke.
GLASS HALF EMPTY
It was nail polish.
GLASS HALF FULL
It was clear nail polish.
GLASS HALF EMPTY
Because it was clear shiny nail polish, you couldn't see all the clear shiny tiny shards of broken glass lying in it.
GLASS HALF FULL
So you had to clean up with the dustpan and brush before safely proceeding to the nail polish remover, and now you've got an excuse to nick up to the shops, because you need to buy new broomware.
When you accidentally dislodged the small decorative basket that sits on top of the bathroom cabinet and contains dozens of small items pertitent to female grooming and titivation, and said decorative basket fell off the cabinet, there was a mighty clattering and smashing on the tiled floor.
GLASS HALF FULL
Only one thing actually broke.
GLASS HALF EMPTY
It was nail polish.
GLASS HALF FULL
It was clear nail polish.
GLASS HALF EMPTY
Because it was clear shiny nail polish, you couldn't see all the clear shiny tiny shards of broken glass lying in it.
GLASS HALF FULL
So you had to clean up with the dustpan and brush before safely proceeding to the nail polish remover, and now you've got an excuse to nick up to the shops, because you need to buy new broomware.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
When they finally come to take me away, it'll be over something like this
The light fitting in question has three globe sockets, which is a bad thing for a start, even if I do only put small, low-wattage, energy-saving globes in each one. But the fitting is mysteriously, intricately bound up with the ceiling fan in a way I'd need an electrician to disentangle.
The fact that it requires three globes means I have to buy two packs of two. When choosing these two packs of two, I carefully tick off every item on the list that follows, for each represents some past mistake in globe-buying:
Energy-saving non-incandescent spiral globes: check
5 watts (25 watts in old money): check
Bayonet caps not screw-ins: check
The bayonet caps are standard size, not those little skinny ones: check
All globes for the fitting are the same brand: check
I made this purchase some time ago. And so when the second of the three little old-style incandescent globes in the light fitting gave up the ghost a few days ago, shortly after the first, I prided myself on having bought the desired replacements in sufficient quantities, and on having checked all the relevant details.
And I've just aggravated a very nasty old neck injury craning up to screw them into the ancient, dusty, crumbling fitting. Headache escalating to migraine tomorrow unless I spend the next few hours with a hot wheatbag draped around my neck and then sleep with my good friend Diazepam.
Did I notice, when I bought these globes, that they come in both 'Warm White' and 'Cool White'?
Did I buy one box of the one and the other box of the other?
Have I just spent twenty minutes craning up at the ceiling with my head tipped back, something my physio has told me I must never ever do, jiggling with glass shades, delicately trying to get the spring-loaded thingies straight, getting the globes stuck crooked, getting them unstuck, dropping the little tiny screws on the cat, shrieking obscenities that could no doubt be clearly heard three doors away and nearly losing my balance several times before I finally got them all in straight, got down off the stepladder and triumphantly switched on the light, before I realised the error of my ways?
And is 'Warm White' really quite remarkably different from 'Cool White'?
What do you reckon?
The fact that it requires three globes means I have to buy two packs of two. When choosing these two packs of two, I carefully tick off every item on the list that follows, for each represents some past mistake in globe-buying:
Energy-saving non-incandescent spiral globes: check
5 watts (25 watts in old money): check
Bayonet caps not screw-ins: check
The bayonet caps are standard size, not those little skinny ones: check
All globes for the fitting are the same brand: check
I made this purchase some time ago. And so when the second of the three little old-style incandescent globes in the light fitting gave up the ghost a few days ago, shortly after the first, I prided myself on having bought the desired replacements in sufficient quantities, and on having checked all the relevant details.
And I've just aggravated a very nasty old neck injury craning up to screw them into the ancient, dusty, crumbling fitting. Headache escalating to migraine tomorrow unless I spend the next few hours with a hot wheatbag draped around my neck and then sleep with my good friend Diazepam.
Did I notice, when I bought these globes, that they come in both 'Warm White' and 'Cool White'?
Did I buy one box of the one and the other box of the other?
Have I just spent twenty minutes craning up at the ceiling with my head tipped back, something my physio has told me I must never ever do, jiggling with glass shades, delicately trying to get the spring-loaded thingies straight, getting the globes stuck crooked, getting them unstuck, dropping the little tiny screws on the cat, shrieking obscenities that could no doubt be clearly heard three doors away and nearly losing my balance several times before I finally got them all in straight, got down off the stepladder and triumphantly switched on the light, before I realised the error of my ways?
And is 'Warm White' really quite remarkably different from 'Cool White'?
What do you reckon?
Friday, March 14, 2008
Attention Adelaideans: back to the olden days
I can't remember when it was that we actually got onto the power grid, down on the farm in the old days. I was probably still quite a little kid but I do have clear memories of the days before that when power came from the generator in the shed, and if something went wrong with the generator then it was back to kerosene lamps and candles. (And, if it was winter, open fires in the bedrooms and hot-water bottles in the beds, though I think we had those anyway.) Traditionally when the generator went cattywumpus we all sat round the kitchen table in the soft lamplight and played board games.
Given that the farmhouse was three miles from the township and a mile from the next farmhouse, we were a little island of light in a sea of darkness, unless of course there was a moon, or someone drove up the road past our gate and we watched as the headlights approached and then receded. My folks could usually tell who the driver was by the sound of the engine, the direction the car was travelling in, and the time of night. And I now know from experience that you internalise that kind of early security and carry it with you for the rest of your life.
What is it that has me musing on these bygone idylls? Why, the fact that Adelaide broke two more heat records over the last 24 hours, including Hottest March Night On Record (it didn't get below 30 degrees last night) and the power supply is being tested to its limits. There was a stressed-looking woman on the teeve tonight (though everyone in Adelaide is stressed-looking at the moment, so perhaps that's not relevant) from ETSA saying she thought that although the power supplies have held up amazingly so far, sooner or later all the aircon being left on all night -- few Adelaide houses are currently habitable without doing this -- was going to blow up something important and the power outages would start.
So I hope my fellow Adelaideans all know where the torches and the candles are and can find them in the dark when the lights go out. Last time I lost power here I set up five or six candles at different heights on the lounge-room table and sat there reading by candlelight. It was eerie and beautiful, with its interlocking circles of soft silver-gilt light, and most of all it was astonishingly peaceful and restful. I'm almost looking forward to a power cut so I can sit in the candlelight again, think of my late lamented Ma, and feel as though I'm pushing back the dark.
Given that the farmhouse was three miles from the township and a mile from the next farmhouse, we were a little island of light in a sea of darkness, unless of course there was a moon, or someone drove up the road past our gate and we watched as the headlights approached and then receded. My folks could usually tell who the driver was by the sound of the engine, the direction the car was travelling in, and the time of night. And I now know from experience that you internalise that kind of early security and carry it with you for the rest of your life.
What is it that has me musing on these bygone idylls? Why, the fact that Adelaide broke two more heat records over the last 24 hours, including Hottest March Night On Record (it didn't get below 30 degrees last night) and the power supply is being tested to its limits. There was a stressed-looking woman on the teeve tonight (though everyone in Adelaide is stressed-looking at the moment, so perhaps that's not relevant) from ETSA saying she thought that although the power supplies have held up amazingly so far, sooner or later all the aircon being left on all night -- few Adelaide houses are currently habitable without doing this -- was going to blow up something important and the power outages would start.
So I hope my fellow Adelaideans all know where the torches and the candles are and can find them in the dark when the lights go out. Last time I lost power here I set up five or six candles at different heights on the lounge-room table and sat there reading by candlelight. It was eerie and beautiful, with its interlocking circles of soft silver-gilt light, and most of all it was astonishingly peaceful and restful. I'm almost looking forward to a power cut so I can sit in the candlelight again, think of my late lamented Ma, and feel as though I'm pushing back the dark.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Eleven things I've learned over the last few days
CHRISTMAS EVE
1) Buying a new Christmas tree ornament guarantees that you'll break one of the old ones while you're decorating the tree.
2) The unexpected sight of your mother's handwriting,
also while you're decorating the tree, can still bring tears to your eyes eight years after her death. (I expect this to go on indefinitely.) It says 'Pearly bells & icicles'. You can see a few of the icicles and one or two bells in the tree photo if you look hard enough.
3) Even if you don't put the tree up
till Christmas Eve, you'll still be really glad you did. Especially when you see that for the second year in a row, the presence of a non-organic stylised metal Christmas tree suggestive of Leunig's Mr Curly has excited no interest from the cats at all, and it is therefore still up and uninterfered-with.
4) If you are making custard from eggs and cream and have the heat up any hotter than a small candle while you stir and wait for it to thicken, you will end up with a suspension of scrambled eggs in cream. If you attempt to remedy this with a sieve, you will end up with a suspension of finely pulverised scrambled eggs in cream. I had already learned this and forgotten it several times. New Year's resolution: buy shares in Paul's.
5) I can still remember (as I learn from singing along with the carols from St Paul's on the teeve) the first two lines of Silent Night in German, from lessons at Adelaide Girls' High in 1966.
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht
Alles schläft; einsam wacht ...
CHRISTMAS DAY
6) No matter how much seafood sauce you make to dip the prawns into (homemade mayo + Beerenberg Hahndorf Tomato Sauce + Tabasco), it will be perceived as not enough.
7) In a family fight, presenting the assembled multitudes with a solution to the problem -- even if it is a solution that all of them accept -- is a waste of time. They don't want a solution to the problem. What they want is to go on fighting.
8) If a cat is given a special present by one of her servant's doting sisters,
there's a slim chance that she might accidentally play with it by mistake.
BOXING DAY
9) The alpha tortoiseshell is a mighty hunter before the lord.
She can manage with one swipe of an elegant yet powerful paw what it took the Australian people over eleven years to achieve: rodent extermination.
She didn't eat it; she is pictured here nudging the already quite dead varmint to try to make it get up and run around so she can chase it some more.
THE DAY AFTER BOXING DAY
10) Taking a week off is dangerous. Last week was the first week since Boxing Day last year that I did not read and review four novels, and now I'm having hell's own trouble getting up into fourth gear again.
11) One of the boys I was at school with 40 years ago (a category that includes former Senator Nick Bolkus and Greig Pickhaver aka HG Nelson, among others) has not lost his sense of humour.
I learn this while getting the email up to date and reading the December newsletter of my old school's Old Scholars Association. I've written on this blog and in various other places about the crucial importance to me when I was at school of being surrounded by European fellow-students, particularly my Greek mates, from whom I learned that there was a world beyond the Adelaide suburbs. The aforementioned newsletter contains the text of a speech given by Dr James Katsaros, in 1967 the Head Prefect of Adelaide (then Boys') High and now a distinguished plastic and reconstructive surgeon, and Patron of the Adelaide High School Old Scholars' Association. And I'm fairly sure he won't mind me quoting a bit of his speech to Adelaide's Lord Mayor and the assembled Table Captains at a planning gathering, in the Town Hall, for next April's Adelaide High School Centenary Dinner, at which I have already secured my seat:
"When I read ... that our old scholars hold positions of prominence in business and society in South Australia and Australia, I could not help thinking about the likes of Greig Pickhaver, better known as HG Nelson. I wondered how did he develop that passion for Greco-Roman wrestling which we enjoyed so much during the Sydney Olympics? And the answer is, of course, that he feasted daily on the sight of a seething, brawling mass of boys with names such as Koutsamanis, Kari, Finocchio, Zacharoyiannis and Zinghini."
1) Buying a new Christmas tree ornament guarantees that you'll break one of the old ones while you're decorating the tree.
2) The unexpected sight of your mother's handwriting,
also while you're decorating the tree, can still bring tears to your eyes eight years after her death. (I expect this to go on indefinitely.) It says 'Pearly bells & icicles'. You can see a few of the icicles and one or two bells in the tree photo if you look hard enough.
3) Even if you don't put the tree up
till Christmas Eve, you'll still be really glad you did. Especially when you see that for the second year in a row, the presence of a non-organic stylised metal Christmas tree suggestive of Leunig's Mr Curly has excited no interest from the cats at all, and it is therefore still up and uninterfered-with.
4) If you are making custard from eggs and cream and have the heat up any hotter than a small candle while you stir and wait for it to thicken, you will end up with a suspension of scrambled eggs in cream. If you attempt to remedy this with a sieve, you will end up with a suspension of finely pulverised scrambled eggs in cream. I had already learned this and forgotten it several times. New Year's resolution: buy shares in Paul's.
5) I can still remember (as I learn from singing along with the carols from St Paul's on the teeve) the first two lines of Silent Night in German, from lessons at Adelaide Girls' High in 1966.
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht
Alles schläft; einsam wacht ...
CHRISTMAS DAY
6) No matter how much seafood sauce you make to dip the prawns into (homemade mayo + Beerenberg Hahndorf Tomato Sauce + Tabasco), it will be perceived as not enough.
7) In a family fight, presenting the assembled multitudes with a solution to the problem -- even if it is a solution that all of them accept -- is a waste of time. They don't want a solution to the problem. What they want is to go on fighting.
8) If a cat is given a special present by one of her servant's doting sisters,
there's a slim chance that she might accidentally play with it by mistake.
BOXING DAY
9) The alpha tortoiseshell is a mighty hunter before the lord.
She can manage with one swipe of an elegant yet powerful paw what it took the Australian people over eleven years to achieve: rodent extermination.
She didn't eat it; she is pictured here nudging the already quite dead varmint to try to make it get up and run around so she can chase it some more.
THE DAY AFTER BOXING DAY
10) Taking a week off is dangerous. Last week was the first week since Boxing Day last year that I did not read and review four novels, and now I'm having hell's own trouble getting up into fourth gear again.
11) One of the boys I was at school with 40 years ago (a category that includes former Senator Nick Bolkus and Greig Pickhaver aka HG Nelson, among others) has not lost his sense of humour.
I learn this while getting the email up to date and reading the December newsletter of my old school's Old Scholars Association. I've written on this blog and in various other places about the crucial importance to me when I was at school of being surrounded by European fellow-students, particularly my Greek mates, from whom I learned that there was a world beyond the Adelaide suburbs. The aforementioned newsletter contains the text of a speech given by Dr James Katsaros, in 1967 the Head Prefect of Adelaide (then Boys') High and now a distinguished plastic and reconstructive surgeon, and Patron of the Adelaide High School Old Scholars' Association. And I'm fairly sure he won't mind me quoting a bit of his speech to Adelaide's Lord Mayor and the assembled Table Captains at a planning gathering, in the Town Hall, for next April's Adelaide High School Centenary Dinner, at which I have already secured my seat:
"When I read ... that our old scholars hold positions of prominence in business and society in South Australia and Australia, I could not help thinking about the likes of Greig Pickhaver, better known as HG Nelson. I wondered how did he develop that passion for Greco-Roman wrestling which we enjoyed so much during the Sydney Olympics? And the answer is, of course, that he feasted daily on the sight of a seething, brawling mass of boys with names such as Koutsamanis, Kari, Finocchio, Zacharoyiannis and Zinghini."
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
If that is the case then I am clearly neither
One 'J_P_Z', a regular commenter at Larvatus Prodeo, has opined in the course of a bit of incomprehensible sledging of the great Leonard Cohen -- J_P_Z is clearly deluded -- that:
Leonard Cohen writes lines that belong on the intellectual’s equivalent of a refrigerator magnet, or a poster with a cute kitten on it (though I suppose in LC’s case, they would be brooding, inconsolable kittens). The funny part to me is that so many intellectuals think that only dim people own refrigerator magnets.
To which I answer:
I am disappointed in this photo, though; you can hardly see anything. The small square magnet reflecting the camera flash is actually an excellent reproduction of Klimt's The Kiss, and the boring-looking triangle near the freezer handle is a beautiful chunk of amethyst crystals wth a magnet on the back.
My favourites among these exhibits include the one that says 'BEWARE OF THE DOG: The Cat is Not Trustworthy Either', and the chimp saying 'I would like to use one of my lifelines.' In the yellowing Judy Horacek cartoon, the woman at the counter is saying 'I'd like a new lease on life, please' and the young man is replying 'I'm sorry, Madam, you're not allowed to break the old one.'
The cutting along the top edge of the fridge and over to the right, held in place by a flower magnet, says 'Kerryn queen of world drivers' and only the people who have driven with me know how funny this is. The other cutting, further over to the left, is one I have had on my last three fridges and saved through four moves, which is how much I love it: it says 'Sometimes the devil comes and helps women.'
There are three cute kittens and one terrifying cat, the one in the mise-en-abîme cat-and-fridge photo.
Leonard Cohen writes lines that belong on the intellectual’s equivalent of a refrigerator magnet, or a poster with a cute kitten on it (though I suppose in LC’s case, they would be brooding, inconsolable kittens). The funny part to me is that so many intellectuals think that only dim people own refrigerator magnets.
To which I answer:
I am disappointed in this photo, though; you can hardly see anything. The small square magnet reflecting the camera flash is actually an excellent reproduction of Klimt's The Kiss, and the boring-looking triangle near the freezer handle is a beautiful chunk of amethyst crystals wth a magnet on the back.
My favourites among these exhibits include the one that says 'BEWARE OF THE DOG: The Cat is Not Trustworthy Either', and the chimp saying 'I would like to use one of my lifelines.' In the yellowing Judy Horacek cartoon, the woman at the counter is saying 'I'd like a new lease on life, please' and the young man is replying 'I'm sorry, Madam, you're not allowed to break the old one.'
The cutting along the top edge of the fridge and over to the right, held in place by a flower magnet, says 'Kerryn queen of world drivers' and only the people who have driven with me know how funny this is. The other cutting, further over to the left, is one I have had on my last three fridges and saved through four moves, which is how much I love it: it says 'Sometimes the devil comes and helps women.'
There are three cute kittens and one terrifying cat, the one in the mise-en-abîme cat-and-fridge photo.
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