Shaking my booty - memories of an undiscovered ballerina.

"Ah!" she said with a sense of realisation. "I see what you're doing."

I waited to receive my diagnosis.

"You turn like a ballerina," she declared.

That was quite unexpected. In all my life, I've never been told I do anything like an ballerina.

I've started a dance class. It's been a while since I took a class. I love to dance, but then I can't bear most people in the world of formal dance. I find the world intimidating. I can move, but usually the class goes too fast for me; I get left behind and before long, I feel useless and give up.

The class is not a ballet class, so turning like a ballerina is a redundant skill. The class is called Born to Boogie and is pitched for enjoyment, although we are learning a routine and will perform in a dance off with another class. I was doing so well until we came to the instruction to "turn". The first time I tried, I didn't make it all the way around. I tried again, and this time kept going. My legs were twisted around themselves like a corkscrew. I could not work out what was wrong. This is when the study was undertaken and the declaration made.

"Have you done some ballet?"

Making friends with my new jazz shoes -
on the feet of a latent ballerina.
© 2014 divacultura

"A long time ago," I whispered.

"Well, it's obviously in your muscle memory then."

I didn't dare tell her that the sum total of my ballet training consisted of about two classes when I was five years old. I hated it. They made us dance across the room in front of the other girls. I was embarrassed. Clearly I hadn't yet discovered my performance gene. I felt ungainly next to the other, wispy girls. Wispy is an adjective that has never and could never be applied to me. Substantial is more likely to be used and that doesn't really work for a ballerina, even when swathed in pastel pink tulle.

I must ask my mother how I came to be at ballet. I was also having piano lessons and went to art and craft classes and judo lessons. Piano turned into a lifelong passion. There is evidence of my participation in art and craft still in my parents' house; it takes the form of lumps of yellow glazed clay dishes, loosely designated as 'ashtrays'. I remember nothing about judo.

I think I must have been a high maintenance child as I always had lots of extra curricular activities. When I was about twelve I went to "cooking for adolescents". You can be forgiven for thinking that the class was for parents so they could cook delicious food for the teenagers. It did turn out to be a cunning way to give my mother the night off as whatever I produced was taken home for the family at the end of the night.

There were eight of us in the class and Mrs Quade was the ferocious teacher. I was perpetually in trouble. Using the tubular spaghetti as a straw may have been one of my transgressions. I thought it was excellent. The cuisine was basic, but I learned some great skills, like how to skin tomatoes and make fresh tomato sauce. My family feasted on such delights as rissoles, sausage casserole and something called "Apple Windsor". I carefully wrote out all the recipes in an anthology book. (Do you remember anthology books? They were a bit larger than an exercise book, one page was blank and the facing page had lines. Both pages had a decorative border. They were for writing out poems and drawing a matching picture. Talk about redundant. Isn't the poetry supposed to paint the picture? I can't draw, and am still haunted by a lumpy drawing of a malformed eagle to accompany the words "He clasps the crag with crooked claw". Well, the 'claw' was certainly crooked.)

My first dance class was great fun. I was complimented on my positive energy again. It seems to be appreciated, but I just hope it's not what people say when they're thinking "oh god, where are we going to hide her?"

In the meantime, I turn like a ballerina you know.

Do you dance? Have you rediscovered a love for something you didn't enjoy in your youth?

Summer holidays - end of part one.

The first leg of my holiday finishes tomorrow.  I arrived at my brother's house five days before Christmas and have had a lovely time.  In between Christmas and family visits, I've been working for my brother catching up on his accounts, cooking, knitting, reading, enjoying having animals around the house.  I have also been to see a couple of movies in Tamworth since Boxing Day.

Family portrait - mother and foal.
Some of my brother's patients.
(c) divacultura 2012

Tomorrow I head over to spend a week with my folks before I head off to music camp.  The house is empty except for me and three cats. The other humans have gone out with my brother for a day of veterinary work.  The chickens are wandering around (I just thanked them for the two eggs they had layed). I occasionally hear the horses talk to each other.  I've put my ipod on shuffle and have just put a large quantity of oven baked bolognese sauce in the oven.  It will be turned into lasagne for this evening's dinner (good for when you're not sure what time everyone will be home for dinner).  It smells divine!  (Wish I could link to a smell for you...)

I'm in a very pretty spot here and the only other sounds are the drone of tractors cutting the lucerne for hay.

On the film front, I went and saw "Les Miserables" by myself a couple of days after Christmas.  I had been so looking forward to it, but I was a little underwhelmed.  I love Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe and thought they were excellent choices to play Jean Valjean and Javert respectively, but something was wrong.  Hugh's singing was a bit overblown and nasal at times and I know he can do better.  Russell did a fair job of Javert.  His singing was better than I expected.  It was tuneful but a bit wooden and plodding.  Still, I cried my eyes out several times!

The two stand outs for me were Eddie Redmayne playing Marius and Samantha Barks playing Eponine.  Eddie is my favourite actor of the moment.  I loved his work in "My week with Marilyn" and also in "Pillars of the Earth" which was screened recently on ABC television here in Australia.  (Shhh, don't tell me the end! I haven't seen the last two episodes.)

The other film I saw was "The Hobbit".  My brother and his wife chose this when I offered to shout them tickets as a thank you for having me to stay.  I had enjoyed The Lord of the Rings films so was happy to go along.  It's spectacular in parts, but is a fairly endless journey that the dwarves, Gandalf the wizard and hobbit Bilbo Baggins are on.  I was a little bored by the whole thing and was annoyed to discover we're only a third of the way there at the end of the movie!  I felt the same way about the book.  (I was supposed to study it for a speech and drama exam.  I couldn't get past the first chapter and still received an Honours grade!)

Yesterday I went to the creek with my brother and found two yabbies in the yabby trap.  They are now living in one of the horse troughs for the time being.

Up close and personal with a yabby
(c) divacultura 2013

Watch those claws! Love the spectacular shade of blue.
(c) divacultura 2013

The oysters we had on Christmas Day were also very good - even if they weren't plucked
from the water immediately before eating.
(c) divacultura 2012

When I took my four year old nephew to collect eggs during his visit, he was so excited to find two waiting for him, he clapped his hands together when he was holding them!  I noticed quickly and swooped before too much damage was done.  He looked a bit surprised and disappointed that they had cracked.

When I said goodbye to the same four year old I asked him who his favourite Aunty is.  Usually I'm on a winner, but today the answer was "No" as he pointed at my sister-in-law.  I'm okay with that.

The full moon rising over the hills was spectacular the other night.  Trying to photograph it with my iphone reminded me why taking possession of a proper camera again is on my list for 2013.

See that speck? It's the full moon peering over the hill.
(c) divacultura 2012

Sunset.
(c) divacultura 2013

The first email I received in 2013 was about how to insert a zip into a knitted article.
The first text message which wasn't about wishing me all the best for 2013 was from Metro Trains telling me that the 4:32pm Williamstown train from Southern Cross Station is cancelled.  Looks like some things won't change in 2013.

When I was eleven

Today I popped into the Sun Theatre in Yarraville to see the film, "I am Eleven".  It's a series of interviews with eleven year old children from all over the world.  They talk about their lives and share their thoughts on life, culture, religion, war and many other things.

If you can, take the time to see this film.  It is funny, astonishing and humbling.

It's extraordinary to hear Remi from France talk about the three types of love there are in the world: love for family; love for people you know, but who aren't your family; and love for people you don't know.  I haven't spent a lot of time with eleven year olds, so I don't have a benchmark to know whether this is what eleven year olds generally sound like.  Remi also had clear views about racism and the French Government's tough immigration laws.  It was incredible to hear him speak and refer to himself as a citizen of the world.

Vandana and Ginisha live in an orphanage in Kerala in India.  They have meagre possessions and speak about never having known a father's love, yet they see the beauty in their shabby, even squalid, surroundings.  Their wide smiles and ambitions for themselves in the face of a very hard start in life brings tears to my eyes.

Billy from the UK has a perpetually worried look on his face and an adult turn of phrase.  He's a comedian but it's hard to know if he knows this.  He speaks about growing up, getting married, having children, grandchildren and then "boom, it's all over".  He seems non-plussed but the cinema audience roars with laughter.  His favourite films are "Dirty Dancing 1 and 2" because of the great dance moves.

Kimberly from New Jersey in the US precociously enacts the scene of her future marriage proposal.  Her Jersey accent is pronounced and it all happens on one date.  It's a boy she will meet in college and he will tell her that he likes her hair.  It's all over after that.

Since seeing the film, I've been trying to think about what I was like at eleven.

I know that I had reached the height I would be (167cm) and had already reached puberty. It was really hard to buy age appropriate shoes.

I was bigger than everyone except the Egyptian girl Dahlia Aziz which meant I had to play Goal Defence or Goal Keeper in the netball team and was always cast in the male parts in school plays.

I had piano lessons, played for as many hours a day as I possible could and attended "gourmet cookery for children" classes with Mrs Quade at the TAFE in Toowoomba.  This meant I cooked dinner for the family on Tuesdays.  I look back at the recipes and laugh at the idea they were considered gourmet, but still remember techniques I learned there like how to skin fresh tomatoes for cooking.

I was in love with Bo Duke (played by John Schneider), the blond one from the TV show, "The Dukes of Hazzard" and would throw a tantrum if I wasn't allowed to watch the show.  My bedroom was wall-papered with pictures of him I had torn from American fan magazines.

I would ride my bike all over town.  I was given a new bike after my brother dismantled my old one and had pieces left over after reassembly.  My parents asked me to take the garbage outside which I did in a huff and returned.  I hadn't even seen the brand new bike waiting for me!

Days would be consumed by reading novels, one after the other.  I think it was at about this age I decided that I would read every novel in the school library, starting with the letter A.  I think I made it to C.

It was at the age of eleven that my worst dental experience occurred, leaving me with a lifelong fear.

My best friend was Angela Seymour.

I think I was in love with Philip Hamilton or Treg Kleidon or one of those boys.  I don't think it was reciprocated, but Philip did attend a college ball with me while we were at university.

I wanted to be an actress or a writer or a musician.

It's interesting to think how much of the person I am today, thirty years later, was evident at the age of eleven.  A good age I think.

What were you like when you were eleven?  Would you recognise yourself?

Indulgence day

It's been one of those days.  With the Anzac Day public holiday and grim wintry weather, I had no incentive to leave the house.  So I didn't.

I slept in! Enjoying the feeling of warmth under the covers while my nose and ears felt the cool air in the room.  I read a book in bed for a couple of hours and realised that I'm going to need better book reading light.  It's been such a long time since I had the opportunity to read in bed that I hadn't noticed.

I cooked a proper lunch:  puy lentils braised with onion, garlic and olive oil, tossed with diced red capsicum and continental parsley and dressed with red wine vinegar.  This was served on toasted pumpkin sourdough bread with homemade beetroot relish.  I crumbled some Danish fetta over the top and served it with baby spinach and rocket leaves.  Delicious!

I indulged myself with some solid DVD watching (Season 2 of the Australian series, Spirited) and made the time productive by keeping my knitting needles active.  Outside the wind blew, the rain fell and inside seemed a very sensible and appealing place to be.

It's been ages since I had a day like this.  I've been on the go constantly, including interstate travel which means when I'm home there's always stuff to be done.  Or I end up working.  It's the nature of being self employed.  I'm not complaining.  It's just not as easy to work when most of the country is on a holiday.  No one was contacting me for a start.

I'm glad I took today for myself.  I have a very busy end to this week and then a solid week of work next week.  Seizing the day doesn't have to mean frenzy.  It can also mean quiet indulgence.

What did you do today?

A trip into vintage recipes - or for goodness' sake, don't get sick!

As the bananas rapidly moved towards the stage of ripeness known as "they'll be good for banana cake", I looked through some cookbooks in my mother's cupboard for a recipe.  I felt certain that the Country Women's Association Cookbook or Common Sense Cookery would have what I needed, but they did not.  Instead I stumbled upon some truly stomach churning delights.

In the twenty-second edition of the CWA Cookbook, published in 1965, the banana section of the index reveals  a recipe for "Banana Steak (Baked)".  This sounded interesting, but was unlikely to lead to a tasty banana cake or bread.  Boy, was I right about that.

At first I thought it was a mistake that it was the second recipe in the beef section of the book, but it wasn't.  You basically take a piece of steak and split it open ("like a book") and put the bananas on the meat.  Season with pepper, salt and grated nutmeg.  Don't forget to sprinkle the bananas with sugar before you close the meat book and bake it in the oven.  I'd need more than the recommended parsley garnish to rescue this travesty!

Flip forward a few pages and you're in the "M" part of the index.  In this case, M is for "mock".  There are several options for mock cream but keep going through the list to find:

• mock brains - cold, leftover porridge, egg, onion and thyme formed in a ball, dusted in flour and fried.  As if real brains weren't challenging enough.
• mock crab - a sandwich filling made from grated cheese, worcestershire sauce and mustard.  Could be okay, but I fail to understand what it has to do with crab.
• mock duck - steak with herbs, pounded and rolled in breadcrumbs.
• mock goose - fried onion layered in a dish with potato and then baked in the oven.
• mock schnapper - potato, eggs, cream of tartar and flour fried in "plenty of boiling fat" and served with lemon.  The wedge of lemon would convince me I was eating fish don't you think?
• mock tripe and eggs - Why? Why? Why? It's just the tripe that's mock - the eggs are real.  This is basically onions stewed in milk.
• mock tripe and mutton - as above but also stew the mutton in the milk.

I'm perfectly terrified when I venture further into the M's to find a listing for "monkeys" but am relieved to discover they are a normal sounding spiced biscuit.  Why they are called monkeys, I do not know.   At least there is no recipe for mock monkeys. 

The foreword to the previous, twenty-first, edition is included in this edition.  Merle Simonsen, the State President in 1963 tells us that the book was revised "to meet the challenge of the changing times and newer cooking methods".  We are assured that the "old proven" recipes have been retained and new ones added.  Who was needing to do all this mocking?

Useful lists of quantities are included at the front of the book to assist in catering for numbers of people.  The list for fifty people includes "5 fowls" and "2 tongues".  Fruit salad features heavily on all the dessert menus and there is even a list of what to do if you need to serve lunch to 300 adults at a public stock sale, whatever that is.

The recipe for curry for 50 people is intriguing.  The only spice listed is a small tin of curry powder.  The other ingredients include bananas, pineapple, sultanas, half a tin of plum jam and almonds.  Very strange when I consider how many spices I include to make even a basic curry these days.  Curry powder isn't one of them!

If the thought of mock brains was enough to turn your stomach, wait until you take a tour through the section on invalid cooking.  After discovering such delights as "beef tea custard" (it is a custard made from beef tea), raw beef juice and raw liver sandwiches, I started to wonder about the purpose of the recipes in this section - restoration or certain death?  If anyone served me the raw liver juice I'd be certain there was a plot to get me.   In fact, I think I'd plead to be smothered with a pillow.  Perhaps I'd muster one last bit of strength to do it myself.  (Raw liver juice is more complicated than you may appreciate - you squeeze the liquid out of the liver, pass it through a mincer twice and then push it through a wire sieve.  You put the pulp on ice for an hour or two and then mix it and the juice up with orange or lemon juice.  Oh, my, god.  Don't forget to serve it in a ruby glass!)  I don't think the ruby glass would be enough to disguise what was being served.  It sounds like something that would be force fed to a contestant on one of those bizarre Japanese game shows.

The Common Sense Cookery Book was published in 1964 and seems to have a less aggressive approach to cooking for sick people in its chapter on convalescents' children's cookery.  There are a few options for making beef tea, but also things like apple delight and various versions of barley water.  Then we meet the brains - brain cakes, fricasseed brains and scalloped brains (served with a quantity of "masking sauce" - perhaps the masking is necessary when we're not mocking them).  Next step into Dickens to find out how to make a cup of gruel.  The best part of the gruel recipe is the instruction to "pour it into a fine china cup within half an inch of the top, and serve very hot on a daintily prepared tray".

All I can say is that I'm very glad that I wasn't trying to recover from an illness in the mid 1960's!

For the last word on entertainment turn to the advertisements at the back of Common Sense Cookery and be persuaded by the ad for "Small's club chocolate for men".  I'm not sure what that's all about at all.