What a gorgeous autumn we’re having! There’s been what feels like another long stretch of glorious warm sunshine and clear skies, and for those of you living in Sydney, I can only say: get thee to a patrolled beach. The water is perfect, but it can’t last. Soon enough it’ll snatch your breath away, but right now floating atop the Pacific feels like a state of grace.
My day started early, about 5 am when Llew’s alarm went off. He’s got rowing training twice a week at the moment – usually I hate this time of year with a PASSION because his alarm always wakes me too, but now that I’m already springing out of bed multiple times a night to skip to the loo, well, what’s another disturbance between friends?
[Just received this text from a friend: Just linin’ up with the masses for some FREE BEN & JERRY’S!
The Ben & Jerry’s store is down the other end of the beachfront, and when I walked past earlier, their ‘Free Ice-cream Day’ had hordes of people lining up around the block, despite there being four other dedicated – and in one case very fine – ice-creameries in the immediate vicinity. Incredible!
My response: You clearly married an Englishman! I wouldn’t stand in that queue if they were handing out the secret to eternal youth. But enjoy! Xx]
At 6 am it was time for my walk with my friend T and her dog E. It’s great, a solid 45-minute brisk walk rolled into a solid 45-minute catch up, followed by a swim. Bliss! And while I was all set to have breakfast with Llewie when he walked in the door shortly after I did, I was sadly out of luck. He had a meeting first thing, so instead ran out the door waving the banana I managed to press into his hand – bah, humbug!
Since then, it’s been another day of truly arduous redrafting and now I am pooped. I can’t wait for the day when I’m no longer working on this particular manuscript. Being able to refer to it in the past tense: now there’s a dream I can really get behind! Talk about an adjustment of aspiration. I just want it off the desktop. I think it’s progressing, but I also worry I’ve completely lost perspective. Oh well. There are a couple of unpublished MS comps closing at the end of next month, and I’m going to throw the MS into at least one of them. That means I’ve got approximately five weeks of intense redrafting left to try and knock it into shape, so while the days are getting shorter outside, mine are getting longer in. No matter: it’s SO SATISFYING at the end of a good day’s work… the only real problem is that I can’t see an end to it.
One last thing before tomorrow I try and find 10 things you don’t already know about me (thanks to Grad’s generously bestowing a blog award on DoctorDi, though I fear I ran out of secrets some time ago!): ever since Shuckin’ Charlotte posted a link to a YouTube video of Julia Child making a classic French omelette, I have been obsessed. If you are remotely interested in cooking, I’ll be amazed if you’re not immediately hooked by this demonstration too. I’d never made omelettes before, but this has now been going on for months in the form of an outright mania. The real addiction came much like a gambler’s does: I had a win right off the bat. My very first omelette was a total success, even though I was using the same dinged old frypan with an uneven raised centre that I bought from Woolworths when I started university in 1992.
My delight was untold. Something so simple gave me more culinary pleasure than I can possibly describe. The glow of accomplishment went right to the heart of my love of preparing food. I was in awe of this perfect omelette, and in awe of Julia.
Then disaster struck. My omelettes kept tearing. I cursed that culpable pan, I replayed the video, I practised so often I imagined I could feel my cholesterol preparing to launch a counter-attack. But never again could I repeat that miraculous feat of my first omelette.
I was despondent. And, like a true addict, I promised myself I’d stay away, all the while chewing the inside of my mouth and fantasising in vivid detail about the circumstances in which I would hit the jackpot. I don’t think a day went by without my thinking of the perfect omelette pan. I began coveting this item with a zeal that really ought to be punishable by law.
Then we found it (because of course I sucked Llew into this obsession too): a Gordon Ramsay non-stick 22cm little number (here’s the larger version), and it was love at first sight. Finally, my friends, I christened this perfect pan last night, and it is such a thing of beauty. Oh, the ecstasy (or should that be eggstasy?)! First came one perfect omelette, and then another. And when I turned my shining face to Llew, he said, “Look at you. You’re so happy you look almost demented.”
And it was true. I was actually beside myself with glee. Giddy. A bit off my head. And that was before eating the damn thing. So how was it? Sublime.