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Published: September 18th 2006
9/16/06 - 9/17/06 (Sat and Sunday) Martha Stewart Weekend
This weekend was not your typical backpacker’s weekend for me. In the sprit of Martha Stewart I swamped house, did some grocery shopping, flower arranging and even some extravagant cooking (maybe not extravagant but definitely not something I typically do).
Saturday
I have officially been domesticated again (short term only as my last blog mentioned; just 2 years). Stephanie (one of my flat mates; see earlier blogs) broke her back earlier this year and found keeping up with some of the larger (nonessential) tasks around the house impossible. Windows were smudged on the inside face and dirt streaked on the exterior. The kitchen cupboards and drawers were slightly astray, and the garage was collecting a nice little leaf pile that would relocate itself in my room if the garage door and people door were left open in a wind storm. I knew that Stephanie wouldn’t accept my offer to help if I asked, so I did a very deceptive thing. I waited until she’d left the house Saturday morning for her nephew’s birthday party, then changed into my work clothes. Off to work, the house is mine for a few
hours.
I first tackled the living level and ground floor windows. There’s something about newly cleaned windows that make the outside world so much more vivid. The sun seems to shine a little bit brighter and dark storm clouds that much more menacing when seen through clean glass. When the glass was done there wasn’t a streak or water spot to be found. Thanks mom, one of the many talents you managed to pass on to me!!!
The kitchen clean went fast. Washed the cupboard faces and did a bit of tidying in the drawers. The utensil drawer in the kitchen has been a real annoyance to me. It was like quicksand for utensils. A knife, spatula, whisk, bottle opener placed on the top of the utensil pile would in a matter of a few minutes sink to the bottom of the utensil pile, a cross section through the drawer would look like the geology of the grand canyon, varying layers of utensils sandwiched on top of each other. Reaching into the pile was always a bit of a game of Russian roulette. What would my fingers find: a sharp knife blade, the end of a cork opener,
the serrated edge of a cheese grater? My answer to the problem? A system of dividers and some ingenious reshuffling (if I might say so myself). I must say that since the reshuffling, searching for a utensil is not as much fun as it had been!
I’ve found a range of plant life and flowers in season here in NZ that had hit their peak back in March and April in the States. I saw a great deal for fragrant purple iris with the petite petals and just had to buy a couple bunches. There still going strong up on the kitchen bar.
Earlier last week I was invited to a Sunday brunch potluck at Marcos and Jen’s place. I volunteered to bring a fruit dish. Well, I managed to get it stuck in my head that the only thing that would suffice would be frozen melon balls, which in the States would not be a difficult hankering to fulfill. Here, in NZ, during the month of September I found out that’s a difficult order to fill. When I told Stephanie what I was planning to make she tried to convince me that I would be better off
View From My Desk
If your monitor is of good quality you might see my ghost image in the glass.by fruits that are in season and make a regular old fruit salad. She was too late to dissuade me and couldn’t come up with a convincing argument, or perhaps in my old age (ha ha) I’m getting more and more stubborn. I must giver her credit, she was right, this was not the season to go looking for melons. I spent a better part of Saturday checking out fruit stands and grocers for a choice selection of melons (watermelon, cantaloupe, and honeydew). In the end I was able to locate a medium size watermelon (4kg = 8+lbs) and a minuscule honeydew, but no cantaloupe. And get this, the watermelon was $5/kg. When I got up to the check stand the woman that rang my order stopped when she got to the melon and asked ‘do you know how much this is?’ I thought that she’d forgotten the code to enter into the register so I told her it was $4.98/kg. She looked at me and said that she just had to ask, I guess most people come thru expecting the melon to ring up at $5 not $21. Even the checker couldn’t change my mind.
Sunday morning I got up and made my melon ball recipe. I was soooo happy that there were leftovers on the watermelon rind, I scooped them out and devoured the juicy morsels. I must say they were worth every dollar. I would eat watermelon on a daily basis, if it weren’t for the fact that if I had that wish my entire wardrobe would have pink watermelon juice stains. I guess that there are even limits to my stubbornness.
The potluck brunch was fantastic. So many delicious items to choose from, the unchoreographed menu included: nachos, pancakes, bacon, sausage, eggs, muffins, and macaroni and cheese. The dessert carte du jour was just as diverse. I met a group of three interesting South Africans that had shared a flat with Marcos and Jen when they first arrived. Thanks Jen and Marcos - great time.
The last few weeks I’ve found myself getting up earlier and earlier in the morning. Saturday it was 4:30 and Sunday 3:50 during the week I’m typically up until 11:30pm or so. That early in the morning reading is very frustrating so I’ve found myself talking my walks/jogs at those hours. Saturday I headed out to a new destination along the water that my typical route around Parnell doesn’t take me. Watched the sun rise over the water through a peppering of rain clouds. As I pounded it out on the asphalt I couldn’t help thinking that I still can’t believe that I’m nearly half a world away from where I was just a month ago ( half a world away would be Spain, according to a pub quiz question last week).
This final comment is from this evening (Monday), I’d wait to mention it until Monday’s blog but if I don’t record it now I’ll forget it. I road the bus home from work tonight, typically an uneventful five minute ride. The driver this evening had brought is own personal radio on the bus. A minute into the ride the driver turned the radio on loud enough to hear the music all the way back in the rear of the bus. There we were rolling down Parnell Road listening to those classic jazz/big band (hear in your mind: Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, etc…) swing songs of yesteryear. Made me wish I was in a car and could roll the windows down and let the wind blow in. I think a few of us even thought about getting up and doing some dancing in the aisle. I know everyone got off the bus with a bigger smile than when they’d gotten on. I hope to ride on the “music bus” again.
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Uncle Cliff
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And NO White Christmas
You Bloody American Blokes, buying watermelon in the late winter...hope you shot that bloody red beast full of some good double malt Scotch or a fine white lightning Vodka...serve her up flaming...quite a show....Flaming Watermelon of course, we here in USA buy their fresh apples in January dont' look for any snow at Christmas, even on the Southern Alps you gotta ski and snow board there in July you're having FUN on your great adventure. enjoy we're heading out this weekend on our yearly camping trip S. Oregon coast N. California and the Redwoods