Fly That Flag

Yesterday I shared my table with 10 Aussies. We celebrated Australia Day with the traditional lamb bbq, marinated in Mediterranean herbs and garlic. We feasted on the iconic pavlova, dressed with baked peaches and plum syrup, gifts from our backyard fruit trees. 

Around the table, a blend of cultures and characteristics mixed in a unique fashion we like to call True Blue. My kids are half Greek, half Slovakian. Our friends' children are the happy blend of an Aussie/English...with a hint of Belgian dad, and their gorgeous Nigerian mother. Each one of us, stamped with our own heritage. Each one proud to be Australian.

All the adults at the table have tasted life outside this country. We know we are blessed. We live a life of privilege, and it's marked on our passports with one word, Australia. We don't take it for granted, especially me. 

I gave birth to one of our children during my Beloved's year of consulting in Thailand. Unlike his Aussie-born big sister and brother, our third baby arrived in a Bangkok hospital. Just like them... he was already an Aussie. Born Australian by Decent, his nationality fixed by my own, he was and always will be an Australian citizen. While his birth certificate is in Thai, all his documentation, issued 11 days later states he belongs to me and his father, and has the right to call himself Australian. 

And with that right, comes identity. 

So we embrace the blessing of being Australian. We'll keep our flag strung between the peach and nectarine trees a little longer and give thanks we are free to do so.  Nothing can dissuade us from expressing what's in our thankful hearts. We know who we are, and we are happy to show it. 

The Best Ever Banana Cake Misadventures

I was hoping to start 2012 with a fancy new blog template and other goodies to match my new tag line, The Heartbeat of Yesteryear, but somewhere amidst seaside holidays, Christmas festivities and summer fun... my good intentions got 'lost in the mail.'

Stay tuned though, as they say, and I hope to have more about that, someday soon......

In the meantime, there's much to be said about the slower pace of summer. Fewer alarms ring, fruit falls off the trees before we get a chance to eat it, and my favourite... longer evenings equal walks through shaded streets with my Beloved!

In the early days of this year I baked a family favourite, Marble Swirled Banana Cake. Marbled with chocolate of course! Is there any other kind? That's it, up there. Photo-prettied by my dear daughter as we watched it cool on the bench. After we all sampled a piece, I packed it into the car for a quick weekend trip to Phillip Island.

That night, my family declared it the BEST banana cake I'd EVER made and before the sun had set, half this cake and most of our milk had been gobbled away. If you're a cook of any kind, you will know how good this feels... as you smile and tuck your cake under it's blanket of plastic wrap.

Not good, was how I felt the next morning, when I discovered the kitchen swarming with ants, all celebrating the New Year, in and around my best ever banana cake.

Gone.  Lost.

Destined for ruin even before it had a chance to live a second day. Plans to feed my kids more of this deliciousness, disappeared as quickly as it took to push the remainder off the plate and out the back porch.

I watched as seagulls made a meal of the spoils I had not fashioned for them.

But not to be completely lost, the cake lesson served its purpose. More spiritual than culinary, I realised afresh, not all our plans will eventuate as we imagine. One day we will receive accolades for a job well done, the next, we will bury our mistakes. Some plans will bear fruit, others will die unexplored.

Our plans should never sit in a cold slab of stone. God knows infinitely better how things should turn out, and He has plans of His own for us too.

We can, and should, plan. But we must commit all things to Him and be prepared for the course He allows. It's in our best interest. He is, after all the BEST at making things happen as they should!

'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 

'Plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'

Jeremiah 29:11

Guest Blogging Here Today 

http://christianwritersdownunder.blogspot.com/

Come say hello......

Tell Me About Tomorrow.

Spring cleaning the garage is the best excuse to throw away junk that never made it into the house, or has been sitting there as the last stop before the bin. And then there's 'junk' you just can't part with.

Like the diary I kept during my last year of high school. It's so cringe worthy, I could hardly stand my daughter leafing through its pages when she spied it in a stack of books I rescued from their date with the garbage truck last week. She laughed at my life and the dramas I recorded there, along with the lame details of school days in 1985. I laughed with her. Cried a little too, on the inside. Reminiscing does that to me.

Among the theatre tickets and letters from friends, I cooed over photos of my baby cousin born that year and shivered at the red letter count-down to final exams. Typical teenage notes, phone numbers (some of people I don't remember) and memorabilia fell out of the pages, including signed permission from my friend Trish to use a particular life experience in one of my books, someday. Yes, it's all there, in faded ink, some of it unrecognisable and other stuff... well just plain inexplicable.

Like the newspaper clipping from the Jobs Vacant section, I taped onto August 13th.

Authors

We are looking for writers wanting to develop their skills and have their work reviewed by established authors. Selected works will also be published.

Really? If I had not seen this clipping with my own eyes, I could never have imagined anything like this crossed my path that year. Worse still, is my naive and forgotten response, written in my own hand beneath.

Rang about this. No answer. 

I died laughing!

I don't know what I expected to hear on the other end of the line and I'm kind of glad nobody answered in the end. No one becomes an author by answering an add in the paper, and certainly not at 17.

If I had a moment like the ones in the movies, when the older version of a character gets to speak to themselves in the past,  I would have told 17 year old Dorothy, to just keep writing.

Fill more diaries with words Dotti, no matter how lame they sound. Keep reading, keep scribbling. Practice and don't ever give up on the dream. It has nothing to do with answering newspaper adds. And everything to do with God's timing and your own hard work. 

I like to think she would have listened. Would have rolled her eyes maybe, and followed through. 

But the credits are not rolling yet and there's more to come, I hope. What would the Dorothy of 25 years from now, like to tell me today? Boggles the mind a bit, doesn't it? 

What would you tell your younger self, if you had the chance to spur them on into the future? And what would you wish for the self of tomorrow, to share with you today? 

Wednesday Wishes

On the weekend I followed a walking track along Red Rocks beach on Phillip Island. I have a soft spot for this beach. I've watched my kids play here for the last 17 years, summer after summer. I've walked its length in miserable weather and returned home drenched after a quick downpour. It's delivered everything a beach can, and then some. It's even inspired a story.

This is a beach I know well, but last Saturday we took our directions from a guide book and discovered things we never knew. Things which thrilled me, as this is the beach where my hero and heroine fall in love in my book The Everlasting.

I learned this stretch of beach is the least changed of all the beaches on Phillip Island in almost 200 years of settlement. That's exactly what I wanted to hear. To know the coastal vistas and contours are similar to what my characters may have experienced on their long walks. 

Just off the walking track, my map showed a detour with a local treasure. Tucked along Chillingworth Road, and high on a hill sits one of the island's earliest homes. Built in the late 1860s by the pioneering Richardson family, it was once known as Everton and later as Tallowalla. Imagine the wonderful stories held there of life in Colonial Australia? And imagine me as the new owner... because it's for sale! Yes... a fancy For Sale sign greeted us as we climbed the hill to the garden gate.

Alas, a friendly chat with the current owner left me with no illusions. While I may dream of hosting writing retreats there and sharing the ocean views with friends, the price tag means I can only add this location to the fiction rattling around in my head. 

But, if I cannot live there for real... I know I can set all sorts of dramas there on paper and perhaps feature this beautiful home in another of my stories. 

Victorian Era Remedies

Skin Care

School holidays and second hand book stores are made for each other. At least on my calendar, they are. And last week was no exception. As soon as I could, I scoured the Phillip Island antique shops for holiday loot. As always, there's never a reason to hope for treasures. The dilemma remains... what to leave behind?

This time 2 Australian treasures made it to the counter. The Ladies' Handbook of Home Remedies and Grandma's Favourite Remedies. Anything with 'old remedies' really does belong on my shelf. I know it. The books know it. I'm sure the shop keeper sees me coming and dusts off all the 19th century books. Ah, who am I kidding. Since when would a little dust keep me from my finds? Crumbly, faded... it doesn't matter. The older the better. I love to pour over tricks used by resourceful Victorian Era woman.

Here's some wisdom I gleaned from Grandma's Favourite Remedies for eliminating spotty skin and making the complexion bright. And really, how could I not share this? Anything that starts with 'gather lavender' is worthy of a mention. So...

1. Gather lavender, elder flower or citrus blossom.
2. Boil in water.
3. Leave mixture to stand until cool. 
4. Strain the liquid and use it several times a day to bathe skin. 

Grandma from the United States made it into the remedy book too. Her wisdom came in a drink of equal parts wild indigo, echinacea and pulsatilla. They were boiled together, strained off and left to cool. Twice a day she would drink a small glass of this. If anyone knows what pulsatilla might be, please let me know.

And if drinking your medicine was not your thing, you could always make a viola tonic. Used to bathe the skin at night, it was prized for reducing inflammation and soothing the skin. I guess these Victorian women knew when they planted their flowers and herbs, they were not only making cottage gardens, they were stocking their medicine cupboard.

Do you have a home remedy for keeping skin clear? Are your remedies in a dusty book, or is the wisdom handed down from generation to generation?

How long does it take to fall in love?

A lifetime. Each and every day preferably.

Don't you just love that question... and answer? I read it in Melbourne's The Age newspaper recently. The writer commented anonymously on a relationship blog and gave his answer to why some find love, while others never do. Why some couples who once had it, wonder where it's gone...


When love is something you cherish every day, then every day is the perfect day to fall in love.


This is why so many are drawn to read romance. We don't just relish that one moment of conquest, when the hero secures the heroine and makes her his forever. (Although that is a pretty fine moment!) We all identify with the victories which lead to forever. The small yet poignant moments when even a look is as powerful as a grand gesture. And sometimes, even more so.


When grand gestures become yesterday's story, it's the adding together of a lifetime of everything else, which keeps us loving. It's the hard work, the silent death to self, the giving... when we think we have no more to give.


It's one more step, as promised by two dear friends at their wedding a few months ago.

I, Nathan, take you, Melanie, to be my beautiful wife. 

It is my promise to you from this day forward, 

to make every effort to step out for you no matter the cost.

In faith, in hope, and in love... one more step.

In our laughter and sadness... I will take one more step.

In our good times and bad times... I will take one more step.

When life is easy, and we are in passionate love,

I will take one more step.

When life is stressful and chaotic and I feel like we are drifting apart, 

I will take one more step.

In the times when I fell like I simply can't take one more step

... I will take one more step.

How to cook kangaroo!

A friend recently asked me if there would be a meal of kangaroo in my novel. It made my stomach churn just to think about it. I had enough trouble watching my hero gut a little rabbit. But in the interest of historical accuracy and from my love of all things Colonial Australian, I delved into the history books and found this recipe.

While I know kangaroo meat is easily found in Australian butcher shops today, I'm not sure the average cook will be too keen to reproduce this recipe from the 1870s. The name of the dish alone is enough to put me off! But... for your culinary adventures, I am pleased to present you with Slippery Bob!

Slippery Bob
Take kangaroo brains, and mix with flour and water. Make into batter. Season well with pepper, salt and then pour a table-spoonful at a time into an iron pot containing emu fat, and take them out when done. 'Bush Fare' - requiring a good appetite and excellent digestion.

I'll say......

Three things the knitting needles taught me.

When my sweet friend Anthea gave me a ball of wool one Sunday after church, my first thought was to to pass it onto my dear mother, the much better knitter and accomplished crafter. Then I looked around at the groups forming in our church pews. Baby knitters negotiated their way around needles to cast on their first row with the able help of those familiar with this beloved pastime. Others, old friends with the cadence of knit and purl, tucked their wool into handbags and pockets, eager to get started at home. All of them, committed to knit woollen blanket squares for the Born-To-Knit campaign sponsored by Save the Children Australia. And I did not want to be left out.

So I revisited the skill my mother taught me, when, as a nine year old, I found myself stuck in bed with the chicken pox. And while I did, God met me there, to impress on my heart a few more life lessons.

1. Mistakes are ugly.

Unlike the gap left by a lost tooth in a little child's smile, a dropped stitch is not at all cute. As creator of this piece, I discovered I couldn't continue knitting when one of my much needed stitches fell away. Not only did my square look wrong sporting a hole, it grieved me to think its purpose would be compromised. 

2. Mistakes are worth fixing.

The first time I suffered a loss, I packed my knitting into the car and drove to Mum's house for help. I couldn't remember how to correct a mistake until I watched her pull the needle off the square and remedy my mess. How good it looked, all restored! Days later, when it happened again, I did the same. Horrified, my kids looked on as I slid the needle away leaving the knitted square vulnerable to more unravelling. But I knew what I had to do this time, and so I mounted my own salvage attempt. 

3. Mistakes are the materials of God's restoration.

While I hated to stop the rhythm of my knitting, I knew I had to retrace my steps and return to where the damage occurred. I had to slow down and work with great patience. Sometimes, this meant undoing many rows to get to my mistake. To approach the error from an unfamiliar angle and work at the delicate task of gathering what was lost. To acknowledge wrong. To sacrifice something in exchange for restoration. 

And it's here where I savoured the best lesson. God reminded me how much He has done to rescue me. How much He sacrificed to ransom all those who belong to Him from where they've slipped, and how He wants me to weave this in my life and relationships.

If I care so much for a lost thread of wool, how much more does He care for those who belong to Him? 

For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost.

Luke 19:10

When First Buds Push Winter Away

If there were a way to rid ourselves of Winter and her blues, I'm sure by now we'd be in the flush of Spring. I have a friend who counts the remaining cold weather days and lets us all know on FB how many miserable, sunless skies are owed to us before the weather turns. (16 for those who are not in the know)


Not that anyone told Spring to hold off 'til then. She's steaming ahead with buds and baby blossoms, already squeezing themselves out of dead looking branches and long forgotten bulbs. 


During a brief moment of wonder and bewilderment, my family recently contemplated moving from our current house to a nearby neighbourhood. After careful consideration we decided to stay put and enjoy our 10th year in this house and garden.


And I'm glad we're staying. For there is no other patch on earth embroidered with the fingerprint of family to match our garden. Lilacs and hydrangeas festoon the garden beds, the touch of my dear Mum who divided her own plants (originally my grandmother's) so I may share in her blooms. Cornflower blue Forget-Me-Nots pepper the walkways and skirt larger shrubs, a gift from my dear Mother-In-Law. A raspberry patch, now looking very much a bed of sticks, will overgrow by summer into a lush reminder of dear Father-In-Law, who one afternoon raided his own berry patch to gift us with a taste of summer. Then in autumn, quince and fig trees, gifts from my dear Dad, will bless our table with mouth-watering fruits. 


While I may not see these family members everyday, I do enjoy their gifts as I spy my garden from the window. I won't kid you. I avoid going out there this time of year. But with the promise of Spring and warmer weather, I plan to pull weeds for the chickens and make room for all the lush newness.


And while I potter among the first buds of the season, I know I will be thankful for family who have shared themselves with us and poured all good things into our home. From cuttings and slips of plants, to physical traits and characteristics, ... to the most important, our Christian heritage and everlasting legacy of faith. 


Do you have the fingerprint of loved ones in your garden? How about on your heart? Has someone divided their own blessings and multiplied them by sharing with you?

For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;

The flowers appear on the earth; 

the time of the singing ... is come.

Song of Songs 2:11