An old wive's tale

Well, I guess I'm not that old.

Last weekend the Mog and I went to say farewell to Jussi, who is about to leave Sydney to return to her beloved New Zealand. Our loss is New Zealand's gain, it's a bittersweet farewell.

I arrived around 1:30 - having eaten nothing at all that day (not even coffee). I was ravenous. Luckily for me, the hostess is one of those crafty types. You know the ones, they like to knit and sew and bake. Maybe you've met people like this before. Apparently it's a dying art, the knit/sew/bake combination. However, I sarcastically digress.

There were coconut scrolls (like cinammon scrolls but fairer, heavy with coconut syrup) gently baked till squishy and soft - perfect with the organic pressed coffee. I delicately enjoyed (or wolfed down perhaps) several of these. Caramel cake. Cookies. Home made baked cheese cake.

Moving on to the second course, there was a plethora of cheese. Fetta, bocconcini, dippy stuff. I ate a lot of cheese. I went back for about three lots of seconds of the cheese plate. I'm all about the cheese. Forget the chocolate, give me the cheese. It was the perfect accompaniment to the champagne profferred by the scary-lookng but perfectly-mannered Flash.

That night (which thankfully for all of us was in my own bed, having almost decided to get hammered and sleep on J's floor - uninvited I might add) I had wild swirly complex dreams involving people and water and swimming. A huge epic dream/nightmare that shifted from time and place - one minute I was a child (and mother at the same time), I was happily married to my husband but living with someone else, people I haven't seen for thirty years flew in and out of the multicoloured jumbled mess of events that flashed and flickered on the movie screen behind my eyes.

It was a glorious shambles of a dream, from which I awoke both refreshed and exhausted - like you do when you read long, sad but beautiful novels. The moment I awoke the details were fresh, now I can't remember anything about it except it was very intense and strongly emotive.

Now we all know it was the cheese.

And here's a picture of the goat-fleece she served up for us to eat. Yum.



That's a witty-knitter's hand holding the pashmak. Mary-Helen and Anne Marie are such wonderful company - they make me want to go back to postgraduate study, to learn to snowboard, to do all those things that are on the list that I ignore each day. I like people who give you energy, rather than take it away. Mary Helen had a close call on the fortunate side when she bound off a sleeve cap with only about 3cm of yarn left over, and no more as back up. Phew.

Speaking of energy, A disco knitter was there as well. Now she's a real racontueur that one. Her assertion that we were all cunning linguists was pretty hilarious. And, she was the epitomy of grace under fire as she had just sufferred a bit of a blow at home the previous day, but didn't mention it at all and breezed through the afternoon giving us all a breath of fresh air. And she helps me understand my rabbit!

Donna and Donni were there too. I see them much more often, so I'm closer to them. It would be kinda wierd to talk about how great they are. They don't suck. How's that for gushy?

Here's a view from Jussi's rooftop. It's the non-tourist Sydney Icon, the Anzac Bridge. Not the bridge you're used to seeing.


Also, it has been noted on the internets that I looked like complete shit that day. The camera, she doesn't lie. Please accept my apologies - it's hard to make a silk purse from a sow's ear.