Tag Archives: son

Watching the Sailing…Gosford Sailing Club, NSW.

Yesterday afternoon, I was on duty as the sailing parent while Geoff was out on the water doing his sailing course, and our son was sailing his Flying 11 with the Juniors. It was an absolute scorcher of a day. So, after they launched off, I retreated upstairs and bought myself an iced coffee, slice of cake and started reading a fantastic book exploring life after trauma…Leigh Sales: Any Ordinary Day. More about that to come.

“We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch – we are going back from whence we came.”

John F. Kennedy

I am finding myself on a steep learning curve at the sailing club. Geoff is working next weekend, so I’ll be on my pat malone with the lad putting all the bits of his Flying 11 together, which is making assembling my old Ikea desk with instructions and an Allen Key look like a walk in the park. While I wasn’t a complete failure on the DIY front and doing anything practical, I’m become something of a space cadet after almost twenty years of marriage to a guru. Of course, he’s written nothing done, so passing on the baton is going to be depending on the lad and his trusty crew member and his Dad.

“On life’s vast ocean diversely we sail. Reasons the card, but passion the gale.”

Alexander Pope

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Sometimes, I wonder how I became the parent stuck on dry land. I’ve always loved sailing but my mobility’s an issue and at this stage, I’m waiting for Geoff to get through his sailing course so we can get out there in the Laser together. Ironically, after not being able to sail because I had no access to a boat, now I can’t seem to get the boat down to the waterfront which is less than a kilometre away. Ditto with the kayak. Sometimes, you have to wonder how having a Nike moment and just doing it can become so complicated.

“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.”

Louisa May Alcott

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By the way, a year or so after getting his Flying 11, the change in our son is phenomenal. They’re not an easy boat to master what with their more complex rigging and they’re also a faster but more tip-able boat than the bathtub Opti he’d been using before. I think every rookie on the Flying 11’s has a few rough weeks of despair and digging deep as they spend more time in the water than upright, but then after a few months it slowly starts coming together. Then, before they know it, they’ve outgrown it and they’re onto the lasers and something new. That will be our son next season.

“To reach a port, we must sail – sail, not tie at anchor – sail, not drift.”

Franklin D. Roosevelt

Have you ever been sailing and have a few stories to share? I’ve love to hear from you!

Meanwhile, here’s a tribute to my Dad who loves his sailing:

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

 

 

Cuckoo Clock House…Friday Fictioneers.

As soon as he walked in, Jan was at peace. The boy with the cuckoo clock heart, had finally found his tribe in this museum of intricately carved clocks. No longer an outsider, they even shared the same heartbeat.

Unable to afford a human heart, his father had found a mysterious cuckoo clock at the local market, which he prayed would save the life of his beloved son. Yet, although the operation was a success, there was a strange side-effect. Dvorak’s American Symphony played like a broken record in his head.

At last, he understood. It was all about the house.

….

Welcome to another contribution for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wishoff Fields. This week’s photo prompt is © J Hardy Carroll and was taken at the Bily Clock Museum in Spillville, Iowa. The museum building was the residence of Antonín Dvořák during the summer of 1893 where he composed his String Quartet in F (also known as the “American Quartet”) and his String Quintet in E-Flat. You can hear it Here

 

 

Mother & Daughter, Father & Son…

Lately, activities in our household have been shifting gears and new alliances are being forged.

Traditionally, we had something of an unwritten division along the lines of adults in the front, kids in the back. Now, when we’re not doing things altogether, we seem to be splitting up along gender lines with my husband going out with our son, and my daughter and I pairing up. Quite often, this is purely pragmatic.  I always do the dance run, and Geoff does the sailing run. While I love sailing, unfortunately I can’t be in two places at once.

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Like father, like son. The vrroom of a V8 is music. 

Today, was a case in point. The guys went off to watch the V8 Supercars at Eastern Creek, while my daughter and spent a relaxing day at home before heading off to meditation at our dance school in the afternoon. My husband did consider taking our daughter along, but wanted to give our son a special day out. Our daughter and I, also each had a meditation class at the dance studio. So, we were doing our own thing.

That’s not to say that women don’t enjoy and support car racing. Or, that men don’t do meditation. Indeed, I think half the participants in our class were male.  I should also mention that our son has done some meditation before, and that meditation is hardly part of my life. “Maditation” is more my thing. I’ve always struggled to sit still and resemble something of a fidget spinner. Actually, make that a malfunctioning fidget spinner on turbo. That describes both my mental and physical state pretty well. So, you could well say that I’m an alien when it came to meditation. Moreover, our daughter says she would’ve liked to go to the car racing, while it’s not my scene at all.

Rowena with Coffee 2

My usual meditation technique.

I enjoyed my meditation session. We were doing  Kelee meditation was very effective. I recommend that you click through and read more about this. I’m planning to go back for more of a read later. I felt quite energized at the end, although it’s also lifted a partial lid on Pandora’s Box. Stuff’s escaped and is flapping in my face.

While it’s great to let this stuff go, it rarely just flies out into the ether. Rather, it stops and stares me in the face, hovering with threatening, menacing stares. Prods me in the guts. Naturally, it’s very tempting to quickly lock it all back up again. Leave well enough alone. Get it all out of my face. However, it’s easy to forget , that bringing stuff up is the hard part. That it might only take a final boot, to send the lot packing.

My daughter and I arrived home from meditation feeling energized, relaxed and calmed. We also picked up fish and chips on the way home, so were feeling hungry as well. I felt like a treat after a difficult week. We were watching the news when my husband and son walked in from the car racing with beaming smiles, discussing fast cars, deafening engines and flying rubber. Not only that, the photos and video footage were quickly uploaded onto my laptop and my son was perched on the edge of my chair talking me through their day. I felt like saying: “You do realize that we’ve just come from meditation…peace, calm, relaxation.” However, to be fair, the TV had already broken the mood. A seven year old Australian boy is missing feared dead following the terrorist attack in Barcelona. It’s gut wrenching. Evidently, watching the news straight after meditation wasn’t the best medicine either.

I need to lock myself up in a sound proof box.

Make that a dark, sound-proof box. I’ve also just noticed the mess.

 

This is why meditation is a case of “Play it again, Sam” -Casablanca. Most of us can’t live in a state of calm.

Have you got into meditation? Car-racing? None of the above?Please share your thoughts in the comments.

Rowena xxoo

Rowena & Jonathon cooking

A Mother & Son moment when Mr made me pancakes on my birthday. 

 

 

Laugh or Cry: Overcoming Birthday Caketastrophes!

Tomorrow, is our son’s 11th Birthday and of course, it’s going to be bigger than Ben Hur.

Surprise! Surprise! I decided to bake a Chocolate Cake and I’m jazzing it up with a caramel and whipped cream filling and smothering the lot with lashings of Milk Chocolate Ganache and a sprinkling of M & Ms. I know that sounds really indulgent,even decadent, but you only have a birthday once a year!

Chocolate cake…You can’t go wrong with chocolate cake.

The meaning of life can be found in Mummy's bowl.

The meaning of life can be found in Mummy’s bowl.

However, you obviously haven’t heard about my luck with making birthday cakes. It’s so bad that I’ve dubbed it: “The Great Birthday Cake Curse”!! For some strange reason, every single birthday cake I’ve ever made has been cursed, doomed, even double-doomed, as all sorts of dreadful complications set in.

Yet, with the precision of a surgeon, I painstakingly restore the cake and save the day.

Hey, who am I kidding?

There’s nothing precise about me in the kitchen. Rather, I’m very “slap dash”, whacking on the icing to camouflage near-fatal, structural craters, which are so deep that you could hide a semi-trailer inside…even an entire road train!!

Yet, despite these devastating catastrophes, I overcame the hurdles and had that cake out on the plate, candles alight with everybody singing “Happy Birthday”.

My husband’s uncle, who was a builder, always used to say that the difference between an amateur and a professional is being able to cover up their mistakes. Looking at how I’ve patched up my cakes, I can’t help wondering how many houses down in NE Tasmania are being held together by lumps of icing? It’s one of the world’s greatest gap fillers!!

Despite my birthday caketastrophes, I’m renowned for my scrumptious pavlovas and choc-chip cookies. Indeed,  when I took my choc chip cookies to scouts recently, I was quite the pied piper attracting throngs of little admirers. Indeed, after seeing the cookies in action, I decided to throw out my copy of How To Win Friends & Influence People and simply hand out cookies instead.

This only compounds my confusion. What’s the deal with the birthday cakes? Why do I have so much trouble? Who knows? It remains one of life’s great mysteries!

No doubt being more practical than yours truly, I can hear you wondering why I don’t just buy a cake instead? Why do I keep torturing myself birthday cake after agonising birthday cake? Talk about a masochist!

Well, if you have ever made a birthday cake for someone you love, you’ll know precisely why I have to make these @#$% birthday cakes myself. That’s right. I add that magic ingredient…my love. You can’t buy, manufacture or even fake that and it’s not something you can buy off the supermarket shelf!

So here I am the night before Mister’s big 11th birthday expecting a tribe of friends at his party. The cakes have been baked without incident.  Everything is proceeding exceptionally well.

That was until it came to whipping the cream . A relatively simple task but that’s what turned the tide. Actually, make that whipping the low-fat lactose-free cream. Mister and other family members are lactose intolerant. I was concerned that being low-fat might be a problem but I’m ever the optimist.

I’d been beating the absolute crap out of the cream and it was still sploshing around like milk in the bowl when it should have been resembling butter, if not cheese. It had also splattered  absolutely all over the bench, anything parked on it and all down my shirt. That was when I dug out my magnifying glass and had a closer look at the label. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be.  Oh my goodness! There it was. “Not suitable for whipping”. The cake was doomed. The party was doomed.Disaster!!!

It was 11.00PM. The shops were shut and I had two cakes which desperately needed to be sandwiched together. In my desperation, I thought the caramel might just be enough. Being my usual Einstein self, I thought that if I scooped the thicker layer of cream off the “milk” and mixed it with the caramel, to put it good old colloquial Australian lingo: “she’ll be right, mate”.

However…

Instead of bulking up the caramel, the cream almost turned it liquid.  My only hope was that it would fill up the bubbles in the cake before it ran off the edge and onto the plate. Taking a chance, I hoisted up the second layer of cake and prayed it would stay put, despite slipping and sliding around on roller skates. My only hope now was that the chocolate ganache would hold the cake together against all odds.

Not to be deterred by my humble prayers, catastrophe followed catastrophe and if I hadn’t developed resilience from all my previous birthday cake disasters, there would have been tears, loud wailing and unceasing sobs  as I cried and cried and cried….the world’s biggest loser of a Mum!

It might not be my party, but I’ll cry if I want to!! You would cry too if this had happened to you!

I'm not the only one who gets stressed out by birthday parties!

I’m not the only one who gets stressed out by birthday parties!

It’s My Party: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCPqaG8sVDE

 

Then and I guess you can see it coming, the @#$% cream stuffed up the ganache, which was sploshing like a chocolate milkshake. Desperate, I added cup after cup of icing sugar, trying to thicken it up. I’d poured in half the bag and it was still looking sloppy but at least, it was holding some shape. I poured the “ganache” over the cake and I looking like a human pretzel, I crossed everything I had to boost my luck.

But no! The ganache flowed over the top of the cake and kept going creating a moat around the poor, drowning cake. The river was so deep, you could literally kayak through it. Definitely not the look I was looking for so I started bailing the ganache out with a ladle and not unsurprisingly, it sploshed all over the bench and that’s when I found the dog not unsurprisingly underfoot.

This is where the birthday cake curse worked in my favour. Not being my first salvage operation, I had a few  tricks up my sleeve. In this instance, the answer had to be M & Ms. They cover up a multitude of sin. Although thanks to that wretched low fat lactose free “cream”, even they mucked up and were sliding down the cake. @#$%!!!

However, just when you think you’ve hit rock bottom, there’s salvation.

All's well that ends well.

All’s well that ends well.

I could have hugged one of my son’s friends. As he takes his first mouthful, he speaks up like a true Masterchef:

“I know what this is. It’s chocolate mouse!”

I’ve never been so thrilled. The chocolate ganache monster had a name and it was good.

Guess, it goes to show that you can’t go wrong with a chocolate cake after all!

By the way, here’s a past post about Birthday Cakes: https://beyondtheflow.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=5947&action=edit&message=6&postpost=v2

Do you have any funny birthday stories to share? I’d love to hear them!!

xx Rowena