The Plunge Down Under

Miranda! Miranda!

This was not our first trip to Hanging Rock, nor was it our second.  But it was the first time we climbed the rock to the accompaniment of haunting lines from Peter Weir's 1975 film Picnic at Hanging Rock.   Never mind that we hadn't actually seen the film.  Gillian was only to happy to supply the dialogue, which seemed to primarily consist of the piercing call, "Miranda! .... Miraaandaaaa."  In the story, which many still erroneously believe to be based on true events, three schoolgirls disappear along with their teacher after a picnic at Hanging Rock on a hot summer afternoon circa 1900. One of the four is found several days later, but the others vanish forever without a trace. It is not a story for those who prefer answers and closure.

We did enjoy a picnic at the base of the rock, but that is probably where the similarities to our experience and the one described in the movie end.  For one thing, our picnic consisted of sushi rolls, and for another, we were not wearing long flowing white dresses with black stockings and shoes. It was also difficult to maintain the aura of mystery as we were surrounded by hordes of tourists who, like us, were taking advantage of a beautiful spring day to enjoy the views of the surrounding countryside from the top of the now-famous formation of volcanic rocks. 

Gillian managed to capture some mysterious lighting in the next photo I think.

The boys spent the majority of their time on top of rocks, and in the case of Cameron, trying to figure out how to get back down again.  We had to restrain James from following his hero Gus on all of his exploits, most of which were more suited to a sixteen-year-old than a six-year-old.  As long as someone was taking his photo, James was a happy camper.

The girls did their share of climbing and posing as well.

We didn't encounter much wildlife on this visit.  No doubt the periodic shrieks of Miranda chased them away, or perhaps the noise of exuberant children, but we did spot this little lizard poking his head around one of the rocks at the very top.

 

Spring Glorious Spring

If spring has not been as warm and as sunny as we would have preferred thus far, it does seem to have been kind to the flowers.  I have spent several sessions outdoors with the camera in our front and side yard during the past couple of weeks, and now I invite you to join me on a tour.  The azaleas and freesia have been in their full glory, the blue bells luscious, and as I have crouched down amongst the flower beds, I have found numerous other subjects as well for the camera lens.  It is a never-ending quest, that of the search for the always-elusive perfect photo.  I find the lure irresistible, particularly at the beginning of each new season.

Cameron took the following two photos.  He zeroed in on the tiny pesky creatures that have infiltrated our garden, but I can't blame him.  It is fun to explore the world of tiny crawing things.

This was the view from our front step last week:

For the remainder of the year, the bushes lining our front walk will look a bit tired and bedraggled, but what a glorious two weeks we have enjoyed.  Strangers have paused to comment, and even to take photos.  I nearly became reconciled to them myself, but no doubt I will go back to disliking them by next month.

Below you can see a tree and flower bed in our front yard.  They don't look like anything particularly special from this angle, but this area has been the source of the majority of the flowers in this post. Crouching in the dirt with a lens has given me a new sense of appreciation for what is right under our nose when we walk out of our front door in the spring.

I will end with one last photo from the dozens in my files, preceded by a stanza of a favorite hymn from my childhood.

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

 

Between the Lines, Continued

Last week I conducted a photo tour of a few of our bookshelves, including a brief discussion of what the older three children have been reading.  Since that time the girls have gone on holiday which has given them more time for reading.  Sophie has begun and is loving a novel from the Dear America series entitled A Line in the Sand: The Alamo Diary of Lucinda Lawrence.  This is a book given to her older sister, and when she finishes it, the good news is that there are dozens more books from Katie waiting to be handed down.  So I don't have to worry about finding reading material for Sophie for some time. She and I have nearly finished Anne of Green Gables, and we have Anne of Avonlea waiting in the wings.  I can't imagine the latter will measure up to the former, but we are going to give it a go.

I checked on Katie just now,  It is 10:30am, and I found her in bed still in her jim jams, making the most of her spring break.  Mercifully she has finished the Twilight series, and claims she won't want to read them again.  We shall see.  For now she has turned to a set of books by Patricia Veryan that were favorites of her aunt.  She is partway through Practice to Deceive.  As you might expect it contains the well-known epigraph from Sir Walter Scott, "Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." 

Somewhat to his dismay Cameron is still at school this week.  He didn't complain too much about going today, though, because it is footy colors day.  He has dressed in the colors of the Australian Rules Football team that he supports, the St. Kilda Saints, and was looking forward a day that will no doubt be very light with respect to the academic side of things.  His younger brother is missing all of the fun, including a special movie and popcorn afternoon, because he came down with a violent stomach bug yesterday.  He is currently on the couch expecting the rest of us to wait on him hand and foot.

Speaking of James, he has been our child that has been least fond of books.  I have largely been unsuccessful in getting him enthused over picture books.  When I think of all of the wonderful ones that we brought to Australia with us, nearly all of which he has flat out refused to look at let alone have read to him, I could weep.  He did latch on to a Bible story book last year, however, which I believe I have mentioned in previous posts, and Ross has read every single story in it to him, many of them twice.

As for picture books, I have pretty much thrown in the towel with James.  A new requirement that I have put in place for him is that he must be read to for fifteen minutes before he can have any computer time.  Interestingly, the book he has chosen is one that clocks in at a whopping 675 pages.  It has very few pictures, and who knows, perhaps that is part of the appeal for this child.  So far we have read the first six chapters of The Magic Faraway Tree Collection by Enid Blyton, and James shows no signs of regretting his choice.  Enid Blyton was one of my favorite authors.  I devoured every single one of the Secret Seven series available at our library when I was in elementary school, reading them multiple times over.  She is also a very popular author with Australian school children.

As for myself, I have read next to nothing during the past week.  Ross and I have been both trying to read a book by one of our favorite authors that was loaned to us two weeks ago, so that might explain in part my slow progress.  I haven't managed to read more than three or four pages at a time, so although it is a slender volume, I expect it will be some time before I have finished.  Thus far I have learned that in spite of the millions of words that have been written by and about perhaps the world's most famous author, and in spite of years and years spent combing official records and other sources, we know very little about him.

Bryson therefore turns to describing the times and conditions in which Shakespeare lived.  About three months after Shaekspeare's birth, a particularly terrible outbreak of the Plague occurred in England leading to the deaths of two-thirds of the infant population.  The numbers are staggering and heart-breaking.  A neighbor of Shakespeare's lost four children, and so Bryson concludes that Shakespeare's greatest accomplishment in his lifetime might well have been to survive his first year.

Besides attempting to read Shakespeare, Ross has had several other books on his reading shelf.  I can't really tell you how much he has read of them, although I think he has at least started each one and probably finished a couple.  His ipad is a source of competition for the free time he has and generally wins out.

Just before I began Shakespeare, I perused the pages of the self-described parenting expert John Rosemond's The Well-Behaved Child: Discipline that Really Works.  I credit my mom with first alerting me to Rosemond's sensible no-nonsense parenting columns.  She helpfully sent me his columns from time to time after witnessing some of my more frustrating parenting moments early on, and I remain very grateful for this.  About ten years ago I ended up reading everything written by Rosemond and attending one of his seminars in Pittsburgh, and found it all to be very useful and exactly what I needed.  Recently I decided I needed a refresher course to help with James.  Our youngest decided at some point during the past year that he no longer required in any parental assistance in managing his life.  He was going to be in charge of himself, and he left none of us in doubt as to his decision.  

Ross and I tried various things to change the mind of this little tyrant-in-the-making, things that generally worked with Cameron and Sophie, all with little success, and so it was with relief that I discovered Rosemond's volume on the bookshelf at a local store.  Rosemond loves to shock his readers a little bit, to jar them from what he calls the typical parenting drivel dispensed by so-called experts in most magazines and parenting books today.  If you flip through the pages of his book you will encounter phrases like "How to Become a Big Fat Meanie," "The punishment should never fit the crime (it should be much worse)," and "The Godfather was a parenting expert."  Contrary to what you might think at first, however, Rosemond really does have the best interests of children at heart.  He claims that the happiest children are the most obedient children, and I cannot disagree with that.  I also like his other two parenting axioms:

"No matter how good a parent you are, your child is still capable, on any given day, of doing something despicable, disgusting, and depraved."

"Parents who accept Parenting Axiom One will have a more relaxed, happy, and playful parenthood than parents who do not.  Their children will also be much easier to discipline."

James has not been at all impressed with Rosemond, to say the least.  He now has a chart on the refrigerator to help us keep track of the "three strikes and you're out" principle.  After three strikes, he loses his bicycle and must walk to school, and after four, he spends the remainder of the day in his room with a bedtime moved forward by one hour.  This has made a big impression, as I realized the other day when I heard him describing it in detail to his best little friend from school who was over for a play.  

Rosemond came on the heels of a reading of Louise Rich's long-time favorite We Took to the Woods.  This 1940s book describes how Lousie and her husband chose to live in the backwoods of Maine, miles from proper roads and towns, spending up to two years at a time there before making a visit back to the "Outside."  I struggled to finish this book, although Rich's writing is fairly entertaining, perhaps because I cannot really imagine wanting to live that way for a week let alone for years at a time.  Nevertheless I am grateful to my blogging friend Shanda for alerting me to the book in the first place a couple of years ago.  It took me almost two months, but I did finally make it to the last page.

In complete contrast to We Took to the Woods, I read An Equal Music in fewer than three days.  From the first paragraph it completely consumed me.  I carved out reading time from every possible moment of my days, and nights, until I reached the conclusion.  I first heard of the author Vikram Seth in conjunction with his mammoth of a novel A Suitable Boy, the longest novel written in the English language.  This piqued my interest a few months back, but the book has remained untouched on my bookshelf, next to my camera manuals, which are also untouched.

It was at the urging of Cameron's double bass teacher that I read first An Equal Music.  It certainly opened my mind to a world about which I know next to nothing, the life of a struggling full-time musician who is part of a free-lance quartet.  I was fascinated by this aspect of the novel, and even though I don't begin to have a decent enough appreciation of the music described in its pages, I found myself completely absorbed.  I loved the backdrop of the cities in which the characters moved, London, Venice, and Vienna.  The places were described in such a way that I feel as if I had actually been present during the events of the novel, and even though at times I had very little sympathy for the main character himself, I feel that I have endured some of the pain of his existence.

An author that can make you care enough about a deeply flawed individual to keep reading is a skilled one I think.  The protagonist has been described as "whining" in numerous online reviews, and I can appreciate why many have felt this way.  Certainly his actions toward those he supposedly loves could be read as a manual on how to destroy lives.  I think it is his relationship with his violin that I found so compelling, and indeed that provides the surprising ray of sunshine through the pages of this haunting book.

It is just as well that I don't encounter too many all-consuming books at this stage in my life.  The laundry was completely neglected, the family was served a record number of unexciting leftovers in three days, and I had to set timers to make sure I remembered to pick up the boys from school.  I am a bit wistful for the experience, however, and wonder what the next book will be that I will find so completely captivating.

Birthday Boy

Although it hardly seems possible, on Saturday James celebrated his birthday for the third time in Australia.  This was a big day for him, one he has been planning for many, many months, and he made the most of it.  "I'm the birthday boy, and I am in charge" was his mantra from the moment he woke up until he reluctantly went to bed.  Every dish prepared in the kitchen had to meet with his approval, every activity vetted with him prior to its being carried out, until Ross and I agreed it was a very good thing indeed for all concerned that this day will not occur again for another full year. James made one valiant attempt to carry over his special privileges to the next day.  "Make way for Super James," he announced when it was time for him to exit our pew at church to go down to the front for the children's sermon.  I hastened to remind him that his birthday was truly over and finished.  

The celebrations began as early as Sunday evening last week when we sang happy birthday and ate chocolate cake after our shared meal at church.  This cake he shared with our minister's wife, who showed grace by making no complaint when James promptly blew out her candles rather than his own.

Throughout the week, as he waited impatiently for the big day, James made alterations to his menu for Saturday, changing from pizza to pasta and back again several times, and each day he eagerly examined the mail box each for birthday cards. A special parcel arrived on Friday from his cousin Conrad, who is younger than James by just four days. James had requested a "package of 50 balloons," and so he was quite pleased to open up his present and find sixty balloons with "Happy Birthday" printed on them along with a giant container of bubble gum.  The gum was nearly gone by nightfall, but I have a feeling that I will be picking up pieces of balloon for the next few weeks.

James's only other request for presents was a package of duct tape.  This one Cameron was eager to fulfill as both boys have been spending lots of time constructing various tools and weapons from sticks, rocks, and you guessed it, colored duct tape.  An odd request, perhaps, from a budding six-year-old, but I am just glad that electronic devices have not yet made their way on to his wish list.

The hours between waking up and birthday party time dragged very slowly for James.  His sister saved the day by reading out loud to him.  I wondered why the house had suddenly gone quiet, and walked into the dining room to find them snuggled together on the couch with a book.

Around 12:30 we made our way to a local swimming pool for the party.  This turned out to be a great venue for thirteen excited boys.  The two young women in charge did a fantastic job, shepherding the boys from first the water slide, then to the warm pool for games, and finally to a giant inflatable before it was time to serve the birthday cake.

Next you can see the quintissential party foods in Australia for young children:  sausage rolls, hot chips, fairy bread, and sadly, Master Foods tomato sauce.  It all went down very well with the ravenous boys.  I had a fruit platter arranged to bring, but it remained in the refrigerator.  I blame this on Ross who, as I frantically tried to get everyone and everything out the door in time for the party, kept putting away the ice cream cake back into the freezer after I would take it out.  I guess there generally needs to be some sort of tiff before a party, and this was ours.  If something had to be forgotten it was just as well it was the cut up fruit.  The boys certainly didn't miss it, and we enjoyed it the next day.

We had three special helpers in addition to the staff provided by the swimming pool.  

I have to confess to outsourcing everything for this party, including the cake which we picked up from a favorite local ice cream place.  James chose the three flavors of ice cream as well as the add-ins, which included bubble gum, vanilla, and chocolate mixed together with sour gummy worms, M&Ms, white chocolate, and skittles. I found the combination somewhat revolting, but the boys absolutely loved it. In the madness of trying to get it all served before it melted, I didn't get a picture of the pieces of cake, but here it is before it was cut.  We emailed a photo of James to the store, and somehow they put it on top of the cake.

The remainder of the day was reserved for opening and playing with the many presents and enjoying dinner with good friends in front of the fire.

For the blessing of six years with our son we are grateful.  Happy Birthday, James.  

Between the Lines

This is a post I have been mulling over for some time in my mind but have struggled to begin writing let alone complete.  What, by the way, is the digital equivalent of the expression "putting pen to paper?" It is an expression that I need, but I digress.  Back to my main subject matter, which is what we have been reading lately. I think that I am finding this difficult because I have not been reading nearly as much as I would like.  This is not for lack of books.  There is a bookshelf in every bedroom in this house, including an entire built in wall in Cameron's room.  For fun, I took some photos, partly to practice shooting in manual mode in a variety of lighting conditions, and partly because it's an interesting record of what we have on their shelves at the moment.

The first photo shows a couple of Cameron's current favorites.  After reading Paolini's novels through twice, and then devouring the Rangers Apprentice series, he is looking for something new, so I must try to help him with that soon. 

Next is the bookshelf in the master bedroom which was empty for the first few months we were in Australia, but is now overflowing.  I'm afraid it is more of a record of what Ross and I would like to read as opposed to what we have finished, but it is good to know there are plenty of books waiting in the wings.

In Katie's room I found the books that she chose to bring with her two years ago, not necessarily the ones she finds intriguing at the moment.  I have attempted to keep pace with her current tastes, finding that to my surprise that I loved the entired Harry Potter series, devouring them almost as quickly as she did, although my passion did not quite match hers. While I didn't appreciate The Hunger Games as much as she did, I found them more enjoyable than the Percy Jackson series, and as for Twilight, I would prefer that they had never been written.  We read the first one around the same time, however, so I could discuss it with her, and then I made her read David Barry's hilarious satire of Stephanie Meyer's novels found in I'll Mature When I'm Dead. I can only hope that all that good literature that she has read and listened to thus far will counterbalance books like Twilight.

Next I moved to Sophie's room, where I found a treasure trove of my childhood favorites.  What to do with a child who begs for hardcover copies of the Little House series for birthday and Christmas presents?  Indulge her, of course.  The only problem is that these special days don't come around often enough for her liking.  Roald Dahl is also a current favorite for our nine-year-old.

The reading that has provided the most pleasure in my life lately has been somewhat surprising to me, namely, a childhood favorite that I have been reading out loud to Sophie.  I spent hours upon hours reading out loud to my first two children, but the younger two have been neglected.  For one thing, I had grown rather weary of it after six or seven years of doing so regularly. For another, Sophie and James didn't like it, likely because the material was generally above them. Lastly, it is one of those habits that fell victim to the process of moving to the other side of the world.  I have recently determined to reverse the trend, however, and have tried a couple of different books with Sophie.  We finally found one that is bringing great delight to both of us, and often to others who wander in to our evening sessions in front of the fire.

What has been surprising to me is how much better the book is than I remember it to be.  Perhaps my view was tainted by later books in the series, but this first beloved book is funny, entertaining to read out loud, and also contains nuggets of wisdom that I completely missed as a child.  I remember Marilla, for example, as a fussy old maid, but although she is not perfect, she is wiser in her parenting I think than many of us are today.  I certainly have been taking notes from her as I read.  When Anne refuses to go to school after being humiliated by the teacher, Marilla takes her good Mrs. Lynde's advice and allows Anne to stay home.  Then when Anne loses her best friend Diana, becomes bored, and thus determines to return, there is this delightful exchange between the two of them:

"I'm going back to school," Anne announced.  "That is all there is left in life for me, now that my friend has been ruthlessly torn from me.  In school I can look at her and muse over days departed."

"You'd better muse over your lessons and sums," said Marilla, concealing her delight at this development of the situation.

I love how Marilla concealed her delight, something I am not sure I would have been able to do.  There are many more such examples, and both Sophie and I eagerly anticipate the evening's chapter as we go through our day.  That is the key to sustaining a reading program, I think.  It must be a book that draws the reader in to such an extent that an evening is planned around consuming the next bit.

It seems to me that this post has grown long enough, and conveniently, I have not yet reached what I have been reading, or perhaps better put, have not been reading.  I'll save that, and the tastes of our youngest in books, for another day.

Spring Bling

For many days now I have noticed the appearance of some of my favorite spring flowers in our front garden, and I have been impatient to get out there with my camera and have a play around with them. Finally, yesterday, after what seems like weeks of nonstop wind and rain showers, we enjoyed a lovely, warm, still afternnon.  We all spent some time outdoors soaking it in, the younger two in an imaginary world of orphans stranded in the snow (I think they have their seasons a bit mixed up), Ross and Cameron in a rare fit of gardening activity, and Katie checking in from time to time to see what was happening.  I dug out my macro lens and spent what was perhaps for me the most enjoyable hour of the weekend.  I hope you enjoy the results.

 

Happy Father's Day to my Dad

In my last post, I shared our recent celebration of Father's Day in Australia. Unfortunately, I completely missed Father's Day in North America this year.  I could offer a few excuses, starting with the reality that we woke up to Father's Day on Hilton Head Island after traveling for over thirty hours from the other side of the world.  I could add to that the fact that my Great Ocean Road calendar doesn't have a reminder for the American father's day.  Instead, I offer this post which includes a few words of appreciation for my own dad, as well as a handful of photos I thought he might enjoy.

I don't really think you could ask for a better dad than mine.  He has his faults of course.  I don't plan to dwell on them here, but if you are curious, he would probably be only too happy to tell you about them as he is a pretty humble guy.  What I would rather do is to tell him how grateful I am that I have had the privilege of living my entire life with the knowledge that he loves me and is proud of me.  If only all daughters could share that foundation to their lives, I have no doubt that the world would be a much happier place.

My childhood memories are fairly sketchy.  I am pretty sure that I remember my dad coming into my kindergarten class to talk about teeth.  I remember him a short time later at my grandma's bedside after the car accident that eventually claimed her life.  I remember visiting his dental office one special Saturday when I went to work with him, just the two of us, while my younger brothers remained at home. 

For the most part, however, I don't remember much until my teenage years.  When I think of all the things he must have done for me and with me, it is truly a bit disheartening.  He must have been doing something right, however, because otherwise I don't think I would have turned to him for support and advice through adolescence.

I am so grateful that when I was going through that awkward stage in junior high and high school my dad put his arms around me nearly every night and told me that he was proud of me.  I distinctly remember a period of time (months? years?) when I would remain stiff as a board when he did this, but he persevered. I remember one night when I was sixteen and thought my heart was broken. He sat down at my bedside and wept with me.  Probably my favorite memories are the hour long walks we took most Sunday evenings, just the two of us.  Our conversations covered a wide range of subjects, including matters of faith, current events, financial matters, relationships (so important to the adolescent heart), and plans for the future.  I can only imagine how self-centered I was at the time, but what a gift he gave me over the years by imparting his knowledge and his wisdom and by demonstrating to me the essence genuine love and companionship as we took these walks together.

Shortly before I was married I remember walking with him on a Sunday evening.  We had discussed marriage many times before this, and I would later draw on those discussions during difficult times, so it wasn't really anything new when the subject came up again. My dad wanted me to know that there was more to marriage than finding the right person and living happily ever after.  I was prepared, as well as one can be anyway, for some tough times, based on real life examples he shared with me, and all he had learned from nearly twenty-five years of marriage himself.  I consider this to be one of the greatest gifts he has given me.

Another thing I really appreciate about my dad is how he has managed to sense the times when I have struggled the most as a mother.  He has encouraged me, said kind things to me, and told me he was proud of me at those periods when I have felt most discouraged. I especially remember him cradling our firstborn when she was just a few days old and rocking her to sleep.  Those two continue to share a special relationship, for which I am immensely grateful.

Most recently my dad has been a tremendous source of support throughout our time in Australia.  He has always taken an interest in meeting and getting to know my friends for as long as I can remember, and this he has done with our friends here as well.  Australia was certainly not his idea, nor was it my mother's, but both of them have embraced the opportunity to travel to the other side of the world and immerse themselves in our lives.  What a gift this has been.

The problem with a post like this is that as soon as I publish it, and probably for many days afterward, I will think of things I should have included.  I don't think I can conclude, for example, without mentioning the fact that my dad has been our fixer upper of anything that needs repaired in all of the various places we have lived.  He has taught Ross just enough to get by until his next visit. No doubt there are many more things I appreciate about him that I am not thinking of at the moment but will remember later.  Hopefully, however, I have written enough to help you understand why I love and value him so much.  

Happy Father's Day, Dad.  I hope you enjoy the following photos of a few dads who have learned much from your example.

 

Father's Day, Properly Celebrated

Sunday was Father's Day in Australia.  I must confess to not really doing much for Ross the past two years.  In 2010 we were in the throes of relocating our household to the other side of the world.  I am pretty sure he was in a different hemisphere than we were on the North American father's day in June, and then when it hit us by surprise that father's day is celebrated in September in Australia, I decided it was just too much to handle.  Last year I am not sure what excuse I generated.  No doubt I had one, but this year, I felt I really must make an effort, or at the very least the appearance of an effort.   Thankfully the children were ready with a few ideas of their own, helped by the encouragement they received from school.

We started the day with espresso, freshly squeezed orange juice, and buttermilk pancakes. This was followed by presents and cards both purchased and made by the children, and then later, a delicious barbeque lunch, the first one since last autumn, on what turned out to be a sunny, second day of spring.  

For toppings we had yogurt, maple syrup, powdered sugar, and brown sugar (I threw in some flax seed in the batter in an attempt to counteract all that sweetness).  After enjoying all of these options, Ross felt he really should make a concession to the Australian way of eating pancakes, so he got out the vanilla ice cream.

The moment he finished off the last mouthful, impatient children dragged him to the dining room to examine his stash of goodies.

Cameron helped James make a card, which he proudly completed in his own handwriting and then decorated with his favorite chocolates.

Sophie spent two days drawing and coloring in her card.  Its final question made her dad laugh for several minutes. 

She also made him a number one dad trophy after looking up craft ideas online:

Most primary schools have father's day stalls where children can purchase a gift for their dads for five or ten dollars.  Sophie came home with a fairly useful picture frame for Ross's office.  The boys dutifully brought in their allowance money and went shopping, but were a bit disappointed in what was on offer. They ended up with an ugly garden gnome, a outdoor thermometer in the shape of a frog, and sandwich cutouts.  At least we all had a good laugh when Ross opened them. 

Cameron wrote a poem for his dad, another source of amusement to all.

We threw in some hugs and words of appreciation as well, including one of my favorite sayings of all time from James, "Dad, you are as warm as a gorilla and as wise as a mom!"

Father's day lunch was more of a gift for me than for Ross, I think, as it was organized by someone who both knows and appreciates good food. The afternoon was a lovely one, full of  laughter and friendship.

Lemony green beans, mashed potato, lamb chops, chicken kebabs, sausages, rocket salad, and warm rolls ...  it only got better with dessert when we enjoyed frozen hot chocolate all the way from Serendipity in New York City.

Ross, we hope you felt all of the love and admiration that we intended to send your way on this your third father's day down under.