#118 Make an Achievable New Year’s Resolution

July 21st, 1969 was a memorable day for me.

While many people who were alive at the time remember it for Neil Armstrong’s immortal line: “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”, I recall an even more memorable quote.

You see, it was also the day of my grandmother’s funeral, and as her coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, my cousin uttered a plaintive, melancholy whisper: “Did anyone get nonna’s recipe for gigis?”

To understand the significance of his question, it’s important to remember that we didn’t have anything like Google in the ’60s, so once a recipe was lost, it was essentially gone forever.

And so the importance of passing on beloved family recipes was fixed in my mind on that day.

#118 Make an Achievable New Year Resolution

It’s so much easier to do this today.

Researching for this post, what should I come across with the click of a button but the very recipe my cousin thought was lost:

However, this doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile compiling an electronic file of your favourite family recipes, and what better time to bring it to fruition than at the start of a brand new year?

With a clever little app called Recipe Keeper

you can quickly create a bespoke recipe file crammed with all your favourites ready to be converted to a PDF file and shared.

The absolute beauty of this app is that — while it’s possible to type and do the lay-out for each recipe yourself if you’re a masochist — it gives you several simple, painless options for compiling your favourites.

You can copy and paste an online recipe, import a recipe from a website, or scan it from a photo or scan it from a PDF or even take a photo from your own old recipe book and it miraculously knows that there’s a precious recipe to be plucked out amongst all the chatter and cooking stains. It then automatically displays it in a perfect layout with any accompanying photo. Only minimal editing skills needed!

You’ll end up with a file on your iPad full of recipes that look stunningly professional.

I can, however, see one potential problem.

There’s always a chance a distressing murmur will ripple around the mourners as someone asks:

“Does anyone know the PIN for nanna’s iPad?”

…you can even print a real book

#117 Avoid a Scam … Or Neglect a Friend?

#116 Give Airbnb a Try

1 Reply

Airbnb has been functioning in Australia for only 12 years, so until recently, I hadn’t jumped on the bandwagon to book a holiday on the site, lest I turn into some sort of reckless adventurer.

But needing a place to stay in Sydney recently and with the usual accommodation at my sister’s in such a state of renovation that Kevin McCloud would confidently predict it was “unlikely to have a completion date this side of 2030”, we decided to splash out and:

#116 Give Airbnb a Try

Why not book an upmarket apartment in the heart of the city with great views and all the mod cons?

Every review for this new apartment was glowing, the ratings universally 5-stars and the praise for our host ‘Anna’* was fulsome. What could go wrong?

Indeed.

We messaged ‘Anna’ from the airport cab as advised, but alas, she wasn’t at the destination to greet us. And the foyer of the 30-storey building where we were staying needed a swipe card to enter, which we didn’t have, so we slipped in behind a Deliveroo chap who obviously knew the secret code. All very James Bond.

When there was no sign of ‘Anna’ inside either, we wandered up to the kindly concierge who we noticed greeting many of the passing visitors by name. We asked if he could let our airbnb host know of our arrival. He seemed puzzled. He didn’t know an ‘Anna’. So we continued to wait for her.

The place was a bustling metropolis reminiscent of a stay in Shanghai or Bangkok. Students and city workers, retired elders carrying bags of groceries, fit young things with dogs on leashes and numerous delivery men criss-crossed the space. Fascinating! It was like entering another world existing in parallel to the one we knew.

Finally someone walked over to us, said he was ‘Anna’s’ partner, bustled us into one of the sleek lifts and sped us up to our apartment 1310. Was I a little disconcerted that there was, unusually, a 13th floor in this building? Perhaps.

But with its neat layout and great views of central Sydney, the apartment was exactly as advertised.

We nipped out to a nearby food court to buy provisions, but it was only on our return that we noticed the sign in the lift.

AIRBNB STRICTLY PROHIBITED?

Surely this sign didn’t pertain to our stay. It must be a new rule, we thought, a rule for others. How lucky were we to be exempt?

So we went out again to explore Sydney and admire the beauty of the QVB.

The evening was drawing in when we returned.

And that’s when things took a darker turn.

The lift refused to accept the electronic code on our key ring. Others sharing the ride up to different floors had no trouble, but for us, persuading the lift to stop at the 13th floor where resided the apartment with all our belongings wasn’t going to happen.

So unless we were happy to ride up and down all night, never being allowed to exit, it looked like we were stymied.

Back to the kindly concierge. Why could we not access our floor, we asked? He told us we’d have to message ‘Anna’ and tell her to ring the National Facilities Management to sort out the issue.

Could we not do that ourselves? No, he said, it had to be ‘Anna’, the owner he now seemed to know.

Hmm. Suspicious. Did he have anything to do with our predicament?

Fortunately ‘Anna’ agreed to message the management for us.

But then asked us to say we were friends of hers.

Sure, ‘Anna’. I’ve no doubt we look just like all your friends.

After a longer wait, by which time I was ready to throw myself on the mercy of the Management Court if I could just be permitted to retrieve my clothes, two very well dressed executive-types walked officiously towards us holding clipboards. They were very stern. We were not entitled to be there. These gorgeous apartments were for owners and tenants only. Airbnb was strictly forbidden. ‘Anna’ knew the rules!

I suspect it was only by virtue of our age, our gender and by now, our bewildered manner that they agreed to unlock the freeze and let us ascend to the 13th floor. We could even stay for the 3 nights we’d paid.

Since our return home, Airbnb keeps asking us to rate our stay. But oddly, when we go looking for the apartment again on their site, all we get is …

And my conclusion from this adventure?

#116 Don’t give Airbnb a Try. Unless you really love stress in your life.

* ‘Anna’ is not her real name. She may – or may not – even exist. We never met her!

# 115 Give Christmas Shopping a Surprise Twist

#114 Communicate in Chinese

1 Reply

I’m not sure if typing ‘English <=> Chinese’ into Google translate’s website counts as using Artificial Intelligence, but if it does, I’m here for it.

#114 Communicate in Chinese (or 用中文交流 for the aficionados)

During a recent Friends Quest in the on-line language program Duolingo where I’m trying to improve my French, I noticed that the player with whom I was occasionally paired—who from his picture appeared to be of Chinese origin—changed his nickname frequently from one set of incomprehensible Chinese characters to another.

Intriguing. To date, I’d not noticed anyone else changing their name on Duolingo.

Why would he do this? Was he giving himself the name of a Chinese Superhero, perhaps, or was this a secret game he was playing, a game that non-Chinese speakers couldn’t join?

So I took a screen shot of my new friend’s latest name change and copied it into Google translate, only to discover he was indulging in something much deeper than a frivolous nickname upgrade.

He was making an existential comment on his life:

Now my interest was well and truly piqued.

Several weeks later, when we were paired for a Friends Quest again, I noticed he’d given himself a brand new moniker.

I wondered if he were feeling any happier now the worst of winter was over.

Not a bit of it.

Whoa!

was clearly unhappy with the team running Duolingo and wanted them to know it.

A couple of weeks later, his nickname became more pointed:

One of the drawbacks of these Friends Quests is that your success is quite dependent on which partner Duolingo assigns you. It’s like those awful school group projects where if you were the pathetically conscientious one, you ended up doing the brunt of the work.

And so it was becoming with my new friend .

Together we had to complete 20 lessons to be rewarded, but it was looking like bunnykins here was doing most of the heavy lifting:

Hoping to encourage , I changed my own name from the prosaic <Carolyn> to <我们做得到> which translates to <we can do it>.

At least, I hope that’s what is says.

I thought this might be all the encouragement needed to complete a couple more perfect lessons.

Not a chance. Instead, my friend changed his nickname—and his photograph—again, to something I didn’t have to worry about putting into Google translate:

I guess this is an excellent insight for a native Chinese speaker to have, but it didn’t help me.

Our next pairing became even more unbalanced:

GRRR!

So when another friend on Duolingo — one whom I know in real life— sent me this text message …

… I realised it was time to call it quits.

As Duolingo is now letting me choose who my new quest friend will be, I’ve decided to give the flick.

The friendship that had burned so brightly is over now.

As they say, exploit me once, that’s on you, exploit me twice, I’m the idiot.

I’ve moved on to a better friend now. Someone who sticks with their nickname through thick and thin.

And someone who really understands the Yin and Yang of group projects.

#113 Set Yourself a Satisfying Challenge

#112 Attempt a Resuscitation

2 Replies

It was late on a Sunday evening, after the chickens had been safely locked up and the final load of washing was happily swirling in its soapy juices, that I settled down to watch TV and simultaneously send a few text messages.

Except my iPhone was missing. Nowhere to be found, even after upending all the sofa cushions, checking every room I’d wandered into on the way towards relaxation time and dialling it from my landline.

I knew it couldn’t be lost. I’d had it not forty minutes ago, just before, just before … putting on the washing.

OMG the washing! Had the phone been in the pocket of my jeans?

#112 Attempt a Resuscitation

It’s hard to describe the feeling of watching your iPhone grinning gleefully at you as it sloshes around in sudsy water from inside your washing machine .

Did you know that interrupting front loading washing machines mid-cycle is not at all intuitive?

And it’s terribly stressful trying to locate a 10-year-old washing machine instruction manual in a hurry, find the section on “How to Add or Remove Items From Your Machine”, then discover it’s nigh on impossible if the drum is full of water. The internal screaming at your own stupidity doesn’t help either.

So I resigned the phone to its fate, managed to switch the washer to a shorter cycle and spin, all the while googling “Can a Drowned iPhone be saved?”

It turns out, that’s not as stupid as it sounds. If the immersion has been short-lived, there’s an outside chance of rescue. But there was no mention of “full cycle”, “soap”, “suds” and “high speed spinning”.

Following Google’s advice, I switched the phone off the second I could retrieve it (and it did look very clean) removed the SIM card, rinsed the phone of soapy residue and put it in a jar of rice.

The next morning, after further research told me that rice isn’t a good idea because small grains can get into the mechanism, I moved onto silica beads.

*DO NOT EAT ME … but do save me for a rainy day*

You know the ones. They come in little sachets slipped into various purchases to reduce damp spoilage and they have written exhortations on the packets not to ingest them on pain of death.

But the few packs I could scavenge didn’t seem enough, so I bought more from my friendly hardware monolith, slipped the phone into an old sock and buried it in a heap of the beads for 5 days.

*… and that’s the SIM card at the top, wrapped in a piece of tissue in an attempt to salvage it as well.*

The amount of water extracted after the first 5 days was surprising

so I repeated the process with fresh beads for another 5 days with similar results. (Being without your phone for ten days is a whole other story … )

Being loath to risk electrocution by turning it on or recharging it after such a soaking, I took it into a very brave iPhone repairer who did the deed for me. He, too, was mightily impressed with the silica beads’ water extraction capabilities and offered to nurse the phone on his bespoke temperature controlled warming-bed for another 24 hours.

I find this hard to believe, but my phone has been working since I picked it up from him.

Yes, really!

I’ll be honest, a machine can’t go through that much trauma and come out totally unscathed.

It can no longer manage facial recognition, take a screen shot or allow me to pay using the Visa card in my apple wallet, but these are minor issues and so far, everything else works pretty well.

HALLELUJAH!

And the major lesson I’ve learned from this adventure? (Well, apart from the obvious.)

Save up all the little sachets of DO NOT EAT silica beads you ever get, because who knows, one day the phone they save may be yours.

#111 Knit The Impossible

11 Replies

It was early May when I first had the ridiculous idea of knitting something I’d never before attempted.

A friend and I were browsing in Spotlight, looking for the fabric she needed to complete a quilt for her sister’s expected baby, when I strolled into the knitting section and came across a book of Paton’s (trusted since 1923) Ombré Baby patterns.

As the baby wasn’t due until the end of August, it struck me that I’d have heaps of time to create something small and cute for him.

And I had runs on the board in the craft-y area. Why only two years ago, I’d completed a very, very long winter scarf during the height of lockdown. Easy peasy.

Oh, the arrogance of ignorance.

#111 Knit The Impossible

*So small, so cute—and **trusted since 1923**. Who couldn’t knock a pair of these out in a few days?*

But there were a few important facts I’d overlooked. Sure, the booties were small but it then became apparent that

The wool had a ply only a tad thicker than gossamer
The needles were the width of toothpicks
Four of these tiny double pointed toothpick needles had to be wrangled simultaneously, and
I seem to have grown farmer’s hands during lockdown

The task suddenly took on gargantuan proportions.

*Late May 2022: It took the better part of a month to cast on (undo, cast on, undo, cast on …) without twisting the needles or accidentally knitting backwards*

A few weeks of pixie-knitting later, I arrived at the first truly challenging stage of sock creation: turning the heel. What on earth did people do before YouTube videos? Thanks to a knitter who posted this excellent demonstration on how to create a flap before turning it into a heel, the manoeuvre worked out tolerably well—

But then things went awry, and the little bootie took on a life of its own as I tried to follow the obscure instructions (trusted since 1923) on how to knit up stitches at the sides to bring it together before completing the foot section.

Sadly, the final product ended up totally skewed.

*Late Jun 2022: Something important has gone seriously wrong*

Back to the drawing board for a second attempt. Only this time, while trying to neaten up the opening, I narrowed it way too far:

*No sweet little baby foot could squeeze into this one!*

By now, it was mid July and although I’d knitted two booties, knew how to turn a heel and could seamlessly combine the toe section, neither item was good enough to present to a brand new mother. I was ready to admit defeat.

Fortunately, my friend was having none of it. Her gorgeous quilt was almost finished, so she urged me on, believing two tiny matching booties would one day be possible.

And so, several weeks later, spurred by her encouragement and just two days before the baby arrived, I staggered over the finishing line:

*No twisted stitches, no mysterious ‘v’, no narrowed inlet, just two tiny booties waiting for their baby!*

On reflection, it took almost as long to knit these little presents as it did for the parents to create, nurture and grow to full birth size an entire human being.

Isn’t nature wonderful?

*Baby Darcy by @lucypike and @alexwregg*
*Quilt by @l________________p*

#110 Relearn a Language

3 Replies

We’re constantly being exhorted to exercise our minds as well as our bodies, so when a friend told me a few months ago about Duolingo, “The World’s Best Way to Learn a Language” (according to Duolingo’s website), it sounded like an idea that was perfect for the times. Certainly a much better idea than exercising my body which wasn’t ready for anything as dangerous as say, walking.

So I promptly enrolled in their French course, a language I had once haltingly stammered over 50 years ago, and found myself ensnared in a juggernaut of relentless encouragement.

#110 Relearn a Language

The Duo part of Duolingo, as well as meaning two, is also the website’s green owl, a mascot who keeps urging you on in that intermittent re-inforcement fashion that psychologists have shown to be most effective at keeping people trapped in their addictions.

When you least expect it, he pops up to your right

*… to give you that little frisson of satisfaction and convince you to keep going*

or to your left,

It’s much more interactive and engaging than the classes I remember at school in the ’60s taught by the rather quiet nun who’d never been within cooee of France, and the rewards (points to amass, promotion to a higher grade, or just flattering encouragement) are frequent enough to satisfy, but inconsistent enough to keep you returning.

Peer pressure works well, too. Other students will often follow you in the hope of being followed back, so you can send and receive congratulations when you both achieve your goals.

But after six months, and having successfully graduated from beginner’s to intermediate classes, it suddenly dawned on me that I wasn’t enjoying it so much any more.

Each day became filled with too many messages urging me to do even better, work even harder, amass more points, and maintain my position. And if I slipped behind, or was about to be overtaken, the messages arrived as relentlessly as those in the opening scenes of Harry Potter, impossible to ignore.

But still they kept coming, reminding me what I’d achieved that week and what I could do the next:

Finally the shaming began. I was going backwards:

*Oh no! 93 minutes less than last week. A pathway to disgrace*

Things had to change.

I realised that something I was doing for pleasure, purely to keep my mind active—and to prove that I could almost recognise every fifth word spoken during an SBS French film—was turning into a nightmare. I had no time to sleep, no time to eat, no other enjoyments in life. And as I was never going to stroll along the Seine again on a warm Parisian afternoon, would I ever need to ask directions or enquire as to the cost of croissants?

Enough, I decided!

So I’m back to an enjoyable ten to fifteen minutes revision every day.

*Yes, every day. I’m on a roll, you see, and what would Duo think if I suddenly stopped?.*

Who cares about points and promotions?

Anyway, I have a new love now. A friend introduced me to Quordle, and I think I’m hooked.

#109 Play Around with Works of Art

4 Replies

If you’re ever watched the UK programme Fake or Fortune, you’ll know it involves experts investigating the provenance of little known works of art submitted by the owners in the hope that their find is a long lost piece by a Great Master.

Am I the only one who, by the episode’s end, is thinking ‘if it’s so hard to tell the difference between the real thing and this newly discovered offering, does it really matter?’ Although this admission might suggest I know nothing about art.

But the show gave me the idea for a topic to interest my Discovery friends at one of our recent afternoon get-togethers. Why not—

#109 Play around with Works of Art

—to see if we can reproduce them, for better or worse?

The brief was broad. Take any work of art you like and using materials of your choice, recreate it. Then show us a photograph of the original art work and your copy.

To allay any anxiety about the need to create something wondrous, I provided a couple of examples of what could be achieved with simple tools:

On the left is **Untitled** by R Ryman. It sold for $3.9 Million USD. On the right is my copy—*Wall—* worth $0

And another:

On the left: **Still Life with Fruit** by artist Belinda Nott. On the right: **Lemons from the Garden**.

Everyone was given a couple of weeks to prepare their masterpiece, and they rose to the occasion with fabulous offerings. I challenge you to pick the original!

One of these is Margaret Olley’s **Pomegranates 1** and the other isn’t

Can you tell the real Kandinsky **Colour Study** from the fake?

The mood of Clarice Beckett’s **End of the Garden** has been cleverly reproduced.

Can you tell which is Whistler’s **Arrangement in Grey and Black** and which is the imposter?

An excellent reproduction of Picasso’s **Woman with Dove**

McCubbin’s **Lost (Child)** set among gum trees has morphed into **Lost (Wallaby)** in the scrub

A masterful recreation of part of Bosch’s **The Last Judgement** (top half)

Portion of **Blue Moon** by Mirka Mora—copied using Aldi crayons

Vermeer’s **Girl with a Pearl Earring**—and a few years later?

Art in nature. The rainbow lorikeet, but which one is the fake?

A lovingly recreated **Tea Set** by Charles Sluga

Impossible to pick the real Botticelli’s **Birth of Venus**

A little-known Chagall: **Composition with Goat** cleverly reproduced.

And another Clarice Beckett: **Moonlight and Calm Sea** beside smokey **Sunlight on Lagoon**

Despite the less than perfect results, our intentions were pure, so surely our imitations can be seen as flattery?

It’s not like a certain famous Swedish furniture company that recreated Renoir’s Luncheon of the Boating Party and van Gogh’s The Potato Eaters so they could build the sets to advertise flat pack furniture no less!

The featured image is from a still life by painter Abraham Mignon (1640-1679). The bouquet to its right was gifted to one of our participants.

outsidethesquare101

101 fun and frivolous things to try in retirement: a single's guide