Category: The Life of Lara

It’s all here. Adventures in extreme knitting, the house of poop, and suburban permaculture. You may also find rants about politics, ecology, humanitarianism, responsible living, toe floss, and other topics not covered here. Expect profanity and irreverence. You have been warned.

My latest lust object

Since My Adorable Husband bought me the lens of my dreams, I have decided to start saving up for the “Last Kitchen Gadget I’ll Ever Need”. Of course, I will find other gadgets to covet, but this one should keep me enthralled for quite some time.

Kris linked to an aussie online shop that sells kitchen gadgets, and I found it.

The Kitchen Aid, in Caviar. Click on the picture in the link to embiggen, and see sparkly detail.

Not black, that is just black. The Caviar is SPARKLY black.

So much more useful, to have an appliance that sparkles, don’t you think?

More %$*&^#@ Fires

This time, it’s personal.

My friend Paige (one of the sweetest, most caring women ever to walk this earth), and her family, furry and otherwise, have been evacuated. Of course, they are all terrified.

And my darling Andrew C. (as opposed to my darling Andrew M.) is also in the area. Last I heard, he was heading home from the city to see if he still had a home to go to. He promised to text as soon as he knew anything, and I am still waiting to hear. Mind you, he still hasn’t RSVP’d for a wedding that was four years ago, he has a bit of a reputation for being unreliable.

Anyway, he promised me that he understood that he was more important than stuff, but I am still very afraid.

Paige lives in Belgrave, Andrew in Belgrave Heights. From the look of the map, Andrew and Paige back onto the same gully, on opposite sides. I don’t think I’ll sleep much tonight.

Squish a Litterbug

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When I see someone throw rubbish out of a car window, I get very cross.

If it’s a cigarette butt, I get extremely cross.

If it’s anywhere near the bush, on a hot day, I go thermonuclear. It’s really not very pretty, and I have had to be talked down from following these people home and putting prawn heads in their curtain rails.

But now I have a better solution.

Call the Environmental Protection Authority!

131 555 (pollution reporting, environment information and publication requests) for the cost of a local call within New South Wales (mobiles excluded) or (02) 9995 5555.

They sent the offender a warning, and if a second incident is reported, they will be fined. Of course, I’d prefer there was some form of physical torture involved, but a fine is a perfectly acceptable starting point.

My new love

Breville Ikon Microwave Oven.

When Mark and I first moved in together, he came with a perfectly good microwave. I hated it. With the fiery white hot heat of a thousand suns.

Sure, it microwaved things. It heated things, and then it went beep! I’m ready!

And about a minute later, it beeped again. I’m still ready!

And it went on forever, until you either pressed a button, or opened the door.

I confess, there were rather a few occasions that I fantasised about the death of that irritating (but otherwise perfectly innocent) appliance.

And then it died. Rather abruptly.

Mark insisted on doing the autopsy himself, because it’s fun, because he wants to be the sort of dad that fixes things, and because it’s cheaper. Fast forward a few weeks, a few days of microwave courpse littering the living room floor, toddler accessorising said corpse with various toys, toddler finding screws and small parts to taste, and a few trips to electronics shops for spare fuses, and it was declared officially dead.

Bing Lee has a clearance centre near us, so we decided to go there to look for a replacement. We perused available models, were assured that the incessant beeping was a “feature” that all modern microwaves have, and chose a likely replacement.

At the moment, it comes with a free set of digital scales, “Valued at $99”, and because of Chinese New Year, a free Chinese dinner set.

And when it finishes an allotted task, it beeps. Once.

Yoko Ono

Earlier today, Kris posted about Yoko Ono’s twitter feed. Like Kris, Yoko had been someone that I had admired in the past, I remember her face when John Lennon died, and to me, that face is the very picture of grief. Her love for John (and his for her) has stood as a symbol of a true meeting of minds, a loving and accepting relationship that stood the test of time.

So I logged on, and subscribed to her feed.

A few minutes ago, I got this email.

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As promised

Reason #327 that I adore my husband –

He supports me in my crazy endeavours.

On Friday night, I came home from my ABA meeting (which was a whole ‘nother story), so find this –

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Which, when peeled open, revealed this –

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Which allowed me to take this –

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And this –

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Now, the kid is pretty gorgeous normally, but in the above pic he was actually throwing a whammy. Pretty clever lens!

And in the last picture, you’ll see a very ordinary entree starting to look like glamourous food photography. Taken in available light at the restaurant that mum and dad shouted us Valentines Day dinner at. Free babysitting, a bottle of wine, and a free meal, the perfect ending to a fab day.

If you are ever in the vicinity of Pennant Hills, and fancy a bit of Indian, check out Spices on Pennant Hills Road. The entree was a bit ordinary, and I wasn’t thrilled with the Masala Dosa, but the tomato chutney was killer (I almost asked for some to take home), and the mains we had were really lovely. I think they thought I was a restaurant reviewer when they saw the camera, they made a big fuss of the fact that we didn’t finish our meals (ordered too much food!), and then the chef came out to chat. So I feel a bit of a responsibility to talk them up a bit 😉