about last weekend

Oscars for all my friends!

2012-02-28T16:32:00.005-08:00

Do you agree the Oscars seemed to be about rewarding performances that elevated otherwise pretty average movies? Except for Bret McKenzie in The Muppet Movie, both were awesome. (Slight bias from a Kiwi here...)

Bret McKenzie on the red carpet Photo: Mario Anzuoni/Reuters

I don't know of anyone who saw Tree of Life and didn't end up doing their utility bills by the light of their iPhone. Same with Iron Lady despite Meryl Streep's ever-charming shrugs, head turns and enigmatic smiles. The only resonating scene from The Descendants was George trotting in his flip-flops around the corner to friends. My Week With Marilyn: great ensemble cast but a slight movie... Michelle Williams is a sweetie pie and captured the spirit of the tortured star, but distractingly, looked nothing like her.

via

I can't pretend I watched any of the Oscars, some All-Star game was on the same time, so now you know the master of the remote in our house is an eight year old boy called Cy.

But I did take the opportunity to hand out a few of my own awards during the weekend.

via

The Descendants Award for best Dad on the island:
While I was in Berlin and London Kevin looked after the kids for 10 days without any help - and ran a business at the same time. His email to me in London: "We miss you as a mother and wife but also as an eligible driver." I arrived home and he didn't seem too crazy...

The Midnight In Paris (Dali) Award for best line:
Man Ray: A man in love with a woman from a different era. I see a photograph!
Luis Buñuel: I see a film!
Gil: I see insurmountable problem!
Salvador Dalí: I see rhinoceros!
I arrived home from London to find 10 packets of beef jerky in the cupboard. Anyone who doesn't know what this is: it's dried beef in plastic which does not need refrigeration. There is nothing about any of those words that should be together in one sentence. I immediately went to throw it out. Kevin said: "Don't touch that - I just joined the Jerky of the Month Club and that's my first shipment." Retract above.

The Hugo Award for winding us up all the time:
Cy, eight, says the f-bomb three times and is video taped by his brothers, Harley, 14 and Jackson, 12. As explanation for his cussing Cy said: "They took a bite out of my peanut butter sandwich while I went to the bathroom." Fair enough? Just don't put that tape on YouTube, I said to Harley and Jackson. (Good parenting, right?)

The Iron Lady Award for services to motherhood:
For an hour yesterday I heard loud piercing screams coming from outside. Not wanting to be a helicopter parent I paid them no mind and went back to my random online viewing of red shoes. Eventually I glanced outside to see that all three boys had take off their shirts and were batting each other really hard with ping pong balls. All of them were totally covered with red welts in the shape of balls. What an inventive game, kids! (Sometimes it's just all worthwhile...)

The Descendants Award for being comatose throughout:
This last week I have been sleeping morning noon and night, jet-lagged, discombobulated and not knowing whether I am Arthur or Martha. But George, I could be revived. (Oh Jody ...BeHave!)

The Artist Award for maintaining silence when needed:
No recipients this year.

Any award giving in your weekend?

Shoes on the Streets...of London

2012-02-23T07:05:00.003-08:00

On my brief stop in London, on my way back from Berlin, the snow had melted but most people were still wearing big ole' boots with many, many layers.

Pink power: art student Amy outside the British Museum

and the Grayson Perry exhibition inside

Just outside the British Art Museum, art student Amy was clutching some grey leather to transform some pumps into unicorns complete with horn and mane. She calls her style "part fantasy, part Harajuku gone mad.... and all pink" Her lace-up boots "from some market somewhere" and her tiara: "Oh I didn't even realise I was wearing one!"

Photos from London Fashion Week showed off-duty pictures of models wearing their boots with denim cut-offs. Funnily enough the rest of the population declined to expose their bare legs.

Alexa Chung at London Fashion Week via

What I've realised is the average Londoner - whatever their age - take fashion risks. They seem not too bothered about appearing coiffed and "cute" but rather aim for the interesting and off-beat. Flea market, main street and designer all get a fair share of the wardrobe. As one friend says: "Sometimes I look a bit cat-lady chic but that's all part of the fun."

That good-natured couldn't-give-a-toss-about-the-matchy matchy has also seeped into the restaurant decor as evidenced by The Zetter Townhouse in the cobblestone streets of Clerkenwell. This is where I met Kate, my Kiwi friend. At the Zetter you feel you are dining at the home of your eccentric old aunt, with a stuffed kangaroo peeking out from the corner, worn winged-back chairs, wafer-thin cocktail glasses and mis-matched plates.

The Zetter Townhouse via

The cocktails are mixed with tinctures, bitters and herbal remedies and I definitely felt a little finer after one...or two. "Supper bowls" of nursery food such as fish pie make you feel old-school posh and longing for the Nanny Crawfie you never had.

Kate and I agreed we were in the glorious shape-shifter years (nearing 50) and opting for looser tops. She wore a Day tunic with tights and her Miu Miu biker boots.

Boots with everything: Kate at home before heading out

Further back in time this couple were posing in Hyde Park for a new TV show called Teen High. Not sure what the era is supposed to be...

Teen High stars in Hyde Park

Next day I was transported to Europe in the Sixties at Leon's just behind the Tate Modern. All Mediterranean oranges, vintage chairs and family photos in Cairo. More modern is the nutrition ratings on the dishes including eight kinds of alerts about things like "Glycemic Loads" which apparently is the quick and the bad sugar. This means you are instantly appraised of how very swiftly that brownie - though locally sourced and lovingly baked - is going to stick to your arse.

I was meeting my old journo friend Catherine, who used to be a health editor for magazines and has now set up an ingenious new website called School Guru, which ranks schools. She, her husband and two boys have left London for a more peaceful life on the sandy beaches of the Isle of Wight where they are remodelling an old guest house.

Catherine in Leon's

Back in Queensway, I had dinner with my old old boss Anne and her family. Anne told me that the hot new cuisine in London is American BBQ, sliders and pulled pork. Anne is now editor of The Times' property and money sections. She had just written about duplexes in Belgravia selling for 46.5 million pounds. Generally I found the flat prices in west London more than double what they were ten years ago.

The Belgravia duplexes, via

Anne in her faux Astrakhan and snowboots

Anne is that increasingly rare creature in media; a top-rated journalist who is also kind and decent. We ate in one of the excellent chinese restaurants off the reassuringly still-scungy streets of Queensway, the last hold-out against gentrification. I forgot to ask Anne how she's kept her cherubic looks; I assumed there's an aging portrait in her attic...

Another friend Emma says she has a good solution (on the aging thing...) Emma and I spent hours and days and years together wheeling babies up Portobello Road and around Kensington Gardens. I'm very cynical about supplements but a couple of years ago Emma started selling Imedeen after one of the products cleared up her eczema. Last summer Emma gave me three months of Imedeen to try (formulated in Denmark and not yet available in the US). I really think it plumped out my skin and I went straight to Boots and bought four month's worth. Both Emma and Joanna Lumley - who endorses it for free - are pretty fabulous testaments.

Emma in Portobello Road

I arrived home as odiferous as a German backpacker, or fair dues, a Kiwi backpacker. Truthfully I hadn't missed the kids at all and hadn't thought about them much either. Then I caught sight of Cy's smelly size two sneakers at the door and felt a little pang. But just let me enjoy my final hour before his other pair of (filled) stinky sneakers arrive home...

Berlinale: First Fame

2012-02-17T08:45:00.003-08:00

Have you ever watched someone become famous in a day...in 90 minutes? The fascinating thing about being with my sister Pietra and her film Maori Boy Genius at the Berlin Film Festival is seeing the first, but sure, rays of fame, shine on her and 17-year-old Ngaa, the subject of her documentary.

Ngaa, me and Pietra

Pietra's film follows 18 months in the life of Ngaa who was chosen at birth to lead his people...at a time when young Maori men are over-represented in the number of High School dropout, arrests and incarcerations. As film reviewers are already saying: it is as if a documentary maker has tracked the young Barack Obama. Growing up in the language and tradition of the Maori culture, Ngaa only learned English at age four, completed a university degree at 13 and devoured philosophy while his classmates were talking about pop stars. At 16 he traveled to Yale for summer school.

After their first sell-out screening in the 1,000-seat theatre, Ngaa and Pietra were surrounded by people asking questions and wanting autographs. Within hours the word was out and I noticed passers-by taking photos of the two of them. Slightly disconcerting for Ngaa who at one stage put up his hood. They even attracted a mad-fan semi-stalker who had to be asked to leave!

Of course this is not the fame of Meryl Streep, also at the festival, or Taika Waititi, Academy-nominated writer and director of Boy, one of the most gorgeous movies I've seen this year and coming to the US in March.

Pietra and Ngaa at the Meryl Streep premiere

and with Taika Waititi

"I really would like to meet Ngaa" an NZ Embassy staffer told me "but I don't want to interrupt him, could you introduce me?" Normally this recognition is reserved for the subject of documentaries, not for the directors. But you can't miss Pietra, 6ft and that's without her usual high heels, with loads of red hair, bright red coat and blue faux fur neckwarmer, and it was great to see many young women asking her advice.

To introduce the first screening Pietra gave the traditional Maori call "karanga" and she and Ngaa sang a song written by Maori soldiers stationed in Germany about missing their loved ones. The audiences here laugh more loudly and cry more profusely than any I've seen. Ngaa too wept, overwhelmed by the film, which he had seen for the first time. Afterwards, wiping away tears, he thanked the audience and explained that it was not only he standing before them but his family (whanau), his iwi (tribe) and his ancestors, who were always with him.

One man stood up in the audience and was actually sobbing. He said he was moved that Ngaa stood so proudly with his forebears behind him. That has been taken from us, said the man, because of the atrocities committed in WW2. They could never again be proud of their forefathers. Another man stood up and echoed this.

From the QandA it became evident that that even the children in the audience had done a lot of research before they arrived. It also became clear that some thought it was a film and Ngaa was an actor. "What is your next film?" they asked.

Question and answer time for Pietra and Ngaa

Pietra and Ngaa got off the plane with a one paragraph in a Wall Street Journal article and two requests for German radio interviews. But after the first screening there followed a great review in Variety, more requests for TV, print and radio interviews and an interview with Pietra for an art installation in a top Paris gallery.

Being with doco makers from breakfast till the small hours I noticed how they supported each other, sharing contacts and information. (That apparently is not true of the movie industry) "If one is successful, it makes it easier for the rest of us." says Pietra. Like Pietra, many of them have to use their own money, re-mortgaging their apartments and maxing out credit cards. Even the most famous of doco makers often do their own filming, editing and marketing.

It's been refreshing to walk around Berlin with Ngaa who has never seen snow. There are not many 17-year-olds I would hang out with all day and all night but he was great company and always very appreciative. Bought up by his grandparents - as is the Maori custom - he has an innate respect for his elders. As I am an elder - one of "the olds" - this is awesome. But because he's so polite we often found him cornered by someone and in need of had rescue.

Getting out of cabs he called to the driver : "Good night, thank you and have a good sleep, sir!" Looking down at his black slip-on shoes he says: "I have to polish these with nugget before I go out tonight."

Ngaa had never been interested in clothes but started noticing the classic style: "I really like those coats, whatever they are called" he said pointing to a trench. The morning I left he was heading off to budget store H&M to look at trenches, leather gloves and dark wash jeans. Oh and pick up a Russian hat from the vendor on the corner. So off shopping, just like any other teen...just not for the usual teen hoodies and baggy sweats. But that's how he rolls.

Berlinale: The Kids Are Alright

2012-02-13T22:25:00.000-08:00

My official role here at the Berlin Film Festival is chaperone to Ngaa, the subject of my sister Pietra's documentary, Maori Boy Genius. This is pretty ironic, as Ngaa at 17 is more mature and sorted than I will ever be. The depths of my immaturity has been plumbed in the last couple of days. But What Evs, peeps. LOL. Smiley face icon.

The Berlin bear and me doing yoga, Pietra at right

Yes, I just had to yell out "Brad! Brad! Brad! Over Here!" when he and Angie arrived for the premiere of In The Land of Blood and Honey which Angie wrote, produced and directed (seriously girlfriend you need to get off the couch and do more...) And climb over the wall and round the fence yelling to the bodyguard: "Take a photo for me, please, please!" And press my nose to the window and yell at Brad again. Oh guys, you could be my friends, you just have to know me.

Me and Brad! Brad! Brad!

Seated at the premiere I physically had to stop myself approaching Brad who was sitting just a couple of rows behind us, so there might have been a bit of fake stretching of arms with quick clicks of the camera in his direction, photos all blurry. Angie must have been feeling sorry for me as stood right by me to make her entrance. Hey girlfriend, I could reach out and touch you (but not in a creepy way...)

Hi!

You might also be noticing that I am wearing a huge faux fur coat. Panicked by reports of lowest temps in the history of Germany, just as I left the house I grabbed the coat I wore for Halloween when I was Margot from The Royal Tenenbaums. (coat in garage, bit musty but few spritzes of perfume and she was good to go). Not sure what look I was aiming for: arty farty unexpected? Not Fozzie Bear vacays in Florida which was suggested. How playful though!

Do you ever have Up In The Air envy of those who roll through airports cool and collected with perky hand luggage. In an attempt to launch myself into that "handluggage only" elite I took only one small-ish bag. Overfilled. The fact is, associating with Fozzie Bear pushed me into circus territory and consequently my bagged was weighed. Sorry airline dude, my bad: 14lbs, not 6lbs as I might have just told you.

Needless to say, the stares and smirks continued all through customs and on the streets of Berlin.

Ngaa, Pietra and me trying on Russian hats

Last night was the world premiere of Maori Boy Genius which is competing in the Generation section, for films about children and young people. The 1000-seat theatre was sold out and many of the audience cried at Ngaa's story. (More on that on Friday) The competition is judged by children and this week Pietra and Ngaa will know they've done well if the kids in the audience stamp their feet loudly at the end. Don't you just love it when the right people are in charge?

Ngaa and Pietra at the Premiere

David and a dog called Goldie

2012-02-10T08:36:00.000-08:00

We've just done the random draw - the lucky winner of the Lesley Evers Valentine giveaway is Inge of Chic and Cheerful. Inge, congratulations! - and send me your details!

(And today I'm off to Berlin Film Festival to watch my sister's doco - I'll see you there...)

This is Tallulah, ten, and her new dog. We haven't met this wonderfully wet-nosed, tail-wacking galloloping little guy yet, but he is out there. My heart sinks.

Me and my puppy, by Tallulah, 10

All these years with four kids I've resisted getting a pet. "Nothing else in the house that poops" has been my rule. But we've been no match for the pestering powers of a tweeny girl who's filled her two-year campaign with folders, drawings and a ten-page essay about how much she will love him.

My final "yes" came last weekend after reading one of the comments on a New York Times story about the powers of a dog. The comment was a poem by David, written when he was 10 years old, and was so moving it drew 253 responses. David is now a very handsome 16. His mother, Linda, is a friend of mine and she tells their story....

"When my son David and I read the article Wonder Dog in the New York Times it immediately brought to mind our wonderful dog Goldie. David has been autistic since he regressed when he was two. Before that he was talking and playing like any child his age. Over a 3 month period he lost those skills and since then has been non-verbal and considered on the severe end of the autism spectrum. Despite every effort possible (we tried them all sparing no expense or effort) David has not improved.

David loved hugging one of our friend's dog and we debated getting one. David also never slept which made the idea of caring for one more creature just a tad exhausting. One day when he was four, we went Christmas shopping and saw a row of dogs waiting to be adopted on the side walk. One look into that rascally mutt's eyes told us she was the dog for us.

Goldie and David at home

The rescue agency warned us that she was "exuberant" but that was exactly what we needed. A dog that insisted to be played with. She and David spent many happy hours playing together and I knew that he was safe under her watchful eyes. Once she even pulled me out of the bathroom and to the window to show me that David had gotten out of the house. Lassie had nothing on Goldie! I often laughed that the mutt from the pound did him more good that all the neurologists and therapists we saw.

David has an amazing mind trapped in a body that does not do what he wants it to. Cuddling Goldie, David could feel where his hands were, where his body was.

Unfortunately, when David was ten, Goldie died after being hit by a car. We mourned her passing, she was that once-in-a-lifetime dog. David has never learned to speak again, but he has learned to type (albeit painstakingly slow). He once loved writing poetry and wrote this poem in honor of her:

Bye Golden Dream Dog

Dog you are free and
your soft brown eyes see the word as big
your strong fast legs run and run
you are at home in a countryside
you run free.

You are mine Goldie
you were my friend without ignoring me
you were a boy's dream come to life
you knew how I wanted to play
you were friend to me.

Dog you were
fast
fun
free
brave
beautiful
beastly
smart
sunny
superb.
You were Goldie.

We loved you
so goodbye with tears and a toss of a ball
be happy and wait
we will play again.

SuperSlagging Bowl Model

2012-02-06T22:10:00.000-08:00

Uh-oh Gisele. Slagging off your husband's teammates? I wouldn't want to be in your Jimmy Choos at the next after-match function. Best grab your half-shandy and head to the table in the corner, chook.

Gisele consoles her husband, Tom Brady. Getty Images

Super Bowl shenanigans yesterday arvo. Sorry, I'm using up all my alliteration allowances for the year, but it's worth it. Gisele Bundchen was caught slagging off teammates of her husband, Patriot star Tom Brady, after the 21-17 loss. (First read on JMW's A Place to Dwell who dubbed her Yoko.)

“You [have] to catch the ball when you’re supposed to catch the ball,” Gisele said in a video posted by TheInsider.com, via TBL. “My husband cannot f–king throw the ball and catch the ball at the same time. I can’t believe they dropped the ball so many times.”

Gisele may have already won a place in your hearts when she revealed herself as an exemplary parent: "When my son eats broccoli, he thinks it's dessert." "There should be a worldwide law...that mothers should breast feed their babies for six months." "I do everything for them...When I'm home, I'm extremely 100 percent present."

You don't have to be steeped in a life-time of sideline sports watching (and I'm not) to know that it might not be a brilliant idea to slag off your bloke's team-mates. Even if they were being a bit butter fingers

I would do a lot for my husband. I even strolled our kids halfway across London every Sunday to a dog-poop syringe-filled field in Barnes to watch him play baseball for hours...and hours. Afterwards at the Ciggy Butt & Grubby Grub pub would I have suggested that others might not be as fabulous a player as he? No, ho ho. I just drank my bad chardonnay, crunched on my stale crisps and kept my counsel. Even if, in fact, I had so little interest in sport, I had no counsel to keep.

Kevin and Harley at the baseball fields in Barnes, London, 14 years ago

Sorry, you're not home free...More rants today - this time it's me over at BritMums. Our lives have gone from contented babies to chaos. Just as we thought we might have the baby thing sort-of sorted, they turned into tweeny teens. It's a sh*t show, people! Our piano teacher just fired us. Apparently my kids' lack of talent and poor attitudes are unprecedented. Help! What to do? ( I know... I'll ask Gisele.)

Guess what? We're selling the piano!

On a positive note, there's still time to enter our Valentine giveaway.

Valentine Giveaway

2012-02-03T09:03:00.000-08:00

Right in time for Valentine's Day, designer Lesley Evers has made black hearts seem utterly chic and desirable.

Photo: Lara Rossignol

Our giveaway today features a choice of the Kylie skirt (above, A-line, retails at $135) or the Penny (below, shorter and straighter, retails at $95) in either black or lime hearts, subject to availability. To be in to win, simply leave a comment below. The lucky winner will be drawn randomly next Friday10th Feb. This is open to all readers who are followers or subscribers. An extra point for each if you facebook or tweet the offer.

Photo: Lara Rossignol

These photos were taken by the prodigiously talented Lara Rossignol (her blog is Piewacket) at the photo shoot at our house. Lara's new website highlights a body of work including family portraits and fashion shoots as well as celebrities such as Dennis Quaid, Liv Tyler and Tarantino. Lara reveals also the grace in our domestic lives and even her Smeg fridge looks sublime.

As with past years Kevin and I will probably allow Valentines to gently pass us by. We're not terribly sentimental and - some would say - not terribly romantic. We go out every Saturday night and Valentine's is one night we'll happily stay in. But like every woman worth her chocolates and roses I love gorgeous big hearts and a kicky new skirt.

What will you be doing on Valentine's?

Riding With Sally

2012-01-30T19:44:00.000-08:00

What's to love about skiing and snowboarding? The majesty of the mountains, the thrill of whipping downhill, that pristine, bracing air.

Me wearing the Mountain: Collage by Harley

Yes, but there's so many other things to enjoy too.

Friday night: I drove the three hours to Tahoe in the dark. (Kevin had to stay behind one night as Cy had try-outs again - soccer this time). In the car: kids, the fridge leftovers and a pineapple... which rode back on the return journey Sunday night, uneaten. 10pm, arrived at our rental house to find the heating broken. Again. I half fixed it and we crawled into bed wearing our ski jackets, didn't get to sleep until 2am.

Sat morning: Woke up feeling as fresh as the day after I had my first baby... following 24 hours labour. Packed up Kevin's and Cy's gear as they were meeting us at the mountain. Couldn't find Tallulah's season pass. Drive the half hour to Alpine Meadows. Arrive at Alpine to a thin layer of snow and icy patches. Line up to get Tallulah a new pass. Her gloves are missing. Find her gloves outside. Line up to go to the bathroom. Leave my gloves in bathroom stall. Haunt bathroom for a half hour as can't remember which stall I left them in.

Sat lunch: Normally we pack our lunch. Somehow in the three hours preparing that morning we hadn't managed to do this, so I purchased a $10 floppy burger and a dry apple.

Sat afternoon: Back on the ski lift. After ten years of snowboarding, realised I couldn't make a turn anymore. Wipe out three times, scraped my knee, twisted my arm and find myself in another strange position midway on Roundhouse run. ..

Help me...

Was just about to weep when my friend Sally skimmed up beside me. Within minutes I was cackling at my inglorious splatter. Do you want to go down this run or this one, Sally asked. Normally I would go down neither. You lead the way I called and we tore off, giggling and gormless like we were 13 again.

Sally and me

And that's what I love about being up in the snow.

My Name Is Tallulah

2012-01-26T13:30:00.000-08:00

Today's news that Demi Moore was hospitalised for inhaling "whip its" (nitrous oxide) for fun made my heart sink. In fact, I'm mad at her. Not that I'm bothered by what she inhales. I'm mad because she's in the news again. And because both our daughters are called Tallulah.

Source: Demi and Tallulah, 16, at a fashion show last year

When we named our Tallulah nearly 11 years ago, we wanted a name that was unusual but not dodgy. "Make sure you name her something where she can be Prime Minister of New Zealand" said one friend. "Make sure it doesn't sound like someone who's working the pole" said another. We were living in London at the time and the newspapers were full of the just-released CIA file on Tallulah Bankhead (what a dame!)

We were vaguely aware that Demi and Bruce had a daughter called Tallulah, now 17, but they seemed to be spending a low key life in Hailey, Idaho. Both their careers seemed on the ebb. Turns out, Demi actually made make seven films over the ensuing years but none of them rang any bells and after seeing Charlie's Angel the critics fixated on how she must have spent a lot of time whitening her teeth.

Image: Rex

I don't wish her any ill. She's not a bad actress, or not as bad as some would like to think. In About Last Night, she shone as a fabulously sexy girlfriend who had a funny friend. Ghosts: kind of the same but older. Indecent Proposal: just sexy. Okay but what about A Few Good Men? She was stalwart and didn't get her kit off, which is considered good enough acting in some circles.

I felt sorry that her relationship with Ashton didn't work out (mind you it was an open relationship and she consoled herself in the arms of a 25-year-old.) I don't care that she's had an estimated $220,000 worth of plastic surgery.

It's just that I thought she was in Hailey, Idaho for the duration and it was safe to call our daughter the same name as her daughter. Now she's everywhere and bouncing Angie off the magazine covers with her sad eyes and gaunt everything. Soon her daughter will be on those same covers.

Our Tallulah, 10, at home yesterday getting ready for Colonial Day at school

All we need now is for one of the Teen Moms to call their daughter Tallulah. In a Social Security Administration report, last year Maci (Teen Mom MTV) was the top trending name while Bentley (her son) was No.1 for boys.

Any new or comeback celebrity threatening to infringe on your name?

An edited version of this is on Huffington Post.

(Today I'm also over at BritMums writing about Giveways - can you attract more readers without losing cred?)

What is a Weekend?

2012-01-23T13:48:00.000-08:00

My latest obsession is the unreservedly snobby Lady Grantham of Downton Abbey, a British drama beginning pre-WW1 and centering on the Crawley family and their servants. Over the Friday to Monday I got a chance to catch up with her. I say "Friday to Monday" because as Lady Grantham enquires: "What is a weekend?"

Lady Grantham with Mary

You see, in the Dowager's world there is no work and every day is a similar round of luncheons and dinners and guests. So, no concept of a "weekend." Weekends, my dear, are beneath you. In fact the posh or "U" thing to say, even later apparently, was "Friday to Monday."

Downton Abbey is the most delectable of period pieces with upstairs downstairs tensions, hunting parties, glorious headgears, late-night dalliances and Dukes up the whazoo. The three sisters are beautiful and complicated, the butler has secrets and what will the sneaky first footman do next. But the star is undoubtedly Lady Grantham, played by Maggie Smith with a battery of icy stare-downs and delightful zingers. See below her encounter with the swivel chair...

In my newly-named not-weekend I stayed home with Jackson and Cy so they could do baseball try-outs. Kevin took Tallulah and Harley skiing.

Instead of boring you with a photo of me in bed watching the telly, here is a kinder image for your eyes... the model from last week's photo shoot, in our bedroom and gazing out to misty skies.

Model Alicia posing in our bedroom

I had hoped to post pictures of me at a wonderful round of parties... instead my dance card was filled with hours on the sidelines of a baseball field, battling whipping winds and rain and having the privilege of overhearing terribly interesting discussions about whether that little person's swing is better than that other little person's.

Jackson and Cy before the try-outs

One thing I don't miss about those Edwardian times though was the place of a young girl. Besides having no rights of inheritance there was a question mark over whether girls should be educated.

Lady Grantham: "Why would you want to go to a real school? You're not a doctor's daughter."
Sybil: "Nobody learns anything from a governess, apart from French and how to curtsy."
Lady Grantham: "What else do you need? Are you thinking of a career in banking?"
Cora: "Things are different in America."
Lady Grantham: "I know. They live in wigwams."

After watching the fashion shoot at our house last week, Tallulah, 10, said: "I'm adding 'photographer' to my list of things to do when I grow up." Her list already includes astronaut, dog-walker, singer and professional soccer player.

Definitely not a model says Tallulah: "There is too much food in the world to love."

Tallulah with her peanut butter sandwich at Alpine

As Lady Grantham would say: "Quite right, my dear."

Photo Shoot at My House (love it, love it...)

2012-01-20T20:31:00.000-08:00

We've just had a fashion shoot at our house. My friend Lesley, whom you might have met here, was taking photos for her spring collection. Last shoot we were away, so this time I hung around to make a nuisance of myself (best boy fetcher anyone?) and watch the magic unfold....

Alexis in my neighbour's Thunderbird Blue

Below is model Alexis arriving at 8am, meeting Tallulah,10 and Cy, seven. She was so natural and so sweet to the kids, giving them a hug at the end of the day.

Model Alexis arrives at our house and meets Tallulah and Cy

Alexis and Joshua (hair and make-up) coming in

Here she is after one hour of hair and make up...

Joshua finishing Alexis' hair and make-up

Alexis arrived sans make-up in an striped XL t-shirt and two-toned Doc Martins from a charity store, worn with thick oatmeal tights and a fringed leather jacket. She told Tallulah and me that she was going through a Japanese street-fashion phase. Alexis was discovered in a coffee shop in LA where she was singing with a punk band and she was immediately cast for the Janice Dickinson reality show.

Alexis in our backyard

She is 5.8ft and naturally an "athletic size two" which is good for California as well as Miami and Istanbul where apparently they like you to be more "glamorous and voluptuous" (size 2?) In New York and Asia she needs to be size 0. To get down to that, her daily intake consists of two protein shakes (kale, spinach, almond butter) and one protein meal.

Lara, who blogs at Piewacket had flown up from LA to take the photos and it was fascinating to watch her work. (She doesn't like to be photographed so you will only see a sliver of her arm here and there.) Lara has been doing this a long time: she photographed the young Naomi Campbell and Kirsten Dunst and did the first headshots of Johnny Depp. Amazingly, through her lens the two models look even slimmer and more beautiful. "It all about the exposure" she says. Though the days were dreary and even rainy and she was shooting inside part of the time, she arrived without no lights or equipment other than a big round white bendy thingy. (Best boy jargon, darlings...)

Lara came alive behind the camera and was enthusiastic and sure in her direction. But the end of the day we were all calling out her signature: "Love it, love it, beautiful, beautiful!"

Two funny things about the shoot - first, the number of people who were there. At times 13 people were bustling around including caterer Erin who dropped off lunch. The crowd included me (amateur location scout who found on our street: a Chinoiserie-style house as a contrast, two vintage cars including a 1955 Thunderbird Blue and Camille the dog who was walking by), Lesley's husband Curtis (best boygopher), Laura, stylist and head of sales.... the list goes on. Lesley recruited from the talented mothers on the playground so I knew most of them.

Laura, stylist and head of marketing, Lesley and Candes, graphic designer

Curtis and the shoot mob hit the road

Me and Candes (graphic design, video) at the street shoot

And second: everyone was taking photos of everyone taking photos of everyone else...like a Escher staircase woodcut. So - Lara was also taking pictures for Lesley and for her own blog and for a behind-the-scenes piece for a Canadian magazine. Lesley was taking a video for her website and blog, Candes, graphic design genius was also taking videos and photos for the LE website and I was taking snaps of all of them for my blog.

Alexis and Tallulah take a break

Time to say goodbye, guys

Day Two the crew arrived at 6.45am waking us all up. They were all treated to me in my dressing gown with bedhead (a veritable vision, sweeties). Later there was a wee bit of discussion about how where the massive bag of chocolate-covered pretzels had gone. (Cyyyy??) Alicia the second model was an art student, again, very sweet. And again, the transformation. Meanwhile Tallulah made her lunch and did the vacuuming.

Despite the gloom and rain, Lara the photographer was able to use every spot of light in the house, even in our bathroom.

Alicia must have been freezing but never complained...

The big news - they used my husband, Kevin, as a model. Lesley has started designing men's shirts and as it happened there was a bloke floating around the house at the time. Well just call me Halle Berry. Just call me Andie McDowell (actually maybe not; their husbands left them didn't they?) The kids didn't know whether to be bursting proud or to snort with laughter. They laughed. My thoughts: "Love it, love it, beautiful, beautiful...."

Kevin poses while Lesley irons

Cy and Tallulah get a kick out of Kevin's poses

Today I'm over the pond minding my manners...sort of. I'm totally chuffed to be featured on BritMums (a 3000-member site for British bloggers) writing about blogging etiquette. Is it good idea to comment: "Whaaoh! Mutton dressed as lamb!" at the sight of a 55-year old blogger wearing a very short denim skirt? Your thoughts?

No Snow Day

2012-01-16T21:42:00.000-08:00

This weekend we headed up to Tahoe, a three-hour drive from Oakland. There was no snow so we spent the whole time organising the ski house we're renting for this season, grocery shopping and trying on all the ski gear. Instead of skiing, we ate and ate and ate; ice-cream cones at Auburn, ikura at Drunken Money, chicken burgers at Bootleggers' the works at KFC and banana splits at Jax's.

Tallulah and me unloading in the no snow.

Just as we did for the last two years we'll be driving up to Tahoe most weekends. I think of those winter journeys back and forth as sacred time to really get to know my kids, to delve deep into our inner thoughts and really talk about our lives. And after five mins of that, the kids put on their earphones to watch psych, leaving Kevin and me in the front happily singing along to dorky Nineties radio stations.

I did grab the chance to tackle Harley, 14, about not being involved at his new High School. Now football is over, his new sport is coming home and winding us all up.

Harley: "You're wrong, I'm in the French Club."
Me: "Kidding me! But you've never studied French, what on earth do you do there?"
Harley: "Everyone brings in French food, it's always a banquet. They give us France books."
Me: "But I've never seen you take in any food."
Harley: "I bought in a couple of croissants the other day. Got them while I was waiting for the bus."

Bingo! Or rather Bingeaux! I spent the rest of the weekend torturing Harley with my Franglais. You simply cannot pass up that kind of opportunity with your children. Enchante!

I've also had a lot of fun helping my dress designer friend Lesley look for props and locations for her fashion shoot on Wednesday. She'll be shooting at our house for two days, but needed other backdrops. Walking around the neighbourhood we found two vintage cars...

One of our neighbour's cars...

...and a Southern-esque home on the corner filled with dusky pinks and chinoiserie, a complete contrast to our house. I'll post about the shoot on Friday. One thing I couldn't help her with though: one of her models shaved her head. Take a look.

Right Place, Right Time

2012-01-13T13:29:00.000-08:00

I've made no secret of the fact that our youngest, Cy, says and does things at the wrong time. Deliciously passionate about everything, especially "baksetball" he runs through life with an enormous grin on his face - unless he's howling with rage. But he can get himself in hot water. And yet sometimes, just sometimes, it all comes together....

Cy, seven, with the Warriors cheerleaders

Last night Cy lined up to get a supersonic-sized soda (as you do when you're age seven) at the Warriors game. For anyone who doesn't follow basketball, the Golden State Warriors are an NBA team in Oakland and they are "super-famous and super-awesome." He turned a second later and there were the Warriors "girls"!

Other times Cy can get in a muddle. At age four at pre-school, he raised his hand to go to the bathroom and was subsequently picked to be the "husband" at a mock Mexican wedding ceremony. For years later he was asked: "How's married life Cy?" and "How's your wife, Cy?" "But" he would plead: "I didn't want to get married. I was just raising my hand to go to the bathroom."

I spent much of my early life failing to be where I was supposed to be (and yet having a bloody good laugh anyway.) Except one night, 16 years ago, I got the right directions to a party in Chelsea, London. That was the night I met my husband. If we hadn't met that night, our paths would have never crossed. That was the night I got it right.

Can you think of a day or night you were magically in the right place at the right time?

(We've just done the random draw for the cashmere-blend scarf Giveaway. The lucky winner is Trish of the hilarious British blog Mum's Gone To... Trish, email your address to me at jbrettkelly@gmail.com and we'll send it right away.)

Whakaneke

2012-01-10T18:00:00.000-08:00

I had intended to write an inspirational "wings beneath my feet, lead and I will fly away" post with a soupcon of wisdom gleaned while home in New Zealand. But nope, nuttin. Oh there is something. It's a wonderful Maori word we learned while tramping (hiking) for four days in the old gold-mining Coromandel Peninsula now home to hippies, boaties and tree huggerlovers.

Kevin and I on the trail to Stony Bay

Doing what the locals do....hugging a 1000-year-old Kauri tree

The word is Whakaneke. The "wh" in Maori is always pronounced "f" so say it now: "fakaneke." Very rich and satisfying, it means to move or shift over. In the context of our tramping it meant to keep going, but make way for other trampers.

While we were walking along the green trail wrapped around the remote white sand beaches, it occurred to me that this was a good metaphor for journalism; which is how I made money in my old life and blogging; which is how I don't make money in my present life.

Driving back to Coromandel Town

At journalism school 25 years ago our tutor made much of competing, always pitting us against each other. You have to get that story first, we were told.

But working as a journalist in London, I realised there was another way of looking at it. The person sitting next to me and I could pitch different stories on different things or different angles on the same things and we would both get published. There were many, many stories to be told and there was room for us all.

Kevin in Coromandel Town

In blogging it's the same. And I've been touched by how generous people are to each other, helping each other along; commenting, linking to each other. (Except for the odd incident like the one I read about the other day where someone objected to a blogger linking to her, claiming she was "trying to steal her readers").

When I wrote my first post 18 months ago I thought delusionally that I would just go viral. Just like that! Someone said to me to me at the time: surely if you don't go big it means no one wants to read your stuff? No, I think it means not enough people know about your stuff.

Dad reaching The Pinnacles' summit

Anyway the viral didn't go and I'm still here plodding along. I'm hoping the blog will somehow lead to me writing for other publications and it has, but slowly, slowly.

The other day Cy, seven, was asking how my blog was going and I told him this. He said: "But Mum, you've been doing this for a while and nothing has really happened. Why don't you just get a job in sales?" My friend said: tell Cy that most people have to work at things for a long time.

Image The Pinnacles

Reaching the summit of The Pinnacles

So I'm happy to keep on keeping on. And I'll make sure to look out for you on the path. Whakaneke. I can step aside to make way for you or we can walk together and talk awhile.... Arohanui (much love) and thank you all for visiting, through all the great views and the dirty boots.

My Mother's House

2012-01-06T12:32:00.000-08:00

One very New Year's thing I do every day, every week, almost obsessively, is purge. Clear out that Vesuvius of effluvia that fills the kids' backpacks, the car, our wardrobes and drawers and the mudroom. Clothes and shoes that haven't been worn in a year and books and magazines that are read are given away to friends, family, to the cleaners or charity. I just gave away a bag of belts that I never wore. (Remind me never to buy another belt. I dream of accessorising but never do).

Yet after visiting my parents in Ohope Beach, NZ, I wonder if I'm fooling myself. Mum and Dad's house always looks open, fresh and modern and yet everything has been in the same place for decades. No gift is re-gifted and each thing purchased has a place.

Mum and Dad's house in Ohope Beach

Outside, every potted plant Mum has been given is there and still alive.

Mum's succulents at the front

In my parents' house we sip from the same blue and white teacups. And look at the same Limoges and Lladro figurines they bought while camping around Europe 32 years ago. The dresser, table and chairs are made of wood shipped back from Papua New Guinea where they lived for five years. The apple-cheeked little old man and lady bought in Switzerland are there on the wall. The dark green and brown oil painting of a paddock scene was painted by my grandfather 40 years ago. The porcelain blue porpoises, a gift from golf friends 15 years ago, are still cavorting near the bathtub. The old family photos are there on the walls, always comforting.

Old photos at my parents' house: me and Harley 13 years ago

Mum and Dad on their wedding day 52 years ago

In the garden all the other presents and found-treasures are there; the swinging teacup, the cloth-capped newspaper boy, the concrete birdbath, the green glass balls. Everything looks just right sitting there.

Mum and Dad's back garden

In contrast I am always furiously shedding stuff. Nine years ago we arrived in Oakland from Notting Hill, London with only our luggage. We had given away or sold everything else. "How can you denude yourselves like that" said one friend. It was, as promised by all the keep-it-simple magazines and organisational experts, very freeing.

I pride myself on not going to "Big Box" stores. You step into those places and spend $500. (On what, who knows?) We have two cooking pots; I burnt the other two and never replaced them. We gave away our coffee machine years ago as I buy my one daily latte. We don't have baking sheets or gadgets; as you might know, I do assemblage rather than cooking and baking and I don't keep things on the bench. I deliberately chose a smaller closet in order to limit my clothes spending.

But I may be fooling myself this shedding is somehow eco, selective or quasi-monastic. I suspect I'm still buying as much stuff as many others. But by not keeping things, I don't have to live with my mistakes or past choices. And somehow, now I'm making it into a virtue. Oh I'm such a self-delusional non-accessorising person.

Which one are you: an inveterate clearer-outer like me, or a keeper-and-placer like my mother? Or something in-between?

Our Giveaway this month is a beautiful cashmere-blend scarf (5.5ft by 1ft) from one of my favourite Ohope Beach stores, 4Art Sake which you may have read about here. Simply leave a comment and, as usual, you get an extra point if you Tweet and-or Facebook the offer. The winner will be drawn randomly next Friday 13 Jan. I bought one of these scarves for myself six months ago and it's deliciously soft.

Travel Is Just So Glamorous

2012-01-03T19:31:00.000-08:00

A very belated happy New Year to you all! We're back in Oakland and we won't be hopping on a plane for many a month. Shame, because air travel is just sooo glamorous. It's exactly like the photo of this new TV show, Pan Am (which I've never seen, but friends say is ghastly, sexy, sexist or boring, depending on their world view).

Pan Am

Below is a picture of our arrival at Auckland airport in New Zealand two weeks ago. At right is me - my feet and legs always swell up to twice their normal size and stay like that for a day. For some reason the photo actually doesn't do justice to the enormity of my cankling. Babies scream and grown men weep. The middle person is Cy, seven, who somehow arrived with only one shoe (but still carrying his two-day old school lunch of spag bol, as you might remember.) And the person on the left is my sister, Sharon, who met us at the airport at 5.30am and was wearing one of each of her sneakers...

Arrival: my sister Sharon, Cy, and me, Big Foot

The huge legs have everything to do with ignoring the Joan Collins old school mode of embarking gracefully and presumably slender-legged: on the plane move the legs and feet continually, don't eat the plane food (not even a salty cracker, especially not a salty cracker) don't touch the alcohol and sip water continuously.

Just as I was shoveling down a plateful of beef bog with a chaser of the kids' cheese on whitemeat meals, finishing with wafer-thin choccies, I suddenly remember. "Joan, Joan... Why have I forsaken you?"

Me and Tallulah on the way home

And how very much I could have achieved on that 12 hour flight. As I've said before, that plane ride could have lent me time to write that elusive novel (about what? who knows...) or at least address the 100 "Happy New Year! Joy!" cards we failed to send before boarding. Or at least at least, watch some of those improving arthouse movies I've read so much about in the New Yorker. Instead there's loads of staring into space for me and blobbing mouth-wide-open at any of the blockbusters with weddings in them. Contributing to the fuggy air, tinged with the all-too-human movements of humanity. Yes, our seats are next to the toilets again.

Any glamorous travel moments in your weekend?

Three Day Rule

2011-12-29T11:56:00.000-08:00

My friend has a theory about staying with family. The first day is golden and everyone is delighted to see you. The second day your family starts treating you like a child. The third day you start acting like one.

At my Sixties party in Ohope Beach: Pietra, Mum, Sharon and me

Forewarned is forearmed and I'm making absolutely sure this doesn't happen during our stay with family in New Zealand. No siree.

Of course after the euphoria of the first day and as the eldest sister I felt it my duty to give them the benefit of my hard-won wisdom. Be selfish not to, really. To Sharon I've kindly and subtly dropped a few parenting tips: "You know, you might want to..." My sister Pietra now knows my views on the correct arch of eyebrow, bronzing creams and blush. Plus best wall colours for their homes, lovely ways to cook fish and how they could help New Zealand get back on track as the surprise superpower in Oceania.


First Day: Me, Pietra and Sharon in Auckland

It's been a tiny bit hurtful to witness their reactions; either snorting, rolling their eyes or, even more stunningly, simply ignoring me. Last night Sharon didn't even lower her magazine when I offered her some advice about her career. (She's a business journalist for radio, but I just wonder if she should have followed her passions as a ballerina. Still time.)

Plus they keep sitting too close to me on my side of the couch.

Okay I've had enough: "You bloody stink bums - get outta here!!! I'm telling Muuuum!"

Nu Zild: Staying "Sweet As"

2011-12-25T13:46:00.000-08:00

A Kiwi reader mentioned the other night I never warn you I'm heading off...I'm simply suddenly there. Bloodyhellsorry, done it again. We're in New Zealand for two weeks, guys. First in Auckland staying with my friend Sue for two nights, then tramping (hiking) in the Coromandel Peninsula for four nights and then home to Ohope Beach in the Bay Of Plenty.

At Ohope, our kids sold (bit runty) Christmas trees on the side of the road for $10. Initially they weren't having much luck. Cy, seven, having watched of lifetime of Disney TV, knew all about incentives and salesmanship, "Let's give cookies too" he said and when they went door to door: "Take me, I'm the cute one!"

Harley, Jackson and cousin Finn selling Christmas trees at Ohope Beach

Cy and cousin Leah

It's been a funny old trip. Loads of things about New Zealand (sometimes pronounced Nu Zild) have changed...

I Scream: There's even more ways to scream your way through the day, as Tallulah and I found when - straight off the plane - we jumped 750 ft off the Sky Tower in Auckland. Have I ever mentioned I am terrified of heights? I've done sky diving (with a hangover, natch) and bungy jumping. But this is scarier - you're jumping into tall buildings and concrete streets. Shamefully I pushed in front of Tallulah, 10. I knew if I waited any longer I would pike (pull out). "The guys here will look after you" I told Tallulah as I headed out to the gangplank. Yes, there have been prouder moments for me as a mother...

Happy now I'm near the road

Tallulah about to jump 750 ft in Auckland

Corrugated ironic: Once a noisy, cheap, hotter-than-hell roofing for bushwacker's huts, now corrugated iron cool. The orange and purple and denim-blue curvy stuff is fabulously everywhere.

The Auckland Wharf, Tallulah, Pietra, cousin Leah, Cy, Jackson, Harley, Kevin and cousin Finn.

Me and Mum at her corrugated kitchen island, Ohope Beach

Dog Day Afternoons: The security dogs at Auckland Airport can sniff out anything. Including Cy's three-day old spaghetti bolognese school lunch which had just a touch of green fuzz on it. Poor Cy, seven, bawled when the dog barked at him and a whole building-full of travelers turned to glare. We rounded out that sterling first impression when Kevin declared his American health bars to customs officials, joking: "Just a little something to bribe you with."
"Sir, there's no bribing here!" the customs guy told him sternly. I moved away from Kevin, fully prepared to disown him. There have been prouder moments for me as a wife...

Kiwi "chucks" (chicks) no longer keep their good clothes for best. Pietra's friend, Joanna cooked a chicken lunch for 14 in this gorgeous silk gown and stacked sandals. Staunch. When she lived on Waiheke Island she sipped one reviving glass of champers (just the one, mind) at breakfast a la Coco.

Pietra and Joanna

And some things never change...

Retro domestic moments:
I never iron at home, so why am I ironing tonight?

Me and friend Sue before her barbie

Kiwis trust you: Kevin walked into tiny old gold-mining Coromandel Town and told the bank teller: "I have an account here but I don't have the card...or the account number...and I don't really know what the account is."
"Oh no worries at all" the teller said "Just sign this form and I'll do the rest. How much would you like?"
$600? ventured Kevin.
She'd already pushed the cash over to him before he had the chance to hand over his ID.

Good old Kiwi ingenuity. 22-year-old Roxy noticed a small alleyway next to her parent's fish and chip shop in the surfing mecca of Whangamata. She then found a shipping container in the back of her parent's shop. She moved the container into the alleyway space and Roxy's coffee house Barside was born, the "best coffee in Nu Zild" according to everyone we asked.

Roxy's shipping container coffee shop

Roxy

Sweet As. "As" means "Very". As what? my kids asked their Kiwi cousin Finn, 12. And what words can you can tack "As" onto? Everything, Finn said, it just has to be good...as. You can also say "Awesome As" which Cy was keen to throw about willy nilly, thinking it was "ArseAs."

The best Kiwi parties always end up in the garage. Here's a classic at my cousin Barry'n'Sue's in the spud (potato) growing town of Pukekohe.

Barry, Dad, John, Freddy, me and Mum. What are we laughing at?

And everyone stays the night...

Tallulah and her cousin Leah

(Big news here today. My sister Pietra just found out her latest documentary, Maori Boy Genius has been selected for competition at the Berlin Film Festival in February. "It's been a long, hard struggle and it's cost me everything, so it's great to find it all worth it" she says. )

Happy Holidays everyone!

By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham

2011-12-16T14:51:00.000-08:00

The month our bookclub, Bay Bookworms, read By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham.

The plot: Peter and Rebecca Harris are a mid-forties couple living in Manhattan’s SoHo. He's an art dealer, she's an editor. At first they seem to be living an enviable fulfilled life, with a spacious loft, a college-age daughter in Boston, and interesting, artsy friends. Then Rebecca’s much younger look-alike brother, Ethan (known in the family as Mizzy, “the mistake”) shows up for a visit. A beautiful, charismatic twenty-three-year-old with a history of drug problems, Mizzy is at a loose end. Having Mizzy around makes Peter question everything about his world; the artists he represents, his buyers and his wife.

What we thought:
Melinda: When reading By Nightfall, I felt myself cringing. Was I doing this out of disgust for Peter or a little because I too have felt the insecurities of midlife - questioning happiness and career. It was a quick read with a hopeful ending but not one I would re-read at least until I am well past middle age.

Carson: By Nightfall can be read as a cautionary tale about the unnecessary disappointment of Middle Age. Cautionary, because the disappointment shouldn't be so complete, and wouldn't be for Peter Harris if he had a more evolved sense of what beauty really means. Sure, people get old, fail to achieve their dreams, and lose control over their lives... if you see it that way... or maybe they develop a patina, the character to keep struggling and changing, and the ability to embrace the messiness of family and friends as the beauty of a complete life. Middle age is when you realize just how vulnerable you really are, so I empathize with Peter, but I think there's beauty in there as well. Maybe he finds it in the end.

Kenny: The book was a reflection on a couple who do not communicate. It show how mentally distorted you become when you have lost touch with one another and your expectations from life. A good book. You will feel better about yourself and sad for the fictional people involved. You will say: "That's one screwed up midlife crisis."

Martin: An interesting read. I enjoyed getting to know the characters even though, at the time, I could not relate to what was happening in their lives.

Jody: Like his other book The Hours, this is beautifully written and engrossing. An uncomfortable read about a mid-life crisis and what cliches we can all become. How an encounter with just one person throws everything we know into question and can bring our whole lives close to collapse. Enjoyed also the insight into the world of an art dealer and how art had become for Peter a joyless and calculated sale.

Our next book is Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness by Alexandra Fuller, the story of an African childhood. Read along with us!

The Iron Lady Cracked

2011-12-12T19:57:00.000-08:00

On Saturday we were invited to a young person's party in Ocean Beach, San Francisco. By "young" I mean that some persons were under the age of 45. It was a disco party with a DJ arriving at 10pm. No way would we last until the dancing, but I tried for a Studio 54 look anyway. Or rather, Someone's Mum at Studio 54. My pink floppy bow shirt, arrquaar high-waisted trou and faux fur jacket.

Me and domestic and disco goddess, Chaz, trying on her fascinators

Did I hear someone call out: "Oooh, the Iron Lady-on-Crack!" Is that better or worse than the "June-Cleaver-on-Crack!" I sometimes get for my love of floppy-bow shirts and bright colours.

Our host was the fantastic Chaz who has collections of: wigs, jewelery that drapes around your head, feather earrings and fascinators. We tried on some of her fascinators. Then exhausted, us oldies settled into the comfy sofas near the dessert table and talked about cholesterol levels and various aches and pains. Periodically one of us would rise to fill our plates with some of the 100lb of ham and turkey Chaz had cooked that day. And sometimes a young 'un would approach us and talk about their art installation at Burning Man which was very nice indeed.

There is a certain amount of madness (and oldness) creeping into my life and it has bubbled to the surface lately.

1. Mad thing one: I love all these foods below: marshmallows, tinned tomato soup, tinned fruit, saltine crackers with plastic cheese, rice pudding. Washed down with non-alcoholic beer because I'm trying not to drink so much (not that I have a problem mind you...oh-ho-no!) But all in one meal? Yes, this was Thursday dinner.

All the foodgroups for dinner tonight!

2. Mad thing two: Sat morning I booked a 9am haircut for all four kids, at the same time as their piano lesson. (To add to the fun, one child was at a birthday sleepover and another had basketball.) Instead of canceling anything, I drove maniacally back and forth between our house and the hairdresser for three hours.

Haircut kids arrive home

3. Mad thing three: I was devastated to hear that my bum shot was not one of the three holiday pics selected to screen on Jumbotron in Times Square over the holidays. But what was I thinking? Below is one of the winning shots...It's my friend Lesley and her fam. Lesley made the costumes herself. Say. No. More.

Need to look a little more festive, peeps....

My Jumbotron friend took pity on me, apparently my bum may be re-considered in an "Awkward Photo" campaign.

Pondering my weekend I mused: "Am I going mad? Madder-than-a-meat-axe kind of mad?"
Friend said: "Jody, don't you see? You're not mad. It just that you're nearly 50 - you're started to go through... um, menopause."

Oh, so not mad then.... Just menopause....Menooopa-uas-sa!-sa!-sagagh!

Your Bum Here

2011-12-09T11:08:00.000-08:00

I just got an email from a friend saying her company is looking for photos to put on JumboTron in Times Square. They wanted real-life family holiday photos - did we have any good ones? My mind ran through all the pictures we've taken of the kids sitting astride logs on a beach smiling and pretending to like each other. Oh, too expected... What photos did I want on Jumbotron, a screen three stories high and two stories wide. Of course! I sent them this. It's me zip-lining in Sayulita, Mexico.

Manuel at right: They're not paying me enough for this...

This is a no-brainer - who wouldn't want their 49-year-old bum projected onto a screen that'll make it the size of four football fields? To be seen by one million tourists a day - visiting from Norway to Nebraska.

I haven't heard back as to whether they are going to use my arse shot. Clearly, they'd be fools not to. But peeps, if there is one thing I've learned in life: there's no accounting for tastes when it comes to art direction. Kevin, the hubster, makes a calender every year which gets sent out to all our lucky rellies (relatives). This shot was last year's November. Well imagine our surprise when we discovered some of the rellies had ripped out that month or put post-it notes over the art work.

I also send her these time lapse shots so it could be used as a series. But really I think the first pic stands on its own - don't you?

Is there a glamour shot you'd like to share with the whole of Times Square?

(We've just done the random draw of this month's Giveaway of Tocca sun-screen towelettes. The winner is - tada! - Ada of Classiq, a fabulous fashion blogger who lives in Bucharest! Ada, mail your address to me at jbrettkelly@gmail.com and I'll send it right away.)

Bart and Art

2011-12-06T21:40:00.000-08:00

My youngest sister Pietra came to stay for just the weekend. On Friday night she spoke about her work to 60 people gathered at our house. Pietra has spent the last 20 years making documentaries, often following a specific person for up to two years. Her The Art Star and the Sudanese Twins, about the controversial performance-artist Vanessa Beecroft and her passionate efforts to adopt twin Sudanese babies, won awards at Sundance and around the world.

Pietra speaking in our living room

Her current projects include Maori Boy Genius, about a 16-year-old Maori boy's journey to Yale and The Park, a walled garden in Afghanistan (recently named the most dangerous country in the world to be born a woman) where woman can strip off the burqa and - she hopes - will reveal to camera their thoughts and dreams. And What To Do After Winning Two Oscars (a working title) about Indian composer AR Rahman who won two Academy Awards for his soundtrack in Slumdog Millionaire. He is setting up a music conservatorium and insisting that students from the very poor areas of his home town Chennai come for free.

She talked about traveling to Libya for her Beauty Will Save The World, in which Gadaffi tried to soften the world's view of him by staging a beauty pageant. And how she arranged the permission of a local warlord to hire all the males in a village in Northern Afghanistan to clear the side of a mountain and create an airstrip so she and her crew could get out.

Gadaffi and the contestants in Beauty Will Save The World

She has met amazing people and has incredible experiences - she has been fly-fishing in Ponoi, Russia, rode horses for five days in thigh-deep snow in the Afghanistan mountains and run the gauntlet of guns in an African airport whilst hiding her tapes. "Scary stuff" whispered one of my friends: "but not as scary as driving a minivan of kids on a field trip."

But I can see it's a tough life. The travel is constant and often rough and dangerous and a lot of time is spent looking for funds rather than the core job of researching, filming and editing. Each film costs up to $400,000 and she must mostly fund herself, going into double mortgage and credit card debt before hopefully grants and investors come through...

More scary stuff the next night when we played broom-ball, a sort of hockey on ice. Don't raise your broomsticks we were warned ...and what was the first thing the men did? (And for the women: wear your high-waisted trousers or risk major whale-tail reveal.)

Kevin, Me and Greg

Me: I got it! I got it! whaaaaaaHH!

Pietra was back behind the camera the next morning - taking snaps of a surprise birthday brunch for my friend Lesley. Most everyone wore one of their Lesley dresses.

Surprise birthday for Lesley, centre. Me at far right

But in the end, Pietra found herself sharing the weekend also with The Simpsons .

Tallulah, 10, asked Pietra about what she was currently filming and Pietra told her about the Indian composer AR Rahman who most recently wrote the music for 127 Hours, the true story of a climber who fell into a ravine and had to slice off his own arm.

Tallulah's face brightened with recognition: "Oh yes, that was on the The Simpsons - except Homer chopped off the wrong arm."

Later in the day Tallulah heard Pietra talking about The Diving Bell and The Butterfly, the true story of a paralysed journalist who could communicate only by blinking.

"Oh yes" said Tallulah, "That was on The Simpsons too. But instead of blinking, Homer farted."

Pietra has travelled to the four corners of the earth. Had Tallulah absorbed all the same cultural references by simply watching a wacky, albeit brilliant, cartoon show? Thankfully Pietra was able to introduce Tallulah to a cultural phenom she'd never heard of: Monty Python's The Ministry of Silly Walks. Thank you lovely.

Pietra shows Tallulah one of her silly walks

Can You Have It All?

2011-12-02T11:42:00.000-08:00

How many times have you read about a woman who seemingly effortlessly does it all - family and fabulous multi-career ? Who runs her business sporting swishy hair, trotting around in Jimmy Choos and fresh lipgloss and laughing at the antics of her adorable children playing nearby.

We've been here before on my blog with J-Lo, remember?...In the same light, Gwyneth Paltrow, 29, mother of two, actress, singer, cookbook author, mega-blogger and rock-wife has said: "I don't find it tough to make my own (babyfood). It's much tougher for me to to open a jar that's been sitting on a shelf." "A lot of people get pregnant and they can turn into garbage disposals. I was mindful about what I ate and only gained 30 pounds."

Image: Gwyneth Paltrow, Sugarslam

And Gisele Bundchen, 31, mother and stepmother, supermodel, wife to football star Tom Brady: "When my son eats broccoli, he things it's dessert." "There should be a worldwide law...that mothers should breast feed their babies for six months." "I do everything for them...When I'm home, I'm extremely 100 percent present."

Image: Gisele, US Magazine

It was refreshing this week to get a realistic picture from Lisa Raja, a successful local entrepreneur and mother of two boys, ages three and five.

Lisa Raja at her store Iniam

Lisa Raja, 36, owns Iniam, in Oakland, my favourite store in the East Bay (and next door, incidentally, to Toast wine bar). It's a light, beautiful boutique of 1,500 ft which sells staples of Milly, Trina Turk, Marc Jacobs., Tibi and Vince along with edgy newcomers such as Harvey Faircloth, 0039 Italy and Sachin +Babi. I was sad to get an email from her saying after six and a half years she was closing the store.

Iniam

The store is both elegant and inviting with Chateau-chic furniture and Tocca candles and perfumes. It seemed so vital and sales so lively that I was surprised it was another casualty of the recession. But I later learned from Lisa that sales were up considerably this year and they were closing for another reason...

The front of Iniam

She wrote in her email: "We made it through a brutal economy, thanks to the support of my loyal customers, and managed to see continued growth in our business despite all of the ups and downs.

"This September my eldest son started Kindergarten, and it hit me that 5 years have just flown by. As much I love Iniam, these precious years with my babies are irreplaceable. Though I love fashion, styling, designing and my relationships with all of (her clients) I was unable to imagine how tough it would be to manage Iniam and my growing family... I found that the time needed at Iniam was not worth the time lost with my family. "

I went in to see Lisa (she was brought up in Houston, Texas and her family is from Punjab) at 9.45am. I think she looks like a modern day Cleopatra, but she shows me the lint on her By Marlene Birgir vest, Sita Murt sweater and black Theory pants. One of her boys hadn't slept well and so she hasn't either, she was feeling queasy from a previous migraine and hasn't had time for a shower yet today "but I will, don't worry..."

Lisa Raja this week at her store Iniam

1. Why are you closing the store?

It wasn't worth what I was sacrificing. I loved my clients and the vendors, they were all lovely and wonderful. Truth be told, I didn't get that rush I once did from my work. In the end, I couldn't justify missing out on these priceless years with my kids for a career that didn't give me the unbridled joy it once did. Iniam was perfect when it was just my husband and I. I could pour myself into work everyday. I had my hand on the store's pulse and could anticipate things before it happened - I loved that. There is this pull now. A pull to play, kiss, and be with my family. This desire is greater than owning/running Iniam.

2. What was your day like then?

It was making the kids' lunches, getting them off to school, working 9.30 to 2pm at the store, then picking up the kids and trying to work done while they napped, then dinner prep, finishing up laundry... I found myself constantly making phone calls and emailing while I was with them. It was always "Mom! Mom!" and I was "Hang on a second." I was always stressed and my patience was wearing thin, they were here and there but they were just being kids. At nap-time my son would say 'Mommy, lay down with me and cuddle.' I needed that time to do emails and I'd say: 'You sleep and I'll come back.' Now he's started Kindergarten and not as nuzzly and affectionate and I think: 'I missed those five years'. I am forever in love and married to this profession - fashion, styling and design. But I love my kids more.

3. What about hiring a nanny and a cleaner?

I do have a cleaner once a week. We had a wonderful nanny the first few years, they were magic kids with her. But the last one, they would try and run away from her. It would take over a month to train them, I just couldn't do it anymore. My husband is very hands-on but he has a start-up too and is gone long hours. I am very fortunate my husband is also my business partner. His support has made all the difference in keeping me sane, but still, the stress levels can be so high.

4. What was the most difficult thing about running the store? (pricepoint: dresses of $300 - $500, blouses $200- $350, jeans $150 - $200, coats $600-$900)

The staff (she has two: a manager and a salesperson). The current two have been GREAT! The others were...let's just say - NOT so great! All with a good heart, but they brought their personal stuff into the store. Between wedding planning on the job or just overall abrasive behavior that alienated my customers, I felt that I couldn't always count on my staff. And truth be told, I was trying to raise my children, amidst all of it. I needed to be the leader at work and with my kids. Finding the balance was tough. When I hired my staff, I thought they would know to take the initiative to manage things like facebook - or the blog or the website. But then I would hear things like: "Oh, I don't feel comfortable with that." They were happy just selling the clothes.

5. Was Oakland a good place to have a business?

I love Oakland, it's the hidden gem of the Bay Area and people here have a hipper, more edgy mentality. I wouldn't say Oakland is a fashion mecca, but it was a great experience, no downside, great neighbours, wonderful landlords.

6. What is the biggest misconception about running a boutique?

People think because the business is beautiful, that it's easy, that you try on free clothes at the shop, fluff and then go home. In a restaurant you see the activity; the running around, the cleaning, you see the hard work. But a boutique is a business like any other.

7. Your sales were actually up this year - so did the recession affect you at all?

Clients still had the same salaries but the difference is they are afraid. And in this area noone wants to be seen as frivolous. I feel that designer contemporary clothing is a tough market. So many big designers, like Missoni, are doing capsules for cheaper chain retailers like Target or Kohls. Between all the discount designer sites you have to really be on top of your game to continue to see growth.

8. What now?

I'll take two to four months with the boys....and then I will do something. I love home decor, cooking Indian food and I love any kind of reality shows, all the Housewives and especially X Factor and I'll be catching up on those.

9. Advice to someone thinking about starting up?

As women, we often psych ourselves out of things. Just go for it! There's a time for everything, my time to finish is now. It's been a great ride.

Our Giveaway today is Tocca sunscreen towelettes. To be in to win simply leave a comment. An extra point for each if you Facebook or Tweet the offer.

Lana'i: Price of Paradise

2011-11-28T22:06:00.000-08:00

While we were in Lana'i, a tiny island off Maui, Hawai'i, the most profound thing we experienced - besides the waves which hushed the whining and scrapping for the time it took to bowl over four children - was the deep-seated peace of the Islanders.

Harley, Jackson and Cy

Many of them had lived there all their lives, on a comma-shaped island 18 miles-wide with no traffic lights, an outside jail and a population of 3,102.

The only two hotels on the island have golf courses and tennis courts and staff whose sole job it is to put towels on the chaises, clean sunglasses and spray Evian on sunbathers, who pay $15 for a fruit plate and $6.50 for a latte.

Meanwhile the front page of the Maui News showed Lana'i locals lining up for 1,000 gift bags containing turkeys and rice, which everyone agreed were much needed. Paid work is limited to tourism which is hurting like everything else.

Even if you have a job, or hopefully two, to pay the bills, the three small stores on the island stock few fruit and veg. The 40min ferry ride to Cosco in Maui is $30 each way for an adult, $20 for a child and most families need to stock up at least every six weeks.

All the locals we met agreed that everyone knows your business here, you have to grow your own food and fish if you want to eat well ....and they would never, ever, leave.

First there was Martin who took us out to see the dolphins. This is something he does everyday but when we caught sight of a horizon-full of dolphins leaping - they travel in pods of 60 - his joy was as new, wide and glorious as the grins on the faces of Cy, seven and Tallulah, 10. How do you live here, we asked, the island is so expensive. Yes, he agreed, a gallon of milk is $8 and he has three children who love milk. "That's the price you pay to live in paradise."

Martin and Tallulah

Jared, our shuttle driver to the "City" of Lana'i agreed. He was born here but rebelled in High School. After having a daughter at age 17 he signed up to work on Naval aircraft carriers and travelled the world for six years. Jaded by city-life he returned to marry his girlfriend and now has three children and two foster children. He also mentioned the price of milk but said: "That's the price you pay to live in paradise"

Manele Beach at 6pm

One of the women busing breakfast tables was from Milwaukee. At age 18 she moved here with her mother and hated it, there was nothing to do. Ten years later, she loves it and intends to live here for the rest of her life. She has three children and she and her fiance, a bartender at the same hotel, are saving to be married in the hotel gardens. She says life here allows their children to roam freely with everyone keeping an eye on them.

We arrived home and the boys flew outside to play football in the backyard and Tallulah spent a happy day with her 12 soft toys making a movie about circus-life. (She even negotiated terms with the actors who will receive 1% of 100%. Someone wrote "great" on the deal but I don't think it was the actors).

The lesson is - and I guess I'm hammering this moral home as clunkily as Alexander Payne's latest movie, The Descendants, which has the most annoying, preachy voice-over for the first half hour - that kids don't need posh hotels, swimming pools and room service to be happy and we don't either. What fools we've been!

I walked down to the deli at the end of our road to buy a gallon of milk - $6.99 before taxes... the price you pay to live in Oakland? No, that doesn't have the same ring somehow.

Anyway in the midst of my "money can't buy you happiness" euphoria, I may have sssslipped off to the sssales and bought this Yarnz ssscarf. I'm obviously too in touch with my new non-material self to feel completed by a mere piece of material. But my brown winter clothes are just ecstatic.

Scarf in our living room knotty-style

Scarf in our kitchen droopy-style

Any moments of truth for you over the weekend?

Too Late

2011-11-25T14:32:00.000-08:00

There are many moral dilemmas in our lives. The lesser of them being: you're late to a yoga class, it's really crowded and there are no more mats left. The women stationed near the door make it very clear they are not moving. Human decency would dictate that you close the door and head home.

Sorry, this photo has nothing to do with what you are reading...

But I always turn into a bit of an ugly tourist when I'm on vacation with the kids. Here on a tiny island off Maui in Hawai'i with only a short break from family-togetherness I know if I don't capture this slice of Namaste I'll become a whiny siren on the rocks of mean muthaness. I hang around at the door until the instructor motions me over and I make my way to the front stepping over a number of prostrate bodies in various states of repair and fitness. The instructor insists on giving me his mat.

Was I imagining it...a few of our class seemed to be giving me filthy looks for taking the poor instructor's mat? The instructor is a very sweet, serene and kind of smokin' Yogi sporting a flavour-savour goatee and mini hibiscus behind his ear. Of course I feel terribly guilty. But Yogi has fresh young knees, which I'm sure can handle bobbling around on the hardwood floors.... maybe this sacrifice will propel him to an even higher state of being. See, I could be doing him a favour.

To my left side is a rather hirsute, rotund gentleman wearing a t-shirt and shorts, both of which are terribly short and very baggy. I know what this means. I am afraid, very afraid. Soon we were on our knees doing a twisting arm raise. And around! The Belly! Yes, the gentlemans' belly is exposed in quite some rawness, a picture of which is still vivid in my mind even now. Then for the leg raises. Oh no, no please! The Ba..s! Then the arm and leg raises together! Arrgh! The Belly!!! Arrgh!!! The Baaa....!!!

I left sweating and shaken and a few others smiled their yogic smile, justice had been done.

The next morning I got up extra early to make the spin class but got the time wrong. The class had started and there were no bikes left. The instructor insisted I take her bike. This meant she had to stand at the front of the class kind of pretend-cycling with her legs and making pretend gear-changing motions with her hands.

Carb-loading at the porridge stand before Spin

I'm sure noone was terribly happy with this. To show the rest of the spinners that I was not a complete a..hole I smiled at everyone as if to say: "Look I really need this, you didn't give up proper instruction in vain. I'm trying really hard."

Feverishly I was always the first to the "top of the mountain" constantly turning up resistance until I thought I would expire. My legs were spinning, his stomach was churning and so was my head and I felt kind of ill. Keep going, keep going I said to myself smiling to the rest of the class: See how hard I'm trying - it was all worth it.

Was I imagining it ...but did everyone avoid my gaze as I left the class?

Sitting down that night for dinner, we noticed an older couple heading for the table next to us, dressed in their bathrobes and slippers. It must have been an optical illusion but it seemed they were not wearing any clothes underneath. Harley, 14 said: "Please don't let those robes fall open, I'm still so young, I've got my whole life ahead of me."

Ooops, too late.

WTF Fun In The Sun

2011-11-20T20:18:00.000-08:00

At some point in every vacation with the kids I feel like yelling "What the fuck! What the fuck is the fucking point?!!" packing my bags and heading home.

Paradise Lost: the kids' room

I reached that point on Day Two here in Hawai'i. The kids were fighting incessantly and unceasingly. If the second word is a redundant synonym, I apologise, I just wanted to cover every minute of their waking hours. The two middle kids actually disagreed this morning about how much they fight.
Me: You two kids fight all the time, it's unbelievable!
Middle child one: You've got to be kidding me, we don't fight ALL the time.
Middle child two: Yes we do! You've got to be kidding me, we fight all the time!

And so on for an hour. They nudge, push, pull and trip. And when we plead with them to stop, they persist, but quietly, whispering and hissing. The other two stir the pot. This is nothing new but somehow I thought a brighter tropical sun might burn off the squabble haze enveloping the Bickerville Four. Silly old me.

And yes, maybe I thought staying in a nice hotel would provide a buffer. But in fact it doesn't matter what you pay and where you go: hotels are simply expensive camping. Would you close off the rest of your house and live in your bedroom for a week? Trudge around a triangle of 100 feet from bedroom to food to a pool where 150 kids have peed in the last 12 hours? Hand wash your work-out gear every night and attend a yoga class in a room the size of a box? Watch Cy, seven, select his clothing from the dirty washing bag every day?

Would you go to restaurants where the lettuce is brown and wilty, the chicken over-salted and tired because you're on an island and almost everything on the menu is shipped (even some of the fish) from the US ....and even the smallest and simplest of meals costs $20 and upwards? At $15 a glass, drink wine you've never heard of, and not in a good way.

The breakfast conversations make it all worthwhile though. Did I ever tell you my kids don't talk much? The one exception being the three boys will have lengthy discussions about college basketball players. If they do mention non college basketball-playing people in their lives they have four categories: "nice" "okay" "kinda annoying" and "super-annoying." Sooo... I say brightly and hopefully - in what way is that person "super-annoying"? Give me some examples. At this point there is a glimmer of faint camaraderie amongst the kids when they all glance at each other wide-eyed, smile and chorus: "Dunno. They're just SUPER-ANNOYING!!! O. Kaaay???" and go back to eating their Fruit Loops.

To be fair, seven year old Cy does talk a wee bit. And for this vacation he's decided to speak all day in a cockney accent, the authenticity of which rivals Dick Van Dyke playing Ned the chimney sweep in Mary Poppin. "Hey ho me guvnors wha a' ya doin' in thar - eh, eh? Bit of a larf eh? eh???" he calls as he knocks on our door at 6.30am. (We just had two complaints about this.)

Cy has also somehow picked up a very sweet trait: during his sentences he'll introduce the word "Mother" while raising his middle finger (the wrong way, but I'm not going to tell him that).

And then of course there is Tallulah, 10, who talks a bit but only sometimes. Last night Tallulah appeared at our bathroom door. Kevin was brushing his teeth while I was in bed. Not knowing I could hear her through the air vents, she soliloquized richly about the ills of being the only girl amongst three brothers and the various injustices leveled against her during the day, including but not confined to: everyone else likes playing football on the beach but she wants to go horse-back riding; everyone else wants to swim in the sea, she likes the pool better; we always take other peoples' sides and don't realise she's always in the right; we don't tell off Cy because he's cute and the youngest.....

After a half hour of this, I heard her say to Kevin: "Do you think I'm like Mum?"

That was sort of sweet of her and I smiled as I adjusted my legs ... it was hard to feel comfortable because our bed was sloping to the left and I was lying on the thin edge of the wedge.

"Do you think I'm like Mum?" Tallulah asked again"Always complaining all the time?"

It's the next morning and we're on the beach. It hasn't rained for a year in Maui and now it's pissing down. Mother finger.

Me and Jackson in the rain

Ukulele Baby!

2011-11-18T15:34:00.000-08:00

Aloha from Lana'i in Hawai'i, the land of apostrophes, sun, sand and legitimately drinking fruit juice with booze at 10am ...as if I needed a hall pass on that one...

Me and Tallulah

We're here until Thanksgiving Day when we fly back - the cheapest way to travel, flying on holidays, as it turns out. A saving for the unsentimental. And yes, I know it seems like we're always swanning off somewhere, but there were a couple of days when I was home picking up Cy's socks (for my sins, as they say).

Getting to Manele Bay on Lana'i, off Maui, turned out to be a full-day adventure of planes, taxis and boats.

Harley, Kevin, Cy, Tallulah and Jackson

As with any travel we arrived grumpy and stanky and having experienced the requisite number of monumental meltdowns one would expect in a group of six - four of whom, in a show of hands, unlikely to have chosen to co-habit for 18 years. But nothing a few tootsies in the sand can't turn around. Everything here is perfect. The mangoes a rich yellow, the sand a squeaky white and.... ukulele music.

That ukulele music made me think of my brother, Tony, and I at ages 10 and 11. We enjoyed nothing more than grabbing ukuleles lying randomly around the house (as they do in most homes) singing tunelessly and strumming chordlessly "Ukulele baby! Ukulele baby!" until someone (often the neighbours) finally cracked and yelled: Stop! Bloodyhellyoukids - Stop!

A perfect soft breeze rustles the palm trees. Should be utter serenity...but I can't get that tuneless tune out of my head...

Manele Bay

Ukulele baby! Ukulele baby!...is there any tune going round in your head this afternoon?

The Kiwi "We"

2011-11-14T19:34:00.000-08:00

Seeing old 'Varsity (Uni) friends in New York last week reminded me what it is to be a Kiwi.

Guggenheim's "All"

We talk with a but of an accint. And as my old boss used to say: You Kiwis never say "I" - it's always "We." It's a crowd when Kiwis are out. If inviting one person is good, getting ten to turn up is better.

For example meeting my Kiwi friends who had just run the marathon for the CatWalk charity: as if it wasn't enough for someone to organise 13 of us to go from bar-to-bar-to-restaurant, we picked up seven more bods - and were happier for it.

The cast of characters included Helena, whom I first met at age four on my first day at Big School. We were going to be nuns together, but with seven kids between us now, maybe that's not going to happen after all. We were also pupils of the Mrs Shirley Dibble School of Ballet, Helena danced the Scarecrow to my Tin Man. Turns out her husband, James, is rather famous on Youtube for finding a cute baby Kiwi under some pine needles. As you can imagine, I was green with envy. Not being competitive, but has Helena won the husband prize?

Sipping happily at the Ace Hotel, we were all quite pleased one of us had secured a big table next door at Michelin-starred The Breslin, so in-demand with the likes of Chelsea Clinton, Liv Tyler and the Z's that it doesn't take bookings.

We were waiting for our Kiwi friend Angus who lives in New York. He's the mavericky off-the-grid sweary bloke you might have already met on my blog.

Kiwis are far from being a bunch of sheep, but we try to be accommodating. "Where should we go? Oh don't mind...whatever everyone else wants..." I notice Kiwis say "Oh yeah" a lot and even "No" becomes: "Oh yeah, better not...if that's okay." (They also say "absolutely" and "gorgeous" heaps.)

Someone might point out that we're a good target for old sheepdog Angus who arrived scattering our plans to the back paddocks. A "spanky feed" (posh dinner) was not for us, said Angus who is anti obvious-cool. Let's go. So we all hopped into a convoy of cabs down to Soho to a delicatessen called Katz's.

Kevin, me and new Kiwi cab friends Sarah and Catherine in front of Katz's

Kevin and I caught a taxi with two gorgeous journalists from Wellington, NZ. The cab ride was too short to find out if we had mutual friends and relatives but I'll bet we did.

The first thing people say to Kiwis: "Oh I met a New Zealander ten years ago - called Sue - do you know her?"At this point we Kiwis get unnaturally huffy: "Heck, there's four million people in New Zealand! Why on earth would we know this person?" Of course it turns out the person was our cousin or next-door neighbour for 20 years.

Skiting - or showing off - is positively unpatriotic. Resulting - in my case - in being clueless about "marketing" myself. At a recent party a literary agent asked me: "What is your blog about?" Although people ask me this all the time, I answered as though this was the first time I'd ever heard it: "Oh, whole bunch of stuff about the rubbish I do in my day: kid nonsense, travel nonsense, oh you know usual ramblings..."

At this point the agent glanced furtively towards the nearest door. I pressed on: "It's about nothing really...just bits and bobs about my day." And the final nail in the coffin: "My friend calls it Funny Ado About Nothing, although it's not always funny. " At which stage I could see her mouth forming the ultimately damning words: "Oh well - At Least You're Having Fun With It" as she turned heel.

Our taxi dropped us in front of Katz's Deli. Sandwiches??? Under lights so bright you could have performed surgery on the tables? When we could have had a "spanky feed" and maybe spotted Jay Z and Beyonce?

Angus showing his corned beef sandwich

We noticed a sign saying this was the place in Harry Met Sally - there was even an arrow pointing to where Sally famously faked that orgasm. "This is a tourist spot" I said "I'm going to give Angus heaps about that."

The sign

Katz's may have survived two World Wars, a Depression and hosted Meg Ryan orgasming (is that a doing word?) but the Kiwis were a little "eh" about the pastrami and corned beef sandwiches.

Kiwis in Katz's

Helena and most of the others flew home the next morning. I emailed Angus to see if he was up for going out again: "Nope" he emailed back: " Will be staying home tonight. Just had a wee jab in my shite hip flexor and am sore as bugger."

In other words Angus was spadanged (knackered) and piked (dropped out).

Just the two of us then. Better get on the blower to my other mates.

Do the Snuggie

2011-11-11T19:44:00.000-08:00

Are we all agreed that whoever invented the Snuggie was a bloody genius?

How many times while watching the telly have you pulled up a blanket and thought: "Oooh so very comfy and warm...and yet my ankles-arms-knees-feet not covered and so really could be bit more comfy?" You pondered how a wool blanket could be sewn leaving a hole for your head and your arms free for reaching the choccies. But dang it, Snuggie genius got there first.

Madison Avenue

This week I was in New York hanging around with some Kiwi friends who had run the marathon, and I noticed that whole streets were filled with people wearing Snuggies. Some wildly furry, some glamorously woolly, but yes, essentially they were Snuggies. Many were posh, like the one above which was $1,800.

Then I realised I was wearing a type of Snuggie too from my new favourite, Wilfred.

Kiwi friends James, Helena and me at The Frick

As was my friend Helena - a beautifully chic one from Rex Royale, in Wellington, NZ.

Helena and Mike at The Ace Hotel

All in keeping with the new cosiness: like the tartan couches at the crazy-hip Ace Hotel and the dark pinks and greens of The Greenwich where we also had drinks.

Kiwi friends Helena, Mike, Leigh and Pip at Ace

Ace Hotel, Soho

The Greenwich Hotel, TriBeCa

And there were some, like this frightenly life-like woman in the hanging exhibition at the Guggenheim, could have done with a Snuggie. (Sorry that was a bit random, but had to sneak the exhibition in)

Maurizio Cattelan's "All"

For a few days the weather was unseasonably balmy. It suddenly turned chilly one night and I could almost hear some New Yorkers breathing a sigh of relief - it's Snuggie time!

52nd Street and Lexington

We just did the random draw for this month's Giveaway of a greenstone necklace. The winner is - Sarah of the St Bloggie de Riviere! Sarah is a Brit who writes about her life near Montpellier in France. Congratulations Sarah - email your address to me at jbrettkelly@gmail.com and let me know which of the eleven styles you prefer.

How To Hold A Successful Fundraiser

2011-11-09T21:12:00.000-08:00

A "topless" Martha Stewart mixed with killer bees and Sarah Palin. Dinner ladies were suddenly besties with Donatella Versace. Sort of. We were at the Saturday Night Live themed fundraiser for our kids' Kindergarten-through-8th Grade Oakland public school. I'm not sure how I could have escaped SNL phenom but I have never seen the show. (Maybe because I'm a Kiwi who lived in London for 15 years) There was no doubt: the Pats, with their tight perms and pressed khakis, stole the night.

D...k In A Box, two Pats, Roseanne Roseannadana

I don't pretend I've come even close to running these auctions in the nine years we've been at the school. The stress would drive me wild and crazy and not in a good way. But I have done bits and bobs around the periphery and I am speechless with admiration for the parents who run it.

Mary Katherine Gallagher and Martha Stewart's Topless Christmas

Me, Killer Bees, Kevin and the Wild and Crazy Guys

Our fundraising pays for, among other things; classroom aides, music, reading, art, language, science, some building maintenance and supports of local children's charities. As I wrote last year, the extent of our fundraising is a revelation to some of my friends in New Zealand where tax dollars actually pay for a decent education. In past years the school fundraiser has grossed up to $303,000. Most of my friends outside this area find it astounding that parents of a tiny (320 kids) Oakland public school can raise this much in just one night. Parents host trips and parties and local merchants donate goods and services, there is a silent and live auction and we all bid as high as we can afford.

Shy Ronnie and Bonnie

A couple of years ago we donated a New Zealand dinner and a Mad Men party at our house.This year we donated a "Beer Pong Saved My Life" Party. Guests will come as they were at college: dude, nerd, artsy fringy. A rousing round of beer pong will be followed by a visit from a gourmet food truck and fancy cocktails as well as keg beer. Our fellow Spartan, Justin, made this fabulous golden trophy which the lucky winner will carry home to take pride of place on their mantle. Normally I would be very reluctant to dress as a cheerleader - even a mad one like The Spartans - but it fit the party. Our other idea was The Coneheads but we thought that would be waaay too popular. Mass quantities of them. Funnily enough, zero parental units turned up in those terribly attractive elongated bald headgear. Yes, funny that.

Justin holds the golden trophy!

Jody's Tips:

1) Costumes:
Pick a popular theme so people are inspired to dress up. They have more fun and bid higher. Previous themes at our auctions: Superheroes (I was Poison Ivy, Kevin was Wonder Woman) Olympics (we went as Jamaican Bobsledders) Peace, Love and Green (we went as Green Day) and The Eighties (I was heyday Boy George, Kevin was community service Boy George clutching a broom).

2) Buy It Now
Stipulate "Buy it Now" prices on all silent auction items. Bidders can sign up for that top price instead of having to hang around the table watching the bids. For example, many of the 20 couples who signed up for our party did the $400 "Buy It Now" price.

3) Free wine, no lines. Say no more. It's for the kids.

Statue of Liberty

I asked Greg Quiroga, our auctioneer for seven years, what makes for a successful auction:

1) Do your auction during dinner

Maximize your attendee’s time, and don’t be afraid to focus on fundraising. There is a finite time between when people show up at an event, and when they are “done.” If you put your auction at the very end of the night, it will be perceived as the least important thing. People will leave. You will make less money. Give them 20 minutes at their tables to hang out, and then start your program.

2) Get your message out pre-event

Make sure people know they are coming to a fundraiser, and that they know where the money goes. Do not assume that your crowd knows how much money you need, or even why you need the money. Most important is to make sure people know what is expected of them when they arrive: do not invite people to a party and then blindside them with an auction. Invite them to a benefit where they can help you change the world, and show them how they can help you – simply by participating in your auction.

3) Do an appeal for straight donations

Whether you call it a “fund a need”, “raise your paddle”, “random acts of kindness”, “waterfall”, “fund the future” or any other name, make sure you do it. It is the point in the auction where you ask the crowd to come together and simply give you money. Done right it has the potential to be the emotional cornerstone of your event. (Our school does "Raise Your Paddle." Adding this when Greg started seven years ago has raised $280,000 alone.)

4) Auction access

The best things you can sell in your fundraising auction aren’t things, they are access to events, experiences or people that one cannot otherwise get. Dinner in a nice restaurant is a good lot, but what you should be after is to get that chef to go to the winning bidder’s house to cook. “Celebrity” varies from event to event: at schools the principal is often a celebrity. At some organizations it is the executive director, a particular board member or even a group. Identify your organization’s “celebrities” and build lots around them.

5) Hire a professional fundraising auctioneer

You want a professional who is focused solely on fundraising, will consult on your event in advance, and has a proven track record engaging crowds similar to yours. Of course the professional fundraising auctioneer is going to say this, but the difference a professional can make in your event is significant. (For example, this year raised more than three times what the auction raised before Greg was involved.)

What other tips would you add to this list?

Maori Boy Genius

2011-11-05T14:10:00.001-07:00

He learned to memorise through the Maori tradition of singing and story telling and almost never takes notes. His first language is Maori and he learned English at four years. At 12 he began his first university degree, at 14 he googled "international politics'' and "education" and he came up with "Yale University." He applied to the Yale summer semester programme at age 15 and was accepted last year at the age of 16.

Who is this boy? His name is Ngaa Ruuira Pumanawawhiti and his journey to Yale is the subject of my sister Pietra's latest documentary, Maori Boy Genius.

Maori Boy Genius: Ngaa (centre) performs the Haka (Maori War Dance) with his iwi (tribe)

Ngaa posses such evident spirituality and charisma that watching even footage of him is strangely moving. You find yourself close to tears. Among his people he is being hailed as a new leader for our confused and troubled age, a visionary who can directly tap into the wisdom of his ancestors.

Ngaa was born in the small coastal New Zealand town of Otaki. He has lived with his retired grandparents (his grandfather worked on the railways and his grandmother was a prison nurse) since the age of eight (customarily the eldest child in a family is given to their grandparents) while Ngaa's five siblings stayed with his parents.

Ngaa: "I follow the footsteps of Tane nui a Rangi, who climbed the great root of knowledge..."

Surrounded by his "iwi" (tribe) he has been educated in the Maori tradition where knowledge is passed down through story telling and songs. That means he seldom takes notes - he simply reads or listens and recites. Ngaa says: "We learnt songs, we learnt dances about everything like fishing. How can you go fishing if you don't know where the fish are? A song will tell us how to look for the fish and we would sing it as we went fishing."

Ngaa kisses his baby sister goodbye before he heads to Yale.

He's also a goofy, gangling 16 year-old Maori boy who loves to hang out with his mates; watching his best friend Riwai - already a dad at 17 - practise his old school popping-and-locking dance moves, eating meat pies in his friend Daniel's car and discussing girls.

"His interest is human rights,'' his mother Maakarita says: "He's been talking that way since he was 10.'' But his life is not buried in books or the internet: ``He's still a typical teenager, and he likes to be with his mates.''

Ngaa at Yale last summer

In April I saw Ngaa perform the Haka in the Te Hui Ahurei of Tuhoe, an annual festival. It had taken all night to draw the tattoos (ta Moko) on his and his group's faces and bodies. Ngaa has also smudged his face to try and reflect the environment and look like the bush as his ancestors had done. "He's different that one" said one of his elders.

For the past two years Pietra has filmed him with his friends, travelling to Yale (for the summer semester programme) and back again to his family. "There is always the time during the filming process when you know your subjects are sick of you, sick of the camera and wished they'd never agreed to be filmed, exposed, prodded. Ngaa and his family never gave me that impression - they believed that me and my crew were part of Ngaa's kaupapa - or journey - and were committed to the film, because in the end, as he says, this educational/future leader journey is not for him, it is for his people, to bring them out of poverty."

"But please don't think this film is all worthiness" Pietra says: "there is a lot of laughter, especially hanging out with his mates, and a lot of tears when his 5th sibling is born with the whole family around and Ngaa is handed her to be named, and in his extraordinary relationship with his grandfather."

At a time when a survey of teens just voted spray-tans and the iPhones as the top inventions of all time, Ngaa is passionately political. One look at his Facebook page tells how he champions the rights of the oppressed including his own people who were ousted from their lands, introduced to cigarettes and alcohol and banned from speaking their own language. Today a high percent of young Maori men drop out of High School and end up in prison.

One of Ngaa's favourite quotes: "We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented."

Marching for Maori land rights

Ngaa: "We have come here to show you we will not bow down!"

Ngaa's name is based on an old tribal (Tuhoe) saying: “He uira ki te rangi he tauira ki te whenua....Like lightning in the sky, here is an example on earth.”

But it is Ngaa's grandmother who gently notes: “He’s a Matakite, a Wiseman. But he's also a boy."

The television documentary version of Maori Boy Genius will be screened on Maori Television in New Zealand on Sat November 12 at 8.30pm and repeated Sunday November 27 at 6pm.

P.S. Pietra just emailed me. She is in Copenhagen working on the fine cut of the feature length of this documentary. Molly Stensgaard, - the renowned editor of Lar von Trier films including Cannes winner Dancer In The Dark and this year's Melancholia - has offered to help her with the editing. I'll keep you posted as to when the feature length documentary will appear in film festivals, theatres and on DVD.

Our Giveaway this week is a traditional Maori Pounamu (Greenstone) necklace, worn by both men and women in New Zealand. To enter simply become a follower and leave a comment. An extra point for each if you Facebook and-or Twitter this offer. I have pictured just two styles - but the winner will have the pick of any of these eleven carvings. Winner will be drawn randomly Friday 11 Nov.

Toki (adze): signifies strength and focus

Hei Matau (fishhook): safe journey over water

Sandy's Super-Scary Squirrel

2011-10-31T21:30:00.000-07:00

Just in time for this weird and spooky time of the year, a super-scary squirrel has surfaced in our neighbourhood. Every night my friend Sandy keeps putting out pumpkins - some of them as big as 6lbs - in her porch display... to find they have been eaten through by the following morning. Day after day. Poor Sandy is running out of patience and pumpkins.

Cheeky squirrel

What Super-Squirrel ate this morning for breakfast

This afternoon I drove around and caught sight of the culprit - a squirrel. Not a big tubby guy, but actually a quick-as-you-can chap who was munching with all his might, then scarpered up into the trees.

Saturday night we spent a pleasant evening sipping red cocktails under a pink sunset keeping a vigilant watch for Scary Squirrel.

Sandy, Mike'n'Kenny and Buster watching for Scary S.

I would write about what my kids are wearing tonight but they are actually cast to the four winds. Harley, 14 and Jackson, 12, took off with their friends after school and we won't see them until the end of the night. Think Harley is some kind of Hawaian-shirt guy, Jackson is building something with his friends from boxes, Tallulah is a vampire soccer player and was in two minds about me coming along. Cy (aka Bart Simpson) is trick or treating with his mates.

Pirate Wendy with Tallulah and friend Ariana

So after years of Halloweens, driving them around to parties and parades all day, being subjected to equal measures of sugar highs, meltdowns and costume dramas, I now find myself slightly redundant. Halloween still kills me though - you're smiling all day as a gorilla opens your car door at school, Spock drops his kids off next to you, an I-phone walks past with two Dead Riding Hoods and crazy bunnies pack your groceries.

Speaking of pumpkins (as you do) most are not that great to eat. Butternut squash is way better. It's about time the Idle Hostess (moi) shared another of her recipes. I make this so often there are groans (and not of delight) from my guests when I bring it out. New recipe or new friends required - what do you think?

Quick and Dirty Roasted Veges:

1. Butternut squash, parsnips, carrots, sweet potato ("kumara" to the Kiwis), onions, pears, lemons, cloves of garlic with shells on. Warning: this is a "Looks ugly tastes great" dish.

2. Chop veges and pear into big slices or chunks (You have to say "choonks" with a Mancunian accent just like my Grandma's) or slices. Butternut squash and kumara are a bugger to peel so buy the pre-prepared bags from Trader Joes. Failing that, leave the skin on - the meal becomes a fabulous interactive experience for your guests. My guests also compete for how many produce stickers they can find in the dish.

3. Squeeze loads of lemon all over it, glog a log of oil, salt and pepper and put in oven at 250C for three hours (or just blast it at 350 if you can't be arsed hanging about)

Cy insists on helping me squeeze lemons...

...and discovers they don't mix well with cuts

The pears, oil and lemon make a goopy syrup and cooking whole garlic cloves produces a sweet paste you can push out with your knife. If you've made too much, whack it into the cuisinart next day and heat with a dash of milk for a great soup.

Or...just leave it out for Sandy's squirrel.

Seven Days In The Art World

2011-10-28T13:19:00.000-07:00

This month my bookclub, Bay Bookworms, read Seven Days In The Art World by Sarah Thornton.

This book is a fly-on-the-wall account of the seven strange subcultures that make, trade, curate and collect and hype contemporary art. The author spends a day at an art auction (Christie's), an intellectual art magazine (Artforum) an art school (California Institute of Arts), an art fair (Art Basel), interviews those surrounding the always controversial Brit art prize (the Turner) pays a studio visit of one of the world's highest paid artists (Takashi Murakami) and attends a prestigious international art exhibition (the Biennale in Venice. Her constant question is: "What is art?"

What we thought:
Kenny: Go with your instincts and buy what you enjoy looking at. Art is like any other product - marketing and name recognition plays a big part in success and pricing - but that does not always correlate with a piece of Art that moves your mind.

Jody: Incredibly well-researched, well-written piece of journalism and very easy to read. Loved it, especially with the Turner Prize so close. The Christie's auction was my favourite - and noone wants the artist there! The art that consistently sells best: has to fit in a New York elevator, not brown and featuring women rather than men. Leaves you feeling really cynical about the art world when you learn a few super-dealers inflate the value of their stable of artists by "protecting" them in auction. Art is whatever evokes an emotion and continues to do so. Otherwise it's just decoration.

Carson: The book demystified the modern art world by breaking it down from art school all the way to resale at auction. I especially enjoyed the chapters that focused on the artists themselves... The Crit and The Prize. The other chapters expose the art world as a quirky business model with art and artists as products to be managed by galleries, auction houses, and art magazines. The art and the artist can become very disconnected in the process of selling and collecting art. A better glimpse into the world of contemporary artists is the documentary film Herb and Dorothy.

Amy: Really interesting look into the world of contemporary art

What do you think art is? Our next book is By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours. It's a story of a mid-forties New York couple, who thought they were happy enough until her brother comes to visit. Read along with us!

How To Tie A Bow Tie

2011-10-26T22:56:00.000-07:00

As our battered, rust and silver 10 year-old Dodge minivan pulled up to the old-world grandness of the Fairmont on San Francisco's Nob Hill I could already see the blank expression on the bellhops' faces. Tourists asking directions, must be, their faces say. No! I feel like calling and waving: Yoohoo, it's us. Here we are - we're staying with you guys.

Fairmont Hotel, San Francisco

"I wonder if they'll park the Grey Ghost out the front?" Kevin mused as we bumped up to the entrance. I opened the car door and out rolled: a handful of parking receipts, half a bagel, one month of marked homework and Cy's old SpongeBob underwear.

To their credit, the staff stepped up courteously: "Can we help you with your dress?" one offered as my cocktail frock fell off the wire hanger while I dived for Cy's undies. I looked up from the ground to see a pair of black CC-ed boots and a bag of multi-coloured V's giving us a very wide berth.

Some poor valet climbed in our smelly Dodge to park it in the garage and Kevin murmured: "Lucky guy, sweet ride."

We scrambled through the pretty Alphabet-laden people and up to our room. There was a view of the stairwell and a $8.86 bottle of Evian. Yay! We're in a posh hotel.

Tonight is the benefit ball for HRC which lobbies for equal rights for gay men and women and campaigns against bullying. The Fairmont has generously donated three ballrooms for the event and has discounted room rates.

At this stage I'm exhausted after hussling all day to leave the house by 3pm and I'm ready to slip under the covers and watch a $24 B-movie staring Jennifer Aniston. But we put on our duds and join the others. Well, not as quick as that. Kevin left his shirt at home so there is a fair amount of faffing around with some store in the hotel and me readying the iron.

And finally, Kevin must watch the YouTube video on How To Tie A Bow Tie. Again and again and again. This is a "favourite" on every electronic device in our household. Which might give you the impression he is constantly wearing his tuxedo. No, but it is a confirmed obsession. Let's just say while driving to the kids' soccer games on Saturdays he is keeping out a vigilant watch for tuxedo stores where he can buy more bow ties to not know how to tie.

Up and down and around and through...

We head to the ballroom which is chocka full of people having a good time. Among the most beautiful in the room are sisters Rachel and Amber, college friends of Kevin from Penn State. (You've met Amber before, she's writing a book about her dating adventures.)

Belles of the Ball, sisters Rachel and Amber

Amber

Last year my friend Lisa and I joined some shenanigans in the hallway, dancing and having splits competitions with our BFF of the moment, the "smokin' yogi." This year I stayed seated and listened to all the speeches, from Senator Dianne Feinstein to Brit rugby star Ben Cohen. It occurred to me that this hotel was a wonderful oasis of acceptance. Outside not so much.

In more than 30 states there are no laws to protect gay people from being denied housing or rejected for a job because of who they are.

Our friends Kenny and Mike have been together for nearly 19 years and married - in that short window before the laws were reversed - for three years. They have a house and a life together. But if Mike died, their home and all his possessions would be a taxable item for Kenny - not so for a straight couple. And though many companies offer health benefits to same sex couples, again they are taxable.

Mike and Kenny

So it seems this post is not about How To Tie a Bow Tie. The title is as nonsensical as not giving the same rights to all people. Not special rights, just equal...

Diana, Gadaffi and my kitchen sink

2011-10-23T20:55:00.000-07:00

What have Princess Diana, Muammar Gadaffi and my kitchen have in common? Now they have all been photographed by the French photojournalist Frederic Neema.

Our architects Russ Dotter and Wencke Soljeld asked if they could bring a friend called Frederic to photograph our house for their new website. I didn't know Frederic at all, but I planned to hang around and bug him with questions about photographing interiors.

Frederic arrived with literally a truckload of equipment. He says he usually also brings an assistant and many more lights. He turned out to be quite the raconteur as he's worked in more than 40 countries covering all the major wars and disasters as well as photographing top CEOs and celebrities. Amongst others, he has met and photographed Nelson Mandela, Pope John Paul11, Barak Obama, Steve Jobs and dictators such as Gadaffi, (who was killed last week) Saddam Hussein and Mubarak.

I was surprised that although his career was sometimes dangerous and sometimes glamorous he enjoys shooting homes: "I love to shoot interiors because I appreciate architecture. I enjoy the full creative control during a photo shoot as well the technical challenge."

Now living in Oakland and his wife and three children he's left behind the dangerous job of war, journalist hanging out of helicopters and close to the line of fire, but I noticed he did not think twice about perching precariously on our front steps to get a better shot. And funnily enough he was also uncomfortable with me taking photos of him.

Image: Fnphoto.com

Frederic said "You have to create a mood, it's all in the details." To that end he dried damp spots from the rain, moved plants and vegetables and weighed in on the colour of towels in the bathroom. An experienced handyman he even took out a side window to get a better shot of the stove and fridge area.

Frederic photographing our kitchen

Before loading up his equipment into his truck we got the Frederic celeb treatment: "Work it!" he joked getting a photo of me, Russ and Wencke. The amount of work he put into this one assignment was incredible. He had been at our house for more than six hours and had many more hours in front of him on the computer to create that perfect shot. I can't wait to see Frederic's photo of our house and posting them here.

Frederic takes a final photo of me, Russ and Wencke

Frederic's memories of photographing:

Muammar Gaddafi: I photographed Gaddadi several times in my career, in Libya and other parts of the world. He always struck me as a bit crazy but a great showman. Any picture of him would get excellent play worldwide. I remember the day he showed up at an Arab summit in Algeria wearing a white glove à la Michael Jackson. The entire buzz during this summit was about this. I was in Tripoli during the US bombing in 1986, but the picture of him I like the most is the one of him in Aswan, Upper Egypt, riding along ex-Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak who was driving. It was so unexpected that it created chaos among the journalists. I jumped on the hood of Mubarak’s Mercedes and managed to get the best shot before being whisked away by the security.

Hosni Mubarak with Muammar Gaddafi of Libya

Fredi and one of Gadaffi's pregnant security guards

Saddam Hussein: Gaddafi was a bad man but Saddam Hussein was worse. I never dared doing anything wrong around Hussein. He was so scary that even his ministers turned white when he looked at them.

Princess Diana: I photographed Princess Diana when she visited Egypt. She was scheduled to visit a pre-school. The British Embassy in Cairo hired me to shoot this visit. The goal was to take enough good pictures to make a photo exhibition of at least 40 pictures. That was a challenge because the tour was supposed to last only 45 minutes. The good part was that I was going to be the only photographer allowed inside, while the rest of the press corps was kept outside. The tour went smoothly and she was very nice and cooperative. We chatted a bit but unfortunately there was no time for real conversation. She felt at ease after I told her that I was there to catch her at her best. I remember her as very sweet and kind. She was a real princess.

Frederic: Five things to remember when taking a photo.

Frederic transmitting from Liberia 1990

1. Photography is more than just capturing images with a device. It is a language.
2. Having the best camera does not make you the best photographer. Cameras are just tools.
3. Pay attention to details. If there is an element in the picture that is not relevant, you should have framed differently.
4. Humans react better to warm colors than cold colors
5. Know everything about your camera. Read the manual from start to finish.

Leave Everything On The Court

2011-10-17T09:16:00.000-07:00

Sorry, somehow I had a prolonged bloggy break. I took one day off and it became two weeks... What happened in the meantime? For one thing Steve Jobs died. I didn't know much about him as I'm a bit of a Luddite. He created Apple, which is 40 mins from here and Pixar is just down the road. Who was Steve Jobs? An I-God who changed the world for all time? Or a blimin' big meany who made his staff cry and simply made talky and writey stuff look skinny and sweet?

He was for sure, fascinating and inspiring. A friend sent me the speech Steve Jobs made to Stanford University in 2005 and it started ringing bells for some reason. Jobs tells how he started College but then decided to leave: "After six months I couldn'tsee the value in it.... " Who does that remind me of? Our seven year old, Cy.

Cy on the schoolyard in the rain

On Friday I picked up Cy from his second grade class and ask that parental standard: "How was your day?" He gave the same grumpy answer he's given off-and-on since kindergarten: "Oh, they're wasting my time....wasting my time again."

As though they are distracting him from his proper day job of fielding million dollar endorsement offers, placing bids on large commercial buildings and advising the White House on the debt crisis.

And instead of ruling the world from his corner office on the 26th floor of the TransAmerica Pyramid, he finds himself in a classroom struggling to sit on a rug "cross-cross apple-sauce" and to resist blurting the haikus of "hiiilaaarious" nonsense that enter his mind. Let's just say the path to the principal's office is not an untrodden one for him. Every day I wince, afraid to ask: "Any notes from the teacher, Cy?"

On the way to soccer yesterday he said: "At College if you don't go to class, are you sent to the office?" What would you be doing instead of class, we asked. Watching NBA with my friends and eating pizza, was his quick-as-a-flash answer.

Tallulah, 10 and Cy playing on our front deck in the rain

Cy has two gears: howling raging indignation and beaming brightness. In fact his every being follows Steve Jobs' exhortation in that same Stanford speech - live each day as if it were your last. Or as one friend says: Cy leaves everything on the court. He wakes up each morning with a smile on his face and singing a snatch of Cody Simpson. With a cracker in his hand and a trail of crumbs behind him, obsessively checking scores on ESPN.com there is literally nothing else in the world to complete him.

Harley, 14 receives football wisdom from Cy, 7

Until we're ready to leave for school. It's 8.15am and he's wearing an airplane headrest, ski gloves, tweed men's cap, pajama pants, no shoes and he's drawing "Go Penn State" on his chest. Asking if he has made his lunch yet evinces howls of rage "Why, why why me??" even though he's been up for two hours.

The lunches. Because Cy has lost at least 20 lunch boxes he simply grabs whatever bag is at hand: the blue plastic in which the local newspaper arrives, a large brown grocery bag from Trader Joes or - if he can't find anything else - an 18-gallon trash compactor bag. Standing at the fridge he chucks in a couple of handfuls of Goldfish crackers, two apples and random leftovers from last night like lamb chops (unwrapped) and a jar of peanut butter. He looks in his 18 gallon trash compactor bag, nods his head, his work here is done.

Cy assembling his lunch

Cy's lunch

Steve Jobs concluded his speech with: "Stay hungry. Stay Foolish." Cy thinks nothing of disrupting the house, the laundry, and everyone's room to find that perfect soccer practise t-shirt. You see his team all take their shirts off after practise and whip each other with them. Turns out, it's a bit of science finding that perfect whipping shirt.

Finally, his lunch in hand, his shoes on, he dashes out to the car and swings himself through the open front window of the car into the back seat (his latest trick). He grins and sings all the way to school.

Cy gets into the car

The other day I dropped him off at school in the blurring, howling rain. He jumped out the car with no raincoat, natch. Instead of running for the shelter of the front entrance as everyone does on a rainy day, he walked round to the back, to the playground. He had a huge grin on his face, he must have been thinking about seeing his friends, shooting some hoops or kicking the ball around...

I parked and watched as Cy splashed onto a completely deserted playground. The torrential rain almost eclipsed his tiny figure on the vast empty blacktop. I saw Cy raise his arms and his face to the rain: "Why isn't anyone else out here?"

Angus' Gonzo Guide to New York

2011-09-30T09:41:00.000-07:00

In New York I met up with an old university friend, Angus Vail. I hadn't seen him in 25 years. He was with another Kiwi, Giarna and we immediately bonded upon agreeing all our jobs entailed "organising other people's shite." Angus is a rock manager. Giarna, a former actor, is now a personal shopper and assistant to the super-wealthy. And I am a mother. See the similarities?

Me, Angus and Giarna

Angus did the business management for INXS for five years from 1988 and has managed the business office for Kiss for the past 16 years. He is also currently helping out a group of Kiwi DJs called Mt Eden. His email to me about them: "Was utterly shagged today after seeing them play at 2am. These 21-year olds have 22 million hits on one song on YouTube. Even they have no f...ing idea how it happened! View and weep." He has made a TVseries on food and restaurants in NY (pastrami-making without a shirt and the like) produced by a Hungarian company and sold to various markets. Exhausted yet?

How did he get the job with Kiss? Answered an ad in the back of the New York Times.
He was led to an anonymous room and told:
"I can't say who the group are, but they wear make-up and big boots and were big in the 70's."
"Kiss?"
And so it was that Angus became their biz manager.

How did he get the job with INXS? Bored with his broker job in Sydney he sent hundreds of CVs (resumes) out to music companies. His favourite memory was of guitarist Tim Farriss, a joyful character who woke up every morning delighted to be a rockstar. One of his conversations with Angus:
"Angus mate, do I have enough money to buy a big boat?"
"No, don't buy a boat."
"Angus mate, I bought a boat!"

We met in the Greene Space near Soho to hear a classical group called The Knights recorded by public radio. There was a light brunch nearby and being good Kiwis we positioned ourselves right next to the bagels, fruit, coffee and orange juice.

"Don't chomp too loudly" said Angus. I stepped away from the free grub - who wants to be immortalised on the radio in a choking incident?

WQXR host Jeff Spurgeon and The Knights

Angus remembered a Greek place round the corner which sold thick coffee and augolemono soup. He didn't remember the name or the street and we walked around for some time looking for it. "This is what he does" said Giarna "He gets a place in his mind and won't give up until he finds it."

We found the Greek place - it's called Snack - and drank the stand-a-spoon-in-it coffee and the sublime lemon soup. Angus talked about one of his life-long obsessions - Shakespeare. Who really was author of those plays? Shakespeare, an untraveled man? Or was it someone using Shakespeare's name like Edward de Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford. As a noble he would have been frowned upon for openly writing plays for the "plebs." Angus is planning to use his ArtBlocs (mobile art spaces made from shipping containers) to build a Globe similar to the one in London, but mobile.

Angus and Giarna

We mooched around Soho and I envied how Angus and Giarna both stopped at every step to talk to whomever: people they knew; people they thought they might know; and just randoms. We stepped into Icebreaker which sells Kiwi actionwear and I met it's trademark buff bloke wearing a sheep's head. Giarna is part of a voluntary team, Achilles NZ, which includes Frank Bunce (All Black) and Tawera Nikau (League Legend), bringing disabled Kiwi athletes to the NY Marathon. Icebreaker is donating items for a fundraiser and Giarna chatted to the staff about that.

Me and the Icebreaker bloke

We then stepped into Barneys so Angus could spend a $1,500 gift cert from a satisfied client. He has little interest in clothes shopping and was stumped. Giarna, ever the personal shopper, put together an outfit for Angus' wife to wear to Gene Simmons' wedding in LA, which funnily enough, was advertised around the corner.

Billboard in Soho

Angus had to leave to meet his wife at the Ground Zero 9-11 Memorial. Before he took off, I spilled the beans to Giarna: "You know Angus was a cult figure at Uni. He had about six guys following him around all the time, from Tai Kwon Do to the caf'. It was Angus this, Angus that. He always wore black. We all thought he was so cool."
"No! No! No! That's TOTAL bullsh..!" said Angus.
"Oh don't tell me, Angus ..." said Giarna "but you felt so terribly alone, so misunderstood."
"Oh yeah,"I said, adding the final damning word: "In fact, he was....popular."

Angus winced as he headed off. I hope he's still talking to me when we meet up again in 25 years' time.

Angus' Off-the-Grid NYC:

1) Latin foods along 75th St and Roosevelt Avenue in Queens. If you look up "Piedad the Arepa Lady" you'll see a little bit what I mean.

2) Far Rockaway, Queens....great beach, my ArtBloc.....urban surfing....

3) Sleep No More, an immersive theater experience. Audience wears a Venetian mask and follows actors up and down stairs, encouraged to poke into corners and trunks ...just extended to Nov 11th.

4) Irish Hunger Memorial, NYC

5) Polish delicatessens, meat markets and restaurants in Greenpoint, Brooklyn...esp the Lomzynianka Restaurant....the white borscht soup....

6) Museum of the Moving Image in Queens

7) Socrates Sculpture Park, Queens...and nearby Noguchi Museum

8) El Faro restaurant, near Meatpacking district - For 70 years run by same Spanish family- the garlic shrimp is legendary.....

9) Red Hook food vendors around the soccer fields

10) Inwood Hill Park Old Indian caves and the supposed location where the Dutch bought Manhattan from the Indians for 50 or so guilders.

NEON!

2011-09-23T11:02:00.000-07:00

Heads up. If you don't like neon - best zoom off to another planet before March next year.

Bestsellers at Kelsi Dagger

Because neon, day-glo, shocking brights - whatever you call those irreverent Eighties colours - were the most predominant trend at Fashion Coterie in New York for spring 2012. Bubble gum pink, Brazil beach orange, acid yellow and bloody bright green. These colours don't give a toss - and that's what I like about them.

Project Kama

I guess the only issue is - is neon going to date? Who cares? Fashion peeps don't think like me, a 49-year-old who's starting to think elastic waistband trou are quite comfy and practical after all. And I guess you could save your Day-Glo pieces for the next go-around in twenty years' time. Speaking of comfort and practicality - splashes from a smoothie? phhht! - this boiler suit at Desigual is a superb alternative to tracky pants.

Desigual

There is no doubt about it - neon is strangely flattering to most skin colours and ever-edgy. There was full-on commitment at Nanette Lepore who is usually so restrained...

Nanette Lepore

And just a touch on these Loeffler Randall shoes...

And even at the more woodsy, craftsy aesthetic of Patterson J. Kincaid , this little deer found himself in a clearing of bright.

But at dear creatures, a spin on "sentimental tales of whimsy" they stuck to natural colours with classic capes in mustard and forest greens.

Sitting in the back was 25-year-old Smith Sinrod with her beautifully bright Thai silk pieces. It's slow for us, she said. Maybe it's where you're sitting? I replied. She looked so tiny and young and sweet and her Victorian-meets-Mod pieces so lovely I wanted to take buyers by the hand and lead them straight to her.

Smith Sinrod (left) with friend

Another young 'un (she doesn't tell her age but she's early twenties) was Natalia Kuks Jacobs who covered all bases with bright South American prints and floaty romantic. (Another trend - clipping a blond hairpiece very obviously on dark hair - looks fabulous on her. But I'm sure would be more Norman Bates playing Mother in Psycho.)

More South American brights down the row.

Outside the sensory-overload that is Fashion Coterie, I walked for an hour to St Patrick's Cathedral on Madison, which always has a wooded, stone and candle quiet. Outside on the streets, intermittently five, then ten, then 100 people would gather when a line of police and town cars pulled up. Who was it? One of the Jens? A Housewife? Then someone would say: "Oh, it's just someone from the United Nations" and the crowds would disperse.

The busiest place in town was around the corner on 5th Avenue, the new Hollister, a sort of surfer SoCal Abercrombie and Fitch.

Greeting customers in the front were young men and women wearing just their togs. (swimsuits) People were streaming in. I can't remember if I saw any evidence of the day-glo trend, I don't think so. Turns out there's no need for neon when you're blinded by inhumanly perfect abs.

Buttons, Beads and Balls-Ups

2011-09-19T21:07:00.000-07:00

I can now say without fear or favour - whatever that means - that I will never be a frock designer when I grow up. I'm here in New York with friends Lesley and Laura at the trade show Fashion Coterie. While they finished setting up their booth, I was given the simple small task of finding the Garment District and buying nine beads, six ribbons and three buttons.

Laura (kneeling) and Lesley setting up their booth

After two hours of getting lost in a taxi then walking the length of Manhattan and two more agonising hours of indecision over colour, shape and shine I came back with all the wrong stuff.

Lesley was terribly sweet and made it work, but in the Devil-Wears-Prada-Wintour world I would be given a withering "I don't understand why you can't ..." and red-soled booted back onto Starbucks duty. The ribbon was shiny silk and not matte cotton, the beads wouldn't fit through the ribbon and the buttons were plastic, not enamel.

Me in the Garment District

But now I've seen the dazzling sights of the trim capitol on the Avenue of the Americas. Others may come to view shows, museums, walk in the park and reflect upon the history of this nation. But I have witnessed the seas of beads and walls of buttons and rooms of ribbons....and I have now a huge respect for those who blithely pick trim in a matter of minutes and move on with their lives.

At M&J after viewing more ribbon than would fill a lifetime of Bronte sisters' novels, I headed into the button room. Gentle Readers I was unsure whether to rein in my wobbly lip and vapours or collapse sobbing on the floor, my button tray askew and sadly unfilled. Taking pity on me the assistant, Jose, offered to climb the ladder and help me pick my three buttons.

What about just above those?

Meanwhile a bizarrely eclectic mix of people milled around: huge dudes wearing biker gang jackets looking for more interesting patches, little old ladies finding a button to match a much-loved pink cardy, punky young girls hunting down glitter for their skull and crossbones emblems.

Across the road at BeadCenterNY (golly, these people don't waste energy selecting a shop name) I cornered another assistant to help me pick the beads. Until her boss spotted me as a time waster and cautioned the poor girl. I then turned to these chaps, both jewelers, to give me a second opinion.

Tomorrow I'm going to leave this trim stuff to those-who-know-and-can-decide and stick to the simple role of clueless tourist.

Lesley and Laura showing the Spring 2012 line to buyers

Noo Yoik

2011-09-16T07:02:00.000-07:00

This morning I'm flying off to New York with my friends, fashion designer Lesley Evers and her head of sales, Laura. Whoohoo! They will be showing their Spring 2012 frocks at the trade show, Fashion Coterie. I will do a bit of fetching and carrying for them, but mostly, while they work, I'll be mooching around town. Lucky old moi...or rather mwa, mwa darlings.

Lesley photoshoot at our house...in the living room

on the bocce ball court...

These are some pictures of Lesley's new line taken at our house by brilliant fashion photographer and stylist Lara Rossignol of Piewacket. I wasn't home during the shoot, but Lesley tells me that Lara works quickly and decisively without heavy props and lights.

How in the heck did Lara make our scrubby old bocce ball court look so romantic? (I always manage to get Cy's old socks in the frame) And did she capture so much light in the green chair picture? In the photo below, I'm so proud the beautiful model is wearing my nude shoes in the backyard shot, but oops am noticing my green chair in the kitchen pic is a bit grubby. Sorry!

in our backyard...

...and in our kitchen (dress available now)

Now the kids are older, getting away by myself is not the military operation it was - requiring weeks of advance planning and involving all manner of additional personnel and complicated graphs and charts. This time there, er, might be a few holes in the schedule (sorry Kevin, going into a tunnel now...)

You might remember I went to Coterie last year and wrote about Lesley and Laura setting up - transforming an empty space into this. I also blogged about trends for clothing and shoes. I visited the High-Line, a garden in the sky on a disused railway, scoffed the legendary bacon sarnie at The Tipsy Pig, walked around MOMA and saw Promises, Promises.

Would love to hear your ideas about what I should do this time - shows, art exhibitions, restaurants? I have four days.

Surprise! and Survive!

2011-09-14T20:32:00.000-07:00

At a friend's surprise birthday party on Saturday night I had a revelation - there are few problems that can't be softened by a glass of champers, doing the whoo whoo dance and karaoke rendition of "I Will Survive."

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And this from me, a person who enters every karaoke party with the mantra: "Don't let me sing, not going to sing."

The surprise party was a welcome break from days and nights of vacillating between filling out forms and not (but thinking about them anyway.) Responding to emails and not (but thinking....) This year our four kids are at three different schools and it's been an even louder blasting of Back-To-School paperwork, emails about sports teams, carpools, after-school activities, evening meetings and constant, constant pleas for volunteers. You respond - more work and more driving. You don't respond - guilt, guilt, guilt.

Amidst this, two other birthdays; Kevin's and Harley's. Since Harley was born 14 years ago, it's been a family tradition that Kevin's birthday passed without fuss. (Okay I always forget.) But this year - surprise! - I had nothing planned for Harley either. Pretty shameful as Harley always orders gifts and makes cards for others. I was relying on the potluck dinner after his football practise where all his teammates sang him Happy Birthday. "Wasn't that a lovely dinner, Harley? Nice birthday treat for you!" The next night my friend Gloria and her family took him to Fentons for ice-cream where the whole room sang him Happy Birthday again.

Harley at Fentons

Kevin's birthday last night. Surprise - again we were rescued us from another cake-less night. All the kids and I had to do was clean up and friends arrived with chillybins packed with drinks and dinner: Mike's skirt steak with chimichurri sauce, fresh corn, Sandy with Veuve, her mustard gourmet mac'n'cheese, heirloom tomatoes and peach pie.

Cy and Tallulah getting the house ready

Tallulah's card for Kevin

Between the birthdays, the emails keep coming, twisting me into knots of indecision. West African dancing, percussion lessons for Tallulah, 10? Fantastic! I spent a week mulling over which class she would love the most, could she handle two things after school, how on earth could I pick her up? I left it so long the classes were full or cancelled. "Mum, I didn't want to do it anyway" Tallulah confessed: "soccer is enough for me."

I just emailed another parent and a refreshing auto-reply came back: "I have sworn off email for the time being." That got me thinking - what would happen if I didn't look at my emails? I suspect... I will survive. With a little help from my friends.

Tallulah waves goodbye

Metal Earth: Rebecca and Meghan

2011-09-09T00:54:00.000-07:00

The lucky winner of the Damages videos is Libby of D-Scribes. Congratulations Libby! (Btw, my Damages piece was also on Huffington Post (UK) - thanks Susanna of BritMums for guiding me there.)

During the Metal Earth Giveaway I promised a visit to Meghan and Rebecca to hear their story. Here we go...

As I stroll towards Meghan and Rebecca's wooden studio above the hot-tub, the sun blasting through the bamboo, I hear an explosion of laughter. I see a few dance steps and that unmistakable Tinkerbell sound of their jewelry. In the middle of the tools and the gold and silver is a chicken salad Meghan has whipped up from her latest organic box delivery. Hang on...this is work?

Meghan and Rebecca

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Rebecca Longenecker and Meghan Zimmerman, both 43, of Metal Earth Studios have lived across the road from each other in Rockridge, Oakland for ten years. They've worked together for two years and became partners a year ago. They seem to be having waaay too much fun, but in fact they've been working 12-hour days - fueled in part by chocolate-covered coffee beans - getting 250 pieces ready for their first major retail trunk show tomorrow (Sat 10th Sept) at Margaret O'Leary on 4th Street, Berkeley.

Their range of 45 different necklaces, earings and bangles are gold and silver - sometimes featuring a diamond - with hand-hammered and textured tabs on chains and are best worn layered with air of gypsy freedom. Though of course with the price of gold, it can veer into Gyp-set.

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Both women have been stay-at-home mums since their children were born (the eldest being 15) and they and their husbands have been best friends for eight years. Before babies, Meghan was a professional modern dancer and photographer and Rebecca worked in post-production film units and for auction houses, selling American Indian jewelery from pawn houses.

1. Why did you start Metal Earth?
Rebecca: I've always been interested in ancient jewelery and four years ago I took courses at CCA and Studio One ....It's about remembering who I was before the kids. (They each put in around $10,000 at the beginning of the year and are currently breaking even.)
Meghan: Creating jewelry with Rebecca has evolved naturally, finding a place in my life alongside my other artistic passions. Wearing it makes you feel beautiful and strong and we wanted to share that with other women.

2. What has been the easiest thing about the business - and the hardest?
Rebecca: The jewelry sells itself. We get stopped in the street all the time - I had one woman who wanted the "whole look" and bought $8,000 worth. We walk into SF Moma and stores and the managers ask how they can buy it.
Meghan: I was just in Outer Banks in North Carolina and sold most of my personal collection to my friends there. The challenge has been how to get help. We spent hours compiling a detailed manual on how to make every piece to train another artist. But his pieces looked too similar, too shiny. Maybe no one else will notice that all those tabs were the same but we did. It has to be and look hand-forged, hand-rubbed and hand-hammered. It always comes back to doing it ourselves, but we don't want to become little elves just doing the same thing over and over.

3. How do you spend so much time together?
Rebecca: We're very similar people (from very large families, high-powered fathers and with an artsy bohemian aesthetic). I can be a bit sprinkling the fairy dust, maybe a bit scattered and floaty. Meghan hones its all down to practicalities; can we get 40 pieces together in this time? how should the photo of this necklace look?

4. How do you balance family life and growing the business?
Rebecca: Ha! That's what we're trying to work out. My husband Phil (Brewer and Chief of Operations at Anchor Brewing Company) said to me the other night: 'You used to make things in the oven.' My daughter (Emma, 14) joked: "Mom, you cleaned out the fridge on Sunday. It's now Wednesday - are you gonna buy some food to put in our nice clean fridge?" But this is unusual, we're getting ready for our first big retail show. Sometimes it's overwhelming: there's nothing for dinner, I haven't taken the dog for a walk, I've been driving, driving the kids to sports all afternoon, then I come over here and I feel centred and grounded.
Meghan: You have to ask yourself; how many of my kid's baseball games am I willing to miss? None? Then maybe we can't be really huge. I don't ever want to feel strangled by the business and we don't want to borrow money. And our kids still need us, they can float in and float out, we're here. Our advice to anyone is: don't try and fit in with a specific mold or business model, do what feels right. And of course we always make sure we get to our dances classes.

Maya, 12, helping out

5. Where do you see the business in one year's time?
Rebecca: We would like to be in SF Moma and a few boutiques. Eventually I would love to see us in Paris and in Barneys, and showing in exhibitions with other artists. Our next step artistically is to make even more primitive-looking jewelery, using 18 and 22 carat un-mined diamonds and leather and black and oxidised silver. My friend sees a psychic who said our next line will be inspired by Peru.
Meghan: We have realised you can't make money in retail (unless you sell tons) so I see the bulk of our sales from direct sales and trunk shows. We hope to be selling around 100 pieces a month and be here in the studio making jewelry two full days a week.

6. Which public personas embody your look?
A mix of Frida Kahlo, Halle Berry, Gwyneth Paltrow, Aphrodite and maybe a little fairy dust from Tinkerbell.

As I leave, Rebecca tells me what makes it all worth it. Her hairdresser said: "I can't stop looking in the mirror watching my bracelet." Another friend told her: "You should call them them 'love chains.' My husband just loves the sound of them and -" Say no more.

Have you ever thought about turning your passion into a business?

Lady Gaga goes Tilda Swinton.

2011-09-07T20:17:00.000-07:00

Chuck out all your make-up! Even Lady Gaga has gone all Tilda Swinton on us!

The new cover of Harper's Bazaar shows Lady Gaga with no make-up, hair plain. The new minimalism. It's not a fresh and peachy just-off-the-beach baring all. Rather the white-eyebrow, white-hair, no-eyelash austerity of actress Tilda Swinton. A look that goes further than natural, it's less than zero, a dramatic and daring absence of colour.

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Bugger it! Just as I'd mastered the dark tapered eyebrow, just as I'd hunted down a place that does the deepest of spray tans, just as I'd bought a whole bunch of that gunk that darkens and lengthens your eyelashes. Bloody hell. Always that one step behind...

Tilda Swinton famously wears the most severe couture, often without even a hint of lippy and her hair slicked back. She is the antithesis of someone who cares what's cute.

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Is Lady Gaga reflecting our on--the-edge-of-a-depression time? Is bare-faced the equivalent of long hemlines heralding a seriously sad economy. Whatever the sub-conscious motivation, the Tilda Swinton look has been adopted by many. Prada's latest campaign shows this same absence of make-up as does Armani and Honor Fraser for Zara. Louis Vuitton adverts in the New York Times this weekend showed pale, pale faces with just a stagey scrap of eyeliner.

In keeping with this bleakness, no wonder Jane Eyre's foggy wanderings on the moor have been so popular in the cinemas.

Or maybe it's not a negative - no colour equals sombre - but rather a positive. Having confidence - just as you are - to face the world - just as it is. Just as Tilda Swinton has the chutzpah to: lie in a case in an art show; have a husband, twins and a lover and make it work; and wear metallic baby-poop gold without a hint of blush or mascara.

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I'm choosing to do it the old-fashioned way; with curled, dyed eyelashes, a brush of blush and a dash of pink lippy. Now that's daring.

Last LOUD Days of Summer

2011-09-05T21:42:00.000-07:00

Labour Day here in the US draws a line in the sand. After today you simply cannot be seen in your whites and brights. Who knows why? Anyone...anyone? So before my time ran out, I broke out the loudest, boldest, dayglo-iest frock I could find.

Bloomin' lovely or bloody awful?

I found this original Seventies dress while dropping Tallulah off at her doctors' on Friday. "Lounging Wear" it said on the label. I did its' bidding.

Lounging at home

But where to wear it? You may have heard me whining about the rubbish summer we've had here in the Bay Area. It was Mark Twain who said: "The coldest winter I ever spent was the summer in San Francisco." Well, it was like that here in Oakland. Every area here has its own microclimate. Oakland is just 12 mins across the bridge from San Francisco but is usually 15 degrees warmer. And it gets really, really hot if you drive just a few minutes inland to Lafayette. So I invited my frock and family to Lafayette friends Peter and Lisa...and we sat outside all night.

Peter and Lisa's backyard in Lafayette

Me and Tallulah

Jake, 2 and Cy, 7

I must admit there was some angry loudness as we pulled out of our driveway earlier in the night. The kids had forgotten to put out the garbage the previous week and I made them pile it into the back of the car so we could drop it at a local store bins (pre-arranged, mind) Turns out some roaming creatures has feasted on our largesse which became obvious as the kids - and poor Kevin - loaded in the bags. The wee holes leaked stinking, rotting whatever into the car and all over the kids. Making memories.

Despite garbage-gate, the long weekend was going rather well, a little too well, so we decided to spend a couple of hours in traffic driving to a freezing, fogged-over crowded Stinson Beach. During our 15 years living in England, we spent many brisk and bum-freezing hours on the beaches of Devon, Brighton and Studland Bay, near Bournemouth. Tropical compared to temps in Stinson.

On Sunday I was keeping it loud with my moving mermaid necklace , admittedly more Jersey Shore than the hippy succulents and Cowgirl Creamery vibe of Stinson. I arrived wearing my mermaid, ever hopeful, like so:

Watercolour by Tallulah

Arrived like this...

But soon was wearing the picnic blanket, Stinson-Beach style:

Couple of minutes later...Lesley and I

What lovely loudness in your weekend?

(And don't forget to enter our Giveaway of the first three seasons of Damages, starring Glen Close and Rose Byrne.)

Friday Giveaway: Damages

2011-09-02T08:54:00.000-07:00

Brutal knivings, dove-grey Chanel handbags, senseless sexual encounters, dealing with double-crossing corrupt businessmen, more murders. That's what I've been doing the last couple of weeks...watching Damages.

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If I was a good mother and a decent blogger I would be writing about my four children's first day back at school. But putting in hard-core sessions until 1am watching Damages has left me drifting through the days in a telly hangover.

Back To School.... now when was that, how did it go? I have a hazy memory of three of my kids - boys I think - heading off somewhere. Did they walk or did I drive them? One child, a 10-year-old girl who calls herself Tallulah, seems to be still at home waiting for her new school to start, a shadowy figure wandering the rooms. I even attended the myriad of Class Information nights and morning Meet and Greet coffee and croissants, but who knows what was said, what was done...

You see: I had to prioritise. And the thing that has filled my time, my thoughts, my very being is Damages.

Damages is a legal drama about the world of New York City litigation, following the "turbulent lives of Patty Hewes, the nation's most revered and reviled high-stakes litigator, and her bright ambitious protégé Ellen Parsons."

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Patty Hewes is played by Glen Close, with subtle glimpses of her spurned bunny boiler in Fatal Attraction and the fan-fluttering manipulative Marquise in Dangerous Liaisons. What is it about Glen Close's sparkling eyes and secretive close-mouthed smile that reveals so little and promises so much drama and intrigue? Is she pure evil or simply a flawed advocate of the underdog? And the beautiful Ellen Parsons - played by the Aussie Rose Byrne - is she truly sweet or as corrupt as Patty herself?

Another treat is to see them spar against Ted Danson, who with his grey "hair" bolstered by infinitely better hair plugs than he previously sported, plays a dirty corporate dog. And the fantastically ever-creepy William Hurt, Patty's old love and the man who seems to be hiding something. (Hmm...also a closed-lip smiler.)

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These matters have somewhat obsessed me over the last few weeks. And, umm...I might have let a few things go...

One evening Jackson, 11, came into the TV room wailing: "Cy just deleted all of my book report!!!"
Me, staring straight ahead: "How do you know it was Cy?'
Jackson: "The screen was on Angel by Shaggy - Cy's favourite song!"(Which, by the way, is sexist and stupid and no attentive mother would let seven-year-old Cy watch it.)
Me: "Please step outside, I'm terribly busy, I can't deal with this now."

Another entreaty from Harley, 13, as he heads off to catch the 7.30am bus to his new high school: "Please, please Mum, could you do some grocery shopping! Please! There is nothing for my lunch again!"

The good news is that watching Patty Hewes with her 17-year-old son Micheal makes you feel like a fabulous mother. Her son despises and fears her.

Michael: You were right. I was playing games with you. I was very angry, and I was acting out.

Patty: Acting out? You sent me a hand grenade and almost killed your stepfather.

My "Damages Friend" Lesley, and I have filled our in-boxes, barbecues, dinners out and standing on the playground with analysing the relationship between Patty and Ellen. Over the weekend our back-and-forth "doyouthink..." induced other 'friends' to splutter into their margaritas appalled: "Jody! Lesley! These are not real people! They are characters on TV!" Lesley and I shook our heads and smiled our best conspiratorial closed-lip Patty Hewes smile. They don't know, they are not one of us. But that's been part of the commitment - ignoring the detractors, the scoffers.

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When our friend Rina was just here from London she was hooked. She visited for only four days but two nights were devoted to Damages. "Uggh!" she said after a four-hour session one night: "I feel emotionally violated." But we pressed on, clocking in another four hours the next night.

It was something Kevin and I could do together, though truthfully his commitment wavered at times...he had a job to go to in the morning. One night he broke down: "I can't go on!" he cried; "I've got to go to bed. And..." he added: "no more tomorrow night - Patty Hewes is giving me nightmares." We pushed through it.

But now? Now it's over, we can get on with our lives. Stacking the dishes in the dishwasher, talking to the kids, putting on make-up (necessary as I have multi blemishes from excessive lying on the sofa) doing the grocery shopping.

Yes, it's over. Until Season Four...

Today's First Friday Giveaway is the first three seasons of Damages. To enter, you need to be a Follower or Subscriber and leave a comment. You get an extra point for each if you Facebook and-or Twitter the offer. The winner will be drawn - randomly - next Friday 9 September.

What's your current telly obsession?

Riff'n'Rina

2011-08-30T20:58:00.000-07:00

There are friends whom you haven't seen for years, but you pick up exactly where you left off. Riffing for hours. Rina, also a Kiwi, is such a friend. This weekend she dramatically decided to fly over from London where she lives, while listening to a marathon of speeches at a hospital retirement party. As soon as I picked her up from the airport she told me about the final speech. One doctor said the retiring woman had been a perfect nurse: "Hard-working, pleasant...and fat." Rina always arrives well-armed with bon mots and bizarre anecdotes.

Mike, Me, Rina and Kenny

I met Rina 22 years ago in a hotel in Cairo. We were both backpacking through Egypt and at that stage I was traveling by myself. We bumped into each other again climbing Mt Sinai. She was with bickering sisters and fleeing three randy Israelis vying for her favour and was relieved to have a buffer.

Rina, her entourage and I at top Mt Sinai

We met again back in London where I was working as a journalist and she as an anesthesiologist. She was different from the rest of the Kiwi crowd - she had wheels, a Fiat Panda, and on several weekends we blatted off for mini-breaks in the wilds of Britain, ostensibly to ride horses. We both envisaged ourselves galloping over the green hills, the wind blowing through any strands of hair which escaped our black velvet riding hats. As I've said before in another horsey post, Rina sighed: "All I want to say is: 'Whoah there my beauty!'"( in true Bronte style). Instead we were heaved onto farty old nags who could barely move one step without tugging their heads down and grabbing another gobful of grass.

Rina and I horse trekking in Wales

She was there when Kevin and I first met and we would frequent a Chelsea nightclub in which Kevin had a tiny investment. This was a place where Chaka Khan's sister, Taka, was the top-billed act. (You didn't know her?) We turned up one night to be told the kitchen had run out of food which was just as well because the cutlery had disappeared. It was no surprise to learn the barman was an chronic alcoholic and the manager a gambler and the club closed it's doors.

Later I persuaded Rina to be in one of my articles for London Evening Standard about being single in London. I don't write the headlines but you can image how thrilled she was to be smiling under this particular one. "Bright, single, 30-plus and...looking for a man." Oh, she was so happy. JK(Just kidding) as Cy would say, she was apoplectic.

Evening Standard, 2 October 1996

Once the constant JK-ing at her hospital died down and the rash of letters from sundry oddballs and stalkers trailed off, I wrote another article, this time on single men in London. "Desperately seeking someone single."But the previous headline flashed up again. Rina was still horrified but ruefully confided it was one of her most widely-read publications as a doctor.

One year later I contacted the five women to see if they were still single. "No comment" said Rina, hoping that would be the end of it. But there was that headline again. Happy ending though, phhew, she is married to a Kiwi architect and has a three-year-old girl called Pashmina. Hmm... maybe time to do yet another follow-up.

Her four-day visit here was an opportunity to be a tourist again in Oakland and San Francisco and we walked the length of the city for four hours, from the greasy Pier 52 to open Chrissy Field with views of the Golden Gate Bridge and back to North Beach with smells of pizza, garlic and hazy revellers from last night's comedy shows.

Chrissy Fields

Rina in North Beach

Rina soon ascertained that the Bay Area prides itself on being a gastronomic haven, quality local produce served with passion and occasion. So that evening while friends Kenny'n'Mike treated us to a meal at Oakland's Camino restaurant, she proudly claimed that despite being a busy mother in central London she plucked the first crop of her tomatoes this summer. Kenny quizzed her - which variety? - heirloom..? Those ones from the Black Sea? "Just cherry, basic cherry, but slightly orange," she replied visibly miffed that her only organic produce story had been upstaged so early in the evening.

Rina described our larder (pantry) as the size of a "small aircraft hangar" and was incredulous that I've replaced cooking with "assembling." Then she admitted these days she merely "dipped" and did not even warm her pre-prepareds.

A dipping and assembling Barbie

Coming down to breakfast after a rowdy barbecue the night before, Rina found herself facing a kitchen littered with 15 wine bottles, two sliced un-eaten watermelon, pizza dotting the TV room and dirty plates piled up. It was first day back to school and Cy, seven, was packing a lunch of left-over chocolate-covered pretzels with a face still painted from the night before. Then she was treated to a full-on fight between Jackson, 12, and Cy, culminating in Jackson whacking Cy with a Whiffle-ball bat.

A Whiffle ball dispute (surely the worst kind). It wasn't even 7.30am and I'm sure Rina was very ready to return home to her small but perfectly-formed cherry tomatoes.

Have you riffed with the Rina in your life lately?

BritMum

2011-08-26T10:18:00.000-07:00

Last week I was lucky enough to meet one of the women at the forefront of blogging in Britain. Susanna Scott is author of A Modern Mother and co-founder of BritMums, a network of 3,000 parent bloggers with an aggregated audience of 10 million. She started blogging three years ago and has been ranked by Cision as a top 10 mum blogger.

Susanna and me in SF's Chinatown

Chinatown

Susanna, 46, lives in a small town near Newbury, England with her Scottish husband, an IT sales director and three girls (ages 6, 7 and 9). Two years ago she founded BritMums with Jennifer Howze, former Times "Alpha Mummy" columnist. BritMum connects bloggers and holds conferences in London.

We met through a mutual friend as Susanna is from the East Bay, California. She returns for six weeks every summer for some sun and to see her parents. We ate chow mien at Far East Cafe in San Francisco's Chinatown, then strolled to the park around the corner so her daughters could play while I bombarded her with questions.

Surprising thing about Susanna? In person she is gentle, incredibly helpful and low-key. And, endearingly, though she attends loads of premieres and parties, she seldom recognises celebrities.

1. How and why did you get started?
I started blogging three years ago because, I joke, it was cheaper than therapy. I had three children in less than three years, and two were premature. I left my job as an IT marketing director to be a full-time mum and I missed a part of myself. Blogging gave me back my voice.

2. What do you think is the perfect blog post? Number of words, number of pictures, frequency, topic?
I’d don’t have favourites, everyone’s style is different and you either click with it or you don’t. And sometimes you are in the mood for different types of posts – funny, poignant, thoughtful, whimsical – you can find it all online.

3. Your most popular blog post?
My most popular blog post was one I wrote about our Polish cleaner. It was short, about 300 words, but has been stumbling around blogosphere for the past three years.

4. What is the best way to get more readers?
Join a community like BritMums, BlogHer, etc to find like-minded bloggers. Also, be a reader (and commenter). Do not despair, you WILL find your tribe, they are out there.

5. You mentioned you no longer have a nanny. How do you make it work?
Erm, not very well. We have lots of playdates and some part-time help. I have nightmares of being asked to a meeting last minute and not being able to make it because I have to drop off at an after-school club.

6. I notice you don't post pictures of your children. Why is this? And what other things will you not do?
I don’t publish that many pics of my kids, I feel that I can control my privacy, and should give them the same option. I don’t write about sex, I’d get into trouble.

7. What should bloggers expect to get out of conferences?
The best part of blogging conference is connecting with so many people that you know online. Also, the energy and the atmosphere is contagious.

8. What are your favourite blogs? I usually hang out with expats, like The Potty Diaries, Expat Mum, Nappy Valley Girl in New York and of course your blog!

9. Sometimes it takes me forever to do a blog post. How long do you take?
If I get stuck on a blog post I just figure it was not meant to be.

10. Can you make any money from blogging?
You can make pocket money, and supplemental income, though only a select few with ever earn enough to pay their mortgage. I think you should blog because you love it, and anything else that comes out of it is a bonus. I also think that blogging can be a stepping stone to other things, like writing contracts, etc. But do it because you love it.

Thanks Susanna, see you when you're next in the Bay Area.

Now, gentle readers, how would you answer these questions?

In the Garden of Beasts

2011-08-25T12:09:00.000-07:00

This month my bookclub read In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror and an American Family in Hitler's Berlin by Erik Larson.

The book: A true story set in 1933 about a mild-mannered professor from Chicago, William E. Dodd, who overnight becomes America's first ambassador to Hitler's Germany. Dodd is accompanied by his wife, son and flamboyant daughter who is enchanted by the parties and young men of the Third Reich. Meanwhile her father watches with increasing horror as Jews are attacked, the press is censored and the spiralling violence reveals Hitler's true ambitions.

What we thought:

Jean: The book was extremely informative and described a time we should all learn about and remember. Hitler-type stories continue to happen under our noses to this day, I believe. Remembering that can happen to a whole government, and people, is bone chilling and a real history lesson. The personal story of the daughter was a surprise considering the time. I really enjoyed the book!

Melinda: I thought it was a fantastic read. Another history lesson for me. I feel I have such a better understanding of the mood of Germany and the US in 1932 and 1933, following WW1. I found the story told, through the life of the Dodd family, an interesting perspective which highlighted the personalities of the Nazis and the locals. A must-read.

Ellen: One reason I enjoy my book group is because you can go even when you can't find time to read the book, and you leave having read it vicariously. Showing up matters. I think that was a theme in this book too.

Jody: Think this book should be required reading in schools. I learned so much about the year before Hitler became Chancellor. Sometimes dense but always easy to read. It answers the question: How on earth did inhuman beasts like Hitler and his men come to power? Many turned away as violence was done, some fought it and others were disbelieving. Also incredibly disturbing was the force of anti-semitic feeling in the US at the time - and how many felt very free to express it, even in writing.

Cameron: It's fascinating the high level profession he (Dodds) got to in just 48 hours. The reality is that this is still happening in the world today.

Our next book is The Seamstress by Frances De Pontes Peebles. Read along with us!