Cafe Soleil - Episode 4

“I had an accident.  I couldn’t walk for six months.  Several screws in my leg.  Things just got on top of me and I had a breakdown.  Lost my relationship – no children fortunately.” She pushed back her bob and he got a glimpse of a greying temple.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”  He took her hand and she didn’t withdraw it.

It was the weekend now and thirty or so motorcycles roared past the café and up the hill to the beach.  He could just see them – all in black leather, some really overweight, reliving their heyday – sad grey ponytails flapping in the wind.  Why did they have need of so much noise?  He supposed it was the masculine sense of power throbbing between their legs combined with the speed that made them feel invincible.  He hoped they weren’t going to clog up the café later with their helmets and swagger.  Not much chance of that, they weren’t the coffee drinking types anyway.

The divers were also getting ready, squirming into wetsuits that had trouble accommodating their ample middles and trying to balance those heavy tanks on their backs at the same time. It seemed like so much effort to dive to an ancient wreck. He’d seen the boats coming in to shore and bobbing on the waves as the divers clambered aboard.  It seemed to take them ages, impeded by their gigantic flippers, masks and the heavy weight on their backs.

Then there were the extrovert Middle Eastern types with their gold chains and their “Hey mate…” loud but inoffensive in their souped up jalopies or really flash SUVs and generally just out to have a good time, coming up to the Coast with their botoxed girlfriends, who seemed more intent on shopping the boutiques than actually swimming or surfing.

He was due at the hospital again tonight and he was dreading it.  No change meant no change.  The only bright thing in his day might be a visit from Susannah.  He didn’t like to ask who the well-dressed man was, and he was scared to ask her out on a date.  A date? He must be out of his mind.  Why would someone like her be interested in him? He was never the athlete or the brainy type either and it was a miracle Judy had ever seen any potential in him.  She was fit, watched what she ate. Who’d have thought she’d die before him? It wasn’t fair. Now they’d never be like those impossibly youthful and tanned looking sixty-something couples laughing on the deck of an enormous boat that the cruise lines advertised.  At least he had a good Public Service job and looked forward to an easy if unremarkable retirement.  But a drunk driver put paid to all that, and now he spent his days working like a Trojan and his nights keeping vigil over a ghost.

The automatic doors opened wide as if to swallow him and he started walking down the hall.  The place was clean, terrifyingly so and smelled like a cross between antiseptic and air freshener.  He passed rooms where old men and women moaned and cried.  Sometimes they were completely silent, all tidied up in pristine sheets and blankets – laid out like corpses.  He wondered whether anyone ever came to visit them.  The night nurse on a Tuesday always gave him a beatific smile – she was a Filipina and once told him how she worked sixty hours a week to send money home to her family.  He couldn’t imagine the dedication and sacrifice that took.  She was on duty tonight.

“Hi Darryl”

“How is he?”

“He’s doing fine.  We just give him his night feed.  He is resting OK.  You can go in now.”

“Thanks”

Mark seemed to just be sleeping peacefully. Darryl stroked his hand and sat down by the bed.  He usually sang silly children’s songs to while away the time.  Sometimes it was Pop goes the Weasel or some other song – anything to try to wake up that inert grey matter inside his skull.  Anything to fire up more neurons, to get some sort of reaction,  Creatively arranging his finances, he had managed to get Mark a private room – and it was costing an arm and a leg, but it didn’t matter.  He wouldn’t want to foist his out of tune tenor on any of the other patients – even if they were gaga.  So he sang,   He’d heard miraculous stories of people waking up from comas after months and still believed that it might happen.  He hadn’t been asked to pull the plug yet – that wasn’t exactly what they called it – but that’s what it meant. 

Easiest Ever Cupcakes

These are the easiest ever cupcakes you will ever make. I got the recipe originally from my friend Shirl who got them from her daughter in Adelaide – years ago, and I’ve been making them ever since. I thought it might be a good thing to do as an activity at my granddaughter Hope’s Kindy.

I was all organised and I prepared cakes and frosting myself. It was up to the kids to frost and decorate their own cupcakes. I got the ready-made decorations (pirates or fairies) at Coles – easy peasy! First, the kids put the frosting and then they decorated them.

It went very well, except some of the kids couldn’t resist the frosting (and we know who they are!) before they put the decorations on.

Here’s the cupcake recipe: (for 12 cupcakes)

Crack 2 whole eggs into a cup measure. Fill to 1 cup with pure cream.

Measure ¾ cup castor sugar into a bowl. Add eggs and cream. Mix with hand-held electric mixture. Then add 1 cup SR flour (I always use plain flour and add the right amount of baking powder) and a few drops vanilla essence. Beat till well combined. That’s it! Pour into cupcake cases, bake at 175c fan forced for about 20 minutes or until golden. They’re cooked if you touch the surface and they spring back.

Easiest Ever Frosting:

Beat 3 cups Icing Sugar Mixture with 125g Cream Cheese and a few drops of vanilla, until smooth. That’s it!

Here are the decimated cupcakes from the Kindy!

Cafe Soleil - Episode 3

He passed the drunk who was always sitting on the same bench, swigging from an innocent looking large Coca Cola bottle.  The beach had No Alcohol signs everywhere. Darryl had to quicken his pace because up close, the unwashed stench of sweat and alcohol was unbearable.

As he ambled across the squeaky sand, he realised he should have taken his sneakers off. He bent down to untie the laces and was whacked on the back – he screamed, jumped up and was ready to go on the attack.  Luckily he realised just in time it was Luke, the local blind guy who regularly swung his white can back and forth along the beach and promenade.  Darryl had to mumble sheepishly…

“Sorry”

When he picked himself up, he took a deep breath into his lungs and began walking again, quickly glancing at his watch.  Mustn’t leave Rosie too long at the café by herself.  Who knows what trouble she could get into?  Three wrong orders so far this morning.

He looked up to see the woman from yesterday walking towards him – he noticed she had a slight limp.  Her beagle, Max, raced to up to give a doggy greeting. Darryl bent down and fluffed his ears.

“Hi” she said.  “Sorry, he never forgets a face.”

“Don’t be sorry.  I’m delighted to see him.” He added shyly “And you too, of course.”

“You’re not working today?”

“Had to take a break.  It’s a bit overwhelming. Actually, I’d better get back.”

She pulled on the lead. “I was just coming in for a coffee.  Can I walk with you?”

“Sure.  And I’ve put out the doggy bowls.”

“That’s good to know.”

“I’m Susannah, by the way.”

“Darryl”.

 

They walked companionably back to the café.  He learned that she’d taken early retirement – she didn’t say why – she was an ex lawyer.  He told her as much of his own history as he thought she needed to know.

She sat down with Max at her side while he went out the back to fix whatever Rosie had stuffed up.  A few missed orders, customers who were never coming back again, that sort of thing.  He should have fired her weeks ago, but she had a kid to support.  He was a mug, he knew. This couldn’t go on forever.  They were losing money and there were bills to pay – now that the insurance had practically run out. Actually, he needed a miracle.  Briefly he looked up at the sky, but didn’t hold out much hope of God granting him one today. Maybe it was enough that Susannah had turned up.  There was something about her that delighted him; he’d thought most lawyers to be hard-bitten and curt. 

The café crowd was thinning now that the lunchtime run had passed and he could take Susannah’s coffee out to her.  He brought one for himself too, in case she wanted company.

“Do you mind if I join you?  I need a little break, now I’ve got Rosie sorted out.  She’s been skating on thin ice, but hopefully she’ll improve.”

“You’re very patient.”

“I’ve had to be.  Hey, you look young to be retired.  Did you just get sick of sorting out domestic dramas or defending dropkicks?  What was it?”

Is Education Killing our Kids' Creativity?

I came across an old Ted Talk from 2006 by Sir Ken Robinson – and it got me thinking about creativity and kids. In preschool, they’re encouraged to use their imagination and play, but it seems as soon as they hit school, it’s all about achieving “outcomes”. I know anecdotally from teachers at the coalface that kids are expected to achieve certain “outcomes” which equate to marks when they’re as young as five. In many instances, homework is “de rigeur”. Whatever happened to going out in the yard to play? As anyone who’s ever observed young children at play will attest, they’re learning from each other and role playing in quite a sophisticated way at a young age.

Dr Robinson effectively says that children will inevitably give the creative response when it’s needed.

He told a story about a child drawing.

The teacher says “What are you drawing?”

“A picture of God”

“But nobody knows what God looks like”

Child responds; “Well, they will now!”

And another one about the three wise men in the nativity play.

Wise Man 1 “I bring gold”

Wise Man 2 “I bring Myrrh”

Wise Man 3 (after a slight pause) “Frank sent this…!”

(Here I am quoting, albeit not exactly word for word, from Dr Robinson’s talk)

The system is predicated upon turning out pliable employable people like sausages, all the same, to fit into the modern world of business and production. Maths, Science and Language are at the top and subjects like Dance and Drama are sometimes simply afterthoughts. “You have to have something to fall back on” if you are artistic. 

In our evolution, it seems that formal education is a relatively modern phenomenon. Back in the 17th century, for example, William Blake’s seven year old chimney sweeps would simply sweep all day and die of lung diseases at a young age. Poor children weren’t educated at all - they were just little adults, dressed like little adults, worked like adults and were supposed to be “seen and not heard”. Their little lives were often expendable and this was accepted as normal.

We wouldn’t want to turn back the clock, because education is a right our children are entitled to – but with our apparently automated education systems, that sausage factory of lookalike, thinkalike people, are we perhaps not going too far in the other direction? Children are encouraged to work hard, study all night, blitz the competition, ace the exams, to achieve brilliance but within a structured organised system. Nowadays, one wonders if all the after school activities and hot-housing of kids as young as 12 months into early learning programmes has taken education in an entirely new direction. No doubt some of this is fuelled by a sense of competition between parents?

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not suggesting the three Rs should be neglected – not at all. I believe that if children are given the right garden in which to grow, fertilised with love and knowledge and freedom to express themselves, they will bloom into beautiful specimens, whatever their talents.

Intuitive Painting - My Take

 

I’d had a bit of experience painting – firstly in oils, then watercolours and various mixed media, but usually with some reference material to ground me, to guide me.

But I first started painting from literally nothing a few years ago – now I have a name for it – intuitive painting!

When I signed up for a workshop and was told to simply bring acrylic paints in the primary colours and a 2 metre by 2 metre sheet of unprimed canvas, ENORMOUS! I didn’t know what I was in for – fear and trepidation crept in and the old familiar “I can’t” surfaced. 

But faced with producing SOMETHING we simply threw paint down onto the canvas – Jackson Pollock style – and let nature and the heat and the flies take their course!

It was totally inspiring, and totally our own work!


This is the result – I had an offer to buy it but like it so much that it’s still in my living room!

Cafe Soleil - Episode 2

When he personally took the plate of food out to her, he was disappointed to see she had been joined by a well-dressed man. He didn’t know what he’d hoped, that he’d engage her in conversation, what? Was he that desperate that he had to start hitting on customers now? No. That was not him. Besides, there were so many other things to think about. The daily visit to the hospital for one. One which filled him with dread. The tubes, the breathing apparatus, all that shiny metal. And his son, who looked almost normal. As though he was sleeping and would soon wake up from whatever dreamland he was in.

Darryl woke to a leaden looking sky and wondered if he should just dispense with outside tables today. If it rained there would be fewer fitness fanatics about. As he started pulling the chairs from out the back, he noticed they were getting heavier. Or was it him, piling on the pounds? He was too tired for his late evening stroll on the beach, too tired to get up any earlier and join the buff trainers on the esplanade. The café was something that occupied most of his daylight hours and if he were honest with himself, he would have sold it at a loss after the accident, rather than keep trying to hold on in the hope that something would miraculously change.

He realised his day wasn’t going to go as planned when he ducked out at lunch time and left the new waitress in charge. He just couldn’t hack another skinny thirty-something asking for almond milk in her soy chai latte with go lo or the tattooed sinewy trainer who accompanied her rabbiting on about his gluts and lats. The guy was handing around flyers, right in the café, without even asking. It was blah, blah, blah and I do forty reps of those and I bench press 200 any day of the week. These biceps? I recommend this little shop in town where I get my supplements. If you want the real thing though, give the owner a wink, sling him an extra fifty bucks and he gives you the really good stuff from UNDER the counter.

Then there were the whippet thin blondes and their Buggaboos - their precious cargo strapped inside, fat and dreaming, while their mothers chatted and compared notes about the right formulas and schools. Poor little devils, Darryl thought, let them slumber on in complete ignorance for a little while yet. They had no idea what was being mapped out for them and certainly wouldn’t be thrown out into the backyard with a simple suggestion that they go play! Like when he was a boy. What was that, nowadays? Every single moment of every waking hour would be organised, with some tutor teaching them higher mathematics or something while they crawled, drooling, along the carpet. Their mothers were now sipping lattes.

At mid-morning the retired old farts usually came in for their raisin toast and cappuccinos nattering loudly (most of them were pretty deaf) about their super funds and shares and what was going up and coming down. Darryl’s brain was reeling from information overload.

He had to get out of that chaos just to clear his head for a little while. In spite of the early cloud, it was already blazing hot and the sweat was collecting around his forehead, He thought a walk on the beach, just a short one, might be the go.

Are You a Multipotentialite?

Because I know I am! Finally now I have a name for it – for someone who has multiple interests and careers - a multi-potentialite or multi-passionate.

It’s a term I hadn’t heard before – not sure who originally coined it – but I first came across this notion on a podcast on “Creative Warriors” by Jeffrey Shaw which features interviews with creative entrepreneurs. Fascinating stuff – Emilie Wapnick has researched people who have multiple interests and multiple careers often at the same time and is writing a book about it. Then I saw her on a TED talk. She says that she trained as a lawyer but decided not to pursue that career – she’s felt free to pursue other avenues, such as music.

I realised when I heard that podcast and listened to her Ted talk that that is what I am – and have always been. A multipotentialite – quite a mouthful, but accurately describing those of us who can’t concentrate on just one thing – ever! We’re mega-curious and interested in always stretching ourselves and finding out more.

I’ve spent a lifetime trying to focus on one thing and feeling bad about not doing that – suddenly here I have permission! I’ve done many things and came to a career in teaching fairly late – that is my passion, but not the only one. I love painting and writing and languages and pursue those equally passionately.

I don’t have a one track mind – I have a multi-track mind, and that’s OK!

That doesn’t mean that we’re Jacks of all Trades and Masters of None – not by a long shot! It simply means, I think, that our brains are wired differently and that we should work with what we have, maximising our potential rather than railing against and denying our natural tendencies.

The trick, I think, is to remember that you need to spend around 10,000 hours to actually perfect a skill (or so they say) and while staying on several tracks at once, building momentum and refining those skills is a skill in itself.

What works for some is setting small blocks of time - 30 minutes to an hour on one task and then moving to the next.

Rewarding yourself (not necessarily with chocolate cake, although that’s nice!) when small tasks have been successfully completed is another way to go.

I wonder if our school system recognised these traits in some children, and instead of labelling them ADHD, which they may or may not be, and if they tailored lessons to accommodate just these sort of differences, what outcomes might we have?

Kids are often asked “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and the pressure is already on at a very young age to choose one thing. What if we took the pressure off and said “What things do you want to DO when you grow up?”

Just a thought…

In the world of the future where most people will have more than one career, where job security will not be what it once was and where short term working contracts will be the norm, those who have multiple interests and many skills will most certainly be in demand. And that has to be a good thing, right?