I hopped on the 423 at Railway Square on Friday night but the driver wouldn't take my money. Apparently while I've been away the buses have become cash-free. I was cross and hungry and not about to get off the bus I'd waited ages for so I muttered "Whatever" and headed up the back, dropping my coins into my bag. The driver didn't say anything, he didn't care. After stretching my armpits swinging around on the hand-holds all along King St I finally got a seat.

Near me were two young men, drunk as -- they couldn't really talk but they could still walk. They were twins, identical, with the same profile: a slightly bumped nose and soft lips. Nice looking, young. They were communicating almost silently, only muttering things to each other occasionally and laughing and gesturing in that funny pissed unco' way. They wore matching blue-green beanies and milk-chocolate coloured tee-shirts, but one had jeans and thongs while his brother had grey trackies and sneakers. The one in jeans sat next to me and his head lolled onto my shoulder. He jerked up and laughed, blue-grey eyes open wide, and I smiled at him.

Then, at Enmore Park, the inspector got on. "Tickets please everyone." Oh shit & buggery I had no ticket. But the inspector ignored me and focused on the drunk brothers. They swayed, they staggered, they groped around in their pockets, they mumbled to each other, and eventually the inspector took them off the bus. But in seconds they'd leapt back on, grinning, waving their found tickets triumphantly. I felt like cheering. They sat far enough away that I could take their photo, and they got off at the corner of Victoria and Marrickville Roads near the cheesecake shop.

to have and to hold

On Saturday I attended the most lovely wedding I've been at. It was even nicer than my own, alas. My little brother, Dorian, the one I used to dress up as a princess so I could be the witch and Gareth could be the baddie, got married to his long-time-love Laura. It was a gentle, arty, thoughtful day.

It was brilliant to meet some bloggers there--I felt like two of my worlds had collided, not just the virtual and the real (which I don't see as separate anyway), but the familiar (as in family) and the bloggy, the artful-creative and the lived-history.

And how things change in that lived history...a favourite auntie who I still think of as slim and blonde and super-glamorous is now a rounded middle-aged brunette. One of my 89 year old grannies--I am hugely lucky to have two of them--who looked close to death a few months ago is now almost sprightly, and definitely back to her canny observant self. A wayward teenager who hasn't been able to face his own father since before Christmas was obliged to attend, and the two of them got on like a house on fire because they were both just so HAPPY. Therapy? forget it, you just need a good wedding.

Not everyone chooses to marry, and not everyone who wants to can do so (yet). Dorian and Laura had a rare opportunity to create a day when things and people, generations and worlds, could come together, and they carried it off beautifully. It was magical.

Three women I love and admire

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY

My mother Betty

My best friend Julia

My daughter Ruby

Vegan Bake-Off at the Black Rose

Ruby's life-long friend Georgina lives with us now. It's wonderful - she's a gorgeous girl with interesting, eclectic tastes, amazing fashion sense and great taste in terrible 80s and 90s cult movies. Although Georgie isn't vegan she decided to enter the Vegan Bake-Off being held on Sunday at the Black Rose Anarchist Bookshop in Newtown. She made a red velvet cake with a vegan cream icing. Other people had contributed a strawberry & passionfruit pie, and some oatmeal & choc-chip muffins. I trailed along to check it out & was quite overwhelmed by the wholesomeness of it all - quiet talk, reading of books, munching of vegan treats - nobody was even smoking! Young people these days, my oh my. I hope they save the world, I really do. See more photos here.

First and Second Childhoods

When I was on holiday in Melbourne, Griff, Richard's little son, was visiting from London. We spent a lot of time with this delightful nearly-two year old and I was constantly reminded of how much very young humans live for each moment. "Look, truck!" is Griff's most common declaration of joy, and the happiness created by the discovery (each sighting a wonderful surprise) lasts until said truck/van/tram/ride-on-mower has been admired, waved to (and so many drivers wave back to small children), and has roared or sailed or putt-putted off into the distance.

At the other end of the spectrum is my Pop. Eighty-seven, he is beginning to suffer from dementia. Well, I say suffer, but I don't think he's really suffering... in fact in some ways he seems happier than ever before. He's become uncritical, non-judgmental, accepting. Like Griff, he's also living for each moment. We had afternoon tea. I got him a cappuccino and the richest, most sickly-looking bit of cake, which he gobbled down with relish. Then we walked slowly arm in arm along the St Kilda pier and he looked for a long time at a hovering seagull. "They make it look so easy" he said, then asked when we were getting our afternoon tea. But his memories of long ago are still intact; he knows that in 1941 he had lunch every day at the Lyons tea rooms in Liverpool opposite the university: ox-tail stew for sixpence - "it really filled you up" - and for an extra threepence you could also have soup or pudding. He can still tinkle out a Chopin waltz or a Mozart sonata, and he tells the occasional joke - "I can't walk far you know, I might wear my shoe leather out" - which tickles him, especially if you repeat it straight back to him.

There are so many similarities between Griff and Pop right now: the pleasure in the moment, the love of and need for repetition, the total dependence on others. But while Griff develops by the day, nay, by the hour, learning new words, walking backwards and on tippie-toes, jumping into the pool, Pop slowly loses things: names, events, the alphabet, his PIN. He often says "it's all very confusing". He brings home other people's mail, wanders off, falls over, and is driven home by kind strangers. My frail Nanna is beside herself with worry, and they're looking at nursing homes for Pop this week.

hols about to start

By Meredith

Oh my dears,
It hasn't been such a big bloggy year as last year was, but goodness me I've been busy with other things. I'm resolved to be a better blogger in 2009. So, updates!

The menagerie: Stryker the horse has a new friend; we're very relieved as he was such a loner and we were worried he was miserable. Horses are sociable creatures, and I read a while ago that there is a law in, I think, Sweden, that you're not allowed to keep only one horse - it always had to have at least one friend. The ratties are lovely critters with soft fur and twitching whiskers and dear little fingers... they continue to delight. The cat, Led, tells us each morning, loudly, how hard her life is. We sympathise. The pug dog, Sailor, is getting old and losing teeth but is still very fit. She's thin for a pug, thanks to the brutal diet regime I keep her on.

The daughter: she did brilliantly in the HSC - she probably wouldn't want me to put the actual mark here but let's just say that not many people in the state got a higher score and she was in the newspaper. We're so proud!

Work: The CV's "forthcoming" section is bulging with no less than seven new pieces of my writing coming out in 2008, which I'm pretty pleased about. They range from my book, to refereed journal articles, to more arty pieces, to encyclopaedia entries. I also finished this year, with my wonderful friend Cressida Heyes, an edited anthology of feminist responses to cosmetic surgery. That's off being reviewed by two publishing houses at the moment - fingers crossed for it, it was so much work! Teaching was invigorating and exhausting simultaneously, and as usual I have learned much from my students.

Christmas: I have had a very enjoyable time choosing presents for friends and family. People are getting things like Italian conversation classes, little original art works, jewellery, things purchased at Gallery Serpentine (you'll just have to guess what) and lots and lots of books. I don't buy everything at the last minute, rather I collect stuff through the year, not necessarily with anyone in mind, and put it in my "present cupboard" (this is a big bag in the spare room wardrobe). Then, as Christmas draws near, I get it all out to see what I've got - aha! that book about window dressing will do nicely for my ex sister in law who is a visual merchandiser; that gorgeous Italian cookbook will suit a hard-to-buy-for couple, and I even have someone in mind for the (good quality) knock-off white leather "Chanel" wallet.

Of course I have most fun buying for the kids. Most of them are getting books, stickers, packets of tattoos, etc, but my little five year old nephew will receive a doctor's kit. In a little red case came plastic syringes, a thermometer, ear-examining thingos and a stethoscope. I've added in bandaids, rolls of bandages, "pills" (tic tacs), a tube of aloe vera gel, and a bottle of "medicine" (decanted Ribena). I hope he will be able to cure me of all my ills on Christmas day.

Pickles and Pikelets

When I was in Tokyo in July I stayed with my very smart and artistic cousin. Our fathers are brothers, from a quiet family that's a bit Jewish, a bit German, a bit English, and above all, very very proper. My cousin went for something completely different - she married into a huge, noisy, expressive and emotional Lebanese family, and she's never looked back. It was really wonderful being with her in Tokyo, where she'd lived for just a few months. But she had a grasp on the language after some intensive lessons, so we managed to find our way around without too much embarrassment.

After a day's hard gallery-ing and shopping we'd go home to the apartment she shares with her gorgeous husband and their three lively children, and she'd conjure up the most amazing Lebanese feasts (her mother and sisters in law taught her to cook when she first got married). In fact, apart from the bento boxes that I had for lunch at the conference I went to at Tokyo University, I ate mainly Lebanese food while I was in Japan. And what what food it was, so good, made with so much love, that I never once wished for sushi.

So, I have her recipe for Lebanese Lenten kib'be (kib'be a'raahib, or monk's kibbe) and in a rare cooking moment I'm going to attempt it tomorrow night. I've just been up to my local Middle Eastern deli to get some of the ingredients, the most exciting of which is a jar of mackdouce - pickled eggplant stuffed with red pepper and walnuts. This is served with the Lenten kib'be (a sort of nutty "pie" with a potato crust) along with lemon soup, green salad, and radish relish. Watch this space.

It's Ramadan, and the deli had some special things on offer:

like these mouth-watering bags of pickles - soaking in this briny liquid are cabbage, whole chillies, chunks of cauliflower, beetroot, and red capsicum...

and these, the softest of fluffy pikelets, sold with a tub of sugary rose-water syrup in which to dip.

Special Beings

I've been overseas for a few weeks, and I'll probably blog about that soon... but for now I'm thinking about celebrities, stars, and what makes certain beings special. There have been two particular living beings calling for my time, energy and organisational skills lately - one horse and one human.

Ruby & Stryker this morning

Ruby's horse, Stryker, has lived in Queensland with friends of ours for ages. But we decided recently to bring him closer to home so Ruby can see more of him. He's a 17 year old Quarterhorse cross Arab (actually I must admit I know nothing about horses and have no idea what that means, but doesn't it sound nice?). He is a very gentle creature. We found a lovely ajistment for him in Dapto, just an hour's drive away. He's got 60 lush acres to munch upon and about 15 other horses of various shapes and sizes to share the space with. Stryker is always bottom of the horsie pecking order and is sometimes a bit bullied by the others. He was really happy this morning to get some feed and a few pats and half a big jar of golden syrup. Ruby decided not to groom him as the wind was quite biting and she was worried he'd get cold if we took his rug off.

The human is Orlan, who is giving her public lecture tomorrow evening (don't miss it!). Although we've been having lots of email and phone contact to sort out accommodation, travel, translators etc. I only met her in the flesh for the first time today. She is deeply serious and very much the star. Her latest project will be for many her most controversial ever - I'm not going to write about it until I understand it better. The lunch, at Aqua, high above the North Sydney pool, was lovely - I had pink champagne and stuffed zucchini flowers.

Susan Cohn, Raphael Cuir, Meredith Jones, Orlan & Judy Annear at lunchtime

Empty Space

There's something very comforting about a spare room, don't you think? It's a place of possibility, a room unencumbered by the demands of lounging or sleeping, dining or cooking, washing, working, or even getting from one place to another, like the hallway. Since Hugh went back to live in the country I've reclaimed our spare room. I don't like to fill it up much - its appeal is in its emptiness. Teenagers crash there, my friend Zoe spends the occasional city-night, and I've set up a craft table. I've been going into the spare room lately to zone-out when there's too much going on in my brain. Like today, trying to write a piece about death & memory for Sarsaparilla, I wandered in and did this with the scissors & some glue. It's a card for Ruby, who's 17 tomorrow.

mashing pumpkin

You know that saying "you can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends"? I have a pretty wonderful family anyway, but now that my friends Julia & Helen are part of it it's even better. Here is the super-bouncy, chubby-thighed & (almost) ever-smiling Griff, in Sydney with his mothers & his Richard. He doesn't like our CD collection but is fond of our bed and Sailor, whose cheeks have been grabbed and whiskers pulled (she's being very patient). His favourite fancy face is the rhinocerous, which I'm still trying to capture. I'm enjoying the every-minuteness of having a baby in the house - no time for introspection: too busy playing, laughing, mushing pumpkin & canoodling. I've managed to avoid all the pooey nappies so far.

beddie-byes

The baby preparations have turned into a bit of a Spring-clean. I decided to include Ruby's room in the vacuuming, dusting, etc, and realised just how neglected it has been. She's not really allowed me in there since she was 13 - that's nearly 4 years ago. But today she was strangely keen on domesticity, and my company, so we cleaned it together, chatting about our various takes on Christmas & all sorts of other things. She's extremely observant and much more sensitive, intelligent & less-selfish than I was at 16.

So, now the hallway is crowded with bags of stuff for the op-shop. Blackened blobs of blu-tack have been scraped up off the floorboards, skirting boards have been wiped down, bookshelves tidied, mirrors windexed. Old stuffed toys have been rediscovered and a long-lost pink thong (the rubber sort for the foot) reunited with its mate.

I've made up a portacot, borrowed from a friend, for little Griff. I've had this sheet, embroidered with Dick Bruna characters, since Ruby was a baby, folded in the bottom drawer (I washed it today as it smelt a bit musty). The pure wool blanket was crocheted by my very clever mother. Richard kept checking the Qantas website today, and finally told me an hour ago that the flight's final boarding calls were being made at Heathrow.

Tomorrow: mow lawn, wipe out kitchen cupboards, get Ruby to clean bottom of rat cage, vacuum lounge, tidy my bedroom, pick the ladies and the lad up from the airport, pour red wine & begin the party! There's a thunderstorm over Marrickville right now; and so to bed.