Do You Share Your Food?

I can honestly tell you, my fine reader that I have OCD. So the only people I have ever shared cutlery/drinks/gelato with are my family members. A lot of people may find I am a complete nutter, but it's not as if I haven't tried- I promise! The thing is, my weak stomach just continues to protest. So I've accepted the fact that I cannot share utensils. However, over the years during lunchtime at school, in Uni breaks and in the office I have always felt weird eating alone.

Let's Blame Wogarella's Mama!

It could have something to do with my upbringing. I'm a wog, if someone comes to visit a simple coke can just isn't counted "hospitable" enough for my mother. In fact, when we almost have visitors we have an informal menu. Starting with a cold drink/juice, and about 5 different types of snacks including chips, pumpkin seeds, assortment of roasted nuts, and the healthy options, sliced Lebanese cucumber, carrots, dates and occasionally a dip, hummus or three-olive dip anyone? We almost always insist guests have a top up! Otherwise it's considered "Ayb" or "rude". Following this we bring out a selection of fruits, whereby my mum personally feels the need to slice up to ensure an easier experience for her guest. Yet to be fair, if she hasn't had notice she simply assembles an assortment of fruits on a plate for each guest with the appropriate cutlery. In the third hour of their visit, we will usually bring out the sweets, home made of course. My mum's specialties include baklava and coconut and semolina slice, better known as Hreesee. Served with some sweet cinnamon tea of course. Lastly, I brew a fresh pot of Lebanese coffee, known as "Ahwee," it's bitter and strong, pretty much an Arab version of a short black. Finally if my mum hasn't packed some sweets for our visitors to take home in a doggy-bag, she stands outside at the front of their car for another hour, just in case they forgot to mention something in the last four hours.

Wow, that was a bit of an essay, but you can see I am not used to eating alone. And even if I am, I can only sit on the dining table, no couch for me , no siree!

As interesting as the Lebanese culture may be, let’s get back to the actual purpose of this post. You see, the other day one of my colleagues announced that she was feeling peckish, to her delight I jumped out of my seat and declared that I have a mandarin in the fridge. She quickly protested, "No I can't take your food.” “Don’t be silly man!” I replied.  “Don't you want to eat it?" at this stage I let out a giggle and told her that I always bring two pieces of fruit just in case somebody else might want some.

A simple conversation really. But apparently not. Apparently my behaviour is not normal. Not that it was negative in any way, but she insisted that I truly was a "Wogarella". And I think she was right. Food should be shared with all. We are so blessed to live in a country whereby we have fresh food at our fingertips. Yes, it may cost a little bit more, but in comparison to the rest of the world, us Aussies have some of the best accessibility to fresh produce.

It’s probably wise to mention that unlike most people, my mother opts to buy mandarins in the quantities which come in the form of a box. Including more than a few kilos. Clearly because buying a few pieces at Woolies wouldn’t really be a value for money.

Do you share your food with friends, or co-workers? Are you judging me because I have OCD? Judge all you want, but please don’t spit in my (BPA FREE) water bottle behind my back.  

I’m off to peel another one of those damn mandarins.

Wogarella,

Xx

Lest We Forget

Anzac day has always been one of my most treasured days of the year. Not only is it because I get a day off of work, but it is the day when a whole nation stops and reflects on the innocent souls that were taken in Gallipolli.

As a 5 year old, I remember learning about the struggles that our soldiers went through in war. It seemed as though it was simply another tale, obviously sadder than than the events that took place in other stories. But as I ventured in to High School, I remember seeing a group of idiots who were laughing in the middle of an Anzac slideshow. The image of our deputy principal rushing the boys out of the assembly doors still sticks with me today. Considering they were about 15 years of age, and whilst they were holding their tattered notebooks, it saddened me to think that some time ago, there were boys, only a few months older than these idiots who were holding nothing but a gun and the Anzac spirit we have all come to admire and cherish today.

The boys were escorted out and the slideshow played on, photos of boys who weren't even legal battling for their lives. Embarrassingly, I felt tears run down my cheeks. Although my parents were migrants, and I didn't have any relatives who had fought in that war, I cried. I cried not just for the fallen Anzacs, but for their mothers, their fathers, their wives and most of all their kids. It's 2012, and although we aren't facing a world war, our Aussie troops are still on the other side of the world, fighting a war that is not even ours to fight. Personal opinions aside, I hope that some day the big guys in their crisp suits decide to grow up, and move on. Too many lives have been lost and many more will continue to be lost.

This photo envisions the amazing opportunities I have as a first generation Australian. If it wasn't for these soldiers, I would not have grown up in such an amazing country.


I would like to leave you with a poem I hold close to my heart, written by Wilfred Owen, a poet and fallen British soldier.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares(2) we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest(3) began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots(4) 
Of tired, outstripped(5) Five-Nines(6) that dropped behind.
Gas!(7) Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets(8) just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime(9) . . .
Dim, through the misty panes(10) and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering,(11) choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud(12) 
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest(13) 
To children ardent(14) for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.(15)

Wilfred Owen
8 October 1917 - March, 1918

Lest We Forget,

Wogarella Xx

“The Younger Man” Book Signing

 

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of seeing my favourite Author, Zoe Foster once again.

I rocked up to Dymocks on George St, confused as to where the book signing would be. The dud at the counter didn’t seem to help much, but the fact that I spotted about 40 women talking amongst themselves up stairs, lead me to believe I should probably make my way up there.

 As I reached the second floor the laughter and chatter of the women was more comprehendible, most of them excited to hear Zoe speak about her new novel. To be honest, up until now, I assumed that most of Zoe’s fans were 20 something year old Uni students who were prosperous magazine chicks. But let me tell you, I was wrong. There was a girl in her gym gear, mums with prams and about 38 ladies from a range of ages sipping on champers and stuffing their faces with Jatz crackers and cheddar cheese. I avoided the champers, “extra calories I just don’t need” has been my motto for the past few weeks.

The session kicked off as Zoe began to describe the nature of her latest book and the writing process that took place. Following that we had an insightful Q and A session, as always Zoe was as witty as the words she publishes. She had the whole crowd in giggles and ensured she signed each and everyone of those books!

It seems Zoe couldn’t help but remember me as I’ve blogged about her before here. And here. For those of you who don’t know,  I’ve been flying the “I heart Zoe’s Writing” flag for a few years my friends.

The Blurb says:

When Abby enjoys a memorable night with a delicious 22-year-old, she easily waves him out of her life the next morning. She doesn't have time for these sorts of distractions. And he's only 22, after all! A child. But the charming young Marcus isn't going to let her get away that easily. He knows what he wants and takes it upon himself to prove that age is irrelevant where the heart is concerned. Abby, though, isn't convinced. She feels certain she should be with someone her own age, someone more impressive, someone more . . . settled. Surely nothing can ever come of this relationship?


Praise for Zoë Foster

'Clever and cheeky.' Sun Herald

'A high-calorie slice of chick lit.' Sunday Mail

'Fabulously wry wit.' New Idea

Wogarella says:

This book was quite different to her other books. Admittedly, her witty one liners were strewn within the text, but it was a lot more grown up. Dealing with complex issues such as IVF, breakdown of friendships, and family issues. Although the main plot of the book follows Abby, the protagonist who falls for a younger man and constantly debates her feelings until she’s forced to come to terms with them, there are other relationships in the book that really made me think. Particularly the strong bond between Abby and her two BFF’s Chelsea and Mads.

Zoe really is a great writer, I’m not sure if this is just because I finished reading this book tonight, but I honestly believe that by the end of the book, you will feel sympathetic for Mads, a fondness for Alessandro, her exotic summer romance and absolute sadness for the gorgeous young Marcus. Oh and Abby? You want to invite her to fine dinner parties. She’s an intelligent, strong, humorous lass, yet still humble-which makes you appreciate her just that little bit more.

It definitely made me think, I come from a background where men are generally older in relationships, my dad is 6 years older than my mother, I have only ever been attracted to boys who were older than I am. But come to think of it, maybe dating a younger man isn’t such a drama after all? Is it not the connection that matters? Well, I’m only 22 at this stage so I might hold off, because I’m pretty sure dating someone 13 years my junior could get me into a legal strife.

Moral of the story: Dating a younger man doesn’t necessarily mean you’re dating an immature kid. Something, something, don’t judge a book by it’s cover!

However, in this case, I recommend you do. How bloody cutes patootes is this cover?!

 

 

I also thought it was relevant to include a picture with Zoe. Keep in mind, she was giggling in the first image taken, but I’ve decided it’s too blurry. So out of complete selfishness, please checkout the prettier image below ;)

 

Oh and the lovely collection of Zoe’s book. Yes I own every single one and am not ashamed to admit it. Three out of five have been signed ha!

The Younger Man is out now in all good book stores or online at Booktopia, Amazon and Borders.com.

You can follow Zoe and her witty adventures @Zotheysay on Twitter.

*Image sourced from www.penguin.com.au

*Other Images taken on my dodgy Iphone Camera

Have a fab day! 

Wogarella Xx