It’s All About the Food and Blogger Questions

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

A dear friend who is watching her weight, for health reasons, pointed out that all our social activities are centred around eating food or enjoying drinks. Which makes it harder for her to lose weight, given she enjoys socializing with friends.

I realized that it’s true. Social activities are always accompanied by food or drink.

Pairing Social Activities with Food and Drink

Social invites take the form of:

Would you like a cuppa?

Will we see you at Drinks on Friday?

Let’s discuss it over morning tea,

or even,

Why don’t you come for dinner next Tuesday?

We meet up with friends to chat and spend time with them, to be in the moment with them, to swap stories or new information about their lives.

Why have we fallen into a trap of pairing our social world and discussions with food or drink?

Public Events with Food and Drink

I attended a library event this morning – a conversation styled interview with an author. There on a table to the side were a range of sandwiches, gourmet treats, fruit, tea, coffee, cordial and juice. A three-course meal for some.

In a library!

I remember school libraries as places where food was banned. Woe betide any student that smeared the pages of a book, with peanut butter sandwich residue! Students at my school sat on the floor outside the library building finishing their lunch before entering the sacred hallows where books were lovingly stored.

Don’t get me wrong. I applaud that libraries are re-inventing themselves and attracting a wider audience by hosting regular events.

But, is it an impossible stretch to ask the public to sit and listen to an engaging speaker at a library for an hour, without refreshments? Even when the event is timed between mealtimes?

Business Meeting and Nibbles

It seems business meetings too have gotton on board the food train with the compulsory additions of muffins and barista-styled coffees.

With obesity a burgeoning issue in my country, is the implicit message that we’d be social pariahs if we failed to include the presence of food and drink when chatting with friends or business partners!

The Social Habit of Eating and Drinking Together

I am not innocent.

I have fallen into the habit of structuring social activities around food or drink. My walking group meetings culminate with coffee and, for some, a snack too.

When visitors/guests arrive at my door, it feels customary and polite to offer them something hot or cold to drink?

Why does society feel a compulsory inclination to eat or drink when we talk with others?

Is it some kind of discomfort with our hands remaining empty or idle?

Because it is definitely not about calorie deficits or remaining hydrated in the testy weather of the tropics. This occurs happens all year round and regardless of the time of day.

Early morning events – paired with coffee and or breakfast

Mid morning get togethers – coffee or tea and often a sweet treat

Lunchtime meetings – a meal/sandwich

Afternoon catch-ups – Alcoholic drinks or tea

Dinnertime events- a meal and possibly a dessert

Evening get-togethers – Drinks or warming cup of tea or cocoa

It is lovely, but now feels terribly indulgent.

My Social Challenge

My challenge in the ongoing fight against diminishing metabolic rates and an increasing waistline in my retirement years, is to socialize more without the accompaniment of food or drink – at least some of the time.

I could sit at the beach with a friend and discuss books.

I could walk the bike paths along the beach and NOT have anything more than a sip of my water bottle.

I could visit a friend and maybe decline a cuppa? ( I am unsure about this).

Bloggers Questions:

Blogger brains Trust I ask you:-

Do you think excluding food from social activities will work?

Scenario: You are visiting a friend’s home for an hour or so, or you meet a friend out in the community to chat and no food or drink was offered/ included, would you:

(a) feel comfortable?

(b) consider the friend socially ignorant and avoid future events with said friend as they’ve become a social pariah?

(c) consider that your friend a failure at entertaining guests?

(d) that your friend has suddenly become rude, selfish, anally retentive or even anorexic?

(e) other……

I would love to hear what option seems realistic.

When Google Gets it Wrong

Technology is becoming marvellously intuitive. After booking a holiday with friends, we were surprised to discover Google had already added the dates and location to our Gmail calenders, in the blink of our eye once we confirmed the booking.

Convenient – if a little scary.

But smart technology can and does often make mistakes. We all know how digital images and news can be ‘enhanced,’ for nefarious activities.

Google Maps Fail

Years ago, when GPS navigation was in its infancy, Google Maps directed me to drive off the edge of a steep cliff, insisting that a road existed, only it didn’t. Naturally, I continued on the ‘real’ road, forcing the app to “recalculate [the] route.”

When the car repeated its deranged vocal message insisting I drive off the edge of the cliff, I stopped the car and asked a local resident tending her garden for directions. This was a much safer option!

Google Lens

Google Lens has also had difficulty identifying certain native Australian plants. Understandably, their unique weird shapes and forms confuse the megalithic search engine. This is called Banksia Giant Candles and once flourished in my garden.

However, I was quite surprised at Google, while looking at the following photo from yesterday.

It was taken at one of Australia’s biggest traditions, the soldier memorial ceremonies on April 25th, otherwise known as Anzac Day.

You see, each year, I write a post about Anzac Day and talk about the history, significance, various local ceremonies or Anzac Day Cookie recipes. This year, I didn’t want to repeat the same information over again and wasn’t even going to write at all, but then, well, Google did have to go loco on me.

And I had to say something!

As I glanced at the following photograph, my finger accidentally grazed/hovered close enough to ‘Google Lens,’ for a search listing to engage.

Up popped results of the photograph’s location, suggesting it was Cascais beach, Portugal, The Channel Islands or La Greve du Portieux, which I suspected was in France. Further investigation revealed that La Greve du Portieux was a bed of breakfast on the Eastern coast of France.

Seriously?

I admit, there is a association between Anzacs soldier in WWI and France, but given that location was enabled on the photograph, it was easy to detect to all and sundry that the photo referred to Redcliffe, a beach in Australia!

But it was nice to know that if I closed my eyes to the architecture, I could be on a French beach, or a  bed and breakfast on the coast of France!

This begs the question:

Have you ever felt discombobulated with a Google Search or Google Lens result?

Has Google ever led you astray?

Does my photograph remind you of France or just any old beach at sunrise?

Non-Fiction Travel Writing – emphasising description.

Salmon varieties in Helsinki market

Setting myself a challenge, I wrote this non-fiction travel story using a SOC technique ie. a stream of consciousness writing quickly, without too much thinking and editing, while emphasising description. It was a happy trip to Helsinki in 2016.

Solo Travel in Helsinki

I like to travel alone. There’s less talk and less distraction. I am free to imprint details of people, places, and specifics that would otherwise be lost or unnoticed amid conversation, to my memory.

It is 2016, and I am travelling solo in Finland. Landing at Vantaa airport, I walk across the tarmac, dodging the taxiing aeroplanes in an old-school airport disembarkation. I am curious about Finland, a country of saunas and snow. It’s a country once controlled by Russian Tsars and has a capital where 23 different varieties of salmon are on offer in the marketplace. To me, that’s special.

It’s early in summer, and while the sun shines from a cloudless sky, the celsian temperature remains in single digits. And that’s okay because I like the cold. I take a seat aboard the city shuttle bus and, within minutes, I catch glimpses of Helsinki up ahead.

A guard of honour holds my gaze as the bus trundles past. It is the Birch trees—lining the road like sentries, they are in full leaf. Their vibrant green tresses hang low to the ground, like beaded curtains swaying to the rhythm of the tentative morning breeze. And peeking out from beneath the leaves is the Birch tree’s dour winter trunk. Ghostly white, the trunks carry vertical rings from old branches now lost to time past – growth scars that resemble a whipping with Indian ink.

The bus stops and I step out to the city square. It is a mere six degrees, and the chilled wind off the Baltic Sea sweeps in, nagging my skin and subverting the sun’s stamina.

The wind here is not easily fooled. Despite my confident appearance, sporting a thin cotton top and bare neck, the wind knows I am a stranger in this city. Usually, I like cold weather, but today, the back of my neck begs to differ.

There is a tinge of something fresh in the air. A freshness I don’t recognize, possibly the scent from the pine forests that surround the city? Is it the Birch, the velvety grass, or even the Baltic seawater? I am unsure. I walk towards the city park. Again, the ubiquitous Birch tree triggers my smile. Tulips sprout spontaneously at the tree’s base – they like the Birch trees as much as I do.

I stop for a minute and watch a wily red squirrel, a creature I’ve only seen on TV. It scurries to the top of a gnarly old tree, oblivious to my fascination. Foraging for food and checking its territory, the creature had determined I posed no threat. Just an irrelevant foreign tourist who click-clicks with a camera.

The city of Helsinki retains an aristocratic air with a side helping of Art Nouveau but seems aloof. Some think this of the Finnish people themselves.

Majestic wooden buildings fringe Helsinki’s waterfront. Painted in imperialist pastels of arctic blue, pale lemon, beige and pastel green, they boast a clean face edged with a neat white trim.

And overlooking the Senate square, like a discerning symbol of righteousness is a Finnish Taj Mahal, Tuomirokirrko, a castle-like cathedral, in brilliant white, topped with a copper green dome.

Originally built from 1830 to 1852 as a tribute to the Grand Duke of Finland, Tsar Nicolas I, it was also known as St Nicholas’s Church and is a distinctive landmark in the Helsinki cityscape, is in the neoclassical style. It was designed by Carl Ludvig Engel.[en.wikipedia.org]

Viewed from the middle of the fjord, on the fortress island Suomenlinna, Helsinki’s cathedral is imposing above the city skyline, like a pious nun condescending of aberrants.

On its flank to the side of Senate Square and by way of contrast, is a Russian Orthodox Church packed to the hilt with Russian icons. With walls of red-brick, it is topped with golden onion-dome towers, the stand-out feature.

I turn back to the market square, now swelling with tourists. The spell of my silent observations is broken by a screech of seagulls.  I smile at how the tourists, much like the seagulls are loud, raucous and brash. I hear American and Russian accents. English too. The toursits spill forth from cruise ships that ply the Baltic. Filling the square, they seem hungry for savvy souvenirs.

Inside Helsinki’s food market, there’s a multitude of smoked salmon varieties on offer. Can’t have too much choice, in salmon, in Helsinki, it seems. But there are other foods that are new to me, too.

Tinned black bear pate anyone?

I sit down at a cafe and select a light meal of salmon soup. I can’t help salivating while the attendant prepares the dish, sublimely flavoured with dill and accompanied by flaky chunks of salmon that dissolve blissfully in my mouth – a warming and tasty brunch. I listen to the chit-chat of Finns around me. I hear the word, ‘Moi’ – the Finnish word for hello.

It is now late in the morning, and I note the mercury hasn’t shifted. I succumb and buy a scarf from a stall in the square, wrapping it snugly around my neck. It is a reindeer print—a design popular with cruise ship tourists. 

Over the next few days, I will explore the sights of this beautiful city. I will hear ‘Moi’ again in the Marimekko and Moomin stores, in the Church in the Rock, along a boulevard of trees, at a music concert in the park, and in a bakery cafe with a reputation for a melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon bun, a Nordic favourite. The bun will be a meal in itself—no doubt improving my waistline far more than I’d like it to do.

Seven years on, these indelible mental images of Helsinki linger along with thoughts of that fresh pine-like scent. The images coalesce behind my closed eyes, like a photograph developing in fixing solution.

Seven years on, I have not yet identified the source of that scent, but I still have the reindeer scarf, ready for another Helsinki adventure one day.

Netherlands 1640 – the Museum Writing Challenge

The Netherlands: 1640

Ettie’s World

Mother would be cross if she knew.

Those in the room did not hear her. She was stealth. Years of practice at being invisible. But she need not have worried. A Servant’s child was never noticed.

It was early, yet her mother had risen hours ago, lighting fires, labouring in the laundry and helping the cook prepare breakfast.

Mother would be cross if she knew where she was.

Ettie’s curiosity beckoned her to the parlour with its elegance. A boastful room with velvet furnishings and heavy drapes like condescending sentinels. These were rooms in which she would never belong.

In her imaginings, Ettie’s life was more opulent than a future of servitude and dirty laundry.  It was a world where her stomach was full, where she wore fine dresses and lived in a affluent house with two parents who were both present and healthy. Where they were toys and laughter. A world of mere imaginings. Ettie was sure, in that world, she would wear pretty white bonnets, starched and stiff, shiny leather shoes, and would carry a stick wrapped in silk ribbons of pink and blue.

Mother would be cross if she knew where she was.

Ettie didn’t know what the ribboned stick signified. Nor had she ever worn shoes. Perhaps a princess had lost this shoe while dancing at a ball. The stick might belong to a wizard. For casting spells and magic that would bring a smile to her mother’s drawn and pale face and cure her pains.

Mother would be cross if she knew where she was.

Ettie had snuck into the parlour. She a peasant child with no father and no business among Persian rugs, fine china and ornate ornaments from distant lands. A place where the waft of tobacco lingered from time to time when he was home.

Ettie had heard stories about him, stories of a distinguished Seafaring Captain who was nearly eight foot tall. She knew when he would arrive – everyone rushed about in a frenzy – polishing silverware and scrubbing floors until they gleamed. The smell of Roast duckling cooking in the kitchen. Its aroma enticing, although Ettie had never eaten it.

Once, after the Captain had finished his dinner, she‘d been given the privilege of feeding his dog the juicy dinner scraps. Afterwards, Ettie had licked her fingers. The deliciousness had made her taste-buds tingle, tasting of sweet meat and orange.

Mother would be cross if she knew where she was.

Ettie is quiet, crouching in the corner near the hearth. Invisible. When the Captain summons the servants to clear away breakfast, she sees his face. His long beard, the smiley, green eyes. The same eyes. She knows green eyes are special because everyone tells her that, and she is the only one who has them.

The master reaches for his long smoking pipe, then pauses. He has seen her. Crouching in the corner. He says nothing. So she watches him, fingers entwined. He looks at Ettie when the servants have diverted the Mistress’ attention and a smile creeps into the corner of his mouth. It is the same smile he saves for her mother when he passes her in the hall.

Ettie had wondered why her mother never smiled back. Her eyes always downcast, avoiding, never meeting his – in deference, Ettie once supposed.

Now she isn’t so sure.

Whispers among the servants – the green-eyed Captain’s child.

Mother would be cross if she knew.

This piece is written for Kay Castaneda’s monthly writing Challenge. For this challenge, bloggers write an original poem, blog post or brief story using a prompt of a painting, provided. You have a month to post your poem/story. See more at: bookplaces.blog

The Value of Product Reviews -Helpful or Deceptive?

Most of us shop online these days, in varying degrees. For larger purchases, like appliances and furniture, I will flick through product reviews to ensure I am not sold a ‘lemon.’

Some of us conduct diligent research online checking product reviews on websites for any purchase. Naturally, they want to save money and purchase a reputable brand.

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

Companies Seek Customer Feedback

What’s more, companies follow up purchases, seeking out customers’ opinions – feedback is important to them. With varying degrees, our inbox might fill with invitations to respond to customer surveys like,

“So, how did we do?”

“How can we serve you better?

“Let us know what you thought of your purchase?”

Every company wants 5 stars, and to maintain that stellar rating and I am mighty conscious how even a random 1 star review can damage a brand, particularly a small business.

So, imagine my surprise when I was invited to review a purchase of shoes, and upon submitting a 4 star review with accompanying positive-worded tip to improve store/website service, I received this reply:

Our staff has read your review and values your contribution even though it did not meet all our website guidelines.
Thanks for sharing, and we hope to publish next time!

What good is a product review if the company only publishes 5-star reviews?

The Backstory

I had chosen a ‘click and collect delivery for my order. It was filled promptly and my daughter collected the shoes from the store. (We were soon to leave for Japan and had run out of time to get to the shops). When we opened the box, later that evening, the shoes were the wrong size, ( one size smaller), but there was no time to return them to the store, before our trip.

The store’s website detailed a sizing table which converted AUS, US and EURO sizes, but nowhere did the order page indicate which regional sizing you were actually selecting when you clicked “add to shopping cart.”

The store was closed when I sent in the order, I was unable to clarify this via telephone.

But I live in Australia and it is an Aussie store, so I was pretty confident the website would indicate if it was using anything other than Australian sizing.

Wrong! We had received the US sizing – (one size down from Australian sizes)!

Therefore, my 4 star review suggested politely that customers should call the store to check sizing of shoes prior to ordering, as the website doesn’t indicate which sizing is used.

It seems they valued my contribution but it was deemed not to meet store guidelines.

“Try again,” the email glibly suggested.

Pfft! I then supposed that their guidelines must direct publication of reviews if they are only positive and give the store 5-stars?

I wonder if this is store-wide or just a managerial decision? Perhaps Blogger Keith might share his wisdom with me in this regard?

Questions to Bloggers

Do you check product reviews?

Do you find them helpful?

Has this ever happened to you?

Marsha’s Story Chat Feedback for Writers

Y3 Story Chat #12: “Home Ship Home” by Amanda Forestwood

Over at Marsha’s blog, Story Chat is a piece of prose written by a blogger, posted twice a month. Other writers are invited to comment about the story and give feedback. My story ‘Home Ship Home,’ was posted earlier this week and has received some very detailed and interesting analysis from the readers. So much so, that I have been moved to re-blog the post – something so unusual that it has only been done once or before – in fourteen years of blogging!

Opening Lines in Narratives

In particular, one blogger wrote that he liked my opening gambit – a line of dialogue aimed at grabbing the reader’s attention – in the middle of the action, rather than a lengthy setting description or back story. Goal achieved.

My topic was a difficult one. I wrote this as a tragedy not a suicide.

Some readers wondered about whether the protagonists’ relationship was romantic. It might have been, but their lifestyles and background were diametrically opposed. It is something I might need to clarify so that readers aren’t confused.

I also needed to expand on Manny’s backstory and his work history that revealed his impulsive nature. This suggestion was that the character saying that the job sucks was overblown. Fair point but did it communicate his un-employability? I was hoping his expectations of starting a company when he couldn’t hold down a unskilled job were also indicative of his exuberance and youthful impracticality.

Lost in Translation

Highlighting how stories can get lost in translations in other countries, languages or cultures, outside one’s social milieu, one blogger questioned the switch from full name to using a nickname for Manfred. We do that in Australia – all the time! Shortening one’s name is a way to show the other person affection, a closer friendship, or bonding. I am now mindful that a global audience has different interpretations and expectations in creative writing! Thank you!

There were plot junctures I found more difficult when I wrote and updated this story and it wasn’t lost by the Story Chat readers. When Holly is at home hearing the news report, one suggestion was that the news should have just taken Holly’s breath away with hopes that this wasn’t her friend who was involved. And another wrote that she could have a short conversation with herself about why she was so optimistic that it couldn’t be her friend.

These are excellent suggestions I will use!

I do agree I also conveyed a plot hole – getting the plotline to sit for a week and how Holly discovers Manfred was indeed the victim was tricky for me to plan. The police were in fact, no longer at the bridge, but their cordon was still in place on a section of rail, because police investigations take time to complete. Perhaps the time frame of a week wasn’t plausible?

How long would a police cordon of crime scene yellow tape stay in place? Only 24 hours, or a week?

And the torn cardboard with the ominous words – a clue left for the reader – might indeed have been snavelled as police evidence, or would it?

How would a random bit of cardboard be important in an accidental death? Only the reader and the main characters have any knowledge of its significance.

All the comments were very well appreciated and I will use them to improve the story. Were the quotes necessary and could the story stand alone without them?

Another excellent point I will take on board.

Happy Endings in Stories

As a tragedy along Freytag’s pyramid lines, this story doesn’t have a happy ending but the end quote sums up the lesson therein.

Various other commenters mentioned they prefer happy ending. That this might be an American preference. I am more realistic in my stories and I like to leave the reader with a message or something deeper to think about. In this case, treasure the present moments with friends.

Do you prefer happy endings to stories? Or realism?

The comments so generously shared contributed to a very big smile for me this week so I am including this in fellow story-writer and blogger Trent’s Weekly Smile. There you will find more than a few happy endings.

More Confidence ~ Sunday Quotes

“Low self-confidence isn’t a life sentence. Self-confidence can be learned, practiced, and mastered–just like any other skill. Once you master it, everything in your life will change for the better.” 

says Barrie Davenport. I wonder if Barrie has ever had problems with confidence himself? It is not easy for everyone to just ‘do confidence.’

Photo by Moose Photos on Pexels.com

But then Eleanor offers us her wisdom with a very grounding quote:

“You wouldn’t worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do.” –Eleanor Roosevelt

Andre Dubus, American writer of short stories, novels, and essays, thinks personality quirks and introversion contributes to how confidence a person might be.

“Shyness has a strange element of narcissism, a belief that how we look, how we perform, is truly important to other people.” ~ Andre Dubus

I know some shy people who would be horrified to think that they might be considered narcissist, but I do see what Andre means. In some cases, people who are shy are more internally focused than others. They may want to be accepted, included and to avoid social rejection, but falsely believe everything must be perfect in order to avoid a negative judgement. Accepting who they are can be incredibly empowering and inadvertantly increase self-confidence.

Having said all of that, if someone is content being shy and happy the way life is, that’s no problem at all.

Self-confidence can be crucial in professional sports as Arthur Ashe, Tennis pro points out:

“One important key to success is self-confidence. An important key to self-confidence is preparation.” –Arthur Ashe

The final comment comes from Eker, a motivational speaker. While somewhat inclusive it seeks to normalizes a lack of confidence alluding to attitude as being crucial. It offers some insight into combating and overcoming difficult emotions.

Successful people have fear, successful people have doubts, and successful people have worries. They just don’t let these feelings stop them.” –T. Harv Eker

Do any of these quotes speak to you?

Can You Cuddle and Hug Too Much?

“Mum says it is okay to kiss and hug someone you love.”

Case #1 – Foreign Language Film

I was watching a foreign movie wherein the protagonist who was a student of psychology remarked to a guest at a party:

“New studies show that if you cuddle your children too much, they will become drug addicts later in life.”

A surprising remark!

I understood that physical contact in terms of warm cuddles and hugs were extremely beneficial and comforting to all, when appropriate. Our brain secrete hormones like serotonin and oxytocin into the body when we’re physically affectionate, producing feelings of connection, bonding, and trust.

Once parenting progressed past the ‘spare the rod and spoil the child,’ philosophy so prevalent in the post-war era, I’d understood that there was no such thing as too much hugs for a young child. Studies seemed to confirm this.

“The amount of physical contact between infants and their caregivers can affect children at the molecular level…..children who had been more distressed as infants and had received less physical contact had a molecular profile that was underdeveloped for their age. Sciencedaily.com

So there were consequences for children who lacked physical contact. Children raised in Romanian orphanages, for example, with negligible physical contact lagged behind in all milestones and displayed recalcitrant behavioural issues, like anxiety or mal-adapted relationships.

Years ago, I spoke to a woman who was struggling through a messy divorce. She was adamant the only thing that kept her sane through the whole messy legal process, was to have regular massage from a therapist – the emotional benefits of physical touch! She then went on to change careers from a desk job to opening her own successful massage business.

So we can all agree that hugs are good, right?

Case #2 – At the Optometrist’s Reception Room

A young colleague is sitting in the Optometrist’s reception area awaiting an eye test. A child is playing there, while its mother is being seen by a clinician in an adjoining room. The child appears to become infatuated with my twenty-something colleague, approaching her, kissing her repeatedly on the arm and hugging my colleague, telling her, “I love you, as she sat waiting for her appointment.

Perhaps the young school-aged child had a disorder, no sense of stranger danger nor any idea of what is socially appropriate, but despite being asked to stop his behaviour by both my colleague and the receptionist, the child continued, saying “Mum says it is okay to kiss and hug someone you love.”

Addiction is too strong a word for this situation, but after seeing the film in Case #1 I wondered – Could too many hugs trigger a need in vulnerable individuals that could lead to more risk-taking pursuits? A reaction to an intolerance of discomfort?

A need, desire or dependency for that warm fuzzy bodily feeling triggered by the release of oxytocin/dopamine/serotonin hormones in the brain?

A strong insatiable desire to feel good instantly, when something negative happens to them. Or something that may in the extreme, manifest as a compulsion or an addiction to hugs and physical comfort and even sex or substances that induce similar effects?

The following is a comment found on Reddit in response to the topic:

Couples that cuddle can become addicted to one another. Symptoms of withdraw can occur when apart as a result of the hormone oxytocin, “the cuddling drug.”

This respondent encapsulated what many others said on that thread:

“Physical affection is a drug in almost every sense of the word. I
remember towards the end of my last relationship, cuddling literally
felt like getting a fix and after we broke up the withdrawal was real.”

From the website Psych central: New research, however, suggests that oxytocin must be used carefully because too much oxytocin (in healthy young adults) can actually result in over-sensitivity to the emotions of others.

Like everything in life, I guess treading the middle path is the best choice.