Stress in the kitchen

Everyone wants to cook well, but we forget how CRUCIAL a good home-baked cake was in great-grandma's times for women's self esteem. At least, that's what advertisers tried to tell them.
This word-packed ad, from 1922, tells a tale headed "From Failure to Success: The Story of a Young Wife Who Thought She Couldn't Cook."
Its chapters describe the terrible food served up by a new bride to her long-suffering husband. How shocking this was then. Working women were expected to leave their jobs when they wed. Housewifery was far more important.
The story coyly begins, "When the friends of Miss Office heard that she was to become Mrs Cook, they began to crack the age-old jokes about newly-wed wives. 'Jack will have indigestion for the first month,' they said."
And so it goes. Her first cake is "very heavy", followed by a doughy Madeira, leaden scones and pastry that is "simply waste of good butter".
Then, oh joy, she discovers "sure to rise" Edmonds Baking Powder. "Oh!" she exclaims. "I've not been using Edmonds! No wonder my cooking was a failure!"
Brimming with exclamation marks and proud smiles, she is shown in her pinny at the ad's end as simpering Jack assures her that her cooking is "just as good as Mother's - and better."
Tradition like this is what makes for enduring brands. This is how old slogans make for mindsets that do not change for years and years and years. This is why, when Edmonds was attacked this month by professional cooks for the inadequacy of its Hot Cross Bun recipe, the brand's owners would not admit to any problems at all.
Just like Jack's wife, they had a "sure to rise" reputation to uphold, even when the buns weren't rising.
But they should beware of wives in pinnies. Put-upon women have a habit of flinging aprons off, going back to work and buying store-bought cakes instead. Or not eating cake at all for health reasons. Or coaxing Jack to do some baking instead.

Tick tock bye-bye watch

Preparing to make a speech to staff at a media company, I trawled through some old magazines I’d once edited and came across a full-page ad from 20 years ago starring the coolest new accessory from those times, the Swatch watch. The guy in the ad was delirious with glee over the prospect of having on his wrist something so sexy, so slender, so very ‘now’.
I’d forgotten about the Swatch. Did a Google. Discovered the brand is very alive and kicking. But it got me thinking about the wristwatch. Years ago in a British museum I was delighted to spot, in a glass case, an example of an early watch from the late 1800s. A fat, clunky thing it was, with a leather strap rendered fragile by use and age.
They became so ubiquitous that a good watch became the gift of choice in the 20th century – the pretty one for a girl’s 21st birthday, the ideal anniversary gift (with a few dinky diamonds), the gold-plated one on retirement. That was a weird idea, actually, given that it’s the very time when clock-watching loses importance.
The Swiss originally cornered the market for watches, along with cuckoo clocks and anything else that ticked. But then something bad happened, at least from the Swiss point of view. The Japanese got inventive. Once they’d got over just copying Swiss cleverness, they began to make watches that were just as good, and cheaper, than timepieces put together in Europe.
Yikes, said the Swiss. What to do? And so they invented the Swatch. Cheap, thin, bright, smart and colourful, they were an instant success in a brand-hungry world.
But now something else bad is happening. People are going off them altogether. Timepiece sales have dropped off every year since 2001. I asked my audience yesterday how many of them go watch-less. Close to half the room raised their hands.
Instead, they rely on cell phones, PDAs, in-car digital displays, the computers they sit in front of all day and the clocks that still adorn public buildings around town. It’s the cell phone that’s really done the damage of course. Everyone has one available at all times.
And yet what a funny turnaround that is. Apparently the first flush of enthusiasm for wrist watches came in the women’s fashion accessory market. A hundred years ago men carried pocket watches. Ladies’ gowns didn’t have handy pockets, so a dainty wristwatch was a boon for them.
World War 1 changed that. Blokes about to let loose the artillery or urge the troops out of the trench didn’t have time to be digging into pockets to find out if the moment had come. A flicking glance at the wrist was so much easier.
And now here we, hurtling into the digital future and, at the same time, returning to the past and fumbling in pockets and bags to find a time display not attached to our persons. These must be worrying times at Rolex. And at Swatch.

Recession's alphabet soup

Once it was acronyms that drove us nuts. Well, they still do. I’m forever stumbling over clumps of letters that mean nothing to me.

Now we’re also being faced with the challenge of understanding itty-bitty letters. The first time I heard economists debating the likely look of the end of the recession, I thought, ‘what the?!’ They spoke of U-curves, and V-shapes and (ohmigod) the worst shape of all... the dreaded L.
It seems that, historically, recessions have followed certain patterns – giving us those Us, Vs and Ls. It seems we all love Vs, because it means a swift descent into the depths, followed by an equally rapid upsurge – something like the woe that hits fox-trotters’ faces when criticised by judges on Dancing with the Stars , quickly followed by grins when they score the next dollop of praise.
U curves are pretty good too. We slide down, swoop around the bend and then quickly ascend once more. But the L? Bad news. It indicates a vertical drop followed by a flat line, with damn-all uptick in sight.
I keep hearing commentators rattling on about ‘green shoots’, signs of life, and evidence of better results. But it all depends on who’s talking. It seems Kiwi business people aren’t expecting a U any time soon, given that the latest survey out today (April 8) says confidence hasn’t been this low since 1974. But given that stockmarkets have done a little up-climb lately, followed by a down-slip, I’m betting it won’t be long before someone invents a W mode, with a pesky up/down jiggly bit in the middle. Maybe even a series of them.
My metaphorical soup was made even murkier last week when I heard someone use “hockey-stick” talk to describe the typical uptake pattern for new technology. I took that to mean there’s a brief, u-shaped hesitation at the bottom of any new way of doing things, followed by a swoop up the vertical handle of the stick, as more and more people come on board.
But no.
Googling revealed that the term – coined by someone debating climate records – is based on the shape of a North American ice hockey stick. It describes numbers running along from left to right on a flat line (as represented by a stick lying on its back) followed by an acutely angled upturn, like the blade of that sort of stick. Sharp angle, not U-curve.
At least acronyms do have meanings you can easily get to grips with, unlike two types of hockey sticks. Why, only today I’ve been reading about a NASA project called THEMIS, which stands, as I’m sure you know, for Time History of Events and Macroscale Interactions during Substorms. Yes, well. It is interesting. Really.
NB As there’s nothing we can do about economics or outer space, the best thing to do is work on our own wellbeing. Which means getting out, having fun and being creative. Here are four ways of doing that (all Auckland events). I’ve done courses with all the women mentioned below and know they can give you a good, powerful and even life-changing time.

You can:

FEEL EMPOWERED at Sally Mabelle’s uplifting range of classes covering singing, speaking, relating, and creating. http://sallymabelle.com/events

FIND THE COURAGE TO BE YOURSELF by attending six evening sessions with visionary trainer Amanda Fleming, beginning mid June. Here's the info on this, and her other courses. www.amandafleming.co.nz/courses

DANCE FOR JOY at an afternoon event, April 19, with the inspiring Lizzie Haylock and unwind out of your rushing, time-stressed life. NB No dancing talent needed! As Lizzie says, however you want to move is perfect, no matter your age or shape. A creative, time-out, sensory space for women. For info email: lhaylock@xtra.co.nz

And you can also WRITE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL, at my own weekend course on May 16-17, Call Out Your Inner Writer. It’s just as much about developing your creative confidence as your scribbling skills. www.lindseydawson.com

Silver bullets flying everywhere

Have we ever heard so much about silver bullets as in recent times? Not that anyone is being over-optimistic about the power of the famed SB. But every time someone announces the pouring of gazillions of dollars, euros or pounds into some floundering bank or other, a sombre guy in a dark suit pops up to say, “this may not be the silver bullet”.
Okay, okay, we get the picture. No matter how much cash gets shovelled into achingly deep holes, there is no guarantee it’ll do the trick of reviving the global economy.
It got me wondering where the silver bullet concept comes from. Thanks to Wikipedia, I now have a clue or two. Appropriately enough for these scary times, it goes back to the days when werewolves, vampires, monsters and other boogeymen made small children whimper and brought bad dreams in the night.
Seems that if you were going out into the dark to slay such beasts with your trusty musket, only silver ammo would do. Why silver? It’s all to do with ancient associations of silver with the moon and the human soul. With its clean, bright sheen, silver was thought to be the only metal brilliant enough to vanquish evil.
The Brothers Grimm dreamt up silver buttons for a gun used in their fairytale,‘The Two Brothers’, to do away with a bullet-proof witch.
In the 20th century a Eugene O’Neill play, ‘the Emperor Jones’, had silver bullets at the core of the story. Investors in 21st century schemes run by modern vampire Bernie Madoff might have been wishing for a silver slug or two lately, too.
But the irony of it all is that apparently they’re not actually that useful. Because silver is less dense than lead, it’s a bit sluggish when fired from a gun. P’raps it’s time for the leaders of nations and fixers of problems to dream up a different metaphor.

R.I.P. the daily paper

Newspapers are dying. It’s like watching a part of civilization sputtering and going dark. Mostly it’s happening in America. The latest was the 146-year-old Seattle Post-Intelligencer (which will survive in a different form, online. At least, that’s the plan.) Before that, Denver’s Rocky Mountain News shut its doors.
In San Francisco they’re close to losing the Chronicle. On the east coast the New York Times was recently saved from bankruptcy by a Mexican billionaire. What a bitter pill it must have been for proud New Yorkers to be rescued by a super-wealthy man called Carlos from south of the border!
The thing that’s killing all these papers (and the many more also in deep doo-doo) is the internet. Everything’s going there... both readers and advertising dollars. Young people aren’t reading newspapers now. The Classifieds are shrinking. Every happens online and for free and at such great speed that by the time you read a morning paper almost everything in it is no longer news. Even if you’ve not seen it online, you’ll have sucked it up via TV or radio.
Print’s just not in the game any more.
Newspapers are ‘declining and transitioning’ according to a guy whose company recently shored up another sick-puppy newspaper, San Diego’s Union Tribune. In other words, we’re in a time of great change and no-one knows quite where thing s will end up.
Of course, papers have died here too. I often go past an empty Auckland City lot. It’s long been a car park but once contained the building that housed the Auckland Star, my first workplace. Its smoke-filled newsroom... gone. The clattering linotype machines... gone. The great presses whose thunder used to shake the Fort Street pavement and fill the air with pungent ink fumes...gone.
And yet we shouldn’t be surprised. There was something very old about many of these dead papers. It was in the way they announced themselves to the world. Their top-of-front-page titles were in heavy gothic script. Gutenberg, who invented movable type and paved the way for commercial printing, used this script in the 1400s. Even then it was old – apeing the painstaking calligraphy used by monks and nuns to hand-copy old religious texts.
A hundred years ago, newspaper proprietors took pride in that look because it stood for authority, power and heritage. Today it just looks, well, quaint.
And though it’s still used on the masthead of the newspaper I read every day (more out of habit than enthusiasm), I look at that antique font and see it not as a sign of power, but as a signal that these once-great institutions are running close to their use-by date. Sob. I don’t want papers to die. They’ve been part of my life. But then (and here’s the real killer) my local takeaway shop doesn’t even deign to wrap up fish’n’chips in dirty newsprint.

High Altitude Harbingers of Change

I last wore shoes like this when I was about 17. I remember red ones with a bow on the front, just like this sketch of mine. (Only there were no imps playing inside.) And I had some super-glam gold lamé ones. That is ‘lamé’ with an accent on the e to denote glittery fabric, which is now so out of fashion that you may not have heard of it. Without the accent you’ll think I’m writing ‘lame’ which is a whole different word. Although if you wear shoes like this for long enough you get quite lame quite fast.

I’m careful about confusion these days because I was interviewed by a journalist for Sunday magazine before Christmas for a story on optimism, and gave her a list of qualities which I thought were good to have if you wanted to live a cheerful life. I gave her words like gratitude, calm, playfulness etc and included civility in there. She wrote that down as servility. Just a little bit off the mark!

Anyhow, back to shoes. I note that in the fashion-show world, heels have never been thinner or higher than they are now. You too will have seen leggy models falling off the things on slippery runways. (Who knows why they’re called runways, because models lope, stride or teeter or but are rarely seen running. Shoes like this would, anyway, make that impossible.)

But given that it was the 1960s when heels were last like this, I begin to wonder whether women’s shoes and times of great change are not somehow connected. The last time girls wore stilettos was a pretty crazy period when old ways were crumbling and everything was shifting from post-war to new-era. And now, here they are again, just as everything seems new and challenging all over again. It’s as if the more uncertain the times, the higher the heel. I await the next few years with interest. Watch for women’s heels to go shorter and wider next year as the world strives for more balance and stability. Like the impish fellow on the slide, we are in for a ride.

Cheerleading for cellulite

It's raining here today - the first cool, grey day for a long time in a summer when we've equalled the highest Auckland temp ever recorded, back in 1872 or therabouts. Who knew there was anyone recording temperatures on this colonial shore that long ago? When it's over 32 deg C and humid as well, it feels like Singapore.
So today (when I've even had to put on socks for warmth!) there's no-one on the beach, not even any dogged dog walkers. And certainly no skinny gals in teensie bikinis. Welcome then to the kind of girl I'm happy to see on the beach any old time. She's my cheerleader for cellulite.
Someone this big is usually called obese. But let's hear it for women who are not those angular glowering colts who canter the runways at the world's fashion shows. Let us praise women who are full-bodied, rounded, laughing exemplars of beauty.
I've long despised the mantra, invented by the beauty industry, that insists women must do all in their power to get rid of cellulite or 'orange peel' thighs.
It seems we've forgotten that every society in history has admired young women who are slim of waist AND broad of hip - sure indicators (as they thought in ancient times) of a woman's ability to bear children.
Today's girls are filled with woe if they fail to possess lean and boyish thighs that, preferably, don't touch at the top. Once 'feminine' meant curvy. Now it means that most nebulous of terms, toned. Today's female body is now required to be thin, hard and sculpted. How bullied we are by the arbiters of style. Nothing wrong, I say, with flesh that's allowed to jiggle. Not a lot. But a little. Cellulite and all.