June 30. Day 181. The icing on the cake

Australia is the best country in the world and I have no desire to live anywhere else. That being said, however, I do feel very jealous of my sister and friends who live overseas who are able to enjoy the benefits of the live-in nanny. While I have some serious reservations about the ethics of some of the employment conditions and wages in these arrangements, if I lived there I'd be having the live-in domestic as quick as look at you. But I don't. I do, however, have the next best thing. Six hours a week I have a Christy the domestic goddess. The brief is very elastic. Christy might be hanging out washing, cleaning the floor, driving Mum's taxi, cooking dinner, walking the dog or discussing the latest television must-see series with the teen. In short, Christy takes off the load by taking on jobs I would normally do. It's my working mother survival strategy. But there is more. Christy does things I would never or could never do. Not in a million years. Tonight three dozen cupcakes - mocha with espresso cream and chocolate rocky road varieties - were created in my kitchen for a start of a financial year event at my accountant husband's workplace tomorrow. I would have taken on this job previously in as much as I would have walked the credit card to the nearest cupcake bakery and handed over the cash. But how good is it to be able to supply cakes made in our kitchen? This, quite literally, is the icing on the cake.

June 29. Day 180. Feeling very Catty

In the early days of parenting, so many things about this new gig are liable to take you by surprise and/or shock. But after a while you start to think that while there are many hurdles probably nothing will surprise you any more. Once again this week has proven me wrong. Take the conversation with the woman at the Dance Wear store where I asked exactly what a 16-year-old male would wear under a silver unitard which frankly delivered waaayyy too much information (The answer was an athletic support and white bike pants in case you were wondering). And then there was the conversation in the art store about the types of paints best used to decorate said unitard. Warnings from another mother of a "kitten" in Harvest Rain's mega Cats spectacular that her decorating task had taken eight hours had me terrified so I called in the big guns. What is the use of a niece who is a student at the Queensland College of Art if you can't call in a favour? So this afternoon while I trimmed the arms and cut finger holes,  made a cat's tail and wig cap and stitched on fur legs and arms, Scarlett set to work on styling the wig and spray painting her cousin. What a totally awesome job she did too (I secretly suspect she liked bagging her cousin's head in a T Shirt for a bit while she worked). There's not much left of the silver of the unitard or orange of the wig which is not at all a bad thing. In fact I'm prepared to say it's the Cats Pyjamas

June 28. Day 179. Sat-all-Day

 Saturday. The reward we get for working hard all week. The Saturday papers in bed, brunch, perhaps a movie curled up on the couch in the afternoon followed by an evening partying. Well, I'm sure someone, somewhere did that. Someone who didn't care about the washing, cleaning, family feeding etc that certainly doesn't stop because the calendar says it's not a "work day". Actually it could have been me but only if I had a time machine and went back to a previous version of me I would barely recognise. That me would be astounded at what now constitutes the high points of a really good Saturday.
There was a walk to the vet to take the Fur Friend for a hyrobath.  Another walk down to South Bank later for the Harvest exhibition where I shared a shared a cheese and dessert platter and enjoyed browsing the Gallery of Modern Art exhibit with my friend Christy before walking back through the Out of the Box Festival and home through Musgrave Park. The night time entertainment was a Cabaret where my Drama Teen was performing a solo with male backing singers and a band. Fittingly enough he was singing Runaround Sue. That about sums it up. And to think once it was Sat-All-Day Saturday.

June 27. Day 178. Climb every mountain

Some of my best ever ideas have come over dinner with the girls. (It is also true some of my worst ideas have come from the same source "No let's not have a glass of dessert wine. It's much better value by the bottle").  But whether it is the great company, the relaxed atmosphere or that dessert wine awesome plans are hatched over those dinners. It was one one such dinner that I decided to celebrate my 40th birthday by trekking Cradle Mountain in Tasmania and almost five years later it was at another that the girls told me to stop talking about it and just do it. The following day we booked and started training. So this week there was another dinner gathering and talk turned to milestone birthdays and treks. And this morning I was at the top of Mount Cooth-tha at dawn and scaling the mountain with my trekking buddy and my fur friend soon after. Tomorrow I will almost certainly pay (pretty much in the same way as the dessert wine) but it will be totally worth it.

June 26. Day 177. Mad dogs and Englishmen

 Because I am married to an Englishman I feel I am allowed to state an opinion on this.
The English are climate deniers (not in the global warming sense but in the sense of denying what the climate really is like and how to behave appropriately).
Today was a very pleasant Brisbane winter's day but not a shorts and T Shirt sort of day and certainly not a strip-down-to-your-swimmers-in-the-very-late-afternoon-and-bury-yourself-in-the-cold-sand sort of day. But try telling that to English tourists Matt, Ash and Jenny who were enjoying one of Brisbane's best tourist spots today. Seriously. Englishmen are, well, unique. Having said that there was something quite universal in their sand sculpture - boobs. Let's be frank. Boys will be boys the world over and that will very often involve boobs. Of course it would be fair to confess there is a big dose of pot calling the kettle black on this count given that tonight I am heading out to see the Naked Magicians. Yep a bit of nude magic with buff young men doing goodness knows what with their magic wands. At least I will be dressed appropriately. The magicians not so much.

June 25. Day 176. No filter

Whoever coined the phrase The Camera Never Lies is at best very naive and at worst a big fat fibber. Of course the camera lies. With careful framing and the selective use of lenses the "truth" can be distorted beyond belief. I tell myself this every time I see an unflattering photo of myself - cameras add kilos don't they? Then of course filters, apps and my friend Photoshop allow photos to tell any story you like. But some times with no filter and no trick photography, a picture can really tell 1000 words but none of them really catch the majesty of the scene. So it was with the colours of dawn against a cloudy sky at South Bank this morning. The sky gods had employed the giant colouring pencil box this morning. There is no way a mere mortal could accurately describe it even if one was to draw on all of the names on a giant paint shop colour chart. So this morning I will let the camera do the talking - you will have to take my word for it there were no tricks

June 24. Day 175. A dog's life

Please do not mention this to Rumple. Until this morning I always considered by pooch to be the most pampered anywhere in the whole world. But my belief was cruelly shattered at South Bank. My puppy pal loves our walks around South Bank by which I mean Rumple loves being carried around South Bank his head resting on my shoulder surveying the world. People stop and stare and talk to him and he laps it all up. He is declared a very spoiled boy. But Mimi, a King Charles Spaniel/poodle cross, has one up on us. Mimi has an ultimate pet stroller and apparently refuses to leave the house on foot. Not only that her little cuddle/chew toy coming along to keep her company. At least Rumple pretends that taking the dog for a walk involves the dog walking some of the way. As they say "it's a dog's life"

June 23. Day 174. Let them eat cake

Cake. A chocolate cup cake with beautifully piped chocolate butter icing. It was a thing of great beauty. That was the plan. Today was going to be a bit of food porn photography. I admit this is not my sphere of expertise however I am pretty sure that such a cake is much easier and much more attractive to photograph before it has been eaten. But it wasn't to be. My husband ate it. Crumbs.
And this is one of those rare moments where I could have had the cake and my husband could have eaten it. But here's the thing. It is foolish to assume others can read your mind. It is an especially foolish strategy when it involves a single cupcake sitting invitingly in the front of the fridge. I so should have put it in the vegetable crisper - no-one in my family would ever think to look for anything delicious not nutritious there. So I have seen the light - literally. With no cake you get a close up of a floor lamp. Yum (not).

June 22. Day 173. It's a shore thing

 Phillip, 11, and Clara, 9, admire their consturction

June 21. Day 172. And pretty maids all in a row

This is what freedom looks like. Crazy young girls ignoring the fact that  today is the winter equinox and frolicking on the beach at South Bank. I don't frolic these days. That's the business of the young but I had a great sense of freedom just the same. Finally after days of avoidance, the pile of marking is no more. I have slayed the dragon and the sense of relief is palpable. But this is the ridiculous thing. I know this will happen. I know that when the marking is done I know how liberating it will be and yet procrastination always happens before marking. The  thing is that the time spent not marking is not free time, not while the marking still exists. There's this little Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder always reminding me that it is there as much as I might like to pretend otherwise. But still I pretend rather than actually doing anything. I rather think that these girls will realise the water is really cold in June long before I realise marking avoidance is a fruitless tactic.



June 20. Day 171. New kid on the block

Friday afternoon my old friend. So nice to see you again. Barely had the school bell rung to celebrate the start of the weekend when the whole street seemed to be outside and ready to socialise. The arrival of a new puppy gave added incentive for everyone to mill around by the garden fence and chat and play. Daphne is a Schnauzer and today she got to meet Scout (another Schnauzer) and Rumple and their humans. With the impromptu street party out the way it was off for a walk to South Bank where the weekend had begun in earnest. After a very average start to the day the clouds had cleared and if the weather stays like this it will be one awesome weekend. Winter? What winter

June 19. Day 170. A big drip

We needed the rain. I get that. But somehow the scattered showers today managed to scatter themselves right over me at the exact moment I stepped outside. I felt like one of those cartoon characters walking around with a big dripping rain cloud over my head. I wouldn't mind so much, I would even ignore the water smudged fresh nail polish AND the wet dog smell, but today of all days I wanted nice, dry driving conditions. Today was the day my sweet little baby had his first driving lesson. The mere thought turned me into a big drip. We all know that wet roads are slippery dangerous roads and that wasn't the plan. But I trusted driving instructor Alan and his dual control car. That is, I trust Alan a whole lot more than I trust myself as a driving instructor. The fact is that while I don't have dual controls on my car I do have an imaginary break pedal and if I am a passenger - no matter who is driving - I am pumping it for all it is worth. I am the world's worst back seat driver, even when I'm in the front seat. There is no way in the living world I could instruct a learner driver especially one I gave birth to. So I have to trust Alan and pray for safe roads and safe drivers and try to not be a big drip.

June 18. Day 169. The early bird

There's this bloke who works at my local NiteOwl who seems like a very nice fellow except for one thing. He likes cats and has no time for dogs. Dogs, he told me, are too needy as though any sensible person would see that as a bad trait. I find a couple of obvious faults with his "logic". For one, not all dogs are needy and two those of us with needy breeds almost certainly like it that way, in fact we probably created the neediest of our needy little fur friend. Rumple is probably the neediest of needy dogs.  He needs his humans, he worships us (especially me) and rarely leave my side. Truth is, I love this. I find it most endearing.
So this morning when I woke and he was asleep on my pillow one paw across my face my heart melted as it does most mornings. Sure, this probably has many recoiling in horror at the lack of hygiene involved in this situation but the only problem is posed for me was that on Wednesdays I have to spring out of bed early and leave the furry one behind. In addition it was still dark AND only 10 degrees. But I braced myself and did what had to be done. And there were pay offs. I'd finished at the ABC studios before 7am when the morning light is still perfect for photography. I love the sun on the lorikeet having a feeding frenzy at South Bank. It may not be as warm as a dog on your head but those birds are like little rays of sunshine just the same. In fact, they are definitely worth getting out of bed for.

June 17.Day 168. Don't judge a book by its cover

My elderly neighbour Margaret was reeling off a list of why she has some "issues" with a distant relative. "And", she said "she doesn't like dogs. You can't trust someone who doesn't like dogs, can you?"
While I'm pretty sure there are some entirely trustworthy persons who are not dog fanciers I see her point. What she is really saying is that you are more likely to trust someone with the same value system and liking dogs is very much central to Margaret's world view.
If not liking dogs is a reason not to trust someone I suppose the reverse could also be true. People with dogs already have a common ground with other dog owners. So it was with Jimmy. Jimmy is from Philip Island and this afternoon he was at South Bank with his mate from Melbourne and their three dogs. Now normally I am a little bit inclined to make judgements on face value and men with piercings, huge novelty sunglasses, no shirt and gruesome tattoos I might normally avoid. But our dogs decided a chat was in order and Jimmy was every bit the character he appeared. He's heading to Airlie Beach and had intended to spend only one night in "boring Brisbane" but decided he rather liked the place. He's still he a week later. So liking Brisbane AND liking dogs seems Jimmy and I had far more in common than I thought at first.

June 16. Day 167. Where there's a will

There's an old saying "where there's a will, there's a relative". In some cases those who have paid scant attention to the dearly departed while he or she was in the land of the living have been known to descend vulture like at the scent of a trail of cash. Fortunately it is a process that to this point in my life I have been able to steer clear of. But after a recent fall my elderly neighbour has decided it's about time she revisited her will and asked if I would mind driving her to Sandgate to see her solicitor. As I'm not a beneficiary so no-one could question my intentions I figured there were a lot worse things a person could do on a day like today than take a trip to the seaside. We ate fish and chips for lunch and there was time for a stroll along the waterfront. Very nice it was too. I was worried she might take a tumble but naturally it was not her that fell. The idiot with the camera failed to noticed just how slippery the wet rocks she was climbing on were. My pride was a little wounded but fortunately the camera wasn't and anyone looking got to have a good laugh. That has to be worth something. I'm sorry to disappoint any birds of prey circling but other than a bit of a graze on the hand and a wet boot I'm fine. You'll have to wait a bit longer to enjoy the spoils.

June 15. Day 166. Sick little puppy

It's a tough gig parenting and one of the most physically distasteful bits is dealing with the bodily fluids and functions of one's little person. That's a pretty big downside of pet ownership too. I pondered that today when I was on poo pick-up duty at the park. Oh yes, there is something most unglamorous about bagging dog shit, there really is. But that wasn't the end of it. Just after we returned home Rumple vomited, a large projectile number all over the dining room floor. Naturally at that moment all the other humans in the house were strangely absent so Nurse Susan had to spring in to action. But here's the thing. With fur babies just like the human offspring you may really hate mopping up poos and spews but that's not the really hard bit. The really hard bit is how your heart hurts when your baby is ill and you just want to kiss it and make it better. Fortunately in this instance whatever it was that was making Rumple feel ill was clearly discharged in that mess on the floor. He was back to is normal self within moments

June 14. Day 165. Streets ahead

James James busking in the Queen Street Mall

Waylen and Anthony putting on a performance of a different type at South Bank

One of the awesome thing about travelling overseas used to be the shopping. The streets of foreign cities were lined with shops filled with exciting things the likes of which you never saw at home.
The shrinking world has robbed us of a lot of that. Sure there are treasures in the grand bizarre in Istanbul and the street markets in Singapore not available in the local Westfield but the shopping plazas the western world over all seem to be packed with pretty much identical goods.  So even if I  know every purchase I want can be made under the giant roof of one suburban mega centre, I often choose to leave the car and walk into the city instead. Sure there is a sameness about the shops but there's always something going on that you won't see in the wilds of Westfield World. Today's mission was to replace yet another lens cap for my camera and allow drama teen to stock up on holiday reading and viewing material. We took the dog (another thing you can't do in the suburbs) and strolled into town. Drama Teen was on dog duty while I again contributed to the camera accessory business. Then we swapped and the dog, camera and I went on a street photography mission while the boy spent a lifetime browsing his favourite stores. Normally waiting for this agonisingly slow selection process does my head in but not when there's the Saturday afternoon bustle of the city to enjoy. There were was a street artist, James James the magician, a man creating balloon art for the kids, the blind saxophone player, Mormon missionaries so much going on. And then when the purchasing was over we got to walk home enjoying a chat as we went. And to put icing on the cake, our route home passes through South Bank where we met Waylen and Anthony practicing some stunt riding. They told me they had ridden a lot when they were younger but had let it lapse. Proving they still had it obviously gave them a great deal of joy (it also gave the crowds a little free entertainment). Yep, all cities are a lot them same but they are also different.I might be a bit biased but in many ways Brisbane is streets ahead.

June 13. Day 164. Reflections

I spent a great deal of the mid 70s with permanently bruised wrists thanks to Click Clacks. Remember them? The supposedly fun toy with two hard balls on the end of one piece of string. The idea was to have the balls hit at the top and the bottom but in my uncoordinated case it often meant one or other ball crashing at high velocity into my wrist. (The early 70s it was permanently scabbed knees from coming off my scooter at the bottom of the steep concrete drive way). Anyway I got to reflecting on the crazy toys of my childhood today while watching the ibis in the drained South Bank pools. In the shallows left while the main pool is drained for annual maintenance the ibis dipping looked for all money like one of those magic dipping birds. Everyone had one of those. I also remember my Spirograph, Slinkies and  with great fondness. And that was was decade were everything was Holly Hobbie. How sweet. I'm sure the kids of today would totally trade their iPad for any one of those (not). But then again, I wouldn't trade my smart phone for anything either even though I'm sure using it to play Candy Crush for hours is about as good for my wrist as those Click Clacks. Still it doesn't hurt to stop and reflect every now and again.

June 12. Day 163. Day dreaming

There's this test called the mini mental.  It's a series of simple questions such as "what day of the week is it?", "who's the prime minister", "where are we now?" and "count back from 100 in sevens". Medical practitioners use it to test for dementia and by repeating it can tell how the disease is progressing. Given that my father died of Alzheimer's Disease at age 62 there's a fair chance I'll be subjected to a few of these tests in my time. I can only hope they don't start in a week with a public holiday. Quite frankly I haven't had a clue what day it is all week. That Monday holiday thing really throws a girl. As I'm not teaching at the moment and Drama Teen is in "exam block" and not adhering to the normal school timetable only serves to completely throw me. That and the fact that I'd generally prefer to forget who our Prime Minister is might be seen as a definite sign of mental impairment. The thing is the Fur Friends in my life are much better at knowing what day it is than I am. I have not run any scientific study on it but I'm pretty sure Rumple can interpret small visual clues and know what's on the day's agenda. Wednesdays I get up particularly early and get dressed in proper clothes as soon as my feet touch the floor. Every other day as soon as I move he's behind me a fact which has earned him the nickname Shadow. Not Wednesdays. He seems to know that's the day I go straight to the ABC studios without him so he doesn't even bother to lift his head from the pillow. He goes back to sleep. Thursday Drama Teen goes to performance class at Albion and to fill in time during the lesson I always visit my Mum's and that means playing with cousin The Fed in the park. Both dogs seem to know this. Rumple can barely sit still in the car and Fed is up looking out the window waiting for us to arrive. Someone should devise a mini mental for dogs. I'm telling you, they are far more intelligent than we give them credit for. They are also cuter, and better at catching balls and ....

June 11. Day 162. Sorry mum

Becoming a parent really makes you want to do two things 1. Apologise to your parents and 2. Thank your parents, the exact balance of the two depending on the day. Today I wish to apologise for the food fights. Here I am not talking about the teen movie high school canteen food throwing fights but the fights about eating. As the mother of a teen who is possibly the world's fussiest eater, I  now know just how frustrating convincing a non-eater to eat can be. Might I say I was never a fussy eater as such but in my teen years I simply refused to eat breakfast. Ever. Being a good mother, my mum begged and threatened and bribed and used just about every other tool in the parent manual to get me to break my fast but I would not. I was not a morning person and the last thing I wanted to do first thing was eat. So I wouldn't. Eventually we reached an (unhappy) compromise. I would have a glass of orange juice before leaving for the school bus. A friend who caught the bus with me reminded me recently that I would tip the glass of juice into a pot plant as I left the house. I look back on that now in horror. There is no way I could conceive of not eating breakfast. A bowl of cereal first thing is an absolute must. The weird thing is, this food refusal business seems to be a very much human thing and a first world problem at that. Do other species refuse to eat? No, they do not. At South Bank this morning all the creatures seemed to be licking their lips in anticipation of the first bite of the day. No need to force feed, no need to food fight. Like I said "sorry mum".

June 10. Day 161. You have to laugh

I'm sure that most young children, if they ever stop to think about it at all, assume that the customs, sayings and routines of their family are probably shared by all families. It is only much later that one starts to question whether your own family is "normal" and in fact if there's any such thing as a normal family in any case. Certainly I never stopped to ponder whether other families called each other ridiculous nicknames, lived in fear of the wooden spoon (which was often threatened but never rarely if ever used), or had a specially carved indent in the concrete driveway perfectly shaped to hold a macadamia nut still so you could crack it open with a hammer. We did, so I guess I thought so did everybody. So I also never questioned the reason why kookaburras laugh. My mother always said it meant someone had wet the bed. While I never believed that I rather thought it was what all parents jokingly said in much the same way as they may have linked eating crusts and curly hair. I don't think anyone actually believed it but people said it anyway. I feel certain the bed wetting yarn didn't enjoy the same widespread appeal but to this day every time I see a kookaburra I think of bed wetters which is rather unfortunate for poor kookaburra. In my household now bedwetting jokes are normally associated with early rising. If the teen emerges before the alarm on a school day or before mid morning on other days my husband will always say "what happened? Did you wet the bed?" Today there was both a laughing kookaburra and an early rising teen on our property. Fortunately for all there was no bed wetting involved. A nice sunny spot on the pool fence gave the kookaburra something to crow about and a deluge of assessment due before school prompted the teen cave early evacuation. Mind you while there's not a lot to laugh about in washing wee from sheets dealing with assignment angst is hardly a bundle of laughs either. I just need to grin and bear it for one more day and then I can send drama teen out to sun himself by the pool and then we can all get some sleep.

June 9. Day 160. Military precision

Where there is Bookfest there is always Winston to gee up the crowds and point out the bargains

So many books, so little time

My friend Donna takes only one bag preferring to operate on a strict ration system. Vanessa, however, likes to ensure she is well kitted out for the endeavour and arms herself with either a suitcase or a granny trolley. My strategy lies somewhere in between in is actually akin to my philosophy to dieting - never take more than you can carry. Yep, it's Lifeline Bookfest time and whatever your approach a task that involves selectively sorting through literally millions of books on kilometres of tables needs a degree of military precision. Being accompanied by a book-loving teen with no sense of budgetary restraint is worse than letting a kid loose in a candy store. Still books won't rot your teeth and the money goes to a good cause so it can't be all bad. Also he was forced to operate under the same war plan as myself and laziness combined with the need to walk up the high hill home is a natural disincentive to over purchasing. In any event it was a pleasant afternoon out and I couldn't help but be struck by the irony that his escape from the books and a deluge of Year 11 assignments due tomorrow was to hit the books at Bookfest. Oh well, to each his own.

June 8. Day 159. Little Viking warrior

Call me a wimp but if a huge bloke four times my size charged at me at full pelt and bowled me over chances are you would need to call a passing ambulance or an undertaker. At the very least I would need a Bex, a cup of tea and a lie down and an afternoon in bed licking my wounds. But then, I clearly lack anything like Viking spirit. Modern life has made us soft or selfish but that could be just me. I'm a lover not a fighter (well, that's my excuse for a complete lack of resilience at least in a physical sense).  I would have been completely put to shame by a tiny little mini Viking who was part of a display at History Alive today. The Viking King was showing possible ways of dealing with a Viking charge when the little one went flying. He was winded and a little teary for a bit but then he was back and demanded a duel. Within minutes he had claimed the master's sword and was all smiles and the crowd went wild. It was all part of the colour and drama of a Queen's Birthday weekend tradition where history from many eras is played out in the Fort Lytton National Park. Even those with a preference of fashion circa 2014 and food cooked in a wood fired pizza oven or prepared by a barista are made to feel right at home (but a bit of chain wire is clearly an advantage when it comes to blending in). Perhaps next year I'll get with the program.

June 7. Day 158. Riding high

They say the apple never falls far from the tree. Perhaps this is so but I sometimes wonder whether my little apple blossom came not only from a different tree but perhaps from an entirely different orchard. It makes no sense to me that I was gifted an offspring with such an obsession for the stage (and for turning every waking moment into a drama as it happens.
 I know there are times when most parents question what block their little chip actually comes from just as most kids at some time think they must have been adopted because the people they call Mum and Dad couldn't possibly have the same DNA pool.Which brings me to nine-year-old Louis who was owning the skate bowl this afternoon. He'd line up with boys twice his age and give them all a run for their money.
There were, of course, the inevitable falls but Louis would just pick himself up, dust himself off and get back on the board to give it another go.
His dad was sitting on a fold up chair by the top of the bowl cheering Louis on. He told me Louis had been skating for three years. I presumed Dad most have been a skater boy in his youth but he set me straight. Nope, he said, no balance and coordination here. He's on his own. But he said young boys needed to let off steam in some way or another and if skating was Louis's thing he was happy to go along with that.
Yep, the stage might be a bit different but there is a young performer there just the same.

June 6. Day 157. If you can't stand the heat ...

Only once has my kitchen actually caught fire - and I wasn't even at home at the time. But still I have something of an aversion to smoke killed kitchens. What's more I'm not entirely convinced that anything that requires overalls, safety glasses and huge cylinders of gas to create is fit for human consumption. And yet when the menu is all about ice cream and the flavour palette includes rocky chocky road, salty caramel popcorn and lemon meringue pie, well I was prepared to give it a go. If nothing else seeing one's ice cream snap frozen on the spot at least gives you the confidence that it's fresh. Bloody good it was too - but I do have one complaint - ordering envy. Don't you just hate it when your order arrives and you know someone else has made a wiser, more considered selection? My Turkish Delight cone was good. My husband's honey and fig cup was better (I may or may not have snuck a lick when I was collecting the orders) So not fair. In fact I scream (ice cream ... get it?)