Gabrielle Gassin

A mother’s musings on life

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  • The Adult Party Pie

    I don’t think I’ve met a person who doesn’t thoroughly enjoy a party pie. And I’m not talking that “traditional” party pie you had at every single children’s birthday that’s piled into a silver tray and tepid by the time you get off the jumping castle and fill your plate…I’m talking about, The Adult Party Pie.

    Yes. You know exactly what I mean. The Adult Party Pie is an upgrade from the minced beef thing. It’s crunchy crust, it’s gourmet fillings, it’s tenderness and warmth compiled into a little container of tasty pastry goodness. It’s the type of pie your company provides you with on a professional development day. You look forward to this moment from the instant your computer notified you of mail the week before, and the agenda was received. You scanned the itinerary for that one bold, blissful sentence: “lunch provided.” You know deep down, that the best part of this day that is void of actual work, will be the minute session four ends, and it’s time to eat.

    There are some challenges associated with The Adult Party Pie, however. It could be said that one of those challenges is the scrutinising stares you cop from fellow staff members standing in the line watching as you fill your plate with 2-3 of The Pies…but the look isn’t because they think you’re being greedy. It’s because they are still 4-5 persons away from the plate of Pies, and the risk of missing out is threatening and imminently looming.

    The second noted challenge associated with eating The Adult Party Pie is the part where you actually consume it. That glorious moment that it travels, steaming, from the tiny openings where pastry has become overwhelmed with heat and popped open, from the plate to your expectant mouth. You open up for The Pie to enter…you take the first bite…and this slow motion moment comes to an abrupt halt as your mouth registers the temperature of the dang thing. It’s too late. Your teeth entered the lid of The Pie and progressed downwards. The roof of your mouth came into contact with the gourmet filling, and it, along with your tongue, is now a burnt up mess. You can fill the skin peeling slightly, it is a funny type of painful…and your pie eating experience has ended. No longer can you take pleasure of the crunchy-bits-in-all-the-right-places. No longer can you indulge in the pleasures of a grown up Party Pie. And the admin lady featured earlier is smirking at you from two tables away as she peels off the lid of her Adult Party Pie and blows on it to cool down the contents.

  • on Greed. 

    At our recent group adventure to Groovin The Moo Bunbury where our ears were glossed with the magical sounds of many an artist, something unique was going down. It was in the form of an environmental initiative, where festival punters were being encouraged to clean up after themselves and others. This is a really good and fabulous thing to do for our environment, especially with the amount of rubbish having thousands of people crammed inside a fence for ten to twelve hours would accumulate.

    Although I very enthusiastically (too enthusiastically?) played a role in this cleanup, I went about it with a heavy heart. You see, there was a catch. Punters were able to exchange one whole dollar for every can or bottle collected, with a limit of five per transaction. An excellent way to get people to clean up after themselves…prey on their greed. I was disappointed to see people cleaning their own rubbish up for the sole purpose of being paid for it. Not because it was actually their rubbish, but to earn a buck. This event, and the success of the whole scheme, thwarted my belief in the goodness of people, and challenged the ideals even I possess, about why people do the things they do.

    And I can’t bathe in the glow of self righteousness and glory here, because although I am not (never have and never will be) a litterbug, I wouldn’t be going around picking up other people’s garbage for the sheer joy of it. “Oh look, another piece of dirty chewed gum stuck to a food wrapper. How exciting! I’ll pop that in the bin.” That doesn’t happen. Unfortunately for my ego, I can be counted in amongst the masses here – only trying to minimise harm to the environment because the possibility of earning back the money I spent on the day would increase significantly; the more I collected.

    I thought a lot about this on the day and since then too, and was reminded this morning when I saw my bathroom tap running. A slim yet steady stream of water was tumbling through the grate; clean, unused, fresh, cold water. All I could do was let out a sigh as I closed the tap a little tighter.

  • My Bichon Bites Children on the Face.

    You wouldn’t believe that the dog in the featured image is a cunning assassin. But she is. A playful ball of white fluff who thoroughly enjoys chasing a squeaky toy by herself, and snuggling up on your bed or lap at any given point is not the type of canine one would associate with being hostile. The thing is though, she doesn’t appreciate children getting all up in her personal space. And I get that. You’re used to hanging around adult humans, those who lavishly praise and love you constantly (unless you’ve left a present in their bedroom in a desperate attempt at some extra attention.) And then a smaller sized human comes along and tries to either pet you by pulling your hair too hard, or play with you by stealing your toys. Does this miniature adult not realise you much prefer backing up and pouncing on the elephant with no one else involved? So you lose your shit and bite him on the face. As he stumbles toward his mother, crying and gasping, the words “the dog ate my face” are dribbling out of his mouth. We gather our belongings as if there’s a tsunami approaching and very quickly vacate the area so as not to have you euthanised. Please stop attacking children, Coco.

  • “a bad day” redefined.

    Failing at anything you’ve worked hard for is unhelpful for trying to maintain positivity. Having a car crash at the fault of the other driver pertains to development of a rather dreary attitude. Getting rejected by Collette Dinnigan for having too big of a bust is more than a little hurtful. But, finding out a teacher you had for four years’ house has burnt down, and her husband has died, could possibly be seen as the icing on the cake for a superb day.

    Life is long and happy and unpredictably short.

    Having “a bad day” can be redefined when things like this happen. I can be grateful to be alive and lucky to be able to enjoy “a bad day” whilst someone else is missing their husband for ever, and whose children no longer have a father.

    Let’s count our blessings.

  • Flat Masseuse.

    We travelled to Barcelona  in 2012, and stumbled upon some seemingly unusual happenings, particularly at the beach. When the asian lady that was massaging my friend rapidly ceased to do so and was flat on the sand before you could say, well anything really, because the police went past, well that was an interesting occurrence.

    They aren’t actually allowed to be giving massages to randoms tourists on the beach because it is “working” illegally. If you had been there at this time, you’d have noticed that suddenly the Indian men walking amongst the multitudes of people calling out “cold beer, cerveza”, “mohito, fresh mohito” or “coconut” and making some very strange noises in order to attract attention, had grown silent.

    In this case, you could have then paid more attention to the men and women walking around the beach, completely naked. My boyfriend did indeed capture a fantastic photo which epitomises this phenomenon and will be forever in etched into my brain. Joy.