Author / Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

David Bowie at the V&A, and why my sister nicely ruins everything

My sister, in the nicest possible way, ruins everything. Take snow. I used to get excited about snow! And then she pointed out that it was fairly miserable for people with nowhere to shelter from it.

Then there was that time she ruined Together in Electric Dreams by pointing out that if the object of his affection didn’t smile until it was time to go away, then maybe they didn’t like Phil Oakey that much anyway.

Or the time that she snorted at the idea of conditions being remotely ‘normal’ in Enola Gay. I mean, honestly. Am I really supposed to think about things?!

And then she ruined 30-odd years of thinking perfectly nice but faintly indifferent thoughts about David Bowie (except as Jareth, of course, where he is the Best Thing Ever), by asking me to go along to the V&A retrospective about him.

Because actually, as it turns out, his body of work screams pretty much every life lesson worth knowing. The exhibition – lovingly curated and presented beautifully in an enjoyably immersive experience complete with headphones that play a soundtrack triggered by the nearest display – is not very much about David Bowie himself – except as he can be known through his work – but mostly about the art of and around his work. It includes sketches and lyric notes, a piece from the graphic designer about the creation of the cover for The Next Day, videos of collaborators and influences. It’s a massively rich collection, and it’s only a tiny slice of the massive volume that could have been displayed, I’m sure.

We stopped at one point, in the middle, already overwhelmed with the quality of what we’d seen – and before we’d even reached the man’s mid-20s.

“If you just completely commit yourself to it, and keep producing work so prolifically,” she commented, “you’re simply bound to strike gold more than other people.”

I thought about other vastly active artists – the obvious ones for me at this moment are Gaiman and Palmer – who might not always hit the target but whose monolithic archives mean that they are always producing something, and therefore are more likely to produce something excellent. And, besides, practice makes perfect, right?

I’m not suggesting that innate talent isn’t important. But as my former colleague Stacey, bassist for Axes, once said to me: “It pisses me off when people think this kind of thing just comes to you. Sure, I’m musical, but I worked my arse off to get this good.”

And, crucially, it’s not enough to be good on your own. You have to share it with someone else. Perhaps with everyone else. Because then it takes on a separate life of its own, too (here I think of Mark Billingham, author of the Thorne detective novels, who – rightly, in my opinion – figures “a book isn’t a book until it’s read”).

Basically, the brilliant, when it comes to what they are brilliant at, simply don’t do shy, even when it hurts, and they don’t do lazy, because that doesn’t make sense to them.

They also don’t have to do drama. Have you ever noticed? People like working with them, and hiring them, and talking about how easy they are to collaborate with. When you’re reasonably secure in your ability, and totally passionate about and dedicated to the production of whatever it is you produce, you simply don’t have to be an ass about it.

And so, back to Bowie and my sister. My sister, who ruins things by not ruining them. By, in fact, forcing me to think, and reflect, and love her ever so much for it,  even while I resent the nagging feeling that I should set my bar higher, and rise to meet it.

As we were leaving, she said to me, contemplatively:

“You get the impression that the world is just a better place for having had him in it.”

Now what a legacy that is.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

10 Things I Do When I’m Working from Home

1. Work

I know this comes as a shock to some people, for whom working from home is a euphemism for a lie in, but it is entirely central to my routine. In fact, I tend to start earlier and work more hours sitting in my kitchen. I feel it’s a privilege to be able to do this, and I don’t abuse it.

2. Refuse to look after my child

It can’t be done. I do not work at home to save on childcare. I work at home so I can see her for more time around the childcare, rather than missing half of bedtime sitting on a train. When she is with me, she deserves 100% of my attention. When I am being paid, my work deserves 100% of my attention. This way, everyone wins.

3. Cook

I make sure that I still take an hour’s lunch break (though it might be split into two shorter breaks) and it is a great opportunity to do job lot of cooking of simple things that can be shoved in the oven. This also means I achieve more time with my child when she gets home.

4.  Take a walk

Before I start, or after I finish the main bulk of the day’s tasks. Or at lunchtime, if I’m not cooking. Fresh air is one of the best things for creativity and clear thinking I’ve ever encountered.

5. Set a timer to get up

I have the kitchen timer next to me, and I set it for a reasonable interval – 30 or 45 minutes – and when it goes off I stand up. I might just blink at a wall for 10 seconds, do 20 star jumps, do a couple of stretches or walk to the loo and back, but whatever it is, I don’t stay seated.

6. Eat

Far too much, sadly. It’s so easy when you’re so near the fridge.

7. No housework

It’s paid working time. Not hoovering, tidying, sorting or dusting time. Aside from cooking, the only chore I might consider doing during a break is the laundry, largely because it’s done by machine, not me.

8. Wash and get dressed

I can’t claim to always dress exactly as I would for work, and my shower might be deferred til lunchtime if the morning routine doesn’t allow proper time, but I refuse to work in PJs. It’s the wrong mindset. Also, I feel cold.

9. Work in silence

I was the teenager who couldn’t write  a word without pulsing indie baselines. Now I cannot focus properly with music on. So I work in blissful, library-like peace and quiet without a single interruption but for a cat’s inquisitive meow now and again.

…though I have been known to talk to myself.

10. Send fewer emails

I thought I’d send more because I need to keep in touch with people but actually the distance does make you re-evaluate your ability to handle the issue at hand without bugging everyone about it. And those I do send tend to be longer and more carefully thought out.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Cooking with rhubarb and small children

Since my headline is anything but, I’d like to make it absolutely clear I didn’t cook Ramona. The idea is occasionally tempting.

So, for the full explanation of our adventures in growing rhubarb, and a great recipe for stuffing apples with rhubarb, see Great British Chefs. Because, yes, I’ve been lucky enough to get another post featured and I am One. Happy. Woman. With any luck – and if I can pull my finger out – this will be a slightly more regular occurrence. I’m feeling sufficiently buoyed by my unusually positive experience with an almost-three-year-old in the kitchen that I might let down my guard further and attempt something a bit more complicated.

It might also involve rhubarb, because I’m getting a little wee bit obsessed with it. Every time a tiny shoot of it gets large enough to munch on, I rip it up, slice it fairly thinly and simmer it in a small puddle of melted butter with a sprinkling of sugar so that it becomes a soft, eye-wateringly tart and delicious compote for porridge or yogurt – and even, one morning, a toast topping. Sadly, I can’t much get Ramona involved in this process – knives! hobs! hot butter! – though I did use the magic of Sam I Am to get her to try the resulting gloop after she announced without tasting it that she didn’t like it. She then stole the remainder in my bowl and snaffled it happily.

As an aside: she’s actually not at all a fussy eater – her key list of dislikes at the moment amounts to peanut butter and bell peppers, and even then she’d eat the latter if they were cooked and concealed. Not exactly things she can’t live without, anyway; we get no-sugar-added peanut butter, but it still has plenty of unnecessary salt.

My challenge now is how to eat more rhubarb without eating more sugar. I already eat far too much and am looking to make some reductions; nothing terrifying, just making sure most of the sugar I eat comes from vegetables and fruit, rather than being added, and that I reduce the amount of baked goods I eat in general, including bread.

So how is unsweetened rhubarb to be eaten, short of wincing and gulping until my battered taste buds learn to cope (that’s an option)? In a fit of attempted common-sense thinking, I loaded up the fruit bowl with apples, on the basis that perhaps mixing the ‘barb with sweeter fruit would increase the fructose content overall and balance out the tartness. Perhaps a few berries in there as well?

And what about potentially including it in savoury food? Or is that too Masterchef? All suggestions welcome.

When we moved in, back in September, there was still loads of rhubarb growing, so I’m hoping we’re going to get the Doctor Who of rapidly regenerating crops here. There are at least four crowns of it growing away, and one even survived my ill-conceived (and, it must be said, ill-intentioned) butchery in those days before I actually tried eating it and discovered its awesomeness. It’s possible Green Eggs and Ham has struck a chord with more than one Goldstein.

And to finish this vague ramble about what I reckon could be the most divisive vegetable since Brussels sprouts, some photos I didn’t use for GBC. Outtakes, if you will. No, I can’t explain the random heap of aubergines in the background, and yes, I would normally use actual butter but we’d run out.

IMG_6307

IMG_6326

IMG_6327

 

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Time management as a work-out-of-home mother

I’ve been thinking a lot about being a ‘working’* mum recently, since a colleague – I call her that, she’s really, very rapidly, become a friend – decided that the time was not right, family-wise, for her to be in the role she was in. So she left. It was, for her, exactly the right decision at exactly the right time.

For me, being in my job is a no-brainer in all sorts of ways – financial, intellectual, emotional, you name it. I get satisfaction from work, I enjoy work and I need to work. But in talking to her about all the things she intends to do now her time is more her own again (she will, of course, have to share that time extensively with her children, as was her intention, but they are school age so there are hours in the day without them), I realised there is one piece of my otherwise happy puzzle I’ve left out: me.

An average day is pretty rushed. I get up early for my very favourite part of the home day: waking Ramona up. She is an absolutely snuggly, warm and gorgeous delight first thing in the morning. A little bundle of wonderousness and at her most cuddly, rubbing sleepily at her eyes and grinning that slow-blooming, dozy grin that makes my heart pound and swell with pure, melting love.

Then off I shuffle to work and Get Things Done, all the while learning, learning, learning. Even in just the last two and half months (probation meeting next week – eek!), I’ve taken part in various aspects of agency life that are completely new to me, and stretched creative muscles that had been getting a bit creaky. I suppose using muscles you’ve let go soft builds up a bit of lactic acid – there are always times when it briefly seems Too Much – but they also quickly condition themselves, and you start to come by those ideas faster, develop them a little better, feel your initiative jerking up a gear.

Then back home again, and if I’m lucky I’ll be back just in time for my other favourite part of the home day: bedtime. She’ll have had a bath, and I’ll be there to read One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish or Meg and Mog or Oh, The Thinks You Can Think (this week’s choices) followed by snuggling down in her big bed and then singing. We have to have Hungry, Hungry, the alphabet, Baa Baa Black Sheep and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star; Ramona generally sings comedy versions where all the words are ‘Mummy’ or some are replaced by blowing raspberries. She’ll make a great stand up comic one day, if fart noises are your kind of thing.

Days when I work from home, I get to pick her up from nursery and have extra play and reading time together. This is immeasurably precious.

Yet even when I’m with Ramona, in those wonderful few hours, or at weekends, I’m too often weirdly attached to my phone, or trying to do ten things at once. I can’t switch off one brain for another. I’ve got so used to multitasking, I try to do it constantly, phone in hand, one eye on a screen.

And then I eat, and collapse. I’m not exercising enough – I’ve started going for brisk lunchtime walks on the days I work from home, and that’s helped, plus I insist on getting away from my desk for some air every day now that the weather isn’t totally arctic. I do have a little extra time, especially the one day a week Ramona stays the night with grandparents, and I have from 8pm to 10pm every night once she’s asleep. But somehow, all I fill that time with at the moment is… nothing. Or, at least, not the things I really love doing.

I know that if I really wanted to, I’d find time to do those things I mean to do: exercise, draw and paint, write more (especially on here) and, crucially, pay 100% full and undivided attention to Ramona whenever I’m with her – or at least admit I need an hour to myself and go and sit elsewhere and get whatever it is done before coming back to again commit myself to her. As I’m doing now, actually, with one ear on her playing and reading happily with her dad. This is not an ‘I’m addicted to technology’ cry for help; it’s an admission that I try desperately hard to be all things to all people, but risk failing the people who matter the most: myself and, most importantly of all, my family. I’ve always been organised and efficient at work, and able to compartmentalise and prioritise; at home, however, I seem to let it all slip to everyone’s detriment, and in spite of an excellent, supportive husband who more than pulls his weight all round.

So taking the time to write this and get this off my chest is the beginning of a shift to being more my work self at home. Bringing the attentiveness and care that I like to pour into my work, and pouring them into family life just as much. To spend more time playing pirates, and painting hands green (there’s a whole other blog post in that one coming soon) or scribbling on this blog, sketching and scrawling, reading, reshaping that novel or catching up with friends.

I made a resolution this January that the theme for this year would be Decisiveness. It’s worked out pretty well so far, so I decide to pay attention to making all the parts of my life work better together. Let’s see how it goes.

*I do hate that term, and I’m enjoying seeing it being used less in general. It’s pretty much the ugly sister to ‘full time mother’. I am Ramona’s mother all the time, even when I am at work in an office. Mothers who don’t work outside the home sure as hell work in it. And both terms rather unpleasantly imply that mothers are the only parents that count.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Portrait of the Toddler as a Pre-Pre-Schooler

Ramona: “I’m going to play baking now. I’m just going to go and get a baking tin and I’ll be back in a sec.”

*trundles back and forth several times getting cookie cutters, squeezy icing bottles, paper cupcake cases and a silicon muffin tray*

Ramona: “I’m going to make biscuits! I’m going to make this Moomin-shaped biscuit…” *presses Moomin cookie cutter into the carpet* “Oh wait! I just need something else…”

*brings back a bag of toothpicks*

Me: “No, not those. Those are sharp, and you’ll hurt yourself. You can have  a look at one, and then they’re going back in the drawer. See? Right, off they go.”

*cataclysmic meltdown lasting a full three minutes*

(three minutes of wailing later)

Ramona: “And now we’re going to do some icing…”

If this is what 2 and 3/4 looks like, 3 is going to be a doozy.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Facebook, give a Community Manager a break, huh?

Facebook threaded comments have been a long time coming, and as both user and CM I’m glad they’re here. It is ridiculous to be unable to have a clear discussion with people without tagging them – formally, often with their full name as people still don’t realise they can lop off the surname, or don’t want to – and it’s definitely, definitely a bonus to brand pages.

Except.

Oh, the irksome ranking. It actually doesn’t make sense for the most apparently engaging comments to go to the top.

No, not because it makes your life difficult if someone makes a criticism that lots of other people agree with (that’s just something you’re going to have to live with). But – and these are all examples I’ve seen that have been irritating –  sometimes a later engaging comment spins out of one made earlier, but perhaps the second person didn’t add their comment as a reply to the first, so now they’re out of sync. Sometimes a single critical person rises to the top simply because the community manager has done their job and followed best practice to respond with a clarification or apology – and the criticism might not even be relevant to the original post because people on Facebook do often occasionally rant wherever they may be, as is their prerogative. Sometimes it just screws with your ability to follow what the hell’s going on – the very issue threaded comments are meant to resolve.

I’d seen it already for some time on pages I’m a fan of; in the Pigtail Pals & Ballcap Buddies community, which got threaded comments in the beta phase months ago, practically every other lively thread had complaints and eye-rolling from users about not being able to follow the conversation. So I know it’s not just an irritation to community managers.

For community managers, however, there is the further annoyance that it’s now incredibly easy to miss a comment. The double whammy of changing the notifications so it’s harder to see which are unread and reordering the comments means that once a thread hits as little as 20 comments it’s more difficult; when really successful threads take off it’s a mind-melt. You rally because it’s your job to and we’re not talking back-breaking labour here, but it leaves you with a slightly bitter flavour in your mouth because it should have been so good.

I have quite a lot of confidence that it will change and re-ordered comments will either be refined or removed (though one would have thought that would have happened during the lengthy beta stage). But in the meantime, both as a normal Facebook user and a brand page manager I will keep making this face:

31789-kp3odsX76Z1qzvqipo1_500.jpg

So there.

Update 04.04: Facebook has now launched new APIs “so developers can build tools that make it easier for brands to monitor and respond to comment replies”. Which is handy if you use a tool to manage your page, but seems to be a roundabout admission that the ranking system is flawed. Let’s assume the convoluted solution is a temporary fix while the real problem is resolved.

[Image]

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Food Blogging: The Pesach and Greek Easter Edition

Usually around this time of year, the Roumbas / Goldstein household becomes pretty grumpy. Our self-imposed desire to take part in the two key events of our respective religious traditions is not done with all that much grace or tolerance, which is a shame, because we could be learning valuable lessons in restraint and gratitude. Although actually, Greek Lenten food – mainly vegan, with some seafood-related exceptions – and Jewish Passover treats are absolutely delicious and it all feels a little bit like cheating.

2013 is an unusual exception, as – since the Last Supper was a Seder – Eastern Orthodox Easter generally falls at the same time as Pesach; weirdly, it’ll fall in May this year, but at least my mother-in-law isn’t left wondering what the hell to feed someone at a Seder who isn’t eating any meat, fish or eggs, since I only do the Lenten fast for Holy Week, not the whole 40 days (though I say every year that one year I will do it).

Still, in the spirit of both our traditions, here are a couple of recipes (one’s more of an assembly), one for Pesach, one Greecester-suitable. Enjoy.

Plava

PlavaGluten, wheat and dairy free.

(contains nuts and egg)

Make a great, fluffy sponge without any raising agents? I wouldn’t have thought it possible. But plava’s light, springy texture is derived from separating and whisking eggs – it’s almost a cakey, lemony omelette.

Traditionally you’d use potato flour and matzah meal (which is not wheat free) but I didn’t have any of either and I think ground almonds make for a slightly denser, more delicious cake.

I adapted this from this recipe by Frances Spiegel.

6 eggs, separated
200g caster sugar (some plava recipes call for icing sugar, but I used normal caster sugar)
Juice and zest of 1 lemon
135g ground almonds

Key things to note:

  • Don’t grease the tin – it might stick a little, but if you’re patient with cooling (or line with paper) all will be fine.
  • Use a metal spoon when folding in beaten egg white so as not to knock the air out.
  • As ground almonds tend to burn easily, you could cover this in foil before it goes in, removing the foil when there are fewer than 10 minutes to go (don’t open the oven door any earlier!). I did it the other way around – adding foil after half an hour – because I forgot about their tendency to brown alarmingly, and managed not to collapse the cake, but I wouldn’t risk it usually.

1. Preheat to 180 degrees / 160 with fan.
2. Beat the egg yolks and sugar together thoroughly until pale and light.
3. Stir in lemon juice and rind.
4. Stir in almonds.
5. In a clean, dry bowl with scrupulously clean and dry beaters  / hand whisk, beat the egg whites until stiff peaks form.
6. Fold in with a metal spoon, carefully and quickly as possible so as not to knock out too much air.
7. Pour into a tin (don’t knock it on the surface to make it even, just spread gently), and bake for around 45 minutes – this is a check regularly after 30 minutes job.

Dairy Free Greecester Breakfast Smoothie

Dairy free smoothieI’ve been experimenting with almond milk recently because much though I love cows’ milk it doesn’t always love me. Also, I’m a sucker for trying stuff I see on supermarket shelves. I really fancied a smoothie recently but I know they’re packed full of juices, and I thought if I was going to go on a glucose binge it might as well be the whole fruit. So I made the following, which would be absolutely fine for a Greek fast (perhaps not quite in the spirit of simplicity, but certainly in line with having a light meal).

Since there’s no cows’ milk or yogurt, it is lower in fat and calories than a traditional smoothie, though there’s no escaping the fruit sugar. At least you get the fibre of the oats and whole fruit to balance it out!

180ml almond milk
1 medium banana
25-30g porridge oats
A generous handful of frozen berries
A dash of vanilla extract (I use a 1/4 tsp of paste – gorgeous)

1. Throw in a blender and pulse until smooth. Drink.

Ideally, you’d leave the oats to soak in the milk from the night before, as then they swell and soften, thickening the smoothie and also blending smoother with fewer little oat bits to stick in your teeth.  They don’t really bother me that much, but it can be a little grainy otherwise.

Using frozen berries means they’re always to hand in the freezer, regardless of season, but it also makes the smoothie ice cold, which is particularly nice if you’ve bought long life almond milk and it hasn’t been in the fridge.

It is apparently very easy to make one’s own almond milk – almonds soaked in water overnight, blitzed in a blender with fresh water then strained – but working out the costs it’s probably cheaper to buy it and I can’t help feeling life’s too short for cheesecloth. But if you want to go the full Pinterest Earth mother hog, don’t let me stop you. And then you could make almond butter as well, which is something I do want to try next.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Disney Parks Announcement Bingo: Play Along at Home!

I joke sometimes that because I deal with online communities all day in my professional life, I don’t have the energy to get involved with them in my personal life. This is nonsense, of course (just look at how much I tweet), but I can have a mild aversion to forum-style interaction, because over time it becomes a bit of an echo chamber, without the ease of unfollowing.

So, I’m not a member of many Disney communities, and I choose my interaction carefully. After all, so much of it is not for me. It’s for people who have this amazing Disney centred life in Florida or California or at least some part of the US. Which means, perhaps, that I get to focus a different lens on the whole thing. And it’s kind of amazing and funny and brilliant to me that I now know the lay of the land well enough to roll my eyes – fondly, affectionately – every time there’s a new Disney Parks announcement. Because you are guaranteed – guaranteed – to hear at least four of the below with every one of those. From the gushing excitement that verges on stalking (guilty of that) to the harking back to a golden era (that too) and the pining for a certain long lost attraction that just won’t die (yep), you know you’re going to hear it all. Again.

Sometimes I think it’s the comforting predictability of it that brings me back for more. If we’re all a bit nuts, let’s be nuts together, publicly – strength in crackers numbers.

Disney Parks Announcement Bingo

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Playing Pirates

Kitchen roll palm treesI honestly think that the reason my blog doesn’t have a name, or a declared area of interest, is that whatever I’m supposed to be writing about, I’m drawn to writing about something else entirely. Right now, my every working day is social media-tastic, as I get stuck in to a whole new world of community management. So, what do I feel drawn to write about? Playing pirates with my 2.5 year old daughter.

It started, as so many things do, with an Amazon delivery and a cardboard box. I ordered a birthday gift for my husband, a hot water bottle (so twee, I die) and a pair of bed socks, because our house is really freakin’ cold at the moment and anything that doesn’t make the electricity meter spin round frantically is a good thing. I opened the box a little before bedtime, as Ramona was having a suppertime snack, and she immediately beat the cat to vaulting into the box.

“What is it? Is it a race car?”

“No, it’s a pirate ship. We’re sailing to an island. Help me find the tweasure! We need a map. We must make a camp. X marks the spot!”

To cut a long story short, bedtime was only achieved without a fuss when I promised said box could actually be decorated as a pirate ship in the morning. But then her dad and I decided to get a little more elaborate.

We realised we had loads of drawing stuff, but not enough crafting gear, so a quick and cheap trip to a local supermarket netted some child-safe scissors and glue, and flimsy construction paper plus pirate treasure (chocolate Easter chicks). We always have tonnes of newspaper and kitchen roll, and the Amazon box had come padded with brown paper. We’d been given the bare bones of the story by Ramona, so we got to work.

An old bed sheet and two chairs became the camp. A couple of kitchen roll tubes and some artfully snipped green paper became palm trees, stuck on an old card veg box and popped on a blue towel. A map was poorly hastily drawn on some brown paper. A biscuit tin was filled with brown paper and dotted with ‘jewels’ (a plastic Peppa Pig set someone gave her a few weeks ago) and ‘gold’ (a few of those chicks). It was promptly hidden under a piece of furniture.

Finally, the box was popped on some newspaper on the floor, and we got out the arts and crafts stuff.

Pirates3So, when she woke up this morning, for the first two hours of the day, we played pirates. We decorated the ship, carefully applying as much paint as possible to our hands, feet and the carpet (then had to leave it to dry, but it’ll be ready for next time) found the map, got in the fort, had a pretend nap, went from room to room hunting for treasure, found the treasure, ate a very small amount of treasure, re-hid the treasure at least three times, and then had a pretend picnic with our special guests Rosie the Bear, Elliot the Dragon, Rudolph (three guesses) and Snuggle Bunny. Also the “blue guest, I don’t know his name” which turned out to be my ancient Wacko soft toy from Animaniacs.

After a break for breakfast, Mummy’s bath etc, we had a real lunch picnic with all our guests (we’re clearly too polite, as pirates, to have prisoners – we just invite everyone to our camp for nibbles).

I hold my hands up to being someone with good intentions but a weakness to just falling back on the TV or endless re-readings of Hairy Maclary, and it was so nice to  find a way for us both to indulge in some  enjoyable make believe, with virtually no budget or fuss required – provided one doesn’t really care about a messy house. For the record, I don’t. At all.

After three exhilarating but exhausting weeks of trying to adjust to a new routine and work out which end is up, it was maybe the best way I could think of to spend my time. And she loved it too.

Happy days.