It's not all sunshine and roses over here

To be sung, mournfully, to the tune of Red River Valley...

From this office they say you are going.

We will miss your dry wit and great style.

For from us you are taking the sunshine,

that has brightened our workday a while.

Come and eat gluten-free cupcakes, if you love us.

Do not hasten to bid us adieu.

But remember this old terrace building,

and the Onions who love you so true.

Tracy O'Shaughnessy - publisher extraordinaire - is leaving us.

Even though she publishes books for grown-up people, Tracy is a kindred sprit, and we will miss her very much - especially her warmth and humour ... and her willingness to go on the coffee run, even in the vilest weather.

Tracy is moving on to exciting new things at RMIT, and we wish her the very very best, but we're just going to sing a few more cowboy dirges and stuff our face with cupcakes while we get used to the idea.

FAREWELL, TRACY!

Woe! Woe! Woe!

We must interrupt our Onion Origin stories for the saddest (and rarest) of occasions: an Onion Departure.

Bruno Herfst, our beloved Tall Designer, is leaving us. We are heartbroken.

Which is confusing to him. 'Why does everyone keep saying how sad they are? Why isn't everyone pleased and happy for me?' he asks, with what we assume is a furrowed brow, only it's too high up for us to see.

Happy? Happy, Bruno? How can we be happy when you're ripping a tall chunk of the heart, a fair amount of the soul, and, let's be honest, probably ALL of the cool, from The House of Onion.

In his five years here, Bruno has designed and created the most stunning books - from picture books to young adult, from commercial to literary to downright obscure. He has worked cheerfully and calmly with authors, illustrators and frazzled editors. 

But his body of work speaks for itself...

So we will speak for him - for his energy and enthusiasm; his innovation and dedication; his passion for, and sometimes hair-tearingly infuriating dedication to, making everything juusssst right, from which, in the end (the down-to-the-wire end), we all benefit; his extraordinary expertise in type design, coding, printing, book-making best-practice; and his constant desire to push boundaries, to invent, to create, to experiment and to play.

He has devised countless ingenious ways of making our lives easier. And when he bounces into the office he lightens the mood, brightens the outlook and amplifies the energy.

Thank you so much for everything, Bruno.

We will miss you dreadfully. Every day.

And if you'd let us, we - your devoted sisters and aunties - would tie a note around your neck before sending you out into the world...

But, just like Paddington, you will find a wonderful new home, new friends and new challenges. You will flourish and grow.

We are very proud of you.

And very happy for you. 

Really we are.

*sob*

Adieu, Marie!

We interrupt our Very Onion Christmas recommendations to say a sad and fond farewell to the lovely Marie!

Marie has been our intern for the last five months. We've loved having her around the office. But today is her last day. 

Her opinion, her insights, her proofreading skills* and her delicious accent will be much missed when she flies back to France. So we expressed our love in the best way we know - cooking!

Et voilà - an Aussie feast for French Marie!

It looked and smelled and tasted like the 60s, the 70s, the 80s. O the nostalgia. O the excess of sugar.

Le menu

party pies and sausage rolls,

asparagus rolls (white bread, crusts cut off)

chocolate crackles and honey joys,

Vegemite-and-cream-cheese sandwiches,

vanilla slice (AKA snot blocks),

French onion dip,

lamingtons,

kabana and cheese,

Tim Tams, Twisties, Wagon Wheels

and, best of all, A PAV!

Très sophistiqué, non?

Thanks so much for everything, Marie! Have a safe trip home and a very happy Christmas!

Lots of love,

All the Onions xxx

*In a second language, no less! Amaze!

Going, going... gone.

Once again we find ourselves with all kinds of football sadness today. And please do not be telling us to cheer up just because there's a whole extra grand final this year. That provides no solace. No solace at all. None. Zero. Zip.

So, clearly we need a little something to distract ourselves. Preferably something a little word nerdy. A little list-based - because we do love a list.

Thank goodness for a lovely long list of supernatural collective nouns because everyone loves a collective noun.* Don't they?

Do we feel better now? No, not really. What do you suppose the collective noun for cats without a coach or a favourite son** might be?

***

If anyone has any distracting items that might help us shake these football blues, please send them, post haste.

* Thanks to Bookshelves of Doom for helping us find this wonderful distraction in our hour of need.

** Perhaps this was why it happened - maybe all those years of being called the favourite son convinced Gaz that his calling was to be among other Suns.

***Photo shamelessly swiped from Virginia, whose vision is probably too blurred with tears to notice.

That Sunday Afternoon Feeling

Do you know it?

It's a little bit blue, a little wistful; it has a touch of melancholy. Sometimes it can be itchy and uncomfortable. It can feel wide and windblown, or boxed-in and breathless.

It can strike without warning - having nothing to do with how much you are or aren't looking forward to work or school on Monday. Sometimes, regardless of how you've spent your Sunday, it feels as if things are ending and you're not quite sure what's beginning.

Curiously, in our experience, the Sunday afternoon feeling can also be caused by things other than Sunday afternoon.

Coming to the end of a book that has really got under your skin can do it. I'm looking at you, I Capture the Castle. I'm looking at you, Gilead.

Coming to the end of a series you've lived with for years, even more so. I'm looking at you Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I'm looking at you Mockingjay. I'm looking at you final ep of The Sopranos.

Some writers' work is infused with the wide and windy feeling. I'm looking at you, Joanne Hornimann and Judith Clarke and Helen Garner.

Sometimes it can sneak up on you when you've listened to too many Paul Kelly songs in a row. I'm looking at you Comedy, on repeat.

Sometimes it strikes at the change of seasons.*

It can arrive on Christmas night, after the eating and drinking is all over and there's nothing left under the tree except for the emergency presents.**

According to Jesse Martin, you catch it sailing into Port Phillip Bay after months and months alone in your little boat on a big ocean.

And sometimes it sneaks up on you for no apparent reason at all. It's not quite Holly Golightly's mean reds, but it's not the blues either. Perhaps it's not a colour at all. What do you think? Is this wide and windy, boxed and breathless feeling something you have a name for? Or is it simply only ever always that Sunday afternoon feeling?




*Although not usually this one - hello, first day of spring. Hello, rain.
** Did your family do this too? Just something small, and usually home made - maybe a bottle of tomato sauce or tarragon vinegar - wrapped in red cellophane. To guard against the possibility of unexpected guests - a cousin's new girlfriend, a neighbour dropping in - going presentless.

Auf wiedersehen, adieu

Today there will be hot cross buns and weeping, for it is the last day in the office of our best-beloved Publishing Operations Manager, Jenni Walker.

We will miss her firm hand on the tiller.

We will miss her patience and her expertise.

We will miss her thoroughness and her unflappability. (Or should that be her lack of flap?)

We will miss her competitive edge and her vast store of trivia knowledge - particularly the geography.

We will miss her gentle reminders,

her strappy shoes jingling on the stairs,

her enthusiasm for Excel,

and her yellow plastic sandwich containers.

Jenni - thank you so much for everything; most of all we'll just miss you!

Best best best luck with all your exciting new adventures, and GO DOGGIES!

With love,

The whole bunch of grateful Onions.

(*sniff, sniffle, sob*)

The view from my tent

Some time ago we confessed to some of the literary lies that litter our lives. And readers, we recommend you prepare yourselves - it's confession time again.

In circles such as these it is often wiser to keep some things quiet. But I am casting caution out into the wind, no, the sun, no, the hail, no, the passing shower - oh, no, it's the sun again.*

Okay. Here we go, ready or not: Anne of Green Gables is not my friend.

There. I said it. And it's true. In fact, I might even go as far as to say that at one stage Anne Shirley was my arch enemy.

I know. It sounds extreme, but they were desperate times.

Here's the thing: my best friend was introduced to little orphan Anne, and her literary ambitions and her quaint misadventures and her charming chatterbox manner and her winning red hair - and immediately adored her (of course, who didn't?). And then she talked about her incessantly, as you do when you make a new friend.

I tolerated the initial round of "Anne says this" and "Anne says that" with mild flutterings of newly-awakened jealousy. But then it segued into: "Anne would do it. She would come to my aid at once, without the slightest hesitation." And: "Anne would be unafraid to embark on this adventure." And: "I wish Anne were here, she would understand."

Well, clearly it was a competition and I had no choice but to take an anti-Anne stance. So I did. I refused to read about her; I refused to watch her; I refused to engage with her in any way. (Of course later I realised that, KNOW YOUR ENEMY would have been a far better strategy to employ, but at the time I chose DENIAL.) And everybody knew it. And so the Anne-baiting began in earnest. Alas.

The piece-de-resistance of the Anne Wars occurred many years after the initial outbreak of hostilities. While in Canada my friend's sister went to Prince Edward Island to visit Anne's house. She sent me an official Anne of Green Gables House postcard. It read:

This is the view from my tent!

(ps: I signed your name in the visitor's book.)

So, as it happens, not so much kindred spirit over here.**



*Melbourne weather - you do like to show your range - a bit like Toni Collette.
** Over here! Over here! There's a kindred spirit stuck over here in the footnotes! This Onion is a proud, card-carrying member of the race that knows Joseph. This Onion turns to Anne for comfort, wisdom, amusement and scope for the imagination. But ... this Onion has always been a bit sceptical about that Diana Barry - is she really worthy of being Anne's bosom friend?

Friday stuff

The serious stuff first
On the teev: Maralinga - The Anangu Story on the 7.30 Report! It includes interviews with Christobel Mattingley, Mima Smart - the head of the Yalata Council - and the other women from Yalata and Oak Valley communities who were involved in writing and illustrating the book. It's a moving, interesting and sometimes enraging story about a dark chapter of Australian history. Well worth watching - now showing on ABC iView or here on the 7.30 Report website.

Then the fun stuff
Over at the Meanjin blog: they are talking about Twitter lit. A very amusing cousin of the SMS novel.

In libraries around the world: Book quilts! Check out this Flickr pool of library quilts. We were particularly impressed by the one from the Boise Public Library. It has a dragon!

Finally, the sad stuff
In the House: Today is the cake-maker extraordinaire's last day in the House of Onion. Andrea McNamara is going on to bigger, bolder, brighter, more Penguin-shaped things. And we are very pleased. For her. But not for us. We will miss her terribly. Because she's not only extraordinaire at cakes, but at all sorts of other things too, not least making books. Oh, and making everything look good - and making football a part of our lives in ways we could never have imagined. There will be a large hole in the House of Onion on Monday morning.

So to say a little bit of thank you - here is a cake for you, Andrea. Sadly, we won't be eating it because it lives in another hemisphere*, but we feel that it's appropriate because by the end of the day we will all be roaring our terrible roars and rolling our terrible eyes and gnashing our terrible teeth ... and we may just not let you leave.




*Apparently this was made by Alison B at Town Lake Cakes, but we found it on Cake Wrecks , which is one of our all-time favourite blogs. If you haven't yet had the pleasure, it will make your Friday.