Sunday, 15 November 2015

The thing I learnt to bake this week...


Noted as tricky to cook and a bit fussy, I have always wanted to cook them after watching (believe it or not ... I could make something up but ...) Transporter with Jason Stratham and if I remember correctly Shu Qi. She cooked them for breakfast at his home.
But I digres...

I read a couple of recipes and there are a lot of flavours and advice on the process.

Here are a few things I gleaned from the lots of advice...

1. Really beat up the eggs and sugar until creamy.
2. Sift the flour (you can use plain flour, sifting is important)
3. Rest the batter in the fridge for at least an hour or overnight 
4. Freeze the tins to keep the batter as cold as possible before putting in the oven
5. Before freezing the tins brush them with a mix of melted butter (2tblspns) and flour (scant tblspn)

3 eggs
130gcaster sugar
1tspn baking powder
5tblspns milk
200g butter melted
2tblspn butter, melted
2tblspn caster sugar
1tspn cinnamon (ground)

Beat the eggs and sugar until very creamy.
Sift the flour and baking powder.
Mix the milk with the cooled butter and add to the egg mix in a stream, while mixing. Fold in the flour in two batches.
Cover and leave to rest in the fridge for at least one hour, or overnight.
Heat the over to 180c and put 1 heaped tablespoon into each shell.
Place on high shelf in the oven and cook for 8 minutes. Turn the trays and cook for a further 5-7 minutes. They are cooked when they spring back in the middle and they have browned a little around the outside edge. 
Remove from the oven and leave to stand for 2 minutes. Use a fork to remove from the Pam and turn onto a rack to cool. Brush with melted butter and toss in cinnamon sugar. Serve.

Wednesday, 15 July 2015


when it is quiet
I think I can hear
ghosts of geologists past
licking rocks, talking ultramafic,
engineers planning minecraft and
metallurgists melting samples
geotechs have gathered from
wide greenfields of hope
only when it is quiet

15th July 2015

Image from here,_clouds.jpg

Tuesday, 30 June 2015

Poems my Father would quote....3

This poem featured in our childhood a lot. Dad would quote it often.
He was a shearer when he was younger and would tell us tales of shearing all over Western Australia.
This was in the ten years before he and Mum were married in 1958.

The story of how he travelled to the east with a shearing team and discovered when he got there that the "wide comb dispute" was in full swing. Not wanting to be a 'scab' he moved on from shearing to working on the Victorian side of the 'Snowy Hydro electric scheme" as a 'raceline skier'. My parents were married in Mount Beauty and then travelled back to WA.

Any way, here is the poem he would quote...

The Lay of Civility Green

by Jack Sorensen

Now ‘Billy the Pinker’ and ‘Quality Jack’
With ‘Jimmy the Moulder’ were shearing outback
When quite unannounced, there arrived on the scene
A man by the name of ‘Civility Green.’

Civility Green asked the boss for a stand
And the boss placed a Moffatt machine in his hand
And ne’er on that board was such swift action seen
As displayed by the stranger, ‘Civility Green.’

Then ‘Billy the Pinker’ toiled hard in his wake,
While ‘Quality Jack’ found defeat hard to take,
And ‘Jimmy the Moulder’ said things rather mean
About the descent of ‘Civility Green’

Said ‘Jimmy the Moulder’ to ‘Quality jack’,
And ‘Billy the Pinker’, it’s us for the track
Unless by deep thought, we some method convene
To steady the pace of ‘Civility Green’

To ‘Billy the Pinker’, a brilliant scheme came
By throwing his voice, he had once courted fame
He communed with the rest, and a loophole was seen
Where a shot could be aimed at ‘Civility green’

Next day when the ringer rushed into his pen
A timid young ewe cried “He’s coming again”
While a woolly old ram shouted out angrily
“Stand back, my good fellow, Dot dare to shear me.”

The ringer sprang backward and pallid of cheek
He asked of the others “Did you hear them speak?”
They all answered “No, we don’t get what you mean”
“I tell you, they spoke” said ‘Civility Green’

In quavering tones he said “Oh deary me!
By Jove and by Jingo, by Crikey, by Gee!”
He reached for his jewellery, gave back his machine
And off on the track went ‘Civility Green’

Away to the Nullagine country he flew
He swam in his panic, the wide Fortescue
When in russet and pourple, the night changed to day
The pale star of morn saw him still on his way


By Nullagine River, an old shearer dwells
Remarkably strange are the stories he tells
When bushmen are speaking of wonders they’ve seen
“I once heard sheep talk”, says ‘Civility Green


Tom Roberts - "Shearing the Rams"

Letting go...

In this year I have been deciding to let some things go that I had been both chasing and clinging to for a number of years.
I hadn’t realised how much these things had been directing my day to day and colouring my interactions with others, until I decided to let them go.

The ideas I had in the beginning and the reasons for much of my direction has changed.
It is freeing in a mental sense and also, hey more time to do other things!

There were also other things that I was through circumstance, made let go, losing an immediate family member to cancer is hard and I am still coming to terms with the loss.

My nest will be also empty this year, that is something I thought would not be as hard as it has proven to be. However it is a joy to see them both blossom into young adults. It is just far away.

So this is me, letting go…on the last day of #blogjune2015, I can’t wait to see where it leads.

“in the end only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”

Still out here trying to be graceful.

Image from

Monday, 22 June 2015

Monday Meme - the 6 word story

Grieving in stages. It does happen. 

thanks to 'Bun Toting Librarian" for the meme

Sunday, 21 June 2015

Poems my Father would quote...2


I was a Pirate once, 
A blustering fellow with scarlet sash, 
A ready cutlass and language rash; 
From a ship with a rum-filled water-tank 
I made the enemy walk the plank; 
I marooned a man on an island bare, 
And seized his wife by her long, dark hair; 
Took treasure, such heaps of it!—wealth untold— 
Bright bars of silver and chunks of gold! 
Till my ship was choked to the decks with pelf, 
And no one dare touch it except myself 
And my black flag waved to the tearing breeze, 
And I was the terror of all the seas! 


I am still researching poems my Father would quote, anywhere, anytime.. When the mood or occasion warranted.
This was the first verse of 'Boy Dreams' by Mabel Forrest
Mabel Forrest (6 March 1872 – 18 March 1935) was an Australian writer and journalist. 

I was surprised to learn it was an Australian poem, but not when it was written. Mabel Forrest was interesting and I will be learning a bit more about her and reading more of her poetry soon. (Thanks Dad:) What follows is the rest of the poem, he only ever got to the end of the first verse so the remaining were new to me. 
Happy reading.... I too was a pirate once... Arrrrhh 


I was a Fairy once. 
I swung in the bows of the silky oak, 
And the harebells rang to the words I spoke, 
And my wings were fashioned of silver gauze, 
And I knew no grief and no human laws. 
And I lived where the laces of green leaves sway. 
And my life was one long, long holiday. 
No tasks to learn, and no bothering rules, 
No hectoring grown-ups, and no—more—schools; 
But a dance each eve, ’neath the moon’s cold light, 
To sit up as late as I liked at night. . . . 
For a lance I carried a grass-blade green, 
And my shield was cut from an olivine; 
I sipped cool dews from the cups of flowers, 
My days were threaded of happy hours! 

I was a Merman once. 
In the gloom of the amber-tinted seas, 
With the brown tang clinging about my knees, 
With a coral house, and a crab to ride, 
Who pranced, and who ambled from side to side; 
I wooed a Mermaid with emerald hair, 
Dragged the fierce sea-serpent from out his lair, 
With his flaming tongue and his awful might, 
And I slew him—easy—in open fight! 
I had strings of pearls, white as frozen milk, 
That were strung for me on sea-spider’s silk; 
And I never pined for the upper skies, 
Whose blue came down in the dead men’s eyes, 
Drowned men with the salt on their blackened lips, 
Who slid, drifting in, from the wrecks of ships; 
But I took the gold from the belts of all, 
To pave the road to my coral hall. 

I was a Hunter once, 
And I trapped and stalked in a pathless wood, 
And the talk of the wild things understood. 
With my leather leggings and hat of brown. 
I tracked the elk and the redskin down; 
Slew a grizzly bear in a mountain cave, 
And tweaked the nose of an Indian brave. 
Ere I shot the rapids in birch canoe— 
For there was nothing I could not do. 
There was naught I did not dare or enjoy, 
In the magic world of a dreaming boy!