Saturday, September 26, 2009

Passionfruit and ginger fruit cake - yum

200 gm Sultanas, 125 gm raisins, chopped, 100 gm dried apricots, chopped, 75 gm ginger chips, 60 gm orange juice, 125 ml passionfruit juice, 125 gm unsalted butter, 1 cup caster sugar, 3 x eggs, 3/4 cup plain and self-raising flour, 1 tsp mixed spice.

Method:
  1. Place sultanas, raisins, apricots, ginger, fruit juices, butter and sugar into a large sauce pan and heat slowly until butter has melted. Increase heat to bring to the boil. Simmer uncovered for 3 minutes. Remove and allow to cool. Place mixture into a large mixing bowl.
  2. Pre-heat oven to 150 deg C. Line a 20cm cake tin with Glad Bake.
  3. Break eggs into a small bowl and lightly beat before adding to the fruit mixture with the sifted dry ingredients. Mix together well before spooning into prepared cake in. Smooth the surface. Bake for about 1 and 1/4 hours or until cooked when testing with a wooden skewer. Sometimes takes less time than this.
  4. Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely before storing in an airtight container. This cake will keep for two weeks.
  • The Australian Womens Weekly Cakes and Slices Cookbook is the source. www.fooddownunder.com

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Red skies

Wednesday
Well, the sky is thick with red/orange dust at the moment. It’s all over the eastern coastline of Australia, not just here. Sydney has absolutely no flights going in or out today, and, for the first time, even the Sydney Manly ferries have been stopped. Visibility is almost nil. Not a good day to do the washing! The winds (80kph) have blown it all in from Northern Territory dry lands and also from the mining area of Mt Isa, out west from here. It’s amazing. The sky is bright red. I cannot even see the trees in my back yard.

Here is the UK Telegraph newspaper report on our dust storm today. It has now left Sydney a mess and it’s in Brisbane.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/australiaandthepacific/australia/6220820/Dust-storm-blankets-Sydney-disrupts-transport.html


Thursday
Brisbane eventually got the same treatment as Sydney did yesterday. The heavy red clouds moved north about lunch-time yesterday but they have cleared completely this morning. Water restrictions have been lifted today so residents can wash their houses. My parents visited yesterday and they have a white car. It was covered in a blanket of red dirt by the time they prepared to leave for home. Dad had to wash his car’s windows. Of course, my family is familiar with the orange-red sky. I was brought up in Wagga. These events are more common in Wagga during the windy conditions of spring. The red dirt is gathered from the dry earth west of Wagga and is picked up and carried on an easterly wind towards our country homes so regularly that we not only closed the doors and windows, but we learnt to block off the edges of the windows and under the doors with Gladwrap and towels. Somehow a thin blanket of red dust gets embedded in between small spaces anyway, and it’s very gritty underfoot.

It was an interesting experience for visitors in the cities but quite common in the country. Today Queensland is back to perfect. Blue skies, clear air and no wind.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Enjoy your English

Ohhh, that sounded like school days english classes! Actually, it's the name of a book I am reading by Nick Renton (2004), a bloke who has written sixty books prior to this one and it shows. He opens with a few pages of quotations about english. For example:

England and America are two countries separated by a common language. (H Mencken)
Where does that leave Australia in 2009, one must ask?

A baby born during the bubonic plague of the Middle Ages had more chance of celebrating its first birthday than a new Australian novel published today. (Dawn Cohen)
Oh dear.

If you stare at any sentence long enough, it will look wrong. (S Sturgis)

An editor is a person who knows more about writing than writers do, but has escaped the terrible desire to write. (E White)

(..on plain english) Don't let a shortcut for the writer become a roadblock for the reader.
and,
Eschew obfuscation.

I love deadlines - they make the loveliest whooshing sound as they go by. (Douglas Adams)

If you take hyphens seriously, you will surely go mad. (J Benbow)

Times are bad. Children no longer obey their parents and everyone is writing a book.
Believe it or not, this was written by Marcus Tullius Cicero who lived from 106 - 43 BC.

The author uses the following example for the poor use of english words so nobody can really understand the writer. Can you understand it?

Multiloquence characterised by consummate interfusion of circumlocution or periphrasis, inscrutability and other familiar manifectations of abstruse expatiation commonly utilised for promulgations implementing procrusteam determinations by governmental bodies.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Andrew's decision -1970

Edit :
More editing in progress. It's such a big job and I only had short whisps of time to do it in. That's why I only work on one bit at a time and in no particular order.

In his sweaty afternoon sleep, Andrew dreams of lush green English fields, spread out before him as he takes in the scent of fresh rain on leaves of tall oaks. When he was nineteen, he discovered a longing to go on a path of his own, back to Jenny, back to Australia. A foreign place from these deep greens and yellows. Foreign tracks leading to the dry heat of outback summer in Wagga. He searches his memory for her again, each month fading into feelings he had for her rather than her eighteen-year old face in the photos he held close to his heart. In his half-sleep, Andrew is standing at a cross-road. He concentrates especially on his mother’s need to have him close as his father is dying. These thoughts are interrupted by the memory of the other path, the one from where he stands now and the long journey back to resettling in Australia. At the end of it was Jenny. Both of them working together for their future; for themselves and for their own family. The sky in his dream was a deep and troubled grey, a single ray of sunshine splitting the clouds for a short time but the clouds hung sullenly all around him. He turned toward the ray of sunshine and started running towards it, through puddles which became deep and cumbersome. Thunder mumbles softly at first, but intensity builds as he ventures out of one puddle and into the next. Suddenly it became too hard for him to continue his journey. Beaten, he looks behind him and sees his mother in the distance on the other road and, as much as he longs to be with Jenny, he knows it is easier to stay in England. This feeling of belonging is strong. He allows it to happen, but not without doubts. The walk back to the cross-roads is easy, like slipping down a slippery-dip . The first drop falls heavily onto his upturned eye and stings. He wipes his face and says to himself, ‘Just until my mother can manage without me.’ The clouds plunged into sleeting rain, covering his tears and the single ray of sunshine on the other path becomes obscured.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Without giving away the ending ...

Edit: A bit of the last chapter

The small bridge with the archway dripping with diminutive pink rosebuds, now displayed in a frame on the wall of my Doctor’s surgery, had been covered in beautiful climbing sheaths of miniature, pink clusters. The overhang drooped over the handrails and stretched up over the wire arch beyond. I closed my eyes and felt the warm sunshine of that morning. The flowers glisten with dew touching the pink petals and the aroma of Monet’s garden filled the crystal, crisp morning air. Water lapped against a little, wooden boat on the side of the pond near the bridge.

In the quietness of that morning, a soft breeze blew across the water and the soothing waves slapped against the rustic timber of the old boat, making a rhythmic, splashing sound. In the shadows of the willow, clusters of water lilies floated in pink and white drifts beneath the small, curved bridge. Bright orange nasturtiums were scattered along the sloping edges of the landscape. I heard that Monet did not like tidy gardens, rather he preferred to blend flowers according to their colours and he left them to grow freely. Little birds flittered about the quieter parts of the garden.

A familiar sting in my eyes warned of impending tears . It is amazing that a painting could bring back such memories. I had tried so hard to ignore and even dispel the memories so I could move on. Books and photos and memorabilia of a time when I had felt vivacious and loving, had been stored away. Banished to a cupboard rarely opened. This had been a time when life and love were complete, a blink of a moment in my life-time.

And, later on, as Jenny remembers more about France -

The summer I was in France with Andrew, we strolled along grass-lined lanes surrounded by the bright-red poppies of Connelles, thirty-three kilometres from Monet’s garden. I snuggled under his arm for warmth as we wandered happily among the stone farm houses of an insignificant French village. I felt light and warm and feminine. Blood-red poppies gently bowed and swayed in the summer breezes as Andrew held my waist and lifted me up to sit on the precipice of the lane’s rocky edge. I was able to look intently into his hazel eyes without standing on tip-toe, and put my arms around his neck, wrapping my legs around his body to pull him close to me, locking him there. He smiled a contented smile and leaned over to pick a wild red poppy for me.

‘Thank you. Poppies will always have a special meaning now. They will always remind me of this place, this moment in time being with you in Connelles.’ Of course, it goes on describing Moulin de Connelles and romance in country France.

On golden sands

Sea water oozed between my toes today. White foamy waves reached into the blue sky throwing a haze along the sandy foreshore at Broadbeach. Gulls dived and squarked (is that a word?) and hovered above the endless neat lines of waves. Board riders sat dejected but hopeful in the peace of the ocean, and little children ran along in front of me splashing clear spray in their wake. I fell on the warm sand and hugged my legs. The salty wind blew gently and rythmically in my face, blowing my hair back and cooling my face. It was quite warm. People were swimming, life-savers were digging the flags into the white sandy beach ready for an onslaught of swimmers.
For two days I have watched this moving wallpaper from the tenth floor opposite, fascinated with the continuous motion and uninterrupted beauty that is the eastern coastline of Australia.


Tuesday, September 8, 2009

A bit of a fright - is it cancer?

The white gowns did up in the front. Fifteen women sat in silence, some sipping the free tea/coffee and nibbling politely on hospital-grade biscuits, some women reading outdated magazines and feeling self-conscious. I looked around the waiting room at QEII hospital and saw grey hair, a few wrinkles, worried expressions and the odd shy smile. The phone call came on Saturday, three sleepless nights back. The doctor had requested more tests to be done as soon as possible at a different hospital with more substantial testing equipment. I didn't have classes on Tuesday afternoons, so I booked in at the same time as these other ladies who were sharing the waiting room with me today.

"Madge Pinkerton", the nurse called. Madge stood up, adjusted the one-size-fits-all hospital gown and, like an obedient dog with her tail between her legs, followed the nurse who wore a pink shirt with the breast cancer symbol scattered over the fabric. We all looked up from our magazines. They disappeared into a small door at the end of the long hallway. Another nurse appeared. We all looked up, expectantly. This continued for half an hour and then my name was called. I threw my polystyrene cup went into the bin near the hall entrance as the butterflies hit my tummy and I entered her room on the left. She did her best to settle my anxiety, clipping two images into the overhead screen in front of us.
"Just there ... see?" Well, there is was. It looked like a small oval shape that could have the ability to re-shape my whole future. What power in a little dark shape.



After all sorts of tests, ducking in and out of the various test rooms, five of us remained in that original waiting room. One lady came back into the room describing a painful injection into the soft tissue that was supposed to be treated gently and lovingly, and we all cringed. I made another cup of coffee. My group of five took turns with the doctors. Madge had the painful injection too. I had another coffee and waited. Hours passed, we had heard the life history of several of the ladies by the time my name was mentioned by the ultrasound person. Dejected by stories of painful injections into breast tissue, I cringed as she asked me to remove my hospital gown and get ready. Ready? What for? Ohhhh...just a scan. She slopped a thick gell onto my right breast and pressed the instrument until it hurt a bit. Happy that she had found the 'spot', she called in the doctor to confirm her findings.

'It is just a fluid sack,' she told me, nearly as elated as I was. 'You can get dressed and go home. We will keep an eye on this next time, but it looks like a milk duct blocked up with fluid.'


WHAT A DAY!! I had been worried about the 27 telecom towers straight above my work desk. I didn't want to leave this world without apologising for any horrible things I might have done and I had flashes of farewells to loved ones and I didn't want to leave this world full-stop. I have too much living to do, even if it's not as many years as I used to have. I suppose I have been fortunate this time, but it has made me realize how fragile my existence really is.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

My knight in shining armour

This is what I have been doing these past few days, in between everything else, of course. One of my sons (now 21) had a fancy dress party to attend last night and designed this cruisader outfit for ME to sew. He told me this morning that he had a great time, and enjoyed the banquet provided!

Father's day should be every day.


Hello blog - this is a photo of my dad with his two surviving sisters, Jean and Ann. It's Father's Day today in Australia and fathers were honoured in the church service this morning. I used to drive to the Gold Coast on Father's Day every year, but the roads are jammed today with people who remembered their father and probably had not seen him for a while. I saw my dad on Friday when they drove up here (with his axe to show David how to cut up the small tree trunk Tim dug out for me last month). I am also driving down to spend the day with them at Broadbeach on Friday next - to walk with them on the sandy beaches and smell the fresh salty air together....in short, I do not need to get into cramped roads on a special day to visit my dad. I will share some time with him on Friday and I might be lucky to share a ginger chocolate from his gift from me.


My father has been the patriarch of our family and has kept up his support to my sister and myself over all these years. It can't have been easy. Neither of us is very rebellious, but he did go through the sixties with teenage daughters in a town where the army had national servicemen and the RAAF and the university (then the college of advanced education). Boys must have been a bit of a worry - I recall one feisty lad who was from near Albury. He drove up to Wagga one weekend and decided to throw stones at my bedroom window until my father collected his golf stick and led him off our property! A couple of years later, another lad wanted to marry me, even though we were only 18 and 19. Dad did a lot of pacing during our teenage years. He went to a political rally with my sister to lend her his conservative opinions afterwards. He made sure we attended Sunday School and youth group and guides. Yes, he was a success at his workplace, but nothing like the success he was for my sister and myself as our father. He led by example. At church, he handed out the hymn sheets, counted the pennies. He (and mum) was on committees at the school and in brownies and guides too. They were at the school fetes and helped us decorate our bikes with streamers. Best of all, my sister and I always felt proud of his fun-loving sense of humour. He loved being a part of the community in which we lived and attended regular Rotary meetings where he was admired for his participation as president and master at arms. At work, in short, he started up country television in NSW and made it an early success. He chose what regional television would want to watch and always put his values first - no rubbish TV at RVN2. What a guy. Judy and I have been very fortunate in that he is still driving at 85 and only bought glasses for driving last week. He's fit and well and still enjoys helping out 'the old' people in the other units in which they live. He's active on the committee there as his mind has never lapsed, his body is fit for his age. He enjoys nothing more than hearing from his grandchildren or his daughters, except spending time as a family group and we all love him to bits.

A second post! More editing done...

Edit: A few notes from my editing tonight:

(as he was leaving)
‘I will always find a place in my heart for you, Jenny,’ he whispered, reaching his hand up to her face for the last time, feeling her warm, soft skin now soaked in tears. Her eyes reached his as she turned toward him. His bags were set beside him now after he took them from her car. She thought how much he looked like a traveller rather than a settler. She wanted to say so much to him, but the lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. Jenny slammed the boot of the empty car, and turned to face him one last time. It was so hard, saying goodbye again. There were no colourful streamers this time, no crowd, just the two of them on a lonely country road surrounded by tall gum trees.

She wanted to say so much. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was that he was going back to England. How sorry she was that he had come here and was leaving disappointed. How sorry she was that she had been like an empty vessel, drained of the spirit he had expected to see. But she could not change anything. Her grief was a shock to her too, and she had not realized it would happen to her. He might have thought he could change her feelings by being close to her, but nobody could control how others feel. She had loved him for such a long time, had believed herself capable of opening her heart to him at any time but once he came into their family, she had found that she craved to be alone and had no energy left to endure his edginess and keenness for their relationship to grow. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was that her energy was depleted, drained but he was wrong to think she did not continue to love him. She wanted to say to him that she wanted him right here but she knew he had made up his mind to go.

‘You say that, but I don’t believe you,’ she managed to say to him, feeling the pressure in her throat. Jenny stepped around to the driver’s door and opened it slowly. She glanced up at Andrew. The gullies deepened in his forehead as eye-brows sunk into a dull expression. He was unhappy too – she could see it. He had given up on them. He was tired of waiting for something that may never happen.

She sat momentarily in her car, watching him through the rear vision mirror. She’d been so attached to Andrew all these years and she felt an intolerable ache now. She wanted to run back to him, throw her arms around him and beg him to stay, but why did her legs and arms feel like lead, why did her hand turn the key to start the motor?


They had collided into each other’s worlds and they had learned so much about each other but there was still so much more that would never be known. One cannot hurry these things, cannot push or pull the other into embracing new roles. Jenny knew it would be easier for her to create a sense of stability for her family when she did not have to use what depleted energy she had left, to include a new man in her life right now. Even Andrew. For Andrew had tried his best, she knew that. She could not explain what had led to him to feel unwanted but she realized he was unhappy in Australia and, as much as it pained her to acknowledge this, she felt his homesickness had prevented him from giving them the time needed to continue their lives together.


That magnetic glow of connection, that spark of belief that things between them could only get better given sufficient time, had gone out. They would never have imagined either of them would have to struggle to stay together but they had not only come from different cultures, they had come from different worlds. For him, the struggle to blend into the world of happy families had become too hard. He had been pulled toward England again, to the safety net of his old job, friends and maybe even to his ex-wife. It was not ideal but it was where he’d felt that life was more predictable. Jenny watched his hand move through his hair as he gazed in sorrow at her car moving away from him. She had not said anything he had wanted her to say to him and she hoped with all her heart that one day in the future she might be able to do so.

Spring has sprung

Spring in Queensland is not my favourite season but, so far, it has been gorgeous. Blue skies, only a bit of rain early this morning and then warm days. Winter is usually dry (except ten years ago when it poured raining all winter) and the garden looks great.

My parents drove up from Broadbeach to visit us yesterday for the day, and we took my two little dogs and enjoyed a walk to meet David from the train at Wellington point station. He'd been to an exam at university and looked quite drawn. This subject has been a struggle for him, but I'm sure he'll get through as he usually does.

I have been editing tonight. This is a part of my edit:

Just before the storm, they had not cared what other people thought. Now the clouds of life were set to engulf them. Andrew had tried to squeeze into the box set aside for a family man, but he was finding that he didn’t fit. He looked around him and saw fathers soaking up every moment spent with their children, securing memories, disciplining with love and caught up in their youthful spell. He thought how fortunate he had been with his own step-father and tried to learn from him but, if he was honest with himself, he found it impossible to imagine how that man had slipped into their lives without causing so much as a ripple. His mother’s second husband had fitted into their family box so well, that Andrew had a new sense of respect and a depth of compassion for him now. How had he done it? How had he blended into them as he had? As a child, you accept things easier when everything is warm and comfortable so Andrew gave as much effort as he could muster to ensure the children were feeling safe and their well-being was of paramount importance to him.
As much as he endeavoured to befriend them slowly, he felt a growing impatience to step into that family box. Earlier he had felt sure that he would fit. Jenny had insisted on shared custody of the children, so he knew he had to fit. It was so hard when the box was not empty to begin with. If he had returned to her all those years ago, the family box would have been empty and eagerly awaiting the entry of children to share their lives, but when he peered into its dark space now, he felt he might not fit no matter how much he tried to. It would require time and exercise and he had a sense of time running out for him to squeeze his gangly arms and legs inside the box before the lid shut permanently.
Andrew realized it was the only way he could be with the woman he’d fallen in love with, and the only way he could feel this sense of liberation with her was to be inside the box with her family. But he did not feel he was free any more. Love was supposed to set you free, but the longer he stayed here, the more he felt trapped. There was no sense of liberation from the mundane any more. He had felt that very strongly when he met her the first time, and when he met her again at Heathrow. A surge of escaping from the boring, mundane walls that had closed in on him over time. She broke the doors down; one by one the walls dropped until he had found himself standing in crystal fresh air, the warm sunshine of her embrace electric and her dark eyes made his icy heart melt. He gulped for air and looked around himself now.
He had not imagined anything getting in the way of them being together but he felt a sense of Jenny pulling away from him and he had to admit he had doubts too. He felt an urgent need to break out of this family box to resolve his doubts. Andrew felt he was suffocating and the feeling shocked him. Despite fears of losing her again, he would give Jenny the space she craved. He reached for the phone and dialled the travel agent.