This chap's mum asked me to do this pic (and the last one). He unwisely tried to avoid the camera, resulting in the gormless look. Want to get Mum back, kids? Send me a photo of her where she looks silly and I'll see what I can do.8 days to go.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Mat
This chap's mum asked me to do this pic (and the last one). He unwisely tried to avoid the camera, resulting in the gormless look. Want to get Mum back, kids? Send me a photo of her where she looks silly and I'll see what I can do.8 days to go.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Look who came to visit
9 days to go.
Think it's trying to tell me there's no escape?
Kiddie quote for today:
(while attempting to read, on her own, a book she's never seen before)
"One day, it was night.
It was berry dark.
And we sat and we sat and we sat and we sat. (Thanks Dr Seuss)
It was berry BERRY dark
And it was beautiful, and a bit stinky."
Think it's trying to tell me there's no escape?Kiddie quote for today:
(while attempting to read, on her own, a book she's never seen before)
"One day, it was night.
It was berry dark.
And we sat and we sat and we sat and we sat. (Thanks Dr Seuss)
It was berry BERRY dark
And it was beautiful, and a bit stinky."
Thursday, February 01, 2007
In Other News:
Aliens landed in my garden. No they didn't kidnap anyone or offer free anal probing. They did, however, leave this:
Isn't it cute? Look at those tentacles reaching up to the sky. Hmmm, I wonder what it did wrong to get left behind like that. Perhaps I better give it a wide berth until I get some idea of its long-term intentions.
Isn't it cute? Look at those tentacles reaching up to the sky. Hmmm, I wonder what it did wrong to get left behind like that. Perhaps I better give it a wide berth until I get some idea of its long-term intentions.
Countdown.
In 10 days, I will no longer be a 30-something. I'm sure my hair is going to go white overnight, such is the import of those numbers showing another decade closed. Well, ok, I know someone out there is going to say the numbers aren't important and follow it with some reassuring platitude. Actually, I'll kill the first one to say "You're only as old as you feel." because with a sore neck and blurry vision the last few days I'm not exactly feeling youthful.
I'm watching the numbers with the same sort of feeling I had as a kid when I'd watch the new-fangled digital clock tick over all the numbers at once. You know those clocks that had the numbers on thin sheets of plastic or whatever that flip down as the minutes and hours change? I had one of those next to my bed, was always fascinated at night, when I should have been asleep, watching 9-5-9 suddenly flip into 1-0-0-0. So here I am, counting down the days till my own numbers flip.
I'm watching the numbers with the same sort of feeling I had as a kid when I'd watch the new-fangled digital clock tick over all the numbers at once. You know those clocks that had the numbers on thin sheets of plastic or whatever that flip down as the minutes and hours change? I had one of those next to my bed, was always fascinated at night, when I should have been asleep, watching 9-5-9 suddenly flip into 1-0-0-0. So here I am, counting down the days till my own numbers flip.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Another "I love my verandah" post.
It often occurs to me that I've become quite boring. Life, although I don't have a lot in the material sense, seems to be very good. I love doing the simple things like picking something from the garden and eating it, or sitting on my front verandah and looking at this:
On the horizon you can see the skyline of Melbourne (click on the photo for a larger view). I used to be a city girl, but after having spent a decade or so in the country I started to find the city noisy, claustrophobic and just all a bit too much for the senses. So, why is this my favorite view?
I don't spend much time these days talking to people. I read a few blogs and web forums but spend almost no time at all participating in them like because it all seems like so much shouting into the wind (the exceptions being a couple of irregular personal blogs which are more like conversations than fora). There is very little good I would have to say about the outside world, but there just doesn't seem much point in bringing up criticisms because for the most part people just don't want to know.
So, this is the thing that bothers me... a personality paradox. I read the 'shouting into the wind' of others, but feel disinclined to participate. I prefer quietness, to be away from the busyness of the city, but can't get enough of staring at it across the bay (I could just as easily stare at the You Yangs in the distance). Perhaps I am missing something?
On the horizon you can see the skyline of Melbourne (click on the photo for a larger view). I used to be a city girl, but after having spent a decade or so in the country I started to find the city noisy, claustrophobic and just all a bit too much for the senses. So, why is this my favorite view?I don't spend much time these days talking to people. I read a few blogs and web forums but spend almost no time at all participating in them like because it all seems like so much shouting into the wind (the exceptions being a couple of irregular personal blogs which are more like conversations than fora). There is very little good I would have to say about the outside world, but there just doesn't seem much point in bringing up criticisms because for the most part people just don't want to know.
So, this is the thing that bothers me... a personality paradox. I read the 'shouting into the wind' of others, but feel disinclined to participate. I prefer quietness, to be away from the busyness of the city, but can't get enough of staring at it across the bay (I could just as easily stare at the You Yangs in the distance). Perhaps I am missing something?
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Another "I love my garden" post.
These aren't the blood plums - I only wish the blood plums had been this prolific - but they were nice too - yellow flesh inside.I had a friend from Melbourne over for the weekend . It felt pretty good grabbing stuff from the garden to serve up, it's still all new and novel to me.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Chalk Dawg
I'm sorry, but if you read this blog you're just going to have to put up with the occasional (or more frequent) cutie kid story.
This was done by my 3 year old. I thought, 'wow, that's a pretty neat dog face'. Then I thought, 'oh wait, it's probably meant to be a flower or an aeroplane or something'. So I asked what it was and she replied, 'a puppy dog'. This from a kid who still says things like, "I'm berry berry hungry!" and "Look! It's a hippopopomus!"
So, now you also have a chance to see the work of my little prodigy.
Happy Birthday Alex.
This was done by my 3 year old. I thought, 'wow, that's a pretty neat dog face'. Then I thought, 'oh wait, it's probably meant to be a flower or an aeroplane or something'. So I asked what it was and she replied, 'a puppy dog'. This from a kid who still says things like, "I'm berry berry hungry!" and "Look! It's a hippopopomus!"
So, now you also have a chance to see the work of my little prodigy.
Happy Birthday Alex.
Blood plums.
Today I made stewed plums from plums grown on a tree in my yard. It was something I just had to do.
I lived in St Kilda when I was a kid. My maternal grandparents lived in Dandenong. I spent a fair portion of each school holidays over there. There was a cousin, only 6 months younger than me. We were inseparable. Whether it was ducking through the back fence to the park on the other side, or walking to the top of the hill that made up the court and riding tricycles, then later skateboards, back down, we were rarely apart.
The highlights of the summers were Nanna putting a tray of ice on the floor in front of a fan - you could call it the '70's version of a portable air conditioner, we two girls would lie on our bellies licking the ice. And, there was the plum tree. We would search the tree for ripe ones; we could never wait. Most were firm and bitter, but we ate them anyway. Then we would luck onto an early ripener which renewed our resolve to find that next beauty.
Eventually it would be announced that the plums were ready. We would pick bucket loads of the fruit, take it inside and spend the next couple of hours washing, cutting, pitting; the juice staining our fingers purple. Nanna would stew them and bottle them and we would have them served up for dessert day after day; the tart fruit complementing the ice cream.
Blood plums: I never could get the taste out of my head. I bought things labeled "Blood plums" when I saw them in the supermarket or where-ever, but they never tasted the same.
Then, a few months ago, I moved house. There were two plum trees, but I didn't really think about those Dandenong plums until the trees were well along in their plum plumping and the fruits of one of those trees started to look familiar. At first, so as not to get my hopes up, I told myself it was probably just wishful thinking. Then they started to go red; dark red like the memories, but I wasn't convinced until I found one I deemed 'ripe enough' and tasted it.
There I was again, going to the tree daily, or more, searching, searching for any that looked like they'd ripened since my last inspection. Many of those early ones were firm and bitter, but I ate them anyway. I was better at judging them now, perhaps less hasty, so the beauties, when I could find them, made up a greater proportion.
Last week I went to South Australia for a week and I was all worried that I'd come back and the plums would be all dropped on the ground. There were a lot of plums on the ground when I got back, but still plenty on the tree. Many had been pecked by birds but there was no shortage of unblemished ripe red memories. Yesterday, I had plums fresh off the tree for breakfast, lunch and tea.
Today I took a large bowl to the tree, filled it with the best plums I could find, brought them inside, washed them, halved them, dug out the stones, put them in a pot of boiling syrup, and sat back to admire my purple-stained hands. Nanna died a few years ago so I had to resort to Google to get some clues as to the proportions of sugar/water/plums, but I remembered the process from 30-odd years ago. I let it cool a bit then put some warm plums in a bowl with some ice cream.
It was perfect.
I lived in St Kilda when I was a kid. My maternal grandparents lived in Dandenong. I spent a fair portion of each school holidays over there. There was a cousin, only 6 months younger than me. We were inseparable. Whether it was ducking through the back fence to the park on the other side, or walking to the top of the hill that made up the court and riding tricycles, then later skateboards, back down, we were rarely apart.
The highlights of the summers were Nanna putting a tray of ice on the floor in front of a fan - you could call it the '70's version of a portable air conditioner, we two girls would lie on our bellies licking the ice. And, there was the plum tree. We would search the tree for ripe ones; we could never wait. Most were firm and bitter, but we ate them anyway. Then we would luck onto an early ripener which renewed our resolve to find that next beauty.
Eventually it would be announced that the plums were ready. We would pick bucket loads of the fruit, take it inside and spend the next couple of hours washing, cutting, pitting; the juice staining our fingers purple. Nanna would stew them and bottle them and we would have them served up for dessert day after day; the tart fruit complementing the ice cream.
Blood plums: I never could get the taste out of my head. I bought things labeled "Blood plums" when I saw them in the supermarket or where-ever, but they never tasted the same.
Then, a few months ago, I moved house. There were two plum trees, but I didn't really think about those Dandenong plums until the trees were well along in their plum plumping and the fruits of one of those trees started to look familiar. At first, so as not to get my hopes up, I told myself it was probably just wishful thinking. Then they started to go red; dark red like the memories, but I wasn't convinced until I found one I deemed 'ripe enough' and tasted it.
There I was again, going to the tree daily, or more, searching, searching for any that looked like they'd ripened since my last inspection. Many of those early ones were firm and bitter, but I ate them anyway. I was better at judging them now, perhaps less hasty, so the beauties, when I could find them, made up a greater proportion.
Last week I went to South Australia for a week and I was all worried that I'd come back and the plums would be all dropped on the ground. There were a lot of plums on the ground when I got back, but still plenty on the tree. Many had been pecked by birds but there was no shortage of unblemished ripe red memories. Yesterday, I had plums fresh off the tree for breakfast, lunch and tea.
Today I took a large bowl to the tree, filled it with the best plums I could find, brought them inside, washed them, halved them, dug out the stones, put them in a pot of boiling syrup, and sat back to admire my purple-stained hands. Nanna died a few years ago so I had to resort to Google to get some clues as to the proportions of sugar/water/plums, but I remembered the process from 30-odd years ago. I let it cool a bit then put some warm plums in a bowl with some ice cream.
It was perfect.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Lolitas
Last week I spent an evening in the same room as this girl and her friend while they were talking, endlessly and circularly, about boys. It's an experience I never want to go through again... seriously. Thanks girls. I'm going to go get me some earmuffs before my girl hits that stage.
Time to try this out.
A couple of months ago I was trying out different venues to share some of my drawings. I settled on MySpace, because of the networking facilities mixed with blog functionality. I've had a few people say that they can't get into the pics or blog, where all my content is, unless they join MySpace. So, I'm going to keep the profile over there and start putting new stuff here instead. Let's see how this goes...
To see the old stuff:
Profile is at http://www.myspace.com/beachhermit
Old blog: http://blog.myspace.com/beachhermit
To just see all the drawings: http://beachhermit.deviantart.com/gallery/
To see the old stuff:
Profile is at http://www.myspace.com/beachhermit
Old blog: http://blog.myspace.com/beachhermit
To just see all the drawings: http://beachhermit.deviantart.com/gallery/
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