I Made This....

I made this last night, and it was very, very delicious. Two thirds of it is now in my freezer, in four meal containers, for future use.

I am in the process of emptying my freezer in preparation for the oncoming wet season here in Queensland. Given that the last few years have seen loss of power for days on end, which results in every single last thing in the freezer having to go in the bin, or to the neighbouring pigs (actual oinks, not greedy people), I've decided to make sure that I have only the bare basics in my freezer this summer.

So why did I do cooking last night? For a few reasons. Firstly, I am also trying to use up things in my pantry that are probably at their use-by dates or past them, or very near to them, and secondly, I felt like a home cooked meal last night.

Anyway - I made this potato bake last night, using a tin of Braised Steak & Onions from ALDI, two of my four remaining potatoes, some grated cheese for topping, some frozen veg, the remains of a bag of spiral pasta, two small cloves of garlic, some garam masala, some curry powder, a dash or Worcestershire Sauce, another dash of HP Brown Sauce (good British stuff that it is), and a good dollop of Sweet Chilli Sauce.

I still have some meat in my freezer that needs using up, so I will need to be creative in the coming weeks, I think.

While I like cooking, living alone often results in the "it's too much hassle just to cook for one" scenario, so I tend to only cook about once a fortnight (sometimes once a week).

One thing I do hate though, is being stuck in the kitchen for too long, especially when I have my spotty little helper shadowing me at every step, waiting for me to drop some tasty little morsel onto the ground for him to gobble up!

Ben Bowyang Cartoon

Back in the day, the Ben Bowyang cartoon strip was quite popular in Australia. 

Having been quite surprised to find out that in Britain, most cars or number plates have GB written on them somewhere to show they are registered in Britain (feel free to correct me if I am wrong about this), I thought I would include the little strip above.

To us, here in Australia, this is quite odd. Though, if we thought about it, it wouldn't be. Afterall, do we not each declare what state we come from? All cars registered in Queensland will have Queensland on their number plate somewhere, just as the other states do. We may not declare our country of origin, but we sing from the rooftops the state we come from!

Either way, enjoy!

When blogging feels so very.... 'yesterday'

I spent the morning reading a blog today. Not all of it, but a very great deal of it. It's a blog that you begin, totally enthralled, hanging on every word, laughing, crying, as the mood takes you.

Then you start to skim - skim for the funny bits, skim for the sad - just skim. Not because the blog has become boring, or too long, or because you are starting to wonder "will this never end???". No, but because you want to read the whole blog, though can't decide whether to go back to the first entry and read forward, or continue from the last entry and work backwards, or just to dive right into the middle and spot-read, here and there, dipping into moments, shuffling along, just to see where it leads.

Blogs aren't like books, although in a way they can seem to be. A blog about someone's life, in which references are left to previous entries about other parts of their lives, are really blogs that need to be started from the beginning, and followed. 

But a blog that encompasses various things that happen in a life - not disjointed, but neither is it necessary to know what happened in previous entries in order to make sense of this entry - is a blog that can be delved into at any time.

Ceramix' blog is like that. It follows his life, without giving too many personal details. It's a blog you can drop in and out of without feeling as though you have missed too much to be able to keep up. It's a blog I like to keep track of.

A blog that makes me feel guilty as hell, though is Mr London Street's blog. Another Reading lad, he makes me aware that I have long abandoned my writing, and my need to express myself in words.

My life has become a tad dull and lack-luster. Or at least, it would appear that way to anyone who has noticed that I rarely blog these days.

The truth is much more sinister than that. I've become complacent. Where once my life involved regular trips in to Brisbane, watching the world pass me by, people-watching on public transport, and the general joys and tribulations of pet ownership, I've become someone whose life can be jotted down in a 'week-to-a-page' diary, in which nothing much different happens. 

Since I moved down to the southern outskirts of Brisbane, my life has become somewhat mundane to the outside world, and on the surface, most people would find it boring. Monday is a visit to the Produce to get food for the sheep, horse and dogs. Tuesday is the meat run, for the greyhounds. Wednesday is shopping day. Thursday is for doing the shopping that is forgotten on Wednesday. Friday we have off. Saturday is Dad's day to visit Mum in Brisbane, while for me it is a day to myself (if you can be alone with 15 sheep, a horse, 17 dogs, numerous chooks, ducks, guinea fowl, and various other wildlife), and Sunday is Sunday.

An exciting day for me involves going to greyhound trials at the local trial track, or, very occasionally, up to one of the big city tracks for open trials. Once a month I get to go and stay with Mum in Brisbane, wherein I run myself ragged, buying all the things I know would be frowned upon by parents who care or who just don't understand my love of Branston Pickle and Marmite.

I shouldn't complain. Every year there is new life down here on the farm. We have spring lambs at the moment. Joyful little buggers that they are. Jumping all over the place, yelling at you about how happy they are, how wonderful it is to be alive, how clever they are. Even the wild ducks are getting in on the act, with seven little ducklings born a month ago in our dam. I see the parental ducks parading their children up and down my fence line now, just inches away from a very inquisitive dalmatian who looks longingly from these tender little morsels, to me, and then back again, with a somewhat sad expression on his face, knowing I will never let him have them.

I wonder at the joy I once felt just to be alive, when I was young and lamb-like. When I could get up at 4am, in the dark, to do my homework, go to school for eight hours, come home, write like there was no tomorrow, stay up late working on some project or other, and then do it all again the next day. Now I find that I just feel old most of the time. I'm not, of course. But I'm not exactly 30-something anymore, either.

Rarely do I feel full of boundless energy, as I once did. Rarer still, do I notice that the world is just as lovely as it always was. I often ignore the butterfly with the beautiful wings who lands, ever so briefly, on my window sil, or the blue wren who dances delicately along my washing line, as though to say "look at me! Aren't I just the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?". I take for granted the noise of the kookaburras, when they call out in joyous laughter, the approach of oncoming rain. I listen only for the sounds of a to-do among the greys, over in their kennel, that signals the need to slip on wellies and pelt across the paddock to shut them up before they get overly excited and someone gets hurt. Even with muzzles on, someone always end up at the bottom of the pile, squealing like a banshee. It's enough to make your blood run cold, though when you get over there, breathless, panting and hot, they look at you with innocent little faces, all calm and cool, ready for a pat, cuddle, kiss, and kind words.

I listen also for the sounds of sheep in distress. Mostly it's because a mother has taken a chance to do a midnight flit (in the middle of the day, I might add), while her baby is asleep, and then the baby wakes up to find itself alone in a very large paddock with no sign of any life anywhere to be seen. During lambing season, and the month or so that follows, I spent a very great deal of my day reuniting frantic mothers with even more frantic offspring. Or protecting offspring from the likes of a horse who get jealous of all the love and attention you are giving newborns, when you should be spending all your time feeding him carrots and apples and telling him how beautiful he is, taking his photo, and opening and shutting gates for him.

My life is very dull, as you can see. By most people's standards, I would say that it probably is. But the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that where I once used to go to Brisbane to 'people-watch', I now go outside to 'animal-watch', and truthfully, there isn't a whole lot of difference between the two demographics. Animals interact with each other in much the same way as people do. 

When I am in charge of the kennels (one of my favourite times of the week), each of the dogs greets me in their own special way. No two dogs are alike in personality, though they are all related. Each of them loves a cuddle and a kiss and special 'human mum' time with me, just as they love their time with Dad. Each dog is happy to see me - some more than others - and each is sad to see me go. This is where animals differ to people. People often pretend that they are happy to see you, sad to see you go, that they enjoy your company, wish they could see more of you, etc. Animals actually mean these things. 

We have a lamb that is hand reared, and when he spots you, even if he is at the far reaches of the paddock, he will come pelting across the paddock to you, calling out at the top of his lungs all the way, until he literally lands at your feet, puffing and panting, so incredibly happy just to spend time with you. 

I can't say I know too many humans like that.

I used to write a great deal about a very many different things. Reading Mr London Street's blog reminded me how much I loved words, and the fact that for as long as I can remember, I have used words as my weapon of choice. I have hidden behind words, I have used words in my defence, looked up to words, frowned down upon people whose use of words is no better than a pre-schooler just learning their ABC's, and found solice in words.

Once upon a time I had a dream of being a writer. A proper published author. I was good with words, so why not, I thought? In the end, life got in the way, and my hopes slid away, as did my youth and my other dreams of travel and a life as free as a bird. 

But I cannot complain. I have a wonderful boyfriend, though I don't see him anywhere near as much as I want to. I have animals who truly do appreciate me for me. I have a small and select group of friends who I cherish for being more like my animal friends than the human friends I have had in the past who were too full of their own lives to notice when others were in distress and needed a shoulder to cry on, and who really didn't mean it when they said "oh it's so good to see you again!". I have family who love me, even if they don't always understand me, and I have a blog where I can express myself in words, however rarely I might choose to blog.

Thank you to Ceramix and Mr London Street for reminding me that blogs are good places to be, and words are useful, and also for filling each day with laughter, tears, warmth, and joy.

Ode To A Friend

I went to the funeral of a friend today. He was 95 years old when he died last week. I don't know too many people in the 90s, so he has a special place in my heart, if only for his age. 

He was a genuinely lovely bloke, who will be missed by his family and by anyone who truly knew him. I had the pleasure of singing with him many years ago in a choir we were both in, and even back then he struck me as someone who truly loved his life. 

There are larrikins in this world, and there are people who have fun, and then there is my friend. He never struck me as a trouble maker, never made fun at other people's expense. He just truly enjoyed his life. He also taught me to enjoy my own (something I am wont to forget sometimes, when life gets me down).

Thank you, dear friend, for all the laughs you gave us, for the smiles you brought to people's faces over the 9 decades you graced this planet. But thank you mostly for teaching us to value our lives, and to find joy in every waking moment.

Goodbye fellow chorister. You will be missed.

Rainy sort of day

This past month and a half, we've had no real rain to speak of here in the South East of Queensland, but today that all changed. 

I woke up to dark, foreboding skies, and drizzling rain, not to mention somewhat colder temperatures than we've had this past week.

I like rainy days. They are the sort of days that call to you to curl up in a rocking chair with a good book, or bludge on the couch, catching up on whatever is on the television, or just plain surfing the 'net. Today I did the latter, for the most part - when I wasn't trying to convince my dog that he really won't melt if he goes out in the rain for a pee. He's such a sook at times. He's never been keen on water in any form, particularly, but the "great big scary stuff that falls from the sky" is a major contender for him trying to convince me that he really can hold it in until the sun comes out again!

My remaining cats are still finding it hard to deal with the loss of 'She Who Must Be Obeyed'. They seem rudderless without their leader, and I have to admit that I feel much the same way, most of the time, now that she isn't here anymore. Poor 'Mr Vampire Teeth' has turned into a complete Mummy's boy, and lets the younger 'Velcro Twins' beat him up now, eat all his food, and basically treat him as though he's not part of the group. I'm worried about him. He needs his human Mum a lot more just at the moment, for serious amounts of sooking, though the 'Velcro Twins' have grown up with my old cat, and are also not coping with the loss of their 'other Mum'. The world seems a quieter, sadder place just now.

:(

R.I.P

She Who Must Be Obeyed

1996-2013

Goodbye my darling little girl. Thank you for 17 years of happiness, laughter, joy and love. You will never be forgotten. I love you, baby. Enjoy your ever-lasting sleep. You've earned it, sweetheart.

Music and pets

Many years ago, I used to play Flute and Clarinet. A cat I knew loved nothing better than to shove his little head up the bell of my clarinet, every single time I played, (I guess he loved the vibrations?) and would complain loudly if I stopped before he was finished. Whenever I played flute, he'd do his best to head-butt it, which is rather difficult for the person playing it at the time!

Over the years, I have played my clarinet to many a dog. I don't remember my parents dogs being terribly interested in the sounds eminating from my room of a Saturday morning, and I can't say that my first dally was all that bothered either. But my current little boy is another story altogether.

He loves to sing along to either clarinet or flute. He cannot get enough of it. Today, when I was practicing my clarinet, I stopped (mostly because I was laughing so hard at my impromptu duet with the dog that I needed to stop for breath!), and he came running up to me, head-butted the clarinet and looked at me, as if to say "come on! I'm not finished yet! Keep playing!"

He's getting quite good at hitting the correct notes as well. As I changed pitch, he'd change pitch, and I would hold a note until he found that same note, then we would change again. He's actually coming on in his music lessons quite well :-)

When I used to have Dad's house dog over, she would often join in the singalong when I practiced as well, but was quite content to sit on my feet, while joining in. My boy feels the need to prance around the house, singing as loudly as he can.

I've yet to try it with the Greyhounds. They have choir practice every morning and every afternoon as it is. I'd rather not start a full blown concert!