I was recently reading the Bourke Street Bakery cookbook and there was a recipe in it for ‘oat and barberry biscuits’. Normally I’d skip past a biscuit recipe, but this one made me stop – foremost because I wondered ‘What on earth is a barberry?’ Then I looked at the ingredients and thought, Yippee! I have all those (except the barberries, naturally). I looked in the cupboard and found some glace cherries and thought the might do as a substitute. And they did! If you’re thinking it looks like an Anzac biscuit you’d be right –  the original recipe is an adaptation of the perennial favourite.

Ingredients

165gms (1 2/3 cups) rolled oats
220g plain flour
100gm desiccated coconut
175gm brown sugar
85gm glace cherries, chopped
185gm unsalted butter
60 ml golden syrup (or honey)
1.5 tsp bicarbonate soda
60ml water

1. Preheat oven to 170 degrees.
2. Combine oats, flour, coconut and sugar in a bowl.
3. Put butter and golden syrup in a saucepan on low heat and melt the butter. Take off heat and add the cherries. Combine bicarbonate of soda and water and stir into the pan. Pour the wet mixture over the dry and stir quickly, while still foaming. Mix well.
4. Roll into even size balls in the size you desire. (The original recipe says this makes 12; I got more than that. Obviously if you do more/less you’ll need to amend the cooking time a bit.) Put on a lined baking try and flatten slightly with a spoon.
5. Bake for 15-20 minutes (keep an eye on them). Take out and cool.

Notes:

1. Riley ate these despite the presence of evil fruit in the form of cherries.
2. They were all gone within a day or so. These will be a school lunchbox feature this year.
3. The Bourke Street Bakery picture has these squished down really flat, but I kept mine in a rounder, chunkier shape.

This is week fourteen of the 1 recipe a week for a year ‘living list’ challenge. (14/52)

Cherry Oat Biscuits is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday

(No vlog this month on account of my sore mouth and our internet being drastically shaped. It would take ten weeks to upload any video to YouTube at the moment.)

1. Cat’s Cradle – Alas, unfinished. I think it’s because I loved Slaughterhouse Five so much and this is quite different in tone (even more biting and critical) and I had to adjust my expectations (whatever they were). Next time when I pick it up – and I will – I’ll be better prepared. Vonnegut does dialogue brilliantly.

2. Burning Your Boats - A collection of Carter’s short stories (or a collection of her collection of stories, as this incorporates titles such as The Bloody Chamber and Black Venus) set in chronological order, this is a great starting place for someone curious in the Carter’s work. I studied her in passing at university: we spent a week on her work once, mostly focusing on her reworking of traditional fairy tales from a stronger, feminist perspective. I think these Gothic (re)tellings are still what she’s known for best. I like her darkness and her unabashed way of turning over notions of sexuality and home and power (among others), examining their meaning and questioning their relevance. She sometimes hits a wrong note, it feels too arch or contrived, and Salman Rushdie acknowledges this in his introduction when he says, “some of her puddings… are excessively egged.” But this is only occasionally. Her fans are legion and her work has spawned a great deal of literary criticism – justifiably so.

3. There Is No Dog – I read a little and then skipped to the end. I’ve heard a lot of good things about this book and I was puzzled. Was I missing something? The premise – a teenage boy is God – is funny and has potential but there wasn’t enough on the page to sustain my interest.

4. The Popular Girl – More short stories, this time by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It’s Fitzgerald, so you expect quality and it’s there, but I didn’t finish it. I know it’s important you read his work with the time he was living in and his own personal circumstances in mind, and they inform his work, but perhaps I wasn’t in the mood for privileged people who may or may not be poised on the edge of losing all their wealth and privilege and how this makes them feel dreadfully sorry for themselves. Maybe I should stick with the novels?

5. An Incomplete Education: 3,684 things you should have learned but probably didn’t (3rd edition) – I have conflicting feelings about books like these. On the one hand I think it’s good to have a condensed and readable reference/history book to turn to instead of fleeing to Google. On the other, do they lull us into laziness? You read three pages on how World War One began and you say, “Well, that’s all I need to know about that” and you move on. It’s what most people do, of course, because their curiosity is satisfied and don’t want to know much more anyway. For me, this book is smart and funny (if the odd joke rings false) and the overview of the Spanish Civil War is the first one I’ve read where I’ve gone, “Right, that’s a little clearer now”.

What are you reading this month?

And Happy Australia Day! We shall be swimming and visiting friends for a BBQ. Perfection.

What I’m Reading – January 2012 is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday

Keira was sitting on the lounge reading Surprise!

[The more cynical of you might think this is a setup, but it's true.]

She was reading a library copy. She prefers those to our own here at home as library ones are virtually guaranteed to have pictures by other children in the back. She likes poring over these the best, appreciating the gift they’ve given, these little insights into other lives and talents.

Anyway, I thought this would be a nice chance to pick up on a debate we’ve had many times: that I do not ‘work’ because I made the choice to be a stay at home mother.

See, that’s work, I said.

She looked up and blinked. What?

You say I don’t work, but writing that was work. As was publishing it.

She closed it and did the half-shrug meaning, Okay, fine, whatever. Then she actually said, Okay, fine, whatever.

Well, okay then, I said, walking off, happy to have made my point.

But this book was done ages ago, she added.

I stopped. So?

So what have you done since?

I spluttered. I’m still writing. I’ve had other pieces come out. There are novels on the computer that are unpublished.

Just no real, proper ones like this. She rapped the cover with her knuckles.

But -

She interrupted me. - and before you say blogging, that doesn’t count either.

Blogging doesn’t count as work? 

No.

*

First of all, I know many people wouldn’t classify blogging as work. For them it’s a hobby or a bit of fun. I can’t afford to be quite as cavalier about it anymore. This conversation happened a couple of weeks ago and I’ve been thinking a lot about it since. In retrospect, I probably should’ve brought up the topic better, when I was in a less prickly kind of mood. I wasn’t trying to wheedle any sort of badge or march of honour or anything. In fact, I’m not sure what I was after. I suppose all I want for them – Riley too – is to understand that ‘working’ doesn’t automatically equate to getting up and catching a train into the city for eight-plus hours a day. I didn’t want to turn it into a Big Feminist Issue either (although I know it can be) – not at her age, at least. I could’ve talked about how goddamn hard writing can be, how anything can be if you’re squeezing it into brief pockets of time throughout the day. How a solo-authored book isn’t the only way one can get published and that it can be tough journey, fullstop, period, that’s the truth, amen.

I suppose that’s what surprised me most of all – after all, she’s been in school two years now. She’s heard from her peers about how other family units operate and, yes, I might be in a minority when I have chosen to be at home for as long as I have. But does that mean my choice was less valid? No, it’s just different. I’m used to being defensive when this topic is discussed in the media, so I always get a little thrown when I hear it coming from the other direction, the one I care about most. I expected a little more. Perhaps that was silly. Or perhaps, ultimately, to a young kid, anything that causes parental distraction might be a bit of a bruise to the ego, whether it be checking into social media, typing, scribbling phrases and ideas on paper, research (online or off). I remember when my own mother was doing her Masters and I felt second-best for a long time. I felt pride too, don’t get me wrong. It was an introduction to the complexities of adult life. It’s why my mother was patient and listened to my grumblings and explained her perspective, and why I in turn listen to Keira’s and try to explain my side to her.

It’s also why I’m trying to cut back on social media – particularly Twitter. It’s why I have a secret private list that I check into first instead of my general timeline (and that subject is a WHOLE OTHER post). It can be an astounding time-suck, when five minutes can magically turn into fifty-five minutes and you have no idea how it happened. My goals for this year are slowly solidifying. I want to write… better? No, that’s not quite good enough.

Perhaps you can help: can you finish this sentence?

I want to write ___________

*

It’s not easy. What do you want to write? Truth? Soulfully? Beautifully? Consistently? Professionally? Lyrically?

Then go. Do it.

When A Seven Year Old Gets Preachy About Blogging – And What I Learned From This is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday

On Saturday morning I woke up and couldn’t open my mouth.

Hold on, that’s not quite true. I could open my jaw so my teeth were about two inches apart, the same as if you put in your thumb in sideways. I’ve been trying to think of funny ways to tell this story, but in truth this discovery short-circuited my brain into an anxiety attack. At 6.30am. I’m not too sure how I could dress that up and turn it into teh funneh.

A trip to my GP was useless, telling me I had to give it time, to eat soft foods, it’ll come good. Hard telling someone that when it’s a logistical nightmare to get some soggy weetbix past their lips, let alone chew it. Long story short is I have to ride this out until I visit a specialist (which, luckily, I already had an appointment for) next week.

To be honest I’ve been steeling myself for this next development. Thanks to anxiety my brain tends to leap forward and catastrophise situations and this kind of mindset is something I’ve been working on working my way out of, if that makes sense. So when my TMJ issues turned into this lockjaw*, I may worry but there is also a little part of me that goes, “Okay, well, here we are. Now deal with it.”

I can still talk and drink and smile. Brushing my teeth is painful, as is eating. But it is stemming my nail chewing, which will raise a praise the Lord, from my family. Hopefully the specialist next week can help. While I am trying to be zen and calm – and it is working – I can’t deny the wish that I really, really hope this is only temporary. Some Google searches tell me otherwise, but then Google can be a bit of a pessimist.

Oh, and my latop seems to have finally gone kaput after nearly five years. Bummer.

But enough about me – how was YOUR weekend?

*Edit: on second thoughts ‘compromised motion’ would be a better description than ‘lockjaw’. 

Well, that was an interesting weekend is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday

This is a recipe modified from Marion Grosby’s Marion: Recipes and stories from a hungry cook (she used pork in hers). Because the kids refused to eat it – more on that later – it fed Adam and me for two nights running. The portion sizes are pretty generous.

Ingredients

100g vermicelli noodles
4 garlic cloves, crushed
1 tsp white pepper
1/4 cup fish sauce
2 tblsp soy sauce
2 tsp white sugar
500g chicken mince
1/2 cup chopped coriander leaves and stems
4 spring onions, chopped
2 cups shredded wombok

1. Cover and soak the noodles according to pack instructions until they are soft. Drain and set aside.

2. Mix the garlic and pepper into a paste. Put half of the paste in a large saucepan with 2 tblsp of fish sauce, 1 tblsp soy sauce, 1 tsp sugar and 1.25 litre of water. Bring to boil and bring back to a simmer.

3. Meanwhile, mix the mince and coriander and the remainder of the garlic paste, fish sauce, soy sauce and sugar until combined. I used my hands, but you could use a food processor.

4. Use your hands to roll the mixture into ping-pong size balls and then drop into the soup. Once all in, it should take a few minutes to cook (test to check, I did). Add noddles and spring onion and simmer for 1 more minute and turn off heat.

5. When serving, put equal amounts of wombok into a bowl and pour the soup over the top, making sure all components are evenly distributed. Top with more coriander, if desired.

Notes:

1. I really, really liked this soup. Arguably my favourite meal discovered on the challenge so far, which makes it all worthwhile. As Riley is fussy I was expecting his refusal, but Keira’s was a surprise. She didn’t like the coriander or the fish sauce.

2. The original recipe called for white peppercorns, but I only had the ground white pepper.

3. Marion has a sauce recipe to go on the side, but I had mine with just a dash of sweet chili and extra soy sauce (I love soy sauce).

(Shot taken before I added the noodles, which I forgot to do until just before serving! My methodology is scatter-shot at best.)

This is week twelve and thirteen of the 1 recipe a week for a year ‘living list’ challenge. (12 & 13/52)

*

Wait, where’s the second recipe, you ask?

Well, last week, I attempted to make eggs benedict. My hollandaise sauce was dreadful. DREADFUL, I say. I used a Woman’s Weekly recipe and I feel horribly disenchanted now because they failed me (just kidding)(only a little). The sauce didn’t thicken despite my doing everything they told me to. I don’t like talking about my failures, but in the spirit of the challenge I will.

I’m sure there’s a metaphor for life to be found in this bowl of vinegary muck…

… somewhere.

Chicken Ball Noodle Soup is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday

From the Starlight Children’s Foundation website:

Living with illness or injury can cause enormous strain in the lives of children and their families. The pain, loneliness and isolation that sick children feel dominates their lives, and they often miss out on normal experiences that healthy children take for granted.

Starlight provides programs integral to the total care of seriously ill children – while health professionals focus on treating the illness, Starlight is there to lift the spirits of the child, giving them the opportunity to laugh, play and be a child again.

I’ve been aware of The Starlight Children’s Foundation for years. A former work colleague was quite passionate about the Foundation and did a lot of volunteering for them and would often tell me stories of the smiles and wonder on children’s faces. In more recent times, I’ve been reading of their extraordinary work and impact they have on lives and families through the blog of my dear friend, Tiffany at My Three Ring Circus.

Her post, Her wish come true, accounts the day her daughter Ivy was granted her wish of being able to be a ballerina and dance with The Australian Ballet. It was a moving, magical piece of writing which moved me – and many others – to tears. It also spurred me to think of other families who should have a similar experience. This profits promise is just my humble way of trying to spread the word a little further and hope that my small contribution might make a small difference.

Profits Promise 2012 – The Starlight Children’s Foundation is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday

Yesterday, in a move of surprising organisation I’m not normally used to in holiday time, I was able to muster the children together and get them out the door and down to the local shoe shop by 9.10am. Unfortunately, a great many other mothers were even more organised and by the time I arrived I had to take a ticket like I was in a deli and I braced myself for a wait until they called number 17. They were waving their number 9s and 7s under my nose, I swear it. HEARTLESS flaunting there.

But they weren’t all like that. I scouted the shelves with one other mother and we were both picking up the shoes to inspect the price tag, immediately putting down again those out of our desired price range.

Not cheap, is it? I asked.

She turned around and waved at her children. I’ve got four to fit, she said. I’m wondering how I’m going to do it.

Finally – finally! – it was our turn. Riley slipped his foot in the silver measuring contraption.

The assistant said, wow, he’s got a fat foot.

Yes, I said.

She wasn’t finished. Really fat, she continued. And square. Like a brick!

I’ve known this for some time. We’ve needed to buy extra-wide shoes his whole life, thus putting out question shopping options such as Target or Payless Shoes. I’m resolved to this and try to be serene about it most of the time. Like a picture of Mary, staring upwards out of loving patience. Yep, that’s me all right.

Well, okay, maybe not. Especially after we’d tried on no less than six pairs of shoes and none of them were right, not even the normally dependable Clarks. By this time I was looking at my watch. We needed to get going. So I quit. Pulled the plug and started gathering up my things – until Keira piped up that she absolutely needed new shoes too. By now my mobile phone was getting a text-a-minute from Adam wondering where we were and could we please hurry up?

And because I was seeing red I texted back words to the effect of Don’t fuck with me, man. I’m on the edge here.

I let Keira tried on several pairs. None of them were right. Naturally. Sometimes the shoe gods are with you, sometimes not. Today, not.

So we left, and I felt a little sorry for the assistant, who by that point was wiping the sweat from her brow. An hour gone with nothing to show for it.

And I’m not sure what I’m going to send them to school in. I’ll have to try a different store, perhaps.

In sum: drat.

Where do you shop for school shoes? Have any tips for me? Can I buy them online (reliably) anywhere?

Image: Mat Gartside.

That Particular Agony of Back To School Shoe Shopping is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday

There IS such a thing as chicken marengo! I didn’t know!

On the other hand, Adam’s bestowed upon me his best withering look of dismay when I shoved this recipe under his nose. “You’re joking.”

“What? I didn’t know it was a thing.”

“A ‘thing’? What else would it be?”

“I thought marengo was a made-up word.”

 Insert another withering look.

{For those of you who are slightly confused, in Red Dwarf there is a character named Cat who says, ‘Too slow, chicken marengo’. It’s been a quote I’ve been using since I was a teenager. Even the kids use it. We consider it one of our finer parenting accomplishments.}

{I even went to YouTube to find a video of Cat saying the line, but our internet is playing up, and I gave up after a while because it was loading too slow. What I did find was a bunch of chicken marengo recipes/tutorials, which goes to show: if in doubt, go to YouTube. It might make you feel dumb at times, but at least you get results.}

{It dates back to Napoleon, apparently. That’s cool.}

{Okay, I’m stopping now.}

The Red Dwarf Geek Within Me Is Rejoicing is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday

One of my writing buddies, Mark Welker, made the above video and I’ll let him describe it:

Untold numbers of manuscripts are started, finished, and abandoned at the antique desks of Varuna House. There is always a cup of tea on the boil, a well stocked jar of chocolate biscuits, and enough creative space to stretch your authorly ego.

In the mornings frost gathers at the windows to witness the writer’s spooning themselves from their warm beds. The daffodils stand to attention as the day broadens with sun. When it is quiet, and it is often this way, you can hear the scratching of pens and the light footfalls of fingers on keys. Each writer finds their pace as the day thins out, slipping by like a unwinding spool of cotton.

Quote from here.

I vividly remember the train journey from Sydney out through the western suburbs and up into the mountains back when I was at university. I miss it. On the other side I would get off at Lithgow and round off the trip with a bus over to Bathurst. It’s an ambition of mine to go Varuna House one day to write, but in the meantime I can enjoy this time and again. As can you.

Some Writing Inspiration is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday

Like last year, I’m participating in this year’s Month of Poetry – writing a poem every day for January. I said something similar last month when I guest posted over at Problogger, but I do believe the more you stretch and push yourself creatively the more accustomed you become to the exercise. I won’t say it gets ‘easier’ because that’s not quite the right word, but you can get better at it. Above all, like Edward de Bono says, the definition of being creative is bringing something new into the world that has value. That last word is important. It’s a little like this Eddie Izzard joke about creation and destruction:

This brings us to Instagram pictures (and pictures, generally). When we take pictures we should ask ourselves – Why? Why am I taking this here, now, from this angle, in this light? What’s the purpose? What am I trying to depict or represent? A writer tries to do something similar in words and scenes – a photographer can do something similar in a click of a button. It’s why they’re quite friendly mediums. I’m sure you know this already.

Anyway, all of this is to say a lot of my month of poetry poems so far have been inspired by Chantelle’s #janphotoaday meme that I’m participating in and it’s been quite pleasing to marry the two and dwell a little on this overall relationship.

I’m not saying they’re great poems – but it’s a start. It’s something.

Some examples below.

Pawing through bushes
eager to find red prizes -
such as a villain might
search for hearts
in a fairytale -
there they are
hanging in secret pockets:
tomatoes.

You weigh their flesh
upon your fingertips
Warmth spreads, sunned
goodness awaits.

It seems a shame to bite
and you pause
for a second (but no longer)
because, frankly, they are
delicious.

Silver skies
play percussion
on our roof

The haiku isn’t written in the 5-7-5 form I was taught in school. That way is now deigned by more experienced haikuists as being a little outdated because the Japanese onji and an English syllable are not equal. (More info here)(I’m not even sure if my haiku is technically a haiku.)(Poems are hard, y’all.)

I find Instagram photos more accessible to interpretation than other more professional shots like you might find in magazines. The latter are so stylised and perfect, it can be hard to find an ‘in’, a place where you can recognise a fragment or a feeling and then work on developing that. Instagram photographers cover the spectrum of talent and like all social media who you follow will of course dictate what you see. I’ve also seen people be questioned – almost as if it were a crime! – if they’ve imported otherwise shot (meaning DSLR) photos into Instagram and then passing them off as more amateur looking. iPhonegraphy is hotly defended and lauded and I wonder if it’s partly for the reasons I’ve speculated about above. People feel safer, more accepted, more spontaneous and playful, perhaps? Is it more ‘democratic’?

In short: the month has started nicely.

Do you use Instagram? Do you take the time to find connections between what inspires you to write/photograph? Or is spontaneity more to your taste?

How Instagram Can Help Your Creativity is a post from: Miscellaneous Mum - Trying to find the objective correlative, everyday