Poppalina

11 Things About My Dad

My father died 12 years ago this week. He was only 51.

He was a writer, a columnist for the Sunday Herald Sun, and proud of it. He was known as The Working Class Man. His column drove me crazy, and we disagreed on almost everything he ever wrote.

Ah, family. I don't know about you guys, but almost everyone I know has difficult, precarious relationships with their parents. I was no exception. My father and I were estranged for many years, and there seemed no way to bridge the divide.

Then he became ill. And we became friends. It was astonishing. And quite wonderful. He opened up, like a lotus; all I had to do was let it happen. We parted on excellent terms, and I talk to him now more than I ever did when he was alive.

And I came, in time, to understand that people you love, and who love you, move on, leaving behind the very best of themselves for you to remember and draw on. The rest has a knack for just falling away.

You just have to let yourself miss them enough.

11 Things about my Dad

He sang beautifully.

He loved lyrebirds.

He told me not to follow leaders and to watch the parking meters (which dates him quite precisely)

He moved like a cat, and would cross his legs like a yogi on a chair, just like I do.

He would put in writing what he couldn't bear to say in person (which was almost anything personal).

He believed in putting the milo in (without stirring) after the milk was heated.

You always knew he was 10 sheets to the wind when the Clancy Brothers went on the turntable.

He always stayed up too late (something I inherited), and raged against the dying of the light.

He would have happydanced over the emergence of the Weblog. 'What, you mean everyone gets a column? Oh, YEAH!'

He truly believed in following your heart, regardless of what people might think of you.

He died bravely, smoking to the very last.

 

Launch

For you Melbourne blog readers out there and for anyone who's interested.

I'll be singing tomorrow night at Sarah's Launch (well, what's left of me, anyway).

East Brunswick Club Hotel, Lygon St, Brunswick, Sarah's site seems to be down, so that's all I can tell you.

She's a wild woman of country. You'll love her. I guarantee it.

7pm

Bring the kids.

French Toast

Mym made me breakfast this morning.

She now has a repertoire of 2 dishes, Fruit and Toast, and French Toast, taught to her by her best friend, Jess.

It's pretty good.

When I went to reclean the kitchen (an inch under in maple syrup, despite Mym's best efforts), I found this.

And to think I was grumbling about the sticky mess.

Double Rainbow

Strange concept, the modern townhouse. Ours has a roof over most of the backyard, which, although convenient in inclement weather, is a Light Killer in the living room and kitchen. Perhaps I'll be glad of this come Summer, but I have my doubts. I suspect it belongs in the What Were They Thinking category. And yes, I do rent. If I owned, it would be the first thing to go.

More pertinently, though, it means that our back yard sky is more like a hole in the ceiling, a sort of Proscenium Sky. Very, very strange. I sit outside smoking (insert lecture here.......) and am constantly amazed at the things I see through it. I try hard to be a Half Full sort of person.

Upstairs I run, grabbing my camera off the kitchen table on the way through to the (and here's the good news) upstairs balcony, where I was greeted by this.

The confusion in the cloudscape gives you some idea of the level of wind we were experiencing. My house sits on the edge of a plateau that stretches behind me for miles, and then drops down to the river at the front. I am right on the edge (in more ways than one). So we get Big Wind. And if the 2 storey house in front of ours fell down (I reserve the right to dream) we would also have the most breathtaking view of Melbourne you could possibly imagine. But then my home would be twice as expensive and I couldn't afford to live here, so there you go.

But it does have it's charms. I grew up on a river, and I have felt much more comfortable since moving here, having a river close by again. And let's not forget the studio (!), the remote access garage, the easy to clean surfaces, and the excellent feng shui orientation.

And this is my first double rainbow. Ever.

Dear God, let it be a sign.

Honey Almond Cake

 

I used to bake cakes for money in a Previous Life. I'm not a chef, I'm not trained at all, in fact I am the World's Most Basic Cook, but I love to bake. My cooking is seriously no frills, especially to look at. For me, it's all about the taste. Like my mother and her mother before me. In fact, this is one of only a handful of recipes I have from my mother, modified slightly by me, in Good Folk Tradition.

Honey Almond Cake

1 cup unsalted butter

1 cup sugar

4 eggs

2 cups farina/semolina

1 ts cinnamon

1 cup ground almonds

Cream butter and sugar (I do it by hand, but I'm a purist). Beat in eggs, one at a time. Fold in (definitely by hand) farina, cinnamon and ground almonds. Spoon into a prepared tin (greased and floured) and bake in centre of a moderate oven (180 centigrade or 350 farenheit) until a skewer or knife comes out clean when inserted.

I use a 23cm koog tin, and, because it has the hole in the centre, it takes about an hour in a conventional oven or about 40 minutes fan-forced. But that's going to depend entirely on what tin you use and the character of your oven. I find that they're all different. You could also use a pan or baking dish, and then cut them up into diamonds when it's cooked. Or Hell, (it's all the rage), make cupcakes. But you're on your own for cooking times, I have no idea. I just use my nose. Or kids' noses, I can always rely on them to run and tell me it's ready.

Let stand for 5 minutes and then turn out onto a rack or plate. Then put it back in the tin and allow to cool. It will be heavy and not a bit springy, and that's a Good Thing.

Syrup

Bring 2 cups honey, 1 cup water, 2 cinnamon sticks, and a couple of cardamom pods (optional) in a saucepan large enough to allow the syrup to boil up (and don't leave the syrup alone, if it decides to boil over you are going to be really sorry). Simmer for 10 - 20 minutes (don't hurry this, it will make your house smell fabulous). Remove spices and take the cake and the syrup to the sink.

With a skewer, poke holes in the cake, at least a dozen, all the way to the bottom. Pour as much syrup evenly over the cake as the tin will allow. Leave until it's soaked in (time will vary for this depending on the temperature of your cake - if the cake is still hot, it will take awhile. Cold cakes are much faster). When the syrup is absorbed, repeat until all the syrup is in the cake. Leave to stand for half an hour or so.

I usually make the the cake the night before and then do the syrup thing not long before I want to serve up. The syrup is so hot that it heats up the cake all over again, and makes for particularly good eating. But it's nice cold, too.

The almond honey cake was a big seller, and is still requested to this day. It's a bit more expensive because it takes so much honey (and ends up weighing a ton - don't make this if you're planning to carry it a long way), but it keeps so well that I suspect you could lock it in an Egyptian tomb and it could quite possibly provide a charming afternoon tea for the archeologists arriving 2000 years later. It's a good cake if you want to knock people out, without really going to any trouble. It's a cinch.

So there now, you have one of my Trade Secrets. Don't say I don't love you.

Killer Slippers

By hml request:

 

isbn 0 949284 34 3.

Real Men may not half-leg wax, but they do, it appears, wear Tug Boat Slippers.

This book is obviously the long lost companion to Killer Tea Cosies and How To Make Them, but there's no mention of it anywhere inside. Deeply intriguing. How many more are there? And what are they called?

The mind boggles.

Father's Day suggestions include:

for the Continental Man,

The Citroen

or, if the Continental Man likes to eat on his feet,

The Continental Breakfast.

 

But if Your Man likes to look as though his feet have died and not very recently, he'll be delighted by

Hanged Man's Feet

 

Or if he's one to light up the barbie on a Sunday afternoon, you might consider bringing out the snags in a pair of these:

The Blowfly

 

But wait, there's more:

For people who like to keep white slippers in the pond,

Swamp Life

Or for kicking up your heels at the next PTA cleanskin fundraiser (that's you, Marjorie):

The Fruit Punch

Feeling like busting out of the closet? Try the

Ashton Circus

Or if you prefer a more Zen approach to your morning coffee:

The Koi

For lovers of highly decorative wedding cakes,

The Weightless Frangipani

And last, but not least, best experienced with a bucket of Neopolitan icecream and a 3 hour movie involving Sharukh Khan and a cast of thousands

The Couch Potato

They remind me a little of leg irons, actually. I suspect you'd be more confined to the couch, no sashaying up to the fridge in these.

There are more, of course, but to see them you'll have to get your hands on a copy.

Currently retailing for 50 cents at Amazon. I was a bit offended by this. hml's tea cosy book reputedly has a price tag of $69. Seems a little unfair, somehow.

This post is dedicated to Chrissie Boyle, creator of the Melbourne fashion label 'Queen', last heard of doing a roaring trade at the Gertrude St end of Smith St, Collingwood. We used to share a studio, and she gave me this book as a parting gift, branding her ever after as a Woman of Great Taste.

Morphe II Update

Everyone's being so coy about their submissions to Morphe II, it's bewildering.

However, we at Poppalina, Voice of the People that we are, believe in transparency and accountability (well, just the former, maybe):

The latest (in progress).

Poor Mym, she's been sick with a cold, and has tried valiantly to produce two other dolls this week, both of which ended in disaster. She was just too crook, and was perfectly heartbroken by it all.

But this one was good. Lucky Mummy gets to sew it up and do all the backend work (mmm, my favourite), but given the state Mym's in, that's probably not a bad idea. Hate to see this one go to the wall.

The first image was also used as the submission to Colors Notebook, an international exhibition to be staged at the Pompidou Centre in Paris, which Mym was asked to contribute to, thanks to some fast and fancy footwork by the Frock Fairies at the Nicholas Building. We'll be posting that as we hear about it.

Anyway, we're thinking of stuffing them with pot-pourri to make them smell nice. Whaddaya think?

What should we stuff Mym's Morphe II dolls with?

hobbyfill pot pourri dry dogfood

Web Polls by Vizu

Teach Yourself to Fly

Have to show you this:

By Mary Thomas, EUP, first printed in 1937, mine is 1942, and I've no doubt that many editions were to follow. Such a handy and interesting little book, incorporating Romanian embroidery (!), the trusty Cretan stitch (?!), and, for the more ambitious Textile Artiste, faggoting. Yep, faggoting, so anyone needing handy tips for doing a nice faggot, let me know, I've got the how-to here.

The most important aspect of this essential little book is, in fact, the flap. Like so many of my how-to books, they are part of a series, none of which I ever seem to be able to locate. This one is AMAZING. With the entire series, you could do just about anything, anything at all.

Teach yourself to fly for only 2/6. I call that Wartime Economy.

Ah, the Good Old Days. Men off fighting the Good Fight. Women being actively encouraged to use their brains and bodies for something other than the pulling of aforementioned men, and housework.

Where they actually got paid for it.

Must have been wild. What strange, dull, thunking sounds their hearts must have made somewhere in their deepest secret insides, as they packed up their skills after the War and went back to the housework. Dunno about you, but I think I would've spent the 50s taking tranquilizers, and trying to forget. But I wax nostalgic.

So, given that the publishers are actively inviting suggestions for other titles, I plan to write immediately and request, for these modern days of multi-skilling,

The Kitchen Guide To Bomb Defusing

Calculating Ballistic Missile Trajectory With Your Menstrual Chart

Feeding the World with Cheese Slices and a Jaffle Iron.

Meditation, Reiki, and Terrorist Abduction.

Organic Muffins and the Malarial Child.

Land Mine Clearing for the Holidays.

Plot the Downfall of Insane Political Leaders with the Perfect Martini.

It's a work in progress. I may have to add to it. All suggestions welcomed and considered.

Dream Guardians

I have long admired the work of German artist and crafter, Sandra Monat. She's one of those creators who reminds me, in my darker moments, that there is a God.

So, being momentarily in a position to acquire a Herzenart original, I was seriously spoilt for choice.

The elephant made me go all mooshy,

And those flying birds are what got me palpitating in the first place (I've been making birds ever since).

However, as those who know me well will readily tell you, I am a rabid insomniac, and prone to vivid and disturbing nightmares (no biggy, it's just one of those things, had it all my life). If there is magic in lovely handmade dolls (and we at poppalina firmly believe there is), then perhaps these little dudes can help me out.

Dream Guardians by Herzenart:

 

Now fully recovered from their jet lag with a nice cup of tea and a couple of episodes of Will & Grace.

Last night's dreams were perfectly horrid, and I awoke with my nerves shattered, feeling absolutely trashed, but I have my Dream Guardians tonight, and I am unafraid.

So let's see how we go. Wish me luck, I'm going in.....

Oh, and thanks so much, Sandra. They really are very special.

Dog's Breakfast

I am actually working on a new toy, but don't consider her fit for general consumption as yet, so here are the latest additions to the scarf:

    

Just a simple intarsia (I'm very rusty, remember), nothing too stressful at this point.

A rather dull honeycomb pattern that I just made up:

and the whole thing, looking a bit like a dog's breakfast.