Late ...

... but better than never ... Right?
The Brown Mouse festive feast of goose, good wine, and a pretty decedent trifle.

The goose was rubbed, inside and out, with some salt, pepper and thyme. Then we stuffed as many oranges we could fit up it's bum and held the poor thing shut with spikes & string (at least it had a good life beforehand).
The stuffing in the pumpkin was an excellent idea, not well executed. Underneath that moist delicious looking top was ... dry sawdusty stuffing. Looks like the instructions on the packet should have read, mix with water or sausage or SOMEBLOODYTHING, before stuffing. Oh well, we live and learn. Pumpkin tasted pretty good I must say.
The spuds, simply cooked beneath the goose, it's drippings bathing the spuds beautifully. Then, blasted with crisping heat while the poor goose rested from it's ordeal.
That Trifle, wonderful, and all those berries, nom, nommity, nom, nom, nom.
Wine, a rare treat of sparkling black Shiraz from Rockford and an elderly (in a good way) Hunter Valley Shiraz from Saddler's Creek.
And the next day Mum presented me with a jar labeled "Goose Grease". We shall be having those potatoes again .... and again.

Today is the 24th ...

... We should be singing traditional folk tunes by the sea.
We should be feasting on seasonally festive goose.
We should be sleeping the sleep of the fat and just in the biggest bed in the Shire.
We will do that, except the singing, tomorrow.
Today we go here, to eat a dinner of ... well just look and see.I'm wearing a new green frock to compensate.

It's molting season ...

... otherwise known as Spring.
We know this not just from the fact the windows and doors are pretty much permanently open but because of the deposits of felted cat fur & mucus scattered about the place. Furballs.
For instance, just the other weekend I washed the Girls' pod cover. Furball hackings ALL over it last night. I've stepped on them in the kitchen, the lounge and the bedroom. This is not fun.
Time for action.
So, today, my mental health catch up with stuff day, I gathered up the ripper brush and the soft brush and got to work.
Lucky for me the Girls like brushing, they think it's a great lark and come running when you call "brushings". It does get them a little wild and feisty, and it's really, really hard to do Pingu when Tigger won't get out of the way.
But still, I think I got the job done. That's Tigger's contribution on the right, less than a teaspoonful.

The brushing got me all nostalgic for my girlhood. A certain weekend every spring, I can't remember how we selected which one, the pony girls would all gather at the lucerne flats with bags of brushes and out beloved ponies. We would rip and brush those beasts from shaggy-Winter coat to glossy, smooth Spring coat in an afternoon. The end of which we'd all, girls and ponies, be ankle deep in fluff.

In honour of Spring ...

... I've fiddled a bit!
The new header was drawn by the magical Tom Gauld. I rather like to think he had me in mind when he drew it! (Even though I know it can't be so).

Hello ...

... I'm being a bit quiet, blogwise, at the moment. For reasons I cannot type of on-line.
But Mr Brown and I are alive, well and enjoying the Spring while it lasts.
There are predictions of 30 degree weather ALLFUCKINGREADY, so this good mood, it will not last. But while it does, enjoy the flowers!

I have a tiny green spider living in my beard ...

... my beard of Spanish Moss that is. I've yet to start cultivating old-lady whiskers!And while outside I noticed, not for the first time in the last week or so, that there is a definite air of Spring about the place. This Wisteria has survived. The pale pink Camellia (technically an Autumn flower) lingers on. The Bay Tree is in flower. The dainty Canberra Bluebells are out and wafting about on their elegant stalks. The Freesias are blooming. And the Jasmine has gone berserk, the smell is amazing. And look, it was cold enough this winter to tempt a Jonquil out. Esmeralda's nest is still sound, and nestled in Persephone's new green leaves. And this, I can't remember what it is, but it's bound to make some bees happy!

Last night ....

.... on arriving home I went to check on Esmeralda, as I do every night, just to make sure she's still around. I couldn't find her.
This morning, as we left for work, we had a look in the cold clear morning light.
We found her poor little husk of a corpse on the porch, under the bench. Long, yellow knobbled legs curled up.
Mr Brown picked her up and we placed her under the Pomegranate tree, tucked up in leaf litter, under her spun gold nest.
Perhaps, in the Spring, one of those eggs will bring us Esmeralda II.
Vale Esmeralda.

Seasons ...

... it doesn't get cold here in Sydney. Not really, properly cold like Mr Brown & I grew up with.
Because of this there's no real seasons, it just gets colder for a bit, and then warmer and then HORRIBLE AND HUMID, then warm then a bit cooler.
I really miss seasons, especially Autumn and that fantastic Autumn colour.I used to park my car on the roofless, top storey of a car park in Canberra, so I could look out over the 'burbs full of brilliant reds, oranges and yellows. I used to take different, much longer, routes home, so I could savour the colours of Autumn.Nowadays we have to drive up to the mountains to do any leaf-peeping, and we generally forget because by the time it's "Autumn" in Sydney Town it's practically browned-off Winter up there.This year, however, it a little different. This year it's actually quite chilly. And so this year the Maple in the backyard is turning, reds and yellows are slowly engulfing the tree. We may even get a proper leaf drop*I think it's beautiful and it make me smile.



* Most years it's simply not cold enough to trigger whatever it is that turns the leaves. They eventually brown off a little and then get pushed off the tree by the new, spring growth. Not very satisfactory at all.

Which Maple is that?

... I think we may finally have an answer.
I think the maple out the front is an Acer Palmatum 'Dissectum Atropurpureum Ornatum' because it's sort of going a bit orangy, rather than crimson.

Granted, it's actually more yellow, but there are hints of orange in there, really. See.

The traditional easter long weekend weather, rain ...

... held today as well.
But there was a brief break in the downpour and we took full advantage of it.
Winter greens are planted and protected from marauding snails and slugs (one of which actually made its way inside yesterday UGG).
Mulch is down, keeping root and bulbs warm.
And we did a trim and tidy out the front, the top paddock. While I was snipping back rampant foliage and Mr Brown raking up the debris, he commented Mrs Neighbour would be pleased the place was looking a little tidier.
He's right, of course.
Lucky for her she's moving next month, because I purchased this book via the interwebs.
O yes, the plantings I will have, the flourishing, verdant, wild and rampant foliage that will riot front and back. I can't wait.
We had the doors and windows open all day. And while it's not actually that cold outside, inside, it's chilled down a bit, as you can see.And, since yesterday was ANZAC Day, we can safely turn on the heater for the season. Ping is VERY pleased.

Last night ...

... when Mr Brown and I went to bed it was 32 degrees C inside the Brown Mouse House.
We slept all night, shut up in our bedroom with the windows shut, the blind drawn and the door shut, with the Pinguino on, all night. Not particularly restful but cool.
Portable air conditioners are quite loud. For the last week our choice has been no sleep due to HOT or no sleep due to NOISE. No sleep due to NOISE being preferable as it turns out.
Tonight, as I drift down the hall to bed the temperature gauge reads 24, and it's dropping.
Tonight will be sleep, quiet, cool, sleep.

That was quick ...

... I popped outside today, into the surface of the sun heat, to check on our spawn.
Mr Brown had topped up the pond this morning but it's so very hot I thought I'd check the water level.
There was wriggling. My first thought was 'bloody mosquito larvae" but no, it was tadpoles. Dozens and dozens of tiny tadpoles.This made me smile.
The smile, of course, immediately melted and slid of my face, but I did smile. Extreme close up!

Been in a bit of a funk lately ...

... nothing real, just the usual summer ennui.But today I saw a couple of things that pepped me right up.A roosting of 4 of my favourite native bees, the Blue Banded Boys.A purple and white flounce of snail vine flower.I'm excessively happy, which just goes to show, simple things are really quite wonderful.

This is ...

... what it's like in my 'library' when I retire there, with the air conditioner, to get out of the heat.
Well, a bit like what it's like. The Brown-Mouse Library is a bit tidier, I rarely wear shorts, we've only got two cats, and I don't have a beard. Also, I'm a girl.
Other than that, it's a spot on perfect illustration of a hot Mouse, trying to stay cool, thwarted by cats who love to snuggle, even though you are boiling to death.Actually it's the wonderful Edward Gorey and a few of his beloved mogs.

I was just congratulating myself ...

... on not having come down with ennui, the blues or Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder recently. But then it hit a day or so ago.
It's the season you see, and the weather, and having a sore back that won't get fully better, and being tired because I'm not sleeping well because of the sore back and the heat and the humidity.
O dear, me and my first-world problems and not really even seriously real depression.
Fuck it.

January ....

... from the Da Costa Hours, illuminated by Simon Bening (1483/84–1561). In the Morgan Library. Added for Zoomie's edification.

Resolutions ....

... so, how did I go with last years? Let's see.
Declutter - Umm, no not really, not until this Thursday actually. Behold, the debris of my decluttered wardrobe & drawers.Move a bit - A bit, until I broke my back.
Less booze - Hahahahahahahahahaaa! No.
More fruit - Sadly, unless you count pickled pears, no.
Fix things - Well, we got new windows, painted the house and redid the front path, that counts. More to come on that front in 2011.
As for this year, here you go (clickie to enbiggen).

In the 12 months of 2010 ...

... January -We lost our Small.
February - We grew Zombie tomatoes.
March - We lost a constant companion.
April - We brought home a tiny, tiny Siamese Tiger, and met a tiny Poss.
May - I cooked in plastic and we experienced genuine middle-class crime.
June - I had a pretty fabulous birthday and brought home a dinosaur steak.
July - We went truffle hunting and met one of the neighbours.
August - We met a virtual friend in meat-space for high tea, dug up a path and celebrated another birthday. And I got pinged for Jury Duty.
September - I pickled cumquats and we painted the Brown Mouse House.
October - Mr Brown became Master of the Universe and I worried about bees.
November - I celebrated purple, got early release from Jury Duty and we gave the Brown Mouse House a new path.
December - I cooked rabbit and duck and finally became a mad cat lady. I also killed the stove but Mr Brown saved the day.
Happy New Year, roll on 2011.

I forgot to pack Rupert ...

... so I've no photos to show you of our seasonal festive feast.
You'll just have to believe me when I tell you the duck crisped and crackled up a treat. The pieces looked lovely on their beds of tiny lentils with just a ball or 2 of the pickled pear (which was declared piquant and delicious).
Mr Brown was given a blood pressure self testing machine (backstory, my dad has one and the first thing Mr Brown does upon walking in the door of my parents' place is say hello, then he pulls out the machine and tests his blood pressure, then he brags about his fabulous blood pressure). I think he must have used it 16 times in 10 minutes, we made him wear it and self test throughout his consumption of the lion's share of the tiramisu. There's a photo of that on mum's dainty wee camera, don't forget to email it Ma!
We went to the Maianbar carols again for some traditional seasonal folk tunes, we ate too much, several times over. We exchanged a few, well chosen gifts, but did not go overboard in a disgusting display of over-consumerism. Except for the uncomfortable (read fucking painful) trip there and back it was all most wonderful indeed.
Mr Brown and I exchanged boxes - mine will keep pens in it and his will keep his cufflinks safe from thieving, velvet grey paws.
My dad dug out his old fountain pen, a Parker 51 Aerometric, and gave it to me. Apparently when his was a "flash young man" some 50 or so years ago, he liked to sign with a fountain pen.
That's been my little task for the last day or so, flushing crusted, 50-year-old, peacock blue ink out of the pen's bladder. THAT I have pictures of!
I've also got pictures of Tigger playing with the toy her grandparents gave her and Ping. Ping's not so keen but Tigger thinks it's the bees knees. Pictures of that too! It is, afterall, time to return to my more traditional mad-cat-lady blogging.

Broad, Brutal, Cold, Coastlines ...

....Yes, exactly, that's the kind of coastal experience that moves me.

(clickie the linkie, the sights are amazing)

I don't like the 'beach'. I like coastline.
Walking along a 'beach' is ok. I guess, in the winter time. When all the wave n weather freaks are out, rugged up, wandering from end to end watching a dark sea lift and fall, heaving with energy, eroding like nobody's business.
I'll tolerate the 'beach' if there's broad plains of rock, pitted with pools. Those soup dishes and troughs, teaming with life.
Smooth dark granite or rough pale sandstone, I love to wander over both, peering, poking, late in the afternoon, as the sun fades away.
But I'd so much ather watch huge waves crash over rocky cliffs - black, wet, jagged, thrusting into the sea and sky - wearing sea spume like harsh lace.
The sound of it thrums through me. It makes me feel alive, cool, clear-headed and aware.
Please don't ask me to delight in the idea of a 'beach' holiday in summer. Not the traditional sunny, sandy, hot, crowded, bright sky, holiday. My. Idea. Of. Hell.