No, it's not a pet name, it's a recipe. One that my beloved concocted recently, when faced with the need to feed us. So simple, so tasty. Here's the vitals:
Having discovered 300 Words this evening, and finding it a splendid idea, I thought I'd try to rise to the challenge. If I manage to turn it into a habit, I might even become a contributor. Here's a start.
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I’m a cat person, sort of. I prefer them to dogs, without question – which isn’t to say that I like all cats, or dislike all dogs; far from it, and perish the thought. Why the preference then, when it turns out that I am allergic to the fickle felines?
Let’s see: they amuse me. Well, dogs can do that too, so it’s not just that. They look pretty and feel nice, on the whole. They take care of themselves, without having to be walked, and without one having to pick up biological detritus dropped on said walks. Mind you, I feel somewhat ashamed that they might be nipping over the fence to dig up a neighbour’s precious primulas, but compared to what my son could be doing to their precious daughter, it’s a minor misdemeanour. Not that he lives with us any more, but that’s beside the point.
Maybe it’s an ego-massage-thing: that an animal that can be so aloof if it chooses, might decide to honour your lap with its warm presence, is clearly a comment on your suitability as a host. Have a gold star.
Cats eat quietly. They don’t drool… much. They can’t be heard a couple of hundred metres away, barking at anything that moves – and several things that don’t. They are not inclined to roll in all manner of unspeakable substances that consequently require the donning of protective clothing and a fixed grimace in order to eliminate the offending miasma. They do, however, have minuscule lances on their feet, which they tend to use indiscriminately when young; adulthood eventually puts a stop to that sort of nonsense, unless they are being tormented (or think they are).
Maybe it’s the wide open, love-me eyes, or the I-know-you’re-there-but-I’m-ignoring-you confidence as they walk past, or even that they are a smaller package. Ultimately I’ll just have to admit that Mr Spock would find it illogical. Perhaps I can get some therapy.
It's been a while, and there's been a bit of water under the bridge since I last came this way. I've left behind the work of casual employment, and started a job for which I am eminently suited - which makes a change!
In April we relocated to Brisbane, so that I could take up a post at the Sir Thomas Brisbane Planetarium. There, I am styled a Support Officer, which means I am one of the show presenters. School shows, public shows, observatory sessions - they're all in the mix, as I show the good citizens and tourists of Brisbane the sights of the night sky and the Universe at large.
There is a certain repetitiveness about it, giving the same shows on a weekly basis, but with the changing sky as the year progresses, and the different audiences from 5-year-olds to adults, there is a certain amount of freedom to ad lib in each show and change the focus along the way. Besides, there is an awful lot of Universe to talk about in a 15- or 45-minute talk.
One of the fringe benefits for me as a long-time amateur astronomer, is having access to 2 good telescopes - a Zeiss 6-inch refractor and a Meade 8-inch Schmidt-Cassegrain. The pleasure is somewhat reduced due to the location just a few kilometres from the centre of a large city, but it's good to be back at the sharp end of a decent instrument. While in Edinburgh I had access to the Cooke 6-inch refractor at Calton Hill observatory, although I made far less use of it than I ought to have done, and really became an armchair astronomer over the last 20 years or so.
The Zeiss is particularly interesting, as I can easily mount a camera on it for photography through the telescope. So far I have just done a few tests that need to be built on, but I reckon I shall have fun with it in the future. As well as 'proper' photography with a camera attached securely to the business end (being on a Coudé mount, the scope can support quite a heavy load, which is just as well, since I intend to use my old brass Canons), I have experimented with cameras held against the eyepiece; not the best method, but it can work reasonably well, as this shot of Saturn taken with the mobile phone shows.
Another experiment was shooting both the Sun and Moon with a digital compact - still shooting precariously through the eyepiece while hand-holding the camera, but it worked quite nicely. 2 small sunspot groups are visible at top right and bottom right, and despite fairly poor seeing, the Moon image shows reasonable crater detail.
About 25 years ago, I bought an old camera in an antique shop in Edinburgh. The owner was tinkering with it as I walked in, and I knew straight away it was mine! It was nothing flash, but the design intrigued me. It was made in an age when glass plates were still the standard medium for taking photographs. When I later sought an idea of the camera's age, it was suggested around 1870, predating the Eastman Kodak company by a decade or so. However, the design of the camera means that only dry plates would have been usable (it was designed to hold a stack of plates, so plates made with the wet collodion process would have been entirely unsuitable). Dry plates were in development during the 1870s, culminating in George Eastman's success in developing a machine process for mass-producing dry plates. So, I'd say this camera was built somewhat later than 1870.
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| Camera front; 1 cord for instantaneous exposure, 1 for time exposure |
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| Red cord is for cocking the shutter |
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| Back end of camera |
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| Inside of camera back, showing mechanism for lifting next unexposed plate |
We don't eat as much fish as we should, so last night a piece of barramundi seemed in order. Eschewing the frying option, I went for steaming it on a bed of vegetables, accompanied with noodles.
Ingredients
A moment seized; a fleeting glimpse. Click.
Contemplation. Possibilities; subtle details, obscure even. Click.
Clearer now, focus sharper. New perspective; comes to life. Click.
Different light, shadows new. Chiaroscuro changes mood. Click.
Quiet thrill; a frisson. Tones, texture; composition gels. Click.
Now from here, lower. Detail isolated, highlighted. Click.
Turn a ring; focus narrows, draws the eye. Click.
Close in, tighter frame. Rule of thirds? Break it. Click.
Nailed it.
...
Brass, turning. Click.
Gut drawn tight. Click.
Rhythm punctuates silence. Click.
Drum moves relentlessly. Click.
Tooth meshed with tooth. Click.
Cast iron drops. Click.
Glint of sun on silver. Click.
Shadow sweeps downward. Click.
Motes settle on oak. Click.
Governor spins. Whirr.
Bell rings out. Ding.
And thrice more. Click.
What time is it, Grandad? Click.
Steady beat of time. Click.
...
Behind me, a fridge door repeatedly opens and closes, punctuating the clink of crockery and utensils. Quiet chatter and bustle.The urgent sound of milk being forced into action for a capuccino. And again. In the background (it's all background), the chatter and gossip of birdlife, the interlocutors hidden among shadowed paperbarks. They conspire occasionally to drown out the culinary commotion, then retreat into quiescence.
Midmorning traffic, intermittently trying to lay a post-industrial veneer over the placid scene, but not being entirely successful. The lagoon in front of me is receiving attention from a young man; he is corralling weeds on the surface with floats and net. Steadily, with unhurried pace, he skims the weed-strewn surface, until the unwanted flora is contained in a small enclosure one one bank. Carefully, intently, he draws it in to leave a clear surface once more. Finishes the task with rake and barrow.
A midmorning Virgin, headed south, momentarily disturbs the peace. It passes quickly, leaving its avian role models in charge once again.
The water surface, calm just moments ago, is now a frenzy of interwoven ripples, as myriad insects go about their routine. Busily, they skim and skate in an invisible free-form choreography betrayed only by the undulating boundary between open air and aquatic obscurity. The human chatter has now built to a modest hubbub, as the tables, once empty and quiet, fill with twos and threes seeking a morning break. Two toddlers, restless; mum stands watch - her attention divided between dancing insects and her diminutive dynamos - cajoling, controlling. The arrival of carrot cake and coffee seems to calm the little ones. Baby chocaccinos work their magic, and mum can relax. For now.
A couple of days ago, on the northern summer solstice, Kodak announced the end of an era. Kodak: the very name is synonymous with photography, and Kodachrome is a substantial part of the name. Used by professional and amateur photographers the world over, and valued for its many qualities, including colour accuracy, sharpness and archival permanence; immortalized (if it could be any more than it was) in song by Paul Simon, the film that was manufactured for 74 of the 121 years that Kodak has been in business, is history.
Kodachrome was a unique film, requiring a long and complex development process that but a few labs could provide. I knew it only casually, shooting relatively little transparency material, but there was a special thrill in receiving the little yellow boxes in the post, full of card-mounted (as they were then) slides. Now, the advance of emulsion technology, not to mention digital imaging and sheer cold commercial necessity, has brought an end to this venerable icon, as the production lines cease to roll. It's not the first, and certainly not the last, photographic material to reach its use-by date, but it's arguably one of the most poignant. Kodachrome, Cibachrome, Dufaycolour ... when will we see their like again...
Many are wondering whether digital images will be as enduring as those made on this fine material. Only time will tell, but I wouldn't be placing any bets about digital longevity.
With SWMBO intent on combining leeks and potatoes in the time-honoured soupy fashion, I thought the least I could do would be to make a damper to accompany it. I have a few standard recipes that I am comfortable with (although arguably, increasingly unfamiliar...), and this is one such. It caught my eye in that great British entertainment organ, the Radio Times, many years ago, and it has provided sterling service since then.
I confess to being a member of the KISS school of culinary arts: one pan, if possible; as little mess and fiddling as possible; flexible in the cooking process (ie, 10-15 minutes either way is OK).
I've never made bread as such, because it involves tedious things like kneading and proving, and that just puts me off. Call me lazy if you will. Call me Henrietta if you must (but I'll take no notice). Damper, however, is another matter, and suits my style very well. This one has a twist or two, in that it includes potatoes, cheese, and one or two other items of vegetable matter. Here's the lowdown:
Ingredients
