Personal Google Doodle

Love it! Thanks Google.

Somewhere... Over the Rainbow

Look what blogging led me to.  So entranced was I by the magnificent rainbow cake posted by Meredy that I had to give it a whirl for Charly's tenth birthday last weekend.  It was a challenge to say the least despite the detailed instructions.  There were tears.  Birthday cake making is my ritual torture.

First hurdle was to find the recommended gel colouring in this old town of limited shopping opportunity.  It required a lunchtime dash to a specialist kitchen store, and then, they didn't have the recomended Lemon Yellow.  Grrr.  Anyway, that weekend while everyone was out at soccer and I had unfettered run of the kitchen, I got out the Sunbeam hand beaters, the heart-shaped cake pans and the left-over liquid food colouring in the pantry and set to work.  

The trick is to fill the pan with the same amount of cake mixture.  Meredy did specify one and a half cups and, I confess to skimping on this detail (yep, never skimp the detail) and subsequently ended up with wonky layers.  The colours weren't the same shade either as I'd used half gel and half liquid colours (Meredy was right again). The cream cheese frosting slicked on beautifully but, alas, the children didn't entirely enjoy the taste.  So I will have to experiment with the butter icing or ganache frosting next time.  

Thankfully the overall effect was stupendous.  A miraculously high, heart shaped ensemble with ten little candles glowing in front of beaming faces.  Charly is having a Movie Party next weekend and I plan to do a modified four-layer version with equal layers and uniform colours.  

Meantime, the Strong, Silent One wryly notes that it would be far simpler to go to The Cheesecake Shop - a reliable, local purveyor of large and impressive cakes - rather than go through the self-flagellation a second time.

"There is one thing more exasperating than a wife who can cook and won't and that's a wife who can't cook and will." Robert Frost (1847-1963)

{this moment}

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. SouleMama

Young Lad

Young and Old

When all the world is young lad,

And all the trees are green;

And every goose a swan, lad,

And every lass a queen;

Then hey for boot and horse, lad,

And round the world away;

Young blood must have its course, lad,

And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,

And all the trees are brown;

When all the sport is stale, lad,

And all the wheels run down;

Creep home, and take your place there,

The spent and maimed among:

God grant you find one face there,

You loved when all was young.

~Charles Kingsley

Ro-Ro turned eight a few weeks ago.  He and his Dad slicked the toxic pink icing on an over-cooked marble cake and stuck on some motley, used candles from the cupboard.  Poor lad!  Still, look at those adoring sisters.  Adequate compensation especially when Charly played "happy birthday to you' on the piano and we all joined in in four-part harmony.  Note also the ball he is clutching.  A gift from a school buddy.  An eyeball is suspended in the middle and it glows and flashes when bounced*. Just what every eight year old boy craves.  Perfectly compact and ghoulish.  Other 'awesome' gifts included a multi-function pocket knife with pliers, screwdrivers and other essential tools for ... whittling sticks, say, rather than doing damage to persons or property, and a door hanger intruder alert.   The latter is an ideal accessory when you have a glow-in-the-dark eyeball that everyone else wants to play with. 

*The glow factor, unfortunately,  does not work under the bed clothes by hitting the ball on the mattress or against the pakm of your other hand, and thus, it cannot double as a torch for reading purposes or a micro-disco ball.  We tried.

Happy Birthday

Here I Love You
by Pablo Neruda

Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.

Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

Happy Birthday Dear Heart. xxx