Divine Raspberry Tiramisu

Mrs. Twinkle

I came home yesterday evening from the kids training, to find a bowl brimming with delicious, luscious raspberries on my doorstep. It didn’t take me long to find out where they came from…due to a missed call on my mobile. My very lovely, elderly neighbours (am I allowed to call them that? They are over eighty!) dropped them by.
So I just couldn’t resist making this post…

The Ingredients
1 bowl of raspberries
1 bottle of raspberry sirup/squash
500g/ 2 cups mascarpone or philadelphia
500g/ 2 cups low fat curd cheese
400g/ 13.5 ozs sponge biscuits
1 bunch of mint

Mix the mascarpone and the curd cheese together and put half the mixture in a separate bowl. Stir in a couple of handfuls of raspberries and a dollop of sirup into to one of the bowls to create the raspberry creme. Lay the sponge fingers into the form (25x15cm) and soak…

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Gone on the Rising Tide

Marrow

“You prisoners of New South Wales,

Who frequent watchhouses and gaols

A story to you I will tell

‘Tis of a convict’s tour to hell.”

 – by Frank “The Poet” MacNamara, transported to New South Wales, 1832

Banishment.  A single word that struck fear in the heart of a 18th century convict.  Why? Because it meant involuntarily leaving everything you knew for a world of savages.  And that was if you actually survived the journey to get there.  Depending on where you were banished too, the journey could take up to six months.  Six months in the bowels of a prison ship, chained to others, with not enough room to stand or sleep.  Elbow to elbow with your fellow prisoners, you could have ended up here for simply stealing a loaf of bread for your starving children.  Children you would most likely never see again.

Prison Ship in Portsmouth Harbour by Edward William Cooke 1828 - Ntl Lib of Australia Prison Ship in Portsmouth Harbour…

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Mt. Rainier

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Foggy Predators, Ghostly Ships: Day 3 of the Coastal Trip

Beautiful pictures

Tales for Life

Cannon, Cannon Beach Day 2 080 All photographs by Cynthia Guenther Richardson

That watchful bald eagle on a basalt mound whose photo I posted last time was patiently waiting for a strike at his prey.  Success was not a surprise but the unfolding event was at once thrilling and sobering. Such precision! The crying and diving seagulls tried in vain to retrieve one of their own but the eagle was not even detained.

For humans, there’s something to be said for reasonable proximity to civilization with its conveniences and comforts. Yet we still seek wilder places if we respect, appreciate and even revere nature, as do I. I am quickly released of angst or drear, from any worldly mental detritus as my home city’s buzz and bombast is left behind. A more primitive mind is set in motion as senses are stimulated, satiated. And sometimes roused by a flashes of alarm here and there as rain…

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THE ART OF TEA

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