the sharp with the soft


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Our last rain was weeks ago. After all, we live in a place that gets only an average 8 inches (200mm) of rain per year. Damp earth is always temporary here. After the rain, two seeds quietly sprouted beside the curb, at the curve of the road. The ground returned to dust. They thrived. It was a dusty and seldom tended place, on the ‘nature strip’–not owned by the houses on either side. No man’s land.



The small plants grew at a rapid rate, extending variegated, pointed branches in all directions. A woman who regularly walked the roadside where the plants grew, took note of them. They were unusual, but beautiful–in a spiny way. She had some experience photographing spiny plants in the arid lands and even a close encounter, or two, with prickles that she’d rather forget! But she made a mental note that when the light was right, she would stop and photograph the plants.


Opening bud

One morning, the woman did indeed take a photograph of the plant, though the result was unremarkable, except that it recorded a life. But she regularly observed the changes in the plants. After a week or so, she noticed atop one of the plants a small white pillow-y shape. She got closer. A blossom! She bent to photograph it in the early morning light. It was made of delicate, gossamer petals that would be a flicker of soft ephemera and then gone. Capturing the fleeting beauty called for strategic effort.


Silky petals

It was a cloudy day that afforded photos one often could not accomplish in the bright, clear sky of central Australia, and possibly meant the blossom would last a little longer. Think hours, not days. The woman returned to the blossom a couple of hours after first seeing it, in hopes the flower would be fully opened. What luck. It was like many cactus blossoms she had seen, a splash of floral silkiness amidst forbidding spines, unapproachable to many, all the more alluring because of it. But she was sure it wasn’t actually a cactus.


In the centre of beauty

A couple of hours later the woman returned to the blossom to see its progress. It was nearly spent, flaccid and waving in the arid breeze. Its delicate centre now dried. The moment of glory finished.

The next day on her walk, the woman approached the plants with anticipation. Gone! Extracted by their roots and disappeared completely. The end of life. Ah, she thought, at least I preserved some memory of them in their prime.

It reminded her of the photo album she was putting together, and some humans she had known. People could be prickly and hard to handle, then shine in a moment of photographed brilliance. Glorious. Then gone. She was grateful for photographs.


The sharp with the soft

She later discovered the plants were Mexican Poppies, toxic to all animals and humans. Pity. Her husband declared ‘someone has done the environment a favour’. True enough, she guessed. But not before the siren-like, petals enchanted her and reminded her of the nature of some of us, and the potential for beauty in all of us.

We’re the People – Istanbul


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Alone in a crowd

Hasan was our tour guide in Turkey. He was a lovely, open man. He was of Syrian and Arab derivation but born just inside the border of Turkey. I can’t imagine a better tour guide. In fact, he told us more than I could possibly process and remember! Here we are in the Blue Mosque and I have edited this photo to emphasise what he was demonstrating to us. In response to a question, he went through all the motions that a woman would go through when praying in the Mosque. There we stood, among hundreds of people, without our shoes and with our heads covered (women) and were riveted on his demonstration. He even went down on the floor and did the entire sequence of movements. This photo speaks to me of his willingness to share everything he possibly could with us, so that we might understand as much as possible about Turkey.

Masallah,* Hasan.


(*Arabic for Blessing someone, or something that happens)

This is part of a series of photos based on an original post titled ‘We’re the People

International Scone Week – August 2014


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Gluten Free Currant Scones

This morning I read on Celia’s figjamandlimecordial blog that it is International Scone Week. Who knew? As it happened I was preparing my shopping list. I added a couple of things to it so that I could have a go at ‘playing’ the scone making game this week!


dough before kneading

round piece of dough, cut into 8 pieces, brushed with yolk/cream mixture

round piece of dough, cut into 8 pieces, brushed with yolk/cream mixture

Yummy piece of goodness!

Yummy piece of goodness!

The recipe I’m making available to you is one I’ve cobbled together from a couple of others… mmm, well, kinda, sorta… with a dash of creative modification of my own. I hate to brag, but I could have eaten the entire batch. Good thing it was small!

I’d been craving some kind of bread type food and this satisfied me perfectly, without having to eat gluten or sugar. I’d invite you over to taste them, but they may be gone by the time you get here! Have a great week!


Gluten Free Currant Scones

½ C almond meal

¼ C gluten free flour (Orgran)

¼ C coconut flour

1.5 T xylitol or sugar

1.5 tsp baking powder

½ tsp xanthan gum

¼ tsp sea salt

2 T cold, unsalted butter

1/3 C currants

2 tsp grated orange zest

1 egg yolk

½ C heavy cream

Preheat oven to 210 C (425 F). Place parchment paper onto a baking sheet.

Combine dry ingredients into a bowl and mix with a fork to blend well.

Chop butter into small pieces and add to dry ingredients. Rub into dry ingredients with tips of fingers until it resembles course bread crumbs.

Separate the yolk, add to a cup along with the cream and mix well with a fork to blend. Add all but a small amount of the cream mixture to the dry ingredients, saving a scant tablespoon of mixture to brush over the tops of the scones.

Mix the dough until it comes together as a ball, then turn onto bench top that has been dusted with GF flour. Knead just a few times until it is quite consolidated, then pat into about a 15-20mm (3/4 inch) thick, round shape. Place onto the baking sheet and make cuts right through so that there are 8 small, wedge shaped scones. Brush with the remaining egg and cream mixture.

Bake for 12-13 minutes. The scones will be fairly crumbly, but delicious, if eaten while warm. Or they will become slightly firmer as they cool. Also the sweetness develops a bit further as they cool. The inside is a very tender, soft texture with a nice outer crust.


We’re the People – Budapest


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There are amazing sights to be seen when travelling, but none more amazing than the people. Architecture can be looked up in a book or on the internet, but watching people is the biggest thrill for me. I try to be respectful of personal space, and usually ask, if I’m in doubt, whether a person minds having their photo taken. Sometimes I’m told ‘no’ so I back off. Not everyone wants their image ‘captured’.

I spend a lot of time in solitary pursuits when at home. People are often a mystery to me. But looking back over photos of our recent travels, it is the photos with people that I value the most. I thought I would publish a series called ‘We’re the People’, named for the post I wrote a couple of weeks ago of the same name. Mostly I won’t know much about the strangers in the photos, but I’d like to share my thoughts with you.

I took this photo fairly early on a humid, warm morning in Budapest. We were happy to find a beautiful tree-shaded street. The two young men appeared to be workers, dressed in the traditional blue workers outfits, and one carrying his case of tools to their job for that morning. I liked the juxtaposition of the workers against all the neatly folded umbrellas of the cafés, ready for the tourists, and locals, who would be relaxing beneath them. Someone has to work, right?


Going to work in Budapest

–all the best, Ardys

In My Kitchen – August 2014*


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*Warning to those on a diet, this post may be hazardous to your mental state!

Most of the passed month, I’ve been eating from other people’s kitchens in Budapest, and along the Danube to Istanbul! I’ll be writing about some of that, hopefully not so much you will be bored, but for now I’m back in my own familiar surroundings preparing very simple meals to recover from ‘travel tummy’! The problem with eating very cleanly and healthily at home is that when you travel it is very hard to replicate. And then there are the temptations…


Variety of Turkish Delight

‘Travel tummy’ is different than Bali belly!! Now returned to normal, I have learned my tolerance for certain foods, combined with summer heat, is even lower than I had thought. So, future efforts will have to be more restrained, which of course means passing up certain flavours one would love to experience when travelling… like tasting Turkish Delight while IN Turkey!! While it was very interesting to see all the amazing varieties that come under the umbrella of ‘Turkish Delight’, I was shocked that in my new incarnation of eating almost no sugar for all of this year, they were way too sweet for me. So I did taste them, but they were so sweet there was certainly no temptation to overindulge.


Tower of Baklava


Assortment of Baklava, Grand Bazaar, Istanbul

The Baklava in Turkey was amazing. It was incredible to see, as much as eat, though, again, it was really way too sweet for me to enjoy. I had never tasted Baklava until I moved to Australia 31 years ago. The Greek community in Darwin meant that it was fairly available in cafés, as well as occasionally offered from the Greek family across the street from our house. I used to love it. But now, I taste it more in the spirit of research, than passion. (That’s my story and I’m sticking with it!)


As good as it gets croissant, Sofitel, Budapest

The one indulgence that I will forever remember was from the kitchen of the Sofitel Hotel in Budapest. Croissant. And fresh butter. No, croissant is not on my menu normally. In fact I guess you could call me a croissant snob. I declared to my husband a year or so ago that I would not be eating another croissant unless we were in France, where they are quite obviously a level above any others I’ve tasted. But I could tell from one look, these were special. They were the kind one only finds in France, or a French owned hotel like Sofitel. They were small, perfectly flaky, buttery miracles. So yes, I ate one. Okay, two—but not on the same morning. Such restraint. With stunningly fresh butter. I savoured every mouthful, and I swear a little tear escaped my eye the day we boarded the ship and left the Sofitel buffet!


Hungarian stuffed cabbage rolls


Hungarian meatballs


Hungarian cuisine, Little Bites of Hungary, Budapest

Two of the most outstanding dining experiences were possibly the most humble. On our second night in Budapest we found a little place that specialised in Hungarian food. Not so unusual, you might think. However, their menu offered a few different ways you could eat, or sample, the selections. You could order a fixed menu consisting of several courses, all in small servings. You could order the same dishes individually, a la carte, as small servings, or as regular sized servings. We seldom want a large evening meal so the a la carte small servings of a couple of dishes suited us perfectly. And the dishes we had were absolutely delicious! We marvelled at what a good concept this was and wonder why we have never before seen a place like it. (excluding Tapas, which is something different again)


Grilled squid and eggplant (babaghanouj)


Lunch by the sea in Gelibolu (Gallipoli)

The other beautifully simple meal was in Turkey, in the small town of Gelibolu (Gallipoli). We ate next to the water and had simple grilled squid, with babaghanouj (grilled eggplant), and grilled fish. Delicious. Since we returned home, I have twice replicated the babaghanouj, and that is without having a recipe. It was that simple. We discovered the secret is, a little tiny bit of salt, and only the tiniest hint of garlic. I have always found baba ganoush recipes called for so much garlic, it was inedible for me (I have sensitivity to onion and garlic family). But the ones we ate in Turkey, in four or five different places, were always very, very lightly flavoured as I have described above. It allows the buttery, mellow flavour of the eggplant to dominate, which we loved. (in the interest of giving value for money, click here for my version of grilled eggplant)

I hope this gastronomic tour will appease your desire for IMK from me this month. I assure you it is more interesting than my own very simple cooking has been. Thank you to Celia at for hosting this monthly tour through kitchens around the world! Pop on over there and see what other interesting things are happening.

a bald man in Budapest


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My last couple of posts have been on the serious side, so let’s have some fun! The starting point of our recent travels was Budapest. We had spent a couple of days there a few years ago and enjoyed it, but knew we still had some exploring to do, so we decided to go back for a few more days at the front of our trip to the Black Sea area. No doubt I will tumble forth with facts and photos in subsequent posts, but today I will tell you a short story.

Our second evening in Budapest, we decided to look for a restaurant that had been described to us as, near St. Stephens cathedral. It was the perfect place to try a bit of several classic Hungarian dishes, in small servings. Great idea, don’t know why more places don’t pursue this idea.

The meal was fun, but what happened on our way to eat was the highlight!

As we were walking toward the cathedral, the sun was getting low in the sky and perfectly highlighting it. I got my camera out to take a few photos.

Budapest-St Stephens

St. Stephen’s Cathedral, Budapest

Far in the distance there appeared a bright orange apparition. It got closer. I took another photo.


The orange apparition approaches

As the orange figure approached, we were somewhat transfixed on it. What was it? Then we quickly decided the only thing we had seen that looked remotely similar were photos of Spider Man.

As Spidey-man got within earshot, one of his three comrades called out to us… (in a thick French accent) “Can he (pointing to indicate ‘spidey’) kiss your head?” pointing to indicate my HUSBAND! It was a very absurd request, but my husband who has a good sense of humour, said yes! Orange spidey-man was very tall, and he bent down to kiss the top of my husband’s head!!

Budapest-orange man

Kissing the bald man

We all laughed and I took a photo and they were going to just keep moving, apparently without further explanation!! We couldn’t let that happen! I quickly asked them if there was significance to the orange costume, and that kiss! Again, Mr-Thick-French accent told us, “Our friend is getting married and we are celebrating his upcoming marriage and he must do whatever we dare him to do tonight!”*

So the mates had dared him to kiss a bald man’s head!! I hope all the dares turned out so well for all parties involved, as did this one. We are still laughing.


*(we call it a ‘buck’s night’ in Australia, a ‘bachelor’s party’ in the USA, I believe)

In these uncertain times…


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Leafy winter walk

‘There’s no better way to kill a bad product than with good advertising.’ When I worked in advertising that phrase was our way of reminding ourselves to stay true in what we said about our product, but also, to try our best to make sure the product was good in the first place. If we launched very clever, successful ads and people responded and bought the product, which turned out to be a dud, word would spread fast!

Every time I hear the phrase ‘In these uncertain times…’ I think ‘that is advertising a lie’. Humans have never lived in certain times. I doubt there even exists such a thing in a parallel universe! All that we know about life is, at best, that certain things may be likely to happen, or not. The only certainty that may possibly exist for us is in this moment. Not a nanosecond from now, or an hour from now, but now… oops… gone.

What is my certain moment, is not your certain moment.


It is to our detriment that we buy into this well advertised concept, that somewhere out there, was, or might one day be, certain times. It is a bad product of faulty thinking.

Yesterday I was diagnosed with glaucoma, and partial sight loss in the lower portion of my visual field–both eyes. This was the third in a series of tests, so there is no doubt. For half the day I morphed through four of the five stages of grief and loss… denial… anger… bargaining and sadness. We’ve all been there.

I took the eye drops the doctor said for me to start ‘immediately’.

I went to bed. Stuck at sad.

This morning I woke, if not happy, at least aware of the many times in life I have been lucky. It was an unusually warm morning for the middle of winter, so I grabbed my camera to greet the sunrise. The amazing colours and cloud formations put everything into perspective again. The power of the thing that is bigger than us, more beautiful than artists can replicate, reassures me– restores me. All things are possible, and as they should be, if not always as they are advertised to be.

Stage five: acceptance.



Sunrise – Range Crescent, Alice Springs

In the wise words of Bob Dylan…

“The Times They Are A-Changin'”


Come gather ’round people

Wherever you roam

And admit that the waters

Around you have grown

And accept it that soon

You’ll be drenched to the bone

If your time to you

Is worth savin’

Then you better start swimmin’

Or you’ll sink like a stone

For the times they are a-changin’.


Come writers and critics

Who prophesize with your pen

And keep your eyes wide

The chance won’t come again





Good Morning

And don’t speak too soon

For the wheel’s still in spin

And there’s no tellin’ who

That it’s namin’

For the loser now

Will be later to win

For the times they are a-changin’.


Come senators, congressmen

Please heed the call

Don’t stand in the doorway

Don’t block up the hall

For he that gets hurt

Will be he who has stalled

There’s a battle outside

And it is ragin’

It’ll soon shake your windows




And rattle your walls

For the times they are a-changin’.


Come mothers and fathers

Throughout the land

And don’t criticize

What you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters

Are beyond your command

Your old road is

Rapidly agin’

Please get out of the new one

If you can’t lend your hand

For the times they are a-changin’.


The line it is drawn

The curse it is cast

The slow one now

Will later be fast

As the present now

Will later be past

The order is

Rapidly fadin’

And the first one now

Will later be last

For the times they are a-changin’.


Sun-kissed Macdonnell Ranges, millennia old, and ever new

(I shot all these photos on my walk this morning, isn’t it incredible the spectrum of light, shadow and colour?)

xx Ardys

We’re the People


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As I warned you a few weeks ago, we have been traveling. Upon return, a few days ago, I had no idea where I would begin to write about our experiences. And then, sadly, I woke to the news of Malaysian Airlines passenger plane that had been shot down over Ukraine. My thoughts brought into focus several threads of our travel experiences that I wanted to share with you.


Croatian Memorial for mass grave from war of Independence 1989


Budapest citadel, scars of 1956 war of Independence from Russia

All during our travels from Hungary to Croatia, Serbia, Romania, Bulgaria and finally to Turkey, we saw signs of war. Not only scars of distant wars, but the still healing wounds of recent battles; bombed out buildings, memorials to brave patriots, graves of entire families. It was sobering, as well as educational. Local guides in each of these places tried their best to tell an accurate version of their country’s story. We tried to make sense of it. But the complexity is mind boggling.

At the end of the tour we took a side trip three hundred kilometres west of Istanbul, to Gallipoli. Over 40,000 lives were lost there in WWI. Next year is the 100th anniversary of that battle. Strangely, it was one of the things that galvanised Australia into the country of today. The events there have not been glorified, but have been lovingly and respectfully acknowledged by the Turks as well as the invading forces. In some places the trenches between the Turks and the Aussie Diggers and New Zealand troops were only 30 feet apart. Some of those trenches still remain.


Site of first landing, Gallipoli, Turkey

When we first arrived at the viewing point just before Anzac Cove, the bus stopped and we got off. This was the mistaken landing, the point the troops were sent to, incorrectly. The beauty of the coastline belied the horrors that happened there. As my feet touched the ground it was as if the pressure sent fluid straight to my eyes, welling to the brims. What I can only describe as the presence of many souls, surrounded me and I wept for my adopted land and all those who perished on that inhospitable and impossible terrain.


Anzac Cove, Gallipoli


preserved trenches-Gallipoli

A couple of years ago we also visited Russia. We were fortunate to have a guest speaker on the cruise. She was a professor at a Russian University and through her wonderful talks she passionately expressed, wars are not a direct result of the people’s desires, but the so-called leaders, often not even elected by the people. That insight was shared again and again on our recent trip. When pushed to desperation, the people will rise up against the politicians/leaders/insurgents. But based on what we have seen, and the people we have spoken to, if the general population had a viable choice, there would be no wars.

On our return flight, I found an old classic movie I had never seen before—The Grapes of Wrath (1940). I’m not a particular fan of old movies but something about the timing and my state of mind caused me to select it. It was good. For those uninitiated, it is a story of the terrible ‘dust bowl’ days (1930’s) in the USA and how people were driven from their land and forced West to look for work and begin life again. Thematically, it reminded me of some of the countries we had just seen; people starting again, through no choice of their own, and with nothing.

The final lines in the movie stayed with me, an echo of many of the voices we have heard all over the world:

Ma Joad (matriarch of the story, talking to her husband, Pa):

Rich fellas come up an’ they die, an’ their kids ain’t no good an’ they die out. But we keep a’comin’. We’re the people that live. They can’t wipe us out; they can’t lick us. We’ll go on forever, Pa, ’cause we’re the people’.


one of ‘the people’ of Turkey

In the coming weeks when we are listening to the various versions of the Malaysian Airline tragedy, let us all remember to keep cool heads and encourage our leaders to keep cool heads. Those who do these things are the minority, not ‘the people’. There are myriad options, other than war and bombs. Whoever shot that missile and killed 298 people, were desperate rebels, which in no way justifies their actions, and they should be accountable. But let us remember, those who pick up the pieces and rebuild and go on forever, are the people. It is just so, everywhere.


Lone Pine, Gallipoli

in the eye of the beholder…


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Moth face

Just when I thought there was no time left for an inspired post before we travel, I had a guest. Sometimes these gifts just fall in our lap, if only we can take the time to appreciate them. Even though I was up to my neck, cleaning, washing clothes, packing, paying bills, answering email and making time for a video chat with my Mum, I took the time. And I took probably 150-200 photos. There were four or five that I felt were up to standard, and that is about normal. Some were taken with my new little macro lens, others with the iPhone native camera.

It was quite a cool 4 C (39 F), gray and very windy morning here in Alice, not at all enticing to take my usual walk with photo possibilities. So an opportunity to photograph this gorgeous creature, in the comfort of my home, made my day. Macro photography with the iPhone has opened a whole new world to me. It is a world that requires huge amounts of patience, but the rewards are amazing. Who knew the edge of a moth’s wing looked like the fringed edge of my Grandma’s lampshade?


fringed edge of moth wing

Or that the wing looks like fine embroidery with silk threads?


a fractal delusion

Or, that the tiny pieces that make up a moth wing are fractals? My husband looked at the photos and told me this. That is the difference between us. I see beauty and photograph it, he understands how it is created. So a fractal, in its simplest explanation, is this:

A fractal is a natural phenomenon and a mathematical set. What they have in common is a repeating pattern that displays at every scale.


Newly Graduated PhD with Mace

I am not a math person, so my hubby had to explain it in even simpler terms. And even then I had to ask my Uncle Google. It seems there is a mathematical calculation that can be applied for the shape of every fractal. That shape is replicated in such a way that whether you are looking at it under a powerful microscope, or a camera lens the shapes are still there, though they appear different depending on the scale of observation. When they combine, larger patterns are formed, such as that on the wing. Knowing that is why he graduated with his PhD last week. And recognising a good moment is why I took the photo!!


fractal perfection

The moth visited for the entire day, in the perfect, soft daylight, highlighting its body as it shifted and posed along the runway of my kitchen windowsill. This morning it is gone.

Probably, it is hiding in my woolen jumpers, happily munching holes in them.


(Most likely there will not be a predictable wireless internet connection from Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, Serbia or Turkey the next few weeks, so my posts will be in the lap of the Gods. Stay well.)







dark moments of a Light Chaser…


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In the life of every good Light Chaser, there comes a time of darkness. I had not intended to go ‘bush’ this morning when I pulled on my favourite plush micro-fleece lounging pants. I needed to get several domestic chores accomplished before heading to my friend’s house for a session of sanity saving coffee and tea.


Early shot

But… the light came. It came in dappled splashes escaping through a cloud studded sky onto the mountains and rocks and trees. I hurriedly finished my tasks and grabbed my camera, house key, ipod and glasses, and headed off toward the nearby hillside. I was keen to practice the techniques from the photography class I’ve been taking. Recent lessons were in landscape photography and also macro (close up) photography, so I grabbed my tiny little macro lens that fits my iPhone camera and shoved it into my pocket.

Once I arrived on the ridge of the hillside, I began looking for good positions to capture the clouds as well as the dramatic light on the rocks and ranges. I took a few shots but could see I needed a more unique angle to get the composition right. Realising I could squat down and have the rocks in the foreground and the ranges in the background, I ‘assumed the position’. Only problem was, I was on a small incline. As I squatted down, I lost my balance and…

e v e r   s o   g e n t l y   i n   s l o w   m o t i o n—rolled onto my bum and my back. No harm done. Or so I thought.

When I slowly raised myself up—ouch, ouch—OUCH!


The ouch-y seat of my pants!

The ouch-y seat of my pants!

Prickles everywhere...

Prickles everywhere…

I had rolled backward into a whole pile of them. I could feel them pricking me through my fleece pants and jacket with every move I made. And kangaroo poo. Since it is dry, little pebbles, it was more the indignity of rolling in poo that was offensive, rather than the actual evidence of it. I tried to brush the prickles off, but only got them lodged in my hands as a result. Bad move. Because they were on my backside, I couldn’t actually see where they were and my efforts did not have much effect anyway. Prickles hang tightly to nice fleecy fabrics, so they weren’t going anywhere in a hurry.

Bush Tomato flower

Bush Tomato flower

See the spines on the Bush tomato too? Such a prickly place to live!!

See the spines on the Bush tomato too? Such a prickly place to live!!

I decided I’d gotten a few decent photos, and needed to be getting home so I could shower and get to my friend’s house. I started down the hill but got distracted by a lovely bush tomato plant and reached into my pocket for my tiny macro lens… it was gone! Oh, no! My gorgeous new toy gone before I’d learned to use it properly! I knew where I had fallen rolled, (that spot is indelibly etched in my mind) so I returned about a quarter of the way up the hill again to inspect the scene. Thank goodness, I spied the tiny little lens near the base of a clump of grass.

My tiny Olloclip macro lens, about 20 x 25mm (3/4 inch) in size.

My tiny Olloclip macro lens, about 20 x 25mm (3/4 inch) in size.

Joanna, Goddess of small lost things helped with this one... see the key below on the rock?

I invoked Joanna, The Goddess of Small Lost Things to help with this one… see the key below on the rock?

Back down the hill to the place where I had seen the bush tomato. As I was setting up the shot, I reached for my glasses. Gone. Oh dear, and what about my house key… gone. What a goose, I was feeling. How does an intrepid Light Chaser get herself into a situation like this?

Back up the hill to the prickle patch. I scrutinised the area, breath held and fingers crossed for luck. THERE. The glasses, fortunately, in thin red frames were easily seen, dangling from a twig, and underneath them, back in the shadows, my house key. Deep breath, jubilation, let’s get home!

Every step I took, all the way home, was a moment of prickly pain. At home I carefully peeled the clothing off in the laundry and left it for when I returned from my friend’s house.

Macro photo of the tiniest prickles seen on the jacket

Macro photo of the tiniest prickles seen on the jacket

one of half a dozen spines embedded in my hands. This is a macro photo magnifying it x15 times

one of half a dozen spines embedded in my hands. This is a macro photo magnifying it x15 times

some of the 50 minutes worth of prickles--removed

some of the 50 minutes worth of prickles–removed







Once I finally set to the task, it took just under an hour to remove the prickles from my pants and jacket. It remains to be seen if the tiny spine remnants make them unwearable. They certainly remained lodged in a few places in my hands. In a desperate effort to remove the little devils… I resorted to tools at hand… a pair of 10X jewellers glasses that I use when making jewellery. Unflattering, but effective.

feminine and attractive

feminine and attractive


This morning, I used them in the best light in the house, the bathroom, to see if I could apply the tweezers and pull the little spines out of my hands. It worked. I put the glasses down beside the sink and left them there while I showered. On my way out my hands were full and I left them there again. Meanwhile, my husband used the bathroom. Now, here is the question for you all… did he notice them and wonder what in the world his weirdo wife was up to this time? Or did he not even see them at all?

I do love a good adventure and a little mystery, don’t you??

The shot that got me 'prickled'

The shot that got me ‘prickled’. Well worth the pain, in this instance!



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