Fig Jam and Lime Cordial

Over the past few years, we’ve learned a lot of new skills.

We grow vegetables, bake bread, and make Greek yoghurt.  All our cakes and cookies are baked at home, we temper chocolate, and there is a healthy supply of homemade vanilla extract brewing in the linen cupboard.

Our friends will occasionally ask us why we bother. They point out that in Sydney’s Inner West (where we live), there are excellent artisan bakers and fabulous organic markets.  And over the years, I’ve given a variety of answers – our lifestyle saves us money, we eat less processed foods, it sets a good example for our sons. But lately I’ve been giving the question more serious thought.

Four years ago (almost to this day) when we started Fig Jam and Lime Cordial, Pete and I were struggling.  Not in our relationship, which thankfully has always been solid, but with a conflux of life circumstances that had left us badly shaken and unsure of the future.

At that time we were already baking bread. Gradually, we tried new things – there were so many aspects of life that we didn’t have control over at the time, but we could still figure out how to churn butter from old cream or turn a box of apricots into jam. Recording our adventures on this blog meant that they weren’t lost in the ether, and gave us an opportunity to share them with all of you.

And I suddenly realised the other day what the past four years have really been about. Our psyche – our sense of self-worth – had been battered. We had lost confidence in our ability to deal with what life was throwing at us. And gradually, over the past few years, we’ve worked at restoring it.  By trying new things, and eventually mastering them, we have incrementally rebuilt our self-confidence.

Every time we learn a new skill, regardless of how minor it is, it empowers us.

That empowerment is double-sided – firstly, we gain knowledge which can often be used to the benefit of our family and friends. Perhaps more importantly though, with each addition to our skill set, we grow more confident in our ability to tackle the new and unknown.  The future is less daunting when we can look back on our past achievements.

And it doesn’t matter whether or not it’s a skill that we’ll continue to use – each and every time we accomplish something, we’re able to say to ourselves, “Look at what we can do! Who would have thought that was possible?”

In short, it makes us feel good about ourselves.

Dearhearts, life can be brutal. Sometimes we are weighed down by what feels like unbearable worries, other times the rug can be whipped out from under our feet. If that happens, the advice we offer from our limited experience is this – take baby steps to restore your self-confidence.  Seek a sense of achievement in small, manageable tasks, and gradually build upon it.

It doesn’t matter what you undertake – I have friends who have found incredible joy and satisfaction in everything from sewing to basket weaving to astronomy – just don’t start with anything too big.  Knit a scarf before you attempt a sweater.  And accept that skills worth having sometimes take time to learn – don’t be disillusioned if your results aren’t perfect straight away.

The older we get, the more we realise how little control we actually have over what the world throws at us. All we can do is shore up our own self-esteem, build its foundations as best we can, and hope that it will fortify us against the vagaries of life.

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New Year is a time when we’re supposed to make resolutions – public proclamations about how we’ve going to improve or change ourselves over the coming twelve months.  I’ve just had a look at the ones I made last year, and apart from the sit-ups, I actually didn’t do too badly.

This year, I thought I’d try something different. New Year is always a time for introspection, but instead of looking forward, this year I thought I’d look back and try to consolidate the things I’ve learned in the past.  Perhaps then I can figure out what resolutions still need to be made.

In no particular order, here are five (quite random) life lessons that I’ve learned, often the hard way…

. . . . .

1. Life is an adventure. It is full and rich and complex, and therefore, by necessity, parts of it are going to be crappy.

As some of you know, 2012 was a tough year for us. We were bounced around and buffeted by things which weren’t really within our control. But it was also a great year, because Pete, Big Boy, Small Man and I are on a journey together. We laugh, cry, rejoice and mourn as a family.  And as I look around at so many of our friends who are divorced and/or estranged from their children, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the loving, happy family life we’ve been blessed with.

As I’m drafting this post, Small Man keeps coming in to tell me about a new game he’s playing, and Big Boy has gone to buy us pork rolls for lunch.  We have a sixteen year old who talks to us constantly, and a twenty year old who goes out of his way to take care of us.  When viewed in that light, most of the dramas that life throws at us pale into insignificance.

. . . . .

2. New skills require practice.

I’ve blogged about this before, but I think it deserves to be on my reflections list – simply because it was a lesson that took me so many years to learn.

The flaky pastry dough that I mentioned a couple of days ago is a good example – my first attempt was ordinary, my second attempt much better. In the past few days, I’ve had three more goes at the fraisage technique, and each time the results have been a little more pleasing.

It has taken me until my late 40s to understand that it takes time and persistence to hone new skills. These days, I’m rarely disappointed, disillusioned or surprised when a first attempt goes pear-shaped.  In fact, it’s the things that take longer to master that seem to bring the greatest satisfaction.

. . . . .

3. People can be shy.

This is something that took me ages to figure out. As you might have noticed (or guessed), I’m quite extroverted, and in the past I would often misinterpret shyness in others for arrogance or indifference.  These days, when I meet someone who appears aloof, I automatically assume they’re shy unless proven otherwise. And I’ve ended up with some amazing friends as  a result.

. . . . .

4. Contentment takes work.

Philippians 4:11 states, “For I have learned, in whatever state I am, to be content”.

Unless a person is gifted with a particularly placid temperament, contentment will always be a work in progress rather than a blessing that falls from the sky.  It isn’t something which comes about when all the stars in one’s personal universe are aligned, but rather a state of mind which needs to be actively sought and cultivated, regardless of life circumstances. This is much easier said than done, of course, but I’m working on it.

. . . . .

5. Relationships matter.

Family, friends, community – these are the things which define us – more than wealth, career or success.  A loving family matters more than a fancy house; job satisfaction outweighs salary; great neighbours are more important than land values.

As we get older, our decisions on how and where we spend our money are more often determined by the relationship we have with the provider of the goods or service, and less by the actual dollar cost.  We seek out honest tradesmen, specialist providores, ethical meat growers and restauranteurs who truly care about their food and staff.  If things cost more as a result, then we simply buy less.

. . . . .

I’d love to hear your thoughts, if you’re inclined to share them.  There is always so much more to learn!

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By Edward Lear

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

. . .

Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

. . .

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

. . . . .

Sharing one of my favourite poems with you this Sunday morning. 

I used to read it to the boys when they were little –
Small Man would dance around “by the light of the moon” as I read it. 

Hope you’re all having a gentle, mellow weekend. ♥

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Small Man, when he was young. This was taken at about age 7.

I’m very protective of Small Man, which is why I don’t write all that much about him. He was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer when he was three months old, by which time it had already reached stage four. Many long hospital days followed.

Small Man’s cancer was totally gone by the time he was three, but it hasn’t been completely smooth sailing since then. In the years that have followed, he’s had a range of other health issues.

Fast forward a dozen years.

I walked into the dining room early this morning, and found Small Man, who is now sixteen, multi-tasking. The laptop was open to the daily Wikipedia updates, he was “Reviewing the Kinetic Molecular Theory” on his Kindle, and there was a live webcam of grey wolves in Minnesota on the iPad…

It hasn’t been an easy journey, and I’m sure there are challenges yet to come, but at this point in time, our youngest son is having the time of his life.

He is completely and totally fascinated with the universe.  There aren’t enough hours in the day for him to learn all the things he would like to know.  He’s teaching himself organic chemistry, has a part in the school play, and is working on his golf swing.  He is an accomplished amateur magician, enjoys chess and Latin, and has just joined the photography club at school.

So why am I writing this?

Because I now have the gift of hindsight. If anyone had told me when Small Man was two that he would be such an intelligent, interesting human being, I’d have told them they were being optimistic. I’d have been grateful back then for him just to be alive.

To any parent out there with a young child who is unwell, or struggling – I don’t presume to know your situation, but I offer you our story in the hope that it will give you encouragement. I wish I could tell you that everything will be ok in the long run, but I can’t. What I can do is urge you not to give up hope. And to offer you my empathy – I know only too well that the road ahead can sometimes seem so bumpy that it’s hard to maintain your equilibrium.

My wish for you, from the bottom of my heart, is this: at some time in the future, may you also experience the sheer joy and thankfulness that I felt this morning.

. . . . .

God bless us, every one!

A Christmas Carol (1843)
by Charles Dickens

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