Posted in Musings on January 18, 2012| 42 Comments »
I love blogging, but I’ve come to realise that I need to take the occasional break from it, or it starts to feel like work.
So while my boys are on holidays, I’m going to take a little breather to spend some time with them. I’ll still be reading and replying to comments, there just won’t be any new posts in the next couple of weeks.
See you all in February! x
Posted in Musings on January 5, 2012| 74 Comments »
1. In 2012, I resolve not to put a knife in the sink ever again. I am too old to be sitting in Casualty, waiting to be stitched.
2. In 2012, I resolve to do 20 sit-ups a day, and to walk on the treadmill or workout on the rowing machine at least three times a week. Exceptions will be made for illness (hangovers don’t count).
3. In 2012, I resolve to make major decisions based on one primary consideration: “Will this make our lives better?” Surprisingly, things which promise more money will often do the exact opposite. “All that glistens isn’t gold”, my father used to say.
4. In 2012, I resolve to try at least one new recipe a week. Sometimes it’s easy to fall into a rut. Thankfully I have this blog, and all of you, to keep me on track with this one!
5. In 2012, I resolve to listen to more old music, because I’ve finally realised that the stuff I was listening to in my teens and early twenties is what really makes me happy. To that end, The Ultimate Bee Gees Collection, The Very Best of Dolly Parton and Bob Seger’s Stranger in Town have just arrived in the mail from Amazon. I’m anticipating a collective eye-roll from all of you, and a rude phone call from Davey.
That’s pretty much it for me. Did you make any New Year’s Resolutions this year?
Posted in Food & Friends, Musings on December 14, 2011| 61 Comments »
I’ve been making this simple recipe for over a decade. The cooked egg noodles are stir-fried with meat and vegetables, then seasoned with oyster sauce.
When I made it last week, I used egg noodles that I’d bought from Ray and Barbara at Harkola. The dish included locally grown enoki mushrooms from Mary, ham offcuts from the cheese shop, garlic scapes from Diana, and zucchinis from our neighbour Mark. The cooking oil was pressed from olives grown by Pete’s cousin Andrew, the three eggs were laid by our beloved chooks, and the leeks, onion and garlic were grown in our backyard garden.
We are on a journey, Pete and I, and we’re taking our boys along for the ride.
We now have more knowledge and awareness of where our food comes from than ever before. Over the past few years, we’ve become friends with the folks who supply our ingredients – we’ve visited Diana and Ian on their garlic farm, watched Johnny grow his business to a national level, and laughed with Mark when he found zucchinis growing in his pumpkin patch.
These days, our food feels real. We eat eggs laid by chickens we know, occasionally manage an entire salad bowl sourced from our backyard, go on quests to find hormone-free grassfed beef, and bake all our sourdough bread from scratch.
None of this would have been possible without Fig Jam and Lime Cordial, and all of you who have been kind enough to read my occasionally demented ravings. I’ve made new friendships and rekindled old ones, and been constantly inspired by my fellow bloggers. Discovering new mushrooms or perfecting a recipe for fudge is infinitely more rewarding when I can share the excitement with kindred spirits.
A friend asked me recently why I was still blogging.
“It’s been nearly three years”, she pointed out, “and you haven’t made any money out of it.”
I explained to her that it doesn’t actually have anything to do with making money, although we’re certainly living more frugally than we used to. We started this blog with the aim of recording our adventures, but we’ve found that it does a great deal more than that. Thanks to all of you, it now motivates and inspires the ongoing journey! ♥
Posted in Food & Friends, Musings on November 19, 2011| 37 Comments »
When my children were little, I loved them so much that it would occasionally cause my heart to ache. I’m not speaking metaphorically either – sometimes the feeling would be so overwhelming that I’d actually feel physical discomfort.
They were so loving and trusting and perfect that I never wanted them to grow up. I couldn’t imagine what kind of relationship I might have with them as adults.
Of course, they did grow up, and they’ve enriched our lives in the process, beyond anything we could ever have dreamed of.
Big Boy is now eighteen. Every Friday morning, he heads into town to do a couple of hours paid work for his Auntie Kate. It’s not much, but it gives him a tiny bit of spending money.
Around midday, I’ll get a phone call…
“Mum, have you sorted anything for lunch yet?”
“Not yet, what did you have in mind?”
“Would you like a pork roll?”
And then Big Boy, one of the great loves of my life, will spend $5 of his hard-earned money and buy me a pork salad roll from the Vietnamese bakery. It’s full of processed mystery meat, heartburn-inducing chilli, and a strange, unidentifiable pâté, encased in a crusty white bread roll.
I devour it with enormous enthusiasm.
With every bite, I think to myself…“Big Boy loves me.”
Posted in Musings on November 9, 2011| 49 Comments »
I’ve bought a ring for Sarah.
She passed away last week, after an extended battle with cancer. She was Pete’s cousin, and my friend.
Sarah was warm, funny and above all, honest – both with her words and her feelings. My occasional phone conversations with her would lower my heart rate, in the same way that settling into a comfy lounge or sipping hot tea does. I found her incredibly easy to talk to – words would tumble out, and our discussions would meander through the antics of our children, the quirky ups and downs of our everyday lives, and family happenings.
We met nearly twenty years ago, at Pete’s grandmother’s house. We both adored the old lady, and a few years later, formulated a mad plan to rescue her from the nursing home when she became too infirm to live on her own. It was never going to happen, of course, but that was Sarah’s way – lead with the heart, and try to figure out the details later.
We lived in different cities, so we only saw her every few years or so. She and I would chat once or twice a year on the phone, often for an hour or more, and then be caught up on each other’s lives. The last conversation we had was just a couple of weeks before she died, and it was a short one, as she was weak and struggling to talk. Even then, she wanted to know how we all were, what we planned to do for Christmas, how the kids were going at school. She always made us feel like we were special to her.
She had just fifty-three years of life, but it was so full of good things. A lot of pain too, but I think she’d have said that the good stuff far outweighed the hard times. She had wonderful parents, sisters who were her best friends, and a loving husband and children who adored her. She had a rewarding and creative career, great friends, and a community that supported her.
Sarah darling, you were loved so dearly by so many. Truly, you had a life well lived.
And so I bought a ring for Sarah. A big chunky sterling silver ring, which fills up my whole hand. Whenever I wear it, I will remember the times that she made me laugh until I cried, and how I would relay the stories to Pete, and then he too, would laugh until tears came. I will remember the times when I was struggling with Small Man’s illness, and Sarah would just listen, without judgment or endless advice. I will remember the dozen or so meals we shared, the handmade Christmas cards, the blankets we traded for artwork, and the sheer joy of having known her.
Rest in peace, Sarah. You will be missed more than you could ever have imagined.
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