Where have I been? The last two years have been a turbulent 700 odd days. My recipe for work and much of my life was deemed redundant at the end of 2015. 18 years of ‘cooking and baking’ a certain type of recipe, using ‘real’ ingredients was deemed a ‘flop’ and like a souffle that dipped in the middle my life was crushed. Year one, aka 2016, was one spent in bed, trying to get out of bed, working on projects to prove myself worthy and sleep. It was a relief to see Year one go!
I am now attempting to rediscover the real ‘real’ me. What do I stand for? What is worthy of my energy and attention? I am still evolving and the recipe keeps changing. Things continue to change and I continue to ‘cook’, a different recipe to be sure, but a ‘real’ recipe and method for the future!
Category: Memoirs
Preserving self
My dear reader,
I have been preserving my sanity lately. Stewing on my current life situation and recovering from a Carpal Tunnel operation. Nearly 7 weeks of very limited cooking, typing and no sewing has given me time to reflect on what’s cooking in my kitchen. Time to enact some positive changes!
I will be back soon. With a new post of my Recipe of a life. Looking forward to focussing on what I want to say and saying it well.
Until I am back in the kitchen, farewell!
1963 – 1970 white bread and jam
A reblog of my 1st post. I am now ready to share this with others 🙂
Dear reader,
Ingredients:
1 White Bread Aussie girl(I cannot help this)
1 Country childhood
1 family of 8
1 large extended and close family
Lots of ‘Good cooks’
Method: I commence my story here, a trip into the back story of Australia’s food history.
My life with food began long ago at my mother’s breast. I fed well and found nourishment and solace early on from food much to my self esteem’s and self image’s chagrin.
All through my life food – the good, the bad and the uneatable has played an integral ingredient within my journey through childhood, parenthood, full-time work, trauma and my social life.
It has been my enemy, my counsellor, my friend and my God.
There are so many parallels between food and my life story.
I ponder how we are so ‘in love’ with food shows, and why? What are we missing? Why do we…
View original post 129 more words
1963-1970 White bread & jam: Changing the recipe
Ingredients
Me
Late 1960’s
Mum and Dad
The house at Barraport Rd
Method:
As the end of the decade began to draw near, I became more aware of my surroundings. But what did I see? I remember the house at Barraport Rd, my home until January 1976.
So many aspects of my childhood return to me as I reflect upon it as an older human being. I find all my thoughts and memories want to tumble out together. I want to share so many of these recollections with you my dear reader. I cannot promise they are exactly as I remember but I feel confident they reiterate and paint the world as I knew it.
Some early memories of Barraport Rd.
My memories include sharing a double bed in the front room with my younger sister Samantha. I remember the washhouse outside where my mother did the washing with the wringer machine and the copper. I remember a mega catch of yabbies by my Pa Hayes and Dad, being cooked up in the copper. Although this memory is enhanced because of 8mm footage.
This tin shed also housed the wood for the kindling. I used to chop the kindling, and found this soothing.
We had an outside toilet with no lights, which seemed like a mile away when it was dark. Even during the day I found it hard to close the door. It really was like a throne sitting there in full view of the road to Quambatook, I was once ‘caught on the job’ and was mortified that I had left the door open. Fear is so cruel isn’t it?
I recall the arrival of the ‘twin tub’ washing machine and the revolution this brought to wash days. I remember my Grandma’s twin tub jumping around the floor of her laundry and watching the amazing spin cycle.
The garden is still vivid in my mind to this day, my Mother was and still is a passionate gardener.The garden Mum and Dad developed at Boort has so many formative memories for me… this garden along with my Great Aunts’ gardens have shaped my passion for gardening. I remember missing the garden terribly when we moved to Werribee. It had provided solitude and peace for me and soothed my anxiety.
The long cyprus hedge, they cut the centre out of it to create a place to sit in the shade, the pomegranate bush, the walnut tree, the autumn ‘yellow crocus’ [not really crocus but looked like it] in a ring around the walnut tree. The may bush and sparaxis, a little oasis of colour and imagination.The cooling shade of a massive pear tree that didn’t fruit properly and we had to pick up the rotting fruit. 😦
These few memories are of an analog era, black and white, seemingly simple and clear cut. But Australian life was about to get a makeover. The recipe was changing! My childhood was being adapted by the impending new decade of the 70’s. The ‘what is’ was quickly becoming the ‘what was’. Did I cope? Probably not very well, but I was swept along like the rest of Australia into the turbulent, inspiring and raucous 1970s. The world was about to really take notice of what Australia had cooking in the kitchen. The recipes of Australian life were finally in colour!
1963-70 White bread & jam: Where do you get it?
Ingredients:
Godfrey St Boort
Me
My parents
Shop keepers
Method:
How did people in those days shop? And what the hell did they actually eat?
Until I left home in 1983, every green vegetable was nearly cooked to death, every root vegetable was mashed with butter and salt and served with chops or mutton [no lamb in my day] or mince.
But I distract myself, lets get back to before 1963
My Grandparents relied on what they had access too!
Milk from the cow on the Common OR from a friend OR the horse and cart delivery to the door.
Bread from the bakery, baked in a wood fired oven, I actually would visit a baker at the back of his home to buy bread for my Mum.
It was white high tin loaf and if you were lucky you got to split the loaf, peel the slivers of bread and eat it.
Roast chicken was a LUXURY, it was only at Christmas or if one of the hens needed to go!
Fruit usually was picked from a tree and that is when you ate them, or gorged on them!
The recipes always reflected what was available or in glut. And most importantly reflected right back at you what they DIDN’T have!
By the time I was born, the town I lived in had a Grocers store aka an independent and early version of a supermarket.
During the 60’s, the grocery store became a ‘Four Square’ supermarket. By the end of the 60’s, I can recall sitting in the car with my siblings as Mum did the grocery shopping. We apparently fought non stop according to our Aunty Robyn she could hear us as she walked up the street.
I remember ice cream in a metal tin, broken biscuits from a bag and weighed by the pound. Those broken biscuits enabled me to taste those ‘choc chip’ biscuits! We never could afford them!
I cannot remember a fresh lettuce? Why? I think they were only sold at the Milkbar. Did we buy them?
These are hazy memories but I consider them part of my psyche. Memories of an era that no longer exists. That doesn’t mean it is a bad thing. I love the nuances of Australia’s cultural identity now.
Food has played such an evolving role upon how Australians view themselves. For myself, I love knowing that I ate Ardmona tinned fruit salad with Cornflakes and cream for dessert. Getting a cherry was the ‘cherry on top’!
1963-70 White bread & Jam: What’s cooking?
Ingredients:
Me
My Mum and Dad
3 Siblings
The 1960’s
Immigration
Method:
My early years of life continued in relative simplicity. By the time I was 2 and a half I had a sibling. These continued to arrive quite regularly over the next 7 years.
Alas, I remember very little of the 60’s and can only reflect upon the decade from hindsight and history. My early upbringing was certainly a White Australian one.
I consider my parents would be classed as ‘old fashioned’ or ‘conservative’ they were certainly not hippies. So my childhood was based more upon the social ideals and mores of the decade prior to my birth than upon the turmoil and new ideas of the 60’s decade.I was definitely a 1960’s child not a child of the 60’s!
Even though I was being nurtured and raised within this cocoon of old Australia; all around me was the bubbling, stirring, mixing and blending of new and old cultures, new concepts, new visions and the beginning of the cultural, feministic and political revolutions that were to change Australia for ever.
So what was cooking in Aussie kitchens? I was certainly still eating some kind of meat and three vegetables, but a mere 100 miles away, there were Italians, Greeks, Dutch, Chinese, etc families eating their own traditional meals.
And so the incubation period of a new way of Australian eating was commencing right under everyone’s noses.
I cannot tell you how fortunate I consider myself to have been part of this transition.
But then that is another recipe!
Back blogging
Back to blogging, about to bump into June already why has regular blogging been so difficult?
Last week I spent 3 hours at a motivating writing workshop with Carly Findlay at Writers Victoria.
I am back to blogging!
0-7 In the beginning….
My story will be even longer if I can’t get this story out there 🙂 reblogging it to see whether it is searchable. Hope you get to read it 🙂
It all began 8.30pm on St. Joseph’s Day, 50 years ago to be chronologically correct. I arrived quite quickly and with minimal damage to my mother. Although legend tells she received 19 needles before, during or after my birth. *
I was considered very beautiful by my Father, his fear was this beauty wouldn’t last. Being a beautiful baby is often the high point of a person’s good looks. In my case it is probably true.
I was fortunate to be the first child, therefore I received non stop attention of which I remember nothing. My first home was a 16ft caravan in the back yard of my paternal grandparents.
I decided to walk at 9 months, much too early to realise I would be spending most of the next 50 years standing up. Yep, the stupid things you do when you are young.
My Mother entered me in The…
View original post 75 more words
0-7 In the beginning….
It all began 8.30pm on St. Joseph’s Day, 50 years ago to be chronologically correct. I arrived quite quickly and with minimal damage to my mother. Although legend tells she received 19 needles before, during or after my birth. *
I was considered very beautiful by my Father, his fear was this beauty wouldn’t last. Being a beautiful baby is often the high point of a person’s good looks. In my case it is probably true.
I was fortunate to be the first child, therefore I received non stop attention of which I remember nothing. My first home was a 16ft caravan in the back yard of my paternal grandparents.
I decided to walk at 9 months, much too early to realise I would be spending most of the next 50 years standing up. Yep, the stupid things you do when you are young.
My Mother entered me in The Sun beautiful baby contest, I was adorned with only a red satin ribbon, I have the photo somewhere. I was a page 3 girl alright but it was the wrong paper. This foray into public nudity was a first, whether it is the last remains to be seen.
Rest assured dear reader, you will not be subject to any visual images of this possible event.
Until next time.
*Note to reader: Memorise the number 19!
Longstory of a shortgirl
The first 50 years have been the hardest….Ha! My life has been happening while I was making other plans. [John Lennon]
The desire to write a book has always been strong; that is until my subconscious mind gets in the way. So blogging here I come!
I intend to chronicle the story of how I finally realised that I have actually been living my life.
Maybe, just maybe this might be a worthwhile read and to hell with my subconscious mind, those voices are getting annoying.
I am setting some criteria though:
1. I will always be honest no matter how embarrassing the event for me
2. I will use false names for certain characters from my life story
3. I will not leave out ‘icky’ bits
Stay tuned 🙂
Long story of a short girl 