Sunday, 18 March 2012
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Baking bread again. I go through cycles, hardly ever baking it in the summer. It is a cold weather activity, for sure. Right now, I'm into a wonderful oatmeal bread recipe. There is no fat, and only a teaspoon of honey, lots of rolled oats, unbleached flour, and steel cut oatmeal. Very yummy.
So while it is starting it's second rise, I'm hard boiling eggs for the potato salad I'm going to make. I've already mixed up the salmon and will head out to the store shortly to pick up some coleslaw. Not only do I like coleslaw for itself, but I really like it in sandwiches and wraps with salmon, or egg, tuna, or the like. I like to put things together on Sundays to take for lunches during the week. Too expensive to eat out every day.
Since I wrote about Mum the other day, I've been thinking about Dad. Next post will be my thoughts on him, and our relationship. Quite different from mine with Mum.
So while it is starting it's second rise, I'm hard boiling eggs for the potato salad I'm going to make. I've already mixed up the salmon and will head out to the store shortly to pick up some coleslaw. Not only do I like coleslaw for itself, but I really like it in sandwiches and wraps with salmon, or egg, tuna, or the like. I like to put things together on Sundays to take for lunches during the week. Too expensive to eat out every day.
Since I wrote about Mum the other day, I've been thinking about Dad. Next post will be my thoughts on him, and our relationship. Quite different from mine with Mum.
Friday, 9 March 2012
Celebrating Mum
Yesterday was the first anniversary of my mother's death. She died March 8, 2011, and would have been 92 in June 2011. I miss her.
We became such good friends in the last 20 years of her life. She would phone me almost every Sunday morning before she went to church, and we would mostly talk about the little things. She would tell me what news she knew of people in the village, what she had had to eat for supper (or breakfast), describe the new quilt the group was working on, the latest news of our far-flung family - just the little things of a comfortable life.
One time, she told me that she thought Mr. --- was flirting with her at cards. I asked her if she felt complimented, but she said no, it made her uncomfortable. Dad had been dead for several years, and she said that though she missed him, she had no intention of getting involved with another man. She was quite enjoying her singleness and her independence. Then a couple of weeks later, she told me that Mr. --- and rejected her for a younger woman. She was laughing because he was in his late 70s and when he found out she was 83, he "dumped me for a young woman in her 60s!" We had a good chuckle over that.
She considered me a safe person to talk to and if something was bothering her, she would tell me about it. She trusted me to keep it to myself. Sometimes she would feel hurt because of something someone said to her, and she would need to get it off her chest. Other times it might be a worry she had and we would talk it out.
I guess it was in July that the phone rang on a Sunday morning and my first thought was, "There's mum." Then realized that I would never get another Sunday morning call from her. That hit me hard. But I think that was when I finally accepted that she was gone. I still think of her a lot, but in fond memory, not grief.
Mum was involved and engaged in the church, the village, Women's Institute, quilting, knitting, reading, playing cards, and she loved to watch the news and BBC comedy shows. She had to give up beloved flower garden because of her knees (both had been replaced) and really missed growing her glads. I brought some of her daffodils that had naturalized back to plant in my garden. She loved flowers. Connie and I would send her a bouquet every birthday and Christmas. She would keep the bouquet alive as long as possible, pulling out the dead flowers and rearranging the others to fill the gap. With the Christmas bouquet, she would still have all of the greenery, bow and ornaments sitting on the coffee table months later!
Mum was the communicator in the family. She wrote letters to friends and relatives all over the world. None of her children have that gene! I remember how frustrated she would get with Dad after he retired. She was used to sitting down at the kitchen table after he had left for work, pushing the dishes aside, and writing 2 or 3 letters before she cleaned up the dishes from breakfast. When Dad retired, as soon as breakfast was done, he was up and nudging her to clear the table, wash the dishes while he dried, and get going on the day's activities. He always helped with the chores, washing & drying the dishes, helping with the vacuuming, etc., but it messed up mum's routines! It took a while before they settled into routines that suited them both.
Mum was also adventurous, always ready for a trip somewhere, even if it was a drive out to see the fall colours from Covy Hill. I surprised her with a road trip a few years ago. I arranged in secret with friends and relatives in Ottawa and Toronto to put us up. Then I arrived at her door with a rented car. She actually didn't recognize me for a moment - she says it is because she was not expecting me! She was so excited when I told her that we were hitting the road in the morning, and would be driving around for eight days. It was a great time for both of us. I wish now that I had been able to do every year.
Mum's 90th birthday:
In the year 2000, David and Lorrie, with some long distance help from me and Connie, arranged a 90th Birthday Party for Mum. We rented the Presbyterian church hall, bought food, and sent out a village invitation. Mum was so pleased with that day. So many people came out to celebrate with us. People brought cards, flowers, and two cakes. The special cake had a "quilt block" on the top made with fondant icing. Mum wouldn't let anyone eat it! She kept it for several weeks, eating one diamond every once in a while until it was gone.
I made a book through the iPhoto service with Apple to celebrate the day. I actually made 2 books, each a different format, and sent both to her with the instruction to pick the one she like best, and I'd keep the other. She never could decide which one she liked best, and informed me she was keeping them both, and I could have the one I wanted after she died!
Love you Mum.
We became such good friends in the last 20 years of her life. She would phone me almost every Sunday morning before she went to church, and we would mostly talk about the little things. She would tell me what news she knew of people in the village, what she had had to eat for supper (or breakfast), describe the new quilt the group was working on, the latest news of our far-flung family - just the little things of a comfortable life.
One time, she told me that she thought Mr. --- was flirting with her at cards. I asked her if she felt complimented, but she said no, it made her uncomfortable. Dad had been dead for several years, and she said that though she missed him, she had no intention of getting involved with another man. She was quite enjoying her singleness and her independence. Then a couple of weeks later, she told me that Mr. --- and rejected her for a younger woman. She was laughing because he was in his late 70s and when he found out she was 83, he "dumped me for a young woman in her 60s!" We had a good chuckle over that.
She considered me a safe person to talk to and if something was bothering her, she would tell me about it. She trusted me to keep it to myself. Sometimes she would feel hurt because of something someone said to her, and she would need to get it off her chest. Other times it might be a worry she had and we would talk it out.
I guess it was in July that the phone rang on a Sunday morning and my first thought was, "There's mum." Then realized that I would never get another Sunday morning call from her. That hit me hard. But I think that was when I finally accepted that she was gone. I still think of her a lot, but in fond memory, not grief.
Mum was involved and engaged in the church, the village, Women's Institute, quilting, knitting, reading, playing cards, and she loved to watch the news and BBC comedy shows. She had to give up beloved flower garden because of her knees (both had been replaced) and really missed growing her glads. I brought some of her daffodils that had naturalized back to plant in my garden. She loved flowers. Connie and I would send her a bouquet every birthday and Christmas. She would keep the bouquet alive as long as possible, pulling out the dead flowers and rearranging the others to fill the gap. With the Christmas bouquet, she would still have all of the greenery, bow and ornaments sitting on the coffee table months later!
Mum was the communicator in the family. She wrote letters to friends and relatives all over the world. None of her children have that gene! I remember how frustrated she would get with Dad after he retired. She was used to sitting down at the kitchen table after he had left for work, pushing the dishes aside, and writing 2 or 3 letters before she cleaned up the dishes from breakfast. When Dad retired, as soon as breakfast was done, he was up and nudging her to clear the table, wash the dishes while he dried, and get going on the day's activities. He always helped with the chores, washing & drying the dishes, helping with the vacuuming, etc., but it messed up mum's routines! It took a while before they settled into routines that suited them both.
Mum was also adventurous, always ready for a trip somewhere, even if it was a drive out to see the fall colours from Covy Hill. I surprised her with a road trip a few years ago. I arranged in secret with friends and relatives in Ottawa and Toronto to put us up. Then I arrived at her door with a rented car. She actually didn't recognize me for a moment - she says it is because she was not expecting me! She was so excited when I told her that we were hitting the road in the morning, and would be driving around for eight days. It was a great time for both of us. I wish now that I had been able to do every year.
Mum's 90th birthday:
In the year 2000, David and Lorrie, with some long distance help from me and Connie, arranged a 90th Birthday Party for Mum. We rented the Presbyterian church hall, bought food, and sent out a village invitation. Mum was so pleased with that day. So many people came out to celebrate with us. People brought cards, flowers, and two cakes. The special cake had a "quilt block" on the top made with fondant icing. Mum wouldn't let anyone eat it! She kept it for several weeks, eating one diamond every once in a while until it was gone.
I made a book through the iPhoto service with Apple to celebrate the day. I actually made 2 books, each a different format, and sent both to her with the instruction to pick the one she like best, and I'd keep the other. She never could decide which one she liked best, and informed me she was keeping them both, and I could have the one I wanted after she died!
Love you Mum.
Thursday, 8 March 2012
making bread as a metaphore for life
first you have to gather the ingredients
then you have to put them together in the order that makes it work
then you have to mix the ingredients
kneading is like meditation - empty your mind and just knead the dough
patience next - waiting for the first rise.
punching down, and waiting.
forming the shape
waiting for the next rise
baking
cooling
eating
Life is good
then you have to put them together in the order that makes it work
then you have to mix the ingredients
kneading is like meditation - empty your mind and just knead the dough
patience next - waiting for the first rise.
punching down, and waiting.
forming the shape
waiting for the next rise
baking
cooling
eating
Life is good
So I was talking to a friend tonight about how one never really gets over being bullied. It is like having PTSD - when you least expect it, someone or something triggers a memory that puts you right back in "victimhood". A very uncomfortable place to be when you feel like a confident, mature woman most of the time.
Then you have to think about the trigger, you have to think about the situation, you have to think about the bullying history, and then you have to put it all in context.
Do you react negatively?
Do you ignore it?
It all depends on the situation. Each and every situation has to be dealt with individually. You can't just ignore it.
Pity.
Sometime I wonder if he ever thinks about those days. Or if they are even a fleeting thought.
Then you have to think about the trigger, you have to think about the situation, you have to think about the bullying history, and then you have to put it all in context.
Do you react negatively?
Do you ignore it?
It all depends on the situation. Each and every situation has to be dealt with individually. You can't just ignore it.
Pity.
Sometime I wonder if he ever thinks about those days. Or if they are even a fleeting thought.
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