A Sentimental Journey

So, on the weekend we were completely re-organizing the kitchen. We threw away a lot of stuff... enough that I'm embarrassed to admit it. One of the things we found was this can of smoothie mix, expiration date of August 2003.

Ryan: Why do we still have this?
Me: Um... I couldn't throw it away...
Ryan: Why not?? It expired five years ago!!
Me: (sheepishly) Well... it was the first thing I ever bought with a coupon.

And thus we discovered that whilst R, for sentimental reasons, cannon throw away things, so I, for sentimental reasons, cannot throw away food. So here, for posterity's sake, is a photo of me with the first thing I ever bought with a coupon.

Hooray for instant smoothie mix for 49 cents.


And yes, we did throw it out...

Looking Back, Looking Forward

In reference to what it was like when I first moved to America, I was recently asked, "What were some things that took getting used to?"

I've been pondering this. There are the obvious things:
+ you drive on the other side of the road
+ your light switches go the opposite way off/on
+ you all have accents (yes all of you)
+ the money is different, and in different denominations
+ your slang is different
etc.

Then there are the more subtle ones:
+ social politeness nuances that offend people before you know they exist
+ finding that most everything at the grocery store has the same name but random small items you need but can't find for months don't, until by accident you discover they've been sitting under your nose all that time disguised as something else
+ realizing that for some reason my accent and the various other accents have trouble understanding each other, even though we know we're all speaking English. it's frustrating for them as much as for me, because they're expecting I'm American
+ random car styles, house styles that have the same name look completely different
+ going into a situation that seems familiar, but finding out part way through a process or tiny aspect is different, throwing you off and making you feel small, stupid and foolish, because it is inevitably followed by an annoyed look, a sarcastic comment, or some other belittling gesture that lets you know exactly how dumb you are for being in your mid-twenties and apparently unaware of a very adult thing
+ having your lack of friends and family, job, church and independence reveal every possible insecurity you have, often to people who don't care about you, as you have to slowly over many years piece back together all the parts of your life thrown open wide by marriage, moving and subsequent grief and loneliness
+ being afraid to go outside because stepping outside your door will only show you again how unfamiliar it all is.
+ being brave enough to step out your door, only to find yourself rejected
+ not being able to recognize yourself
+ constantly feeling like for every step forward, you take two steps back
+ having questions on why people do things the way they do, without being able to find reasonable answers
+ making all new friends, sometimes with people you HAD to befriend
+ going without platonic hugs

I'm sure there are more, but my brain is wrecked.

Oh, and I promise this is not a pity party - and to that end I'm considering disabling comments on this one because I don't want people compelled out of pity or compassion to write something in return. Ok, I've thought about it, and I won't disable them. Just please don't write me because you feel sorry for me ok? I'm just answering the question, as much for that person as for myself, because I am reaching or perhaps have reached something of a turning point, where I feel like I can say these things and realize they are a part of me - a significant part of me - but I'm getting over it. It's time to get over it.

Of course, I say that now and 2 or 3 months from now I'll probably hit some situation and think, "wow, I didn't think that would affect me" or "wow, I thought I was over that", and feel disappointed in myself.**

On a brighter note -

Things I am looking forward to about going back:

+ driving on the right side of the road
+ seeing my family
+ seeing my friends
+ sausages in bread, tasty cheese, instant coffee and biscuits, peter's ice cream, custard in a carton.
+ fish and chips, sausage rolls, chico rolls and dim sims
+ familiar grocery stores
+ my kids staying in the house I grew up in, taking them to places dear to my younger heart
+ funky other little stores that I can't get here
+ having my rings re-dipped in the right carat gold
+ wandering downtown and being a grown up again
+ the Wok-on-Inn
+ passionfruit gelati
+ Guruva
and last but not least,
+ seeing my little sister get married


**It didn't take 2-3 months, it happened tonight.

The Beginning of it All

Did you know my mother suggests that my incessant watching of the old Mickey Rooney series "Andy Hardy..." is one of the reasons for my wanting to live in the US since I was a little girl?? It was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

We found a free one on On Demand tonight. Andy Hardy Meets the Debutant.



I love that they use words like "cogitate".

Blast from the past...

Daily Bread

When I was a little girl, we lived in Townsville. It's way up on the north east coast of Australia. Think Florida like. Humid, tropical, giant bugs and ripper cyclones that destroy entire towns... that kind of thing.

I have many memories of that time, which is unusual for some people. My first memory is from that time. I was 2yrs and 9 months (a milestone which I eerily realized Amelie has reached). Clear as a bell. I got in trouble for putting my hand in the ice pit at my father's workplace Christmas party. I just loved the feeling of my hand going in under the ice cubes, so dreamy and divine, but apparently wrong. The man dressed as Santa gave out barbie dolls that year. I didn't get one. But I did eat ice cream. I think it was Pixie, the ones that came in little cups and you eat it with the little wooden stick. I think my mother fed it to me.

Anyway, one of the other memories I have is of my mother making bread. She was like mother earth to me. All things good and bountiful and womanly I saw in my mother. She would make it and set it in this giant (or what seemed giant) maroon coloured tupperware bowl, and put a tea towel over it and set it on our front porch step to rise in the sun. I remember playing outside and seeing it sitting there and knowing there would be fresh bread for dinner that night. I remember that peeling back the tea towel when she brought it inside was like hoping for Christmas, and finding the swollen dough inside had grown was like finding treasure.

So, in my never ending project of getting it all together, I found that on Friday I was able to enjoy my clean house so much that I baked bread with Amelie. It has been a long time goal of mine to start baking my own bread. There is something so deliciously homey about it, not to mention that the eating of fresh baked bread and butter is one of the smallest yet greatest experiences known to man. It is as universal as love.
Amelie was very excited, but as per usual, loses interest after she is not able to interact as much as she'd like. Too much for her not to touch, too little to keep her interest. Even measuring and stirring is a little dull for her. What facinated me the most took too long for her... I love the way you put the yeast into some warm water with a little sugar, and the yeast comes alive. R says it's like playing God. It starts bubbling and giving off the most unique odour - both delicious and offensive all at the same time, and yet you can't stop wanting to smell it.
Well, it was that very smell that brought all those hidden childhood memories flooding back, and the weight of the nostalgia made me just want to sit and remember. But I pounded that dough, until it was stretchy and smooth, happy just to have those memories at all.
I was covered in flour, surrounded my music and memory, my children sleeping and playing and I was happy as a clam.
Brought a little extra delightful meaning to "give us this day our daily bread".

Misc.

I have felt rather uninspired this week, probably because I have had more sleep and less time to dwell. Sleep deprivation really is the food for senseless and inane ramblings.

Last night we were saying good bye to guests, and there was a beautiful old red flat bed truck, you know the style that's very rounded? The engine growls like an old dog, and there is a romantic/nostalgic thing with it I just can't shake.



The patio is basically done!




Now the kids have a little space to play outside. We just need to do the frou frou things, put up a trellis, a vine of some kind (we're hoping for a fruiting passionfruit vine), maybe a little bistro chair and table set, and eventually some kind of fancy schmancy barbeque, which will probably take months and months to research (and save up for!), but eventually we will get the perfect one. I put all the coloured pots I had found for cheap at the beginning of spring out there, and it brightens up the area.



Maybe some 'erbs? I was also thinking of maybe a few bulbs in a big pot. Any suggestions?