Category: Mum

gratitude · Mum · spiritual

Mother’s Love Makes the World Go On.

Joanne5 Comments

Walking outside and into my garden this morning, I was greeted by the usual early morning sights and sounds; the sun shining brightly in the sky and birds chirping happily in the trees.

The distant sound of a chainsaw, possibly a neighbour pruning trees, preparing  their garden for the upcoming hot summer months.

Cutie Cat rubbed her dainty little body against my legs. Today, I imagine she is reminding me that it’s her birthday. She turns three today. As she rolls around on the grass, her eyes squinted against the bright sun light, I feel her blissful happiness and her enjoyment of the recent warmer weather.

The world goes on; the birds keep singing, the trees, grass and flowers keep on growing. The universe shows no regard for what happened, seventeen years ago today.

The sun shone in the sky on the morning of that day also, just as it is today. Memories of that day are embedded in my mind, to remain forever.

The weather had recently become warmer, as it does every year at the end of August. I thought the world might end that day, seventeen long years ago. But it didn’t. Life continued; the world kept on spinning.

And I continued to breathe.

I knew she was still breathing too, as I left her hospital room. A strong pulse moved in her neck. She was still with me, as I said goodbye, for the last time. Her fine, shining white hair curled gently around her face. Her strong, gentle, healing hands rested motionless on the bed. Her eyes remained closed. And the pulse in her neck kept beating.

Every particle of her hair, her hands and her face had to be savoured, to be held in my memory for as long as time.

Out in the hospital car park, I started up the car, the sounds of the radio instantly coming through the speakers. “All by myself, don’t wanna be, all by myself anymore”. It was Eric Carmen’s voice, singing one of her favourite songs. Funny, I hadn’t heard that song in years.

Upon arriving home, a sudden urgency hit me. The chores had to be done; the clothes washed, the beds made, the breakfast dishes washed. It all had to be finished, immediately.

And then I was told she had gone.

A nurse had watched me leave the room; she had watched me leave, before entering the room herself, only to find the pulse had stopped.

Instinct, which I had wanted to ignore, had already told me the news that I hadn’t wanted to hear in words. The song on the car radio…

Her physical body left the earth that day, seventeen years ago today. But I know in my heart that she never did leave. A golden thread keeps us close to each other at all times. We can never be separated, not even by “death”.

She remains with me every day, guiding me, protecting me, watching my children grow.

Because that’s what mother’s do.

And that’s why the world goes on.

advice · basics · challenges · Changes · father · freedom · inspiration · Mum

What’s Behind the Fear of Parting with “Stuff”?

Joanne4 Comments

Yesterday I spoke about my thoughts on “Adopting the Minimalist Approach”, a subject which I feel quite strongly about for my own life, and although the concept is to “minimise” the material and emotional baggage in our lives, I have reached the conclusion that to minimise is, well, rather a complex subject.

Although we say we want to discard the unwanted material “stuff” in our homes, we don’t always actually take the action to do it…

What is it that we are so afraid of?

Let me tell you about the emotional tug o’ war I experienced myself, just this week, when sorting through the unused clothing hanging in my own wardrobe ~

Tucked away, right at the far end of the hanging rack, I had a long sleeved blouse, a gift from my mother; a short sleeved blouse, a gift from my father, and a knitted beige top, another gift from my father. When these items were newer, I wore them constantly. Each item, in its turn, had once been a much loved article of clothing.

Now, these clothes were yellowing, and smelled “musty”. Why? My mother has been gone nearly seventeen years, and my father, nearly twelve years!

“Who am I kidding”, I asked myself, “by hanging onto these clothes, will it bring my parents back??”

The truth of the matter is, if my parents were able, they would be the first to tell me to get rid of the clothes…and now I have.

What other excuses do we make to ourselves, you know, the self-talk moments we all have, when trying to justify why we can’t let go? ‘I might wear it/need it again one day’ or ‘I’ll fit into it again, when I lose weight’ or even ‘it’ll cost so much to replace it’.

I’m as guilty as the next person, I procrastinate when it comes time for the big clean out. But you know something? Once you start tossing that unwanted stuff into bags or boxes, momentum kicks in…The more you part with, the easier it gets!

Every time I get rid of more stuff, I feel liberated, and lighter. It’s like a weight has lifted off my shoulders. I keep on going back to admire the clean, neat, tidy and emptier cupboards!

Getting rid of unwanted “stuff” fills me with a sense of achievement.

Another gigantic plus to owning less clothing is…a smaller ironing pile! More time away from the ironing board! Now, you can’t complain about that, can you? I’m not! 🙂

Every action we take should be motivated by the question of how this is going to improve our life.

With less clutter in our life ~ we can breathe more easily; it lifts the burden of the “excess weight” of material possessions.

When the clutter has been removed ~ it opens up the “space” around us, both physically and emotionally, making way for fresh, new, wonderful experiences to find us.

When the clothing is minimised ~ we spend less time deciding what to wear (and the ironing pile is smaller! 🙂 )

If you are planning on minimising the “stuff” that is blocking the flow of your life, I encourage you to ask yourself what it is that is holding you back from letting go. And be honest with yourself.

And if all else fails, think about how happy dogs are. All they ask for is food, shelter, love and a kind word. They don’t need any of the “stuff” we humans accumulate, but they are happy.

How about making yourself a little happier too? 🙂

Australia · Changes · father · gardening · Mum · nostalgia · pies

Recollections of Comfort and Security

Joanne2 Comments

“Ah! There’s nothing like staying home for real comfort” ~Jane Austen.

Once in a while, memories of my first childhood home re-emerge, usually brought about by a mention of the area I once live in, and every time it happens I am left with a feeling of melancholy.

The reminder this time was due to my stumbling upon a blog, discontinued in 2006, written by a lady living in Woodford in the Blue Mountains. In her blog she had spoken of her love for anything vintage ~ clothing, jewellery, books, recipes…actually, this woman and I have a lot in common.

My own early childhood home in the Blue Mountains was in the little township of Valley Heights. Today, the population of Valley Heights is estimated at 1,336, so you can imagine how tiny the town would have been back when I was a child!

Way back in the early days, in 1813, when Australia was still learning to walk, three explorers, Blaxland, Lawson and Wentworth, managed to find their way through the rugged, mountainous bushland of the Blue Mountains, opening New South Wales out to the western plains area.

Although the progression of time has brought about many changes, both to my old home and the area, my memory still holds images of the three bedroom house, mostly built by my father; the home where the true meaning of the words comfort and security originated in my existence, and still live today.

Recollections of red velvet curtains, a wood grain wall, a kerosene heater and grey carpet in the lounge room. Linoleum floors throughout the rest of the house, including my bedroom, with scatter rugs here and there.

My bedroom was painted pink, with my second hand furniture repainted in light blue. A low, built in cupboard ran along one wall, purpose built by my brother-in-law to hold my doll collection. At one count, I had collected around forty-something dolls.

The house was humble, to say the least, but in my mind I lived in a beautiful mansion, surrounded by lush gardens; a tall weeping willow tree down the back, not far from the swing my father had built for me and where I would spend hours of my time.

Out the back, we grew hydrangeas and fuchsias, which to this day still remain two of my favourite flowers, and we had mint growing and a passionfruit vine. Our garden backed onto a gully full of various species of gum trees and bottlebrush, but my favourite find in the bush was always the uniquely shaped branches of a plant we called “mountain devils”. I could walk with ease alone down the gully, to a point where there sat a huge bush rock. The rock was my limit, without my father’s help.

In the front garden my sister had planted poppies, roses, gardenias, violets and daphnes, along with as many other flowering plants as she could lay her hands on. She was married the day before my seventh birthday, but still spent time in the garden when she can home to visit us.

Nothing gave me more delight than walking to the end of our street with an empty bowl, returning home to my mother with the bowl full of wild growing blackberries, which she would turn into a pie. Wild flowers grew everywhere in the area as well, in the empty lots of land and along the sides of the roads.

Those were the days when we bought our milk, bread and vegetables from the back of one of the many vans, which travelled around the streets selling their produce. We lived on a gravel road and walked everywhere we needed to go. If the walk was too long, we took a bus.

Life was oh so simple back then. And the air was fresh and cool, not surprisingly, with an altitude of 375 meters (1,230 feet) above sea level. Winters were cold and summer days were rarely unbearably hot. It doesn’t snow at Valley Heights, although we would regularly visit the snow, when it made its appearance during the winter months, by travelling just a few kilometres further into the mountains.

When melancholy sets in, it is brought about not by the memories of a time long gone, but rather from knowing that my family prefers to live in a warmer climate, beside the sea.

I wonder if the blogger from Woodford still lives in the Blue Mountains, enjoying her vintage finds in the many antique stores and craft shops there? As far as I know, the cottage industry is still alive and well in the mountains and I feel certain that the antique stores and art galleries have multiplied, since my last visit there.

The melancholy will pass, I promise, and I will bounce back tomorrow, my usual chirpy self. 🙂

What about you ~ do you have a special location, held near and dear to you in your heart of hearts?

cakes · Mum

A Passion For Cake Decorating

Joanne3 Comments

It would come as no surprise to anyone who knows me, or who has read these blog entries, when I reiterate my love of cooking. Spending time in my kitchen relieves any stress I may feel (almost as surely as when I’m gardening!)

Oftentimes, such traits are passed on from generation to generation as was the case with me.

My mother could whip up a meal for the unexpected multitudes, in no time flat, even from a seemingly bare fridge and pantry. She just simply had the “knack” to make anything happen…as her daughter, I’m convinced she possessed magic powers!

She was fascinated by the art of cake decorating. Although she had never had any formal training, Mum bought books on the subject, (as I recall, books on cake decorating were actually the only books she ever did buy!) in an effort to learn all she could about her passion.

Going through some old photo albums, I have discovered photos of a few of the cakes Mum decorated over the years. She particularly enjoyed icing and decorating wedding cakes and I recall her planning the designs she would be working on for days in advance, often travelling long distances to purchase her required supplies for the upcoming task.

These two wedding cakes, both from the 1960’s, were among her first attempts at decorating.

Although simple in design, her ideas were very effective and produced beautiful results.

This photo shows not only a wedding cake made by Mum, but also a doily she crocheted, on the table under the cake.

Mum was never idle and was very artistic and talented, although she claimed herself to be “a jack of all trades and master of none”.

I, for one, remain as proud as ever of my amazing, imaginative mother. She and I were like chalk and cheese in our personalities. Perhaps that’s why we had such a close mother daughter relationship….we admired each other’s unique talents and accepted the striking differences between each other in our personalities.

She taught me so much. What a wonderful woman my Mum was….

birthdays · cakes · cooking · daughter · Mum · recipe

Coffee Sponge Cake

Joanne3 Comments

For my birthday last month, my youngest daughter made a beautiful coffee sponge cake.

I love it that she has always enjoyed cooking with me. Even as a toddler she would climb up on a little stool to see what I was making and would “help” by stirring the contents of the bowl occasionally.

As she has grown, (she is now 17 years old), she has made her own choices of new recipes to try out, adding interest to sweet treats the family enjoys.

When my Mum was here, she had a theory; it was a very rare person who could make both a light sponge and a good batch on scones. She was the sponge maker in our household of years gone by; I was the scone maker, so it worked out well for us.

Now, we have discovered that my daughter is an excellent sponge maker! She has whipped up a sponge many times, with such great ease that I envy her talent, as I did my own mother’s.

Well, today being my mother’s birthday, I decided it would be a very appropriate day to share my daughter’s recent sponge treat, made for my special day.

Happy birthday, Mum….

Coffee Sponge Cake

4 eggs, separated (at room temperature)

Pinch of salt

1 cup of caster sugar

1 tablespoon coffee essence

1 cup of plain flour

4 teaspoons of arrowroot

1 teaspoon of baking powder

4 tablespoons of milk

1 teaspoon of butter

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C and grease and baking paper line two 20cm round cake tins.

With an electric mixer, beat the egg whites and salt until soft peaks form, then gradually add the caster sugar, beating continually.

Add the egg yolks and continue beating the mixture until it is light and creamy. Add the coffee essence and combine into the mixture.

In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder and arrowroot. Repeat the sifting process three times. (My daughter assures me that the triple sifting is what gives the sponge its “lightness”).

In a small saucepan, heat together the milk and butter. Carefully fold the butter and milk into the sponge mix.

Pour half the mixture into each of the prepared sponge tins and bake for 20 minutes.

Decorate as desired.