Friday, October 15, 2010
Fleeting mementos, definitive answers to who we are.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Perspective gained, disillusionment lost.
How bright and beautiful this meandering pathway of life is. In the morning where the blue sky touches the earth, the grass has exploded into tall blonde fronds, lengthy from the rains this summer. The trees are thinning out, their leaves turning red and orange, brown splashes of past life collecting on the ground in sparse piles. New found light sneaks through the thinning vegetation, illuminating shadows in a secret forest. And the cosmos.... The cosmos turn up their single eyed faces, and point their pink, purple and white crowns to the heavens.
One small aspect where life is complete and all that we are can be summed up by the beauty around us.
One small aspect where life is complete and all that we are can be summed up by the beauty around us.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
American etiquette?
I was at a childrens' birthday party today when I heard the most hysterical paradox (besides American cheese and oh... my favourite... American cuisine!)... I heard a woman advertising what she does for a living... and shes an Etiquette Coach.
Now THAT, in this place... unless you're not a part of the hoi palloi, is like trying to stop titanic sinking by using magic tape on the cracks in the bow.
There is something wonderful to be said of the Colonial British upbringing that would render such classes redundant.
We ate dinner every night at a table, on a china plate, with proper cutlery. We said please and thank you. No one would dare to burp at the table. And obnoxious chewing and spluttering was put to a lightning fast stop the second it began by glares from ones mother (or father) whilst they chewed their manna from heaven.
Even so, the people who chose not to eat with a knife and fork, like our African brothers and sisters, ate in a respectful reverence for the food that nourishes their body, all be it perhaps with a bit more lively talking. African people are known for speaking loudly. They mean no disrespect (to the slightly too British people who may be shocked) with the loud decibels encroaching on their ear drums.
Our young (both British, French, Dutch or African descent) addressed the elders with respect, or a severe clout around the ears was the agreed punishment. Talking back to ones elders was reserved for when one really wanted to make a point. And when it did, often the elder agreed with you once you raised your voice, because it was done so few and far between.
Yet we are in general well balanced, not overly timid or demure, not overly cocky as adults. I would say we are well rounded as adults. We have earned, as a generation, any respect or reward, from the fruits of our labour.
Schooling taught us the importance of a uniform, of tying a tie, of shining out shoes, of washing up well and being sparkly and presentable. We would line up in rows en masse for fingernail inspections, hair inspections, uniform inspections, and the scoundrels and scalliwags would be weeded from the group like a pack of mangy wolves, rounded up to do community service on the school property, to feel the depth of their transgressions. As a result, looking back at the photos, we were all BEAUTIFULLY dressed, even those of us who wore threadbare second hand uniforms that had been ironed and pressed to the wharf and the weft.
America on the other hand is full of the instant everything. It is the home of the polystyrene plate. Why grocery stores even sell polystyrene is beyond me given that one polystyrene plate takes in excess of 1 million years to decompose and a paper plate takes only two months... Yet most Americans have plates in their cupboard... theyre just to lazy to wash them... and that being said Americans use THE MOST water per capita than any other country.... So how all the water is used I dont know. Having baths? Or washing super sized SUV's?
We would use paper plates if we were at a picnic venue. Or as additional plates if we had invited more people over than we had plates. Our paper plates were often supported in a wicker basket. They could handle being over laden with home made potato salad and coleslaw and a T bone steak.
Coinciding with the paper plate is often the plastic fork. I know the plastic fork has its place in this world. I am not saying DONT EVER. But I am just saying WHEN it should be used versus when it could be used. Plastic forks come in one standard size... Plastic and flexible.
So its just interesting to tabulate the changes that I have systematically made in my almost 6 years on this great continent... and the little things that I insist on (I very rarely use disposable serve ware)... And the little things that I have made concessions on.
I still like to wrap my presents in paper by hand. I think its more personal than the 'gift bag'... and we always send out cards. I don't shy away from making my children thank the hosts of parties, and threaten them with the cancellation of any further invitations if my request is met with non compliance.
But mostly, like my husband said, in these colloquial present times, unless you have horrific parents, is etiquette really relevant? Or have I just become totally boorish and cannot see the error of my ways?
Now THAT, in this place... unless you're not a part of the hoi palloi, is like trying to stop titanic sinking by using magic tape on the cracks in the bow.
There is something wonderful to be said of the Colonial British upbringing that would render such classes redundant.
We ate dinner every night at a table, on a china plate, with proper cutlery. We said please and thank you. No one would dare to burp at the table. And obnoxious chewing and spluttering was put to a lightning fast stop the second it began by glares from ones mother (or father) whilst they chewed their manna from heaven.
Even so, the people who chose not to eat with a knife and fork, like our African brothers and sisters, ate in a respectful reverence for the food that nourishes their body, all be it perhaps with a bit more lively talking. African people are known for speaking loudly. They mean no disrespect (to the slightly too British people who may be shocked) with the loud decibels encroaching on their ear drums.
Our young (both British, French, Dutch or African descent) addressed the elders with respect, or a severe clout around the ears was the agreed punishment. Talking back to ones elders was reserved for when one really wanted to make a point. And when it did, often the elder agreed with you once you raised your voice, because it was done so few and far between.
Yet we are in general well balanced, not overly timid or demure, not overly cocky as adults. I would say we are well rounded as adults. We have earned, as a generation, any respect or reward, from the fruits of our labour.
Schooling taught us the importance of a uniform, of tying a tie, of shining out shoes, of washing up well and being sparkly and presentable. We would line up in rows en masse for fingernail inspections, hair inspections, uniform inspections, and the scoundrels and scalliwags would be weeded from the group like a pack of mangy wolves, rounded up to do community service on the school property, to feel the depth of their transgressions. As a result, looking back at the photos, we were all BEAUTIFULLY dressed, even those of us who wore threadbare second hand uniforms that had been ironed and pressed to the wharf and the weft.
America on the other hand is full of the instant everything. It is the home of the polystyrene plate. Why grocery stores even sell polystyrene is beyond me given that one polystyrene plate takes in excess of 1 million years to decompose and a paper plate takes only two months... Yet most Americans have plates in their cupboard... theyre just to lazy to wash them... and that being said Americans use THE MOST water per capita than any other country.... So how all the water is used I dont know. Having baths? Or washing super sized SUV's?
We would use paper plates if we were at a picnic venue. Or as additional plates if we had invited more people over than we had plates. Our paper plates were often supported in a wicker basket. They could handle being over laden with home made potato salad and coleslaw and a T bone steak.
Coinciding with the paper plate is often the plastic fork. I know the plastic fork has its place in this world. I am not saying DONT EVER. But I am just saying WHEN it should be used versus when it could be used. Plastic forks come in one standard size... Plastic and flexible.
So its just interesting to tabulate the changes that I have systematically made in my almost 6 years on this great continent... and the little things that I insist on (I very rarely use disposable serve ware)... And the little things that I have made concessions on.
I still like to wrap my presents in paper by hand. I think its more personal than the 'gift bag'... and we always send out cards. I don't shy away from making my children thank the hosts of parties, and threaten them with the cancellation of any further invitations if my request is met with non compliance.
But mostly, like my husband said, in these colloquial present times, unless you have horrific parents, is etiquette really relevant? Or have I just become totally boorish and cannot see the error of my ways?
Friday, August 20, 2010
Christmas in August...
I am a bit of a nut. Okay more than a bit of a nut. I am like a whole package of assorted nuts. Each bite of me would be different. Sometimes sweet, sometimes tart, and sometimes salted.
There is one thing that I realized, just within the mad scramble, especially in this economy, that you do NOT have to pay full price for anything. I mean in the beginning (two suitcases and a 6 week old baby off an international flight, arriving into an empty apartment that didnt even have a light in the bedroom) we had no choice, we had to buy what we needed when we saw it, and when we could afford it cash.
Now that we are established in our little cocoon, the girls each have a bed room, the husband has his tv room, I have my kitchen and laundry areas (also known as the slavery portal and entrapment area), and we have clothes and shoes on our feet. So everything else is a luxury.
Of course there are things that we want (the human part of us can never be denied)... and then comes in the mommies wacky crazy nutty personality and the purchasing guilt (always feel guilty when I buy anything)... plus an amazing outlet mall and Amazon.com.... and I would like to tell you that being cheap never felt so good!
We have always had tiny budget for xmas. Our first year here we didnt have an xmas budget. It just wasnt a possibility. Then it was like $100. Then $200. Then this year its $300. And we have 10 people to buy for! Two children and eight adults. And I must say I am VERY CLOSE on target.
I take great pleasure and buying things like gorgeous plaid shirts for the husband from Macys for $5.97. Please do not let him know or he will never wear them! Its all about timing. Its about that incredible deal that you just can not pass up. My kids wear Osh Kosh and new clothing off the shelves. It just depends which shelf. The babies party dress for next year cost $2.40. So I dunno... but I think this is my new hobby :)
How nutty am I ?
There is one thing that I realized, just within the mad scramble, especially in this economy, that you do NOT have to pay full price for anything. I mean in the beginning (two suitcases and a 6 week old baby off an international flight, arriving into an empty apartment that didnt even have a light in the bedroom) we had no choice, we had to buy what we needed when we saw it, and when we could afford it cash.
Now that we are established in our little cocoon, the girls each have a bed room, the husband has his tv room, I have my kitchen and laundry areas (also known as the slavery portal and entrapment area), and we have clothes and shoes on our feet. So everything else is a luxury.
Of course there are things that we want (the human part of us can never be denied)... and then comes in the mommies wacky crazy nutty personality and the purchasing guilt (always feel guilty when I buy anything)... plus an amazing outlet mall and Amazon.com.... and I would like to tell you that being cheap never felt so good!
We have always had tiny budget for xmas. Our first year here we didnt have an xmas budget. It just wasnt a possibility. Then it was like $100. Then $200. Then this year its $300. And we have 10 people to buy for! Two children and eight adults. And I must say I am VERY CLOSE on target.
I take great pleasure and buying things like gorgeous plaid shirts for the husband from Macys for $5.97. Please do not let him know or he will never wear them! Its all about timing. Its about that incredible deal that you just can not pass up. My kids wear Osh Kosh and new clothing off the shelves. It just depends which shelf. The babies party dress for next year cost $2.40. So I dunno... but I think this is my new hobby :)
How nutty am I ?
Ducklings in open water
My eldest left the safety of the nest, and happily paddled across the parking lot to her new proxy mother (Kindergarten Teacher) and her proxy siblings. She bit all of her nails down to the quick in the days preceding her departure. I wanted to say 'Dont do that, its ugly', but I didnt want her to feel ugly. I wanted to say "Stop it, its naughty disgusting behaviour", but I didnt want her to think she was naughty or disgusting. So instead I showed her how my grandfather Graham Ebden Long used to rest his fingers upon each other, and twiddle his thumbs. She now does this in the car, as we round the long slow loop of the car drop off lane. She smiles at me, pony tails bobbing, and I have never seen anything so beautiful. I love her anxiety and her excitement. I love how her whole world is new. I love her endless possibilities and her openness. But what I love most is knowing that at 1h45pm I will leave work to go and collect her and her sister and my arms will again be full.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Quicker than you will ever be prepared for...
So my eldest daughter, five years and seven months full of life, size 10T or 11T shoes, little wiggly piggies, sparkly blue eyes, light like mine, the colour of the seven seas, and crystal white shores, not as dark as lapis or sapphire as her sisters, but light like the tranquil waters of the med... has outgrown her baby book!
I found myself today just stupefied. I have new pens that dont go through the pages and that dry the second you write, perfect for harried memorized fleeting treasures and quick pen and parchment capturing.
I turned to the next page only to find there were none.
I turned to look for the next mile stone only to find I had already recorded it.
Yet I read the book like a stranger.
All the wonderment is like that of a voyeur.
The memories escape me like the sweetness of this breath exhaled to the next.
You can try so hard to hold on. I have photographic chains onto every day with my kids. I have them on my hard drive. Backed up to Carbonite. Backed up to the Walmart photostudio. Backed up on printed copies of all my luscious memories that evaporate like smoke through my fingers.
Our feelings change. Our memories are altered and swayed. We believe what we WANT to remember. The memories are enhanced by how we think they should be. Its so gratifying to speak to a sibling or a parent and to find out your memories are almost the same. It seems to give them more credence. I dont necessarily trust my nostalgic recollections. I romanticise everything, remove the harsh light, trade it in for rose coloured glasses, rose coloured petals falling from heaven, everything seemed so easy and peaceful by contrast to today, today was more gruelling, today I cried harder, today was not as satisfying as yesterday, always trying to gain the elusive plateau of satisfaction that actually never existed, we just believed it to be, so therefore it was and is, indelible in the photo album of the mind....
My daughter has long legs like a gazelle. When she grows up she wants to be a mermaid. But she already knows they dont exist. And she has plan B ready and waiting. She can be a mermaid for halloween instead or she can be an actor and pretend to be a mermaid in a mermaid costume.
I bought her her first pair of shoes today with a little one inch heel. They rest at the foot of her bed, whilst my daughter, the girl, dreams of her new school.
I found myself today just stupefied. I have new pens that dont go through the pages and that dry the second you write, perfect for harried memorized fleeting treasures and quick pen and parchment capturing.
I turned to the next page only to find there were none.
I turned to look for the next mile stone only to find I had already recorded it.
Yet I read the book like a stranger.
All the wonderment is like that of a voyeur.
The memories escape me like the sweetness of this breath exhaled to the next.
You can try so hard to hold on. I have photographic chains onto every day with my kids. I have them on my hard drive. Backed up to Carbonite. Backed up to the Walmart photostudio. Backed up on printed copies of all my luscious memories that evaporate like smoke through my fingers.
Our feelings change. Our memories are altered and swayed. We believe what we WANT to remember. The memories are enhanced by how we think they should be. Its so gratifying to speak to a sibling or a parent and to find out your memories are almost the same. It seems to give them more credence. I dont necessarily trust my nostalgic recollections. I romanticise everything, remove the harsh light, trade it in for rose coloured glasses, rose coloured petals falling from heaven, everything seemed so easy and peaceful by contrast to today, today was more gruelling, today I cried harder, today was not as satisfying as yesterday, always trying to gain the elusive plateau of satisfaction that actually never existed, we just believed it to be, so therefore it was and is, indelible in the photo album of the mind....
My daughter has long legs like a gazelle. When she grows up she wants to be a mermaid. But she already knows they dont exist. And she has plan B ready and waiting. She can be a mermaid for halloween instead or she can be an actor and pretend to be a mermaid in a mermaid costume.
I bought her her first pair of shoes today with a little one inch heel. They rest at the foot of her bed, whilst my daughter, the girl, dreams of her new school.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
If I wanted your opinion...
The smarter people become, also the more socially retarded they are. In an attempt to be right they alienate their friends, and set up concrete barriers across their hearts and corridors between understandings. When really what will happen in life is quite simple. Here are a couple truths that I can promise you right now.
1) Your friends will dump you for a boyfriend or girlfriend (and you should be okay with this because most people also get significant others too)
2) Girl meets boy plays house and then has babies.
3) Girl may meet boy on one night stand, have baby, then try to play house.
4) Work is never going to be as much fun as vacation but it pays the bills so shut up and get on with it.
5) The career versus job is just a clever marketing ploy created by institutions wanting you to take out student loans that you cant afford, that even with the aforementioned training, you couldnt possibly afford because face it, life is not fair. Theyre just selling you hope. You have to know when to give up or alter a dream.
6) Gay men are the perfect men. You just cant marry one if youre female.
7) Everybodies going to have an opinion about what you do. So just appease your biggest critic, ie YOU, and do what YOU want.
I would write some more but its 8h30 am and we are going to the pool. Monkies have WAY too much energy.
To Be Continued....
1) Your friends will dump you for a boyfriend or girlfriend (and you should be okay with this because most people also get significant others too)
2) Girl meets boy plays house and then has babies.
3) Girl may meet boy on one night stand, have baby, then try to play house.
4) Work is never going to be as much fun as vacation but it pays the bills so shut up and get on with it.
5) The career versus job is just a clever marketing ploy created by institutions wanting you to take out student loans that you cant afford, that even with the aforementioned training, you couldnt possibly afford because face it, life is not fair. Theyre just selling you hope. You have to know when to give up or alter a dream.
6) Gay men are the perfect men. You just cant marry one if youre female.
7) Everybodies going to have an opinion about what you do. So just appease your biggest critic, ie YOU, and do what YOU want.
I would write some more but its 8h30 am and we are going to the pool. Monkies have WAY too much energy.
To Be Continued....
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The bane of my existence...
Once a day I am overcome with anxiety. It strikes me first thing in the morning as I am preparing breakfast and leaving for work. What to cook for dinner?! I mean what I would like to do, is just eat out every night. There is a fabulous Japanese restaurant in town (Kani House) and I could eat their sushi rolls until the cows came home. Similarly the only time I see my husband eating vegetables is when the teppanyaki chef prepares them on the hibatchi and does his little bit of magic, the "wolcano" choo chooing across the shiny sheet of metal before it is attacked and finely diced into perfect chunks of onion to accompany baby marrows (zucchini squash), fronds of carrots, mini broccoli trees etc, to be the perfect al dente accompaniment to the tender steak, chicken and shrimp.... drool drool...
But that is where realism and our budget (which is always pushed to the limit as it is) comes in and knocks me back down to earth. There also are a couple logistical issues. Firstly I have a job, a heavy commute (2 hours plus per day), I drive my kids to school (they don't ride the bus), the baby (who is surgically attached to my leg), and my 5 year old who wants to be outdoors all of the time. Enter stage right, the daddio who absolutely hates my "plain and boring" South African style of cooking (meaning too many vegetables and not enough sauces). Plus my struggles with my weight and what I know I should be eating to control my weight, trying to teach kids healthy eating habits, the cost of organic and hormone free foods, and yep youre ready to gve up even BEFORE dinner is prepared, let alone cooked and served.
Some history on the way I was fed as a child. My first memories of food were mashed bananas that my mom used to make for my sister and I. They were a solid staple in our household. Similarly the food I feed my children most (to fill in the gaps between meals) have been bananas. Up close would be fruit yoghurt, and eggs on toast. Lunch would be a simple sandwich made on bread that got stale in 24-48 hours, pieces of roast chicken from the dinner the night before, mayonnaise made with clean oils and egg yolks. And dinner would be a smallish piece of meat with three different coloured vegetables and a greek salad. We would always have cookies or cakes in the house that my mother had made from scratch from her old Housewives League cookbook. If we had canned foods in the house it was for dog food, cat food, pilchards, baked beans (sans the bacon and sugar) and tomato puree.
Everything else was made fresh. We used to go to Rebel Farmers and choose a huge trolley full of fresh veggies, which they packed into an old box, and our car would smell like the tops of carrots and a bit of dirt in the sun on the way home. I used to HATE going to the green grocer. It was so boring. But when we got home I was able to eat giant fleshy mangoes that poured their sweet sap down my chin and arms, running down to my elbows. My mother was always slicing a giant pineapple and methodically cutting it into bite sized chunks.
The meat came from either a butcher or Woolworths depending on how busy my mother was or what she felt like. We had a home cooked meal every night thanks to her or the maid, even though my mother worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital. I had a lunch hand made and cut into triangles, very often with the crusts cut off, wrapped in wax paper and put into my lunch box every single day for the 12 years of my schooling, even though my mother was tired and often was going on 5 hours of sleep and I had piano lessons and my sister had netball on the other side of town....
I think McDonalds came to South Africa after sanctions ended post apartheid in 1995. I remember driving past the chock-a-block parking lot on Beyers Naude not quite understanding what all the fuss was about. The only take aways chain we really had prior to McDonalds was KFC. Another type of take away you could get (without a drive through) was Nandos Peri Peri chicken http://www.nandos.com/index1.html which really didnt count as a take away because the food is SSSOOO VERY GOOD...
At lunch time, the working class either bought their lunch to work, or if you worked in an office building, there would be many little cafe's or coffee shops with salads, tramezzinis, toasted sandwiches, eggs, soup, tea, coffee etc at your finger tips. Real places with waiters who brought the food to your table (imagine that) with doilies on the saucers under the coffee cups (a saucer is a small plate you put under a coffee cup to rest your spoon and biscotti on... lol)... and milk served in little silver metal or white porcelain jugs... real milk... that came from a cow, that has an expiration date, no palm oils, or hydrogenated dehydrated this or that or some other nonsense you can not even pronounce!
There were fat people, there were thin people, just like anywhere. The only thing I can really think is that the food we ate was so flavourful that we did not need to add all the sauces and condiments that you have here in the USA. A plain white baguette with a piece of cheddar cheese has a wonderful rich flavour. The bread crunches and flakes down your shirt when you bite into it, and you are rewarded of the soft fluffiness. So I am not saying it was overtly 'better' but just in my rememberance and my nostalgia, everything is rose coloured glasses perfect.
In my first couple of months here in the states, I was sick often with stomach bugs. We just attributed it to a whole new plethora of germs and viruses that I had no defense against. I also had this very strange painful stomach issue that would come and go frequently. The Americans told me I had 'gas'. They had an over the counter remedy for it, simethicone, which everyone pretty much knows about and they even give it to babies to help them with 'gas'. My mother and I laugh and say "We've got gasssss" in our funniest American accents whenever we hear the word 'gas'. It is a generic term for tight furious angry pains in your intestines. I also often had nausea and vomiting. I remember I was not able to see the Lipizzaners who came to Atlanta in 05 because I was so sick. Sick from what? I think sick from the food.
People who have heart issues have to be very careful where they buy their meat from because the meat here is all preserved with a sodium solution. So you can be eating poached chicken and broccoli and keel over because the sodium content already within your food is lethal.
But what can you do? I tried to avoid it, and rage against it. I shopped at Trader Joes, bought organic, then looked at my grocery bill appalled and realised something had to change. So I started shopping at Walmart, the American way, and my bill went down, but my dissatisfaction grew...You can get your dry goods at Walmart, but then for meat you have to go to Ingles or Publix or Kroger... And even then if youre going for hormone free, antibiotic free, free range, organic meats and produce, youre paying an arm and a leg.
The meat here does not taste like the South African meat. Even a cheap piece of meat from Pick N Pay. Stick it in the frying pan with salt and pepper. Boil some baby potatoes and make a side salad. Voila, you have a fabulous tasty meal. It just does not cook the same. The meat has this grey scum that collects on the surface. It has extra moisture from the solutions that preserve it. The texture is different, often more tough, and God only knows what the animals were fed.
So I am really not on a mission to rage against the agricultural system in the USA. I can understand what they are trying to do. I understand the vastness of the spaces and territories they have to cover. I understand the cost of transport. I understand we are in a recession. But just for my family and I, I am seeking alternatives.
I do not like to garden, just dont have the time, and I dont enjoy back breaking work (might break a nail). So I have found this supplier in the Dahlonega, Cleveland, Gainesville GA area called Organics2U http://organics2u.net/food.html. Just hoping to get some moms on board with me, so they will start delivering to our area :) Got to give it a try. Has to be better than what we have going on right now.
If youre interested this is from their most recent email :
But that is where realism and our budget (which is always pushed to the limit as it is) comes in and knocks me back down to earth. There also are a couple logistical issues. Firstly I have a job, a heavy commute (2 hours plus per day), I drive my kids to school (they don't ride the bus), the baby (who is surgically attached to my leg), and my 5 year old who wants to be outdoors all of the time. Enter stage right, the daddio who absolutely hates my "plain and boring" South African style of cooking (meaning too many vegetables and not enough sauces). Plus my struggles with my weight and what I know I should be eating to control my weight, trying to teach kids healthy eating habits, the cost of organic and hormone free foods, and yep youre ready to gve up even BEFORE dinner is prepared, let alone cooked and served.
Some history on the way I was fed as a child. My first memories of food were mashed bananas that my mom used to make for my sister and I. They were a solid staple in our household. Similarly the food I feed my children most (to fill in the gaps between meals) have been bananas. Up close would be fruit yoghurt, and eggs on toast. Lunch would be a simple sandwich made on bread that got stale in 24-48 hours, pieces of roast chicken from the dinner the night before, mayonnaise made with clean oils and egg yolks. And dinner would be a smallish piece of meat with three different coloured vegetables and a greek salad. We would always have cookies or cakes in the house that my mother had made from scratch from her old Housewives League cookbook. If we had canned foods in the house it was for dog food, cat food, pilchards, baked beans (sans the bacon and sugar) and tomato puree.
Everything else was made fresh. We used to go to Rebel Farmers and choose a huge trolley full of fresh veggies, which they packed into an old box, and our car would smell like the tops of carrots and a bit of dirt in the sun on the way home. I used to HATE going to the green grocer. It was so boring. But when we got home I was able to eat giant fleshy mangoes that poured their sweet sap down my chin and arms, running down to my elbows. My mother was always slicing a giant pineapple and methodically cutting it into bite sized chunks.
The meat came from either a butcher or Woolworths depending on how busy my mother was or what she felt like. We had a home cooked meal every night thanks to her or the maid, even though my mother worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital. I had a lunch hand made and cut into triangles, very often with the crusts cut off, wrapped in wax paper and put into my lunch box every single day for the 12 years of my schooling, even though my mother was tired and often was going on 5 hours of sleep and I had piano lessons and my sister had netball on the other side of town....
I think McDonalds came to South Africa after sanctions ended post apartheid in 1995. I remember driving past the chock-a-block parking lot on Beyers Naude not quite understanding what all the fuss was about. The only take aways chain we really had prior to McDonalds was KFC. Another type of take away you could get (without a drive through) was Nandos Peri Peri chicken http://www.nandos.com/index1.html which really didnt count as a take away because the food is SSSOOO VERY GOOD...
At lunch time, the working class either bought their lunch to work, or if you worked in an office building, there would be many little cafe's or coffee shops with salads, tramezzinis, toasted sandwiches, eggs, soup, tea, coffee etc at your finger tips. Real places with waiters who brought the food to your table (imagine that) with doilies on the saucers under the coffee cups (a saucer is a small plate you put under a coffee cup to rest your spoon and biscotti on... lol)... and milk served in little silver metal or white porcelain jugs... real milk... that came from a cow, that has an expiration date, no palm oils, or hydrogenated dehydrated this or that or some other nonsense you can not even pronounce!
There were fat people, there were thin people, just like anywhere. The only thing I can really think is that the food we ate was so flavourful that we did not need to add all the sauces and condiments that you have here in the USA. A plain white baguette with a piece of cheddar cheese has a wonderful rich flavour. The bread crunches and flakes down your shirt when you bite into it, and you are rewarded of the soft fluffiness. So I am not saying it was overtly 'better' but just in my rememberance and my nostalgia, everything is rose coloured glasses perfect.
In my first couple of months here in the states, I was sick often with stomach bugs. We just attributed it to a whole new plethora of germs and viruses that I had no defense against. I also had this very strange painful stomach issue that would come and go frequently. The Americans told me I had 'gas'. They had an over the counter remedy for it, simethicone, which everyone pretty much knows about and they even give it to babies to help them with 'gas'. My mother and I laugh and say "We've got gasssss" in our funniest American accents whenever we hear the word 'gas'. It is a generic term for tight furious angry pains in your intestines. I also often had nausea and vomiting. I remember I was not able to see the Lipizzaners who came to Atlanta in 05 because I was so sick. Sick from what? I think sick from the food.
People who have heart issues have to be very careful where they buy their meat from because the meat here is all preserved with a sodium solution. So you can be eating poached chicken and broccoli and keel over because the sodium content already within your food is lethal.
But what can you do? I tried to avoid it, and rage against it. I shopped at Trader Joes, bought organic, then looked at my grocery bill appalled and realised something had to change. So I started shopping at Walmart, the American way, and my bill went down, but my dissatisfaction grew...You can get your dry goods at Walmart, but then for meat you have to go to Ingles or Publix or Kroger... And even then if youre going for hormone free, antibiotic free, free range, organic meats and produce, youre paying an arm and a leg.
The meat here does not taste like the South African meat. Even a cheap piece of meat from Pick N Pay. Stick it in the frying pan with salt and pepper. Boil some baby potatoes and make a side salad. Voila, you have a fabulous tasty meal. It just does not cook the same. The meat has this grey scum that collects on the surface. It has extra moisture from the solutions that preserve it. The texture is different, often more tough, and God only knows what the animals were fed.
So I am really not on a mission to rage against the agricultural system in the USA. I can understand what they are trying to do. I understand the vastness of the spaces and territories they have to cover. I understand the cost of transport. I understand we are in a recession. But just for my family and I, I am seeking alternatives.
I do not like to garden, just dont have the time, and I dont enjoy back breaking work (might break a nail). So I have found this supplier in the Dahlonega, Cleveland, Gainesville GA area called Organics2U http://organics2u.net/food.html. Just hoping to get some moms on board with me, so they will start delivering to our area :) Got to give it a try. Has to be better than what we have going on right now.
If youre interested this is from their most recent email :
Hello from Organics2u,
We appreciate your questions about recycling; YES, we are delighted to re-use boxes, so please bring them when you pick up. To cut down on waste further, we are happy to repack your order into any re-usable bags you bring. We also offer re-usable salad/ spinach bags. These are washable and come fabric covered and reduce plastic waste from food bags.
We also welcome the return of the mason jars used for yogurt etc. These are easily sterilized and re-used.
We offer substantial discounts on cases and half cases of produce. Please let us know if you need anything in bulk.
Pick up is from 596 Gold Ridge Road, Dahlonega on Fridays between 1pm and 7pm. Delivery is available for $10 per address. We have regular drop venues in Dahlonega and Gainesville before 1pm on Fridays. Please enquire for more information.
PRODUCE BOX ORDERS NEED TO BE IN BY TUESDAY NIGHT, MEAT ORDERS BY THURSDAY NIGHT. If you are late we will do our very best to fill your order but there may an occasional substitution.
$30 Organic Produce Box
Carrots with top
Celery
Garlic
Cilantro bunched
Lettuce
Baby Spinach 1/2 lb
Roma Tomato 1/2 lb
2 Avocados
2 Yellow Peaches
2 Packham Pears
2 Pluots (a cross between a plum and an apricot)
2lb Bananas
2 Pink Lady Apples
$30 Fruit/ Smoothie box
4 Yellow Peaches
4 Packham Pears
4 Pluots
4lb Bananas
2 Avocados
1/2 lb Baby Spinach
Raspberries 12oz
Organic Free Range Eggs- $4.50 per dozen
Artisan 80% Wheat, 20% White Bread $4.24 a loaf
Natural Yogurt $4 a quart
Natural Meat. All chemical, pesticide, hormone and anti-biotic free. Raised humanely and with respect.
Grass Fed Beef
Ground Beef $5/lb
Stew Meat $7/lb
Shoulder Roast$7/lb
Chuck Roast $8/lb
Cube Steak (from round) $8/lb
Sirloin Steak $8/lb
Rib Eye $12/ lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
NY Strip $14/lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
Filet $18/lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
Stew Meat $7/lb
Shoulder Roast$7/lb
Chuck Roast $8/lb
Cube Steak (from round) $8/lb
Sirloin Steak $8/lb
Rib Eye $12/ lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
NY Strip $14/lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
Filet $18/lb (2 per pack) PRE ORDER
London Broil $8/lb
Beef Liver $8/lb
Beef Tongue- enquire for pricing
Free-Range Natural Pork
Pork Chops, $8/lb (4 per pack)
Fresh Ham Center Slices $8/lb (Uncured)
Fresh Ham Shank Roast $6/lb
Fresh Ham Butt Roast $6/lb
Boston Butt $7/lb
Spareribs $6/lb PRE ORDER
Sausage, Mild $6/lb
Sausage, Hot $6/lb
Fat Back $5/lb
Leaf Lard $5/lb
Liver $5/lb
Kidneys $5/lb
Pig's Head or Feet $2/lb
(Prices and availability of meats subject to change)
Thank You,
Alex
404 293 3354
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
All been said and done before...
I had a wonderful name for a blog. The spectacular vernacular. But just like every thing we feel or 'deal with' on a daily basis, every iota has already been felt and dealt with by some other person or people in another space and time. So the blog name was taken. (Pout)...
So if everything we have ever felt before is just a mirror of someone elses feelings, a repeat in a repetitive conscious, a duplicate and never an original, then why are we so convinced (even us people who claim to be open minded) that our struggles have value and that our days are important. And more pressing, if every thing has been already done before, then where is the handbook to guide us. Where are the diagrams, the flow charts, the graphs, the analysis of the risks versus the analysis of the outcome, a typed ledger eliminating potential, detailing what move to make and when, ensuring we hit the jack-pot?
Where do the scales of justice come in. Who doles out poverty and famine versus wealth, infamy, abundance, clean water, housing, warmth and food?
I have an aunt who has a serious illness. And it plagues me. It intrigues me how she deals with it in her very calm, methodical, logical and rational mind. I want to know how she has masticated on its implications and stowed away the ramifications in the safety of her very private mind. She has been told, I assume, by medical professionals that at certain stages X will occur and then later on Y will occur and then you can expect Z (and so on and so forth). So I am sure she has played out (as I have played out the scenario in my head) where this illness could possibly take her. But then it struck me. We all have been diagnosed with a fatal condition. And our fatal condition is called Life. It is the surprise you could never plan for. And all the regrets and guilt you could ever imagine, compounded.
So what is worse? Perhaps knowing how its going to end, or the not knowing? The best we can all hope for is that our children and significant others will know that we love them. And that our lives were good and meaningful. Beyond that I have no more words. But I am always on the search for more.
How do you live when youre stuck hoping for the best but planning for the worst, never wanting to be caught off guard. At what point do you just let things be?
So if everything we have ever felt before is just a mirror of someone elses feelings, a repeat in a repetitive conscious, a duplicate and never an original, then why are we so convinced (even us people who claim to be open minded) that our struggles have value and that our days are important. And more pressing, if every thing has been already done before, then where is the handbook to guide us. Where are the diagrams, the flow charts, the graphs, the analysis of the risks versus the analysis of the outcome, a typed ledger eliminating potential, detailing what move to make and when, ensuring we hit the jack-pot?
Where do the scales of justice come in. Who doles out poverty and famine versus wealth, infamy, abundance, clean water, housing, warmth and food?
I have an aunt who has a serious illness. And it plagues me. It intrigues me how she deals with it in her very calm, methodical, logical and rational mind. I want to know how she has masticated on its implications and stowed away the ramifications in the safety of her very private mind. She has been told, I assume, by medical professionals that at certain stages X will occur and then later on Y will occur and then you can expect Z (and so on and so forth). So I am sure she has played out (as I have played out the scenario in my head) where this illness could possibly take her. But then it struck me. We all have been diagnosed with a fatal condition. And our fatal condition is called Life. It is the surprise you could never plan for. And all the regrets and guilt you could ever imagine, compounded.
So what is worse? Perhaps knowing how its going to end, or the not knowing? The best we can all hope for is that our children and significant others will know that we love them. And that our lives were good and meaningful. Beyond that I have no more words. But I am always on the search for more.
How do you live when youre stuck hoping for the best but planning for the worst, never wanting to be caught off guard. At what point do you just let things be?
What prompted the blog...
I have another blog that was supposed to be my thoughts and ramblings... thing is I have realised, I do not have a consciousness separate from that of my kids and family... so it just became stuck, I kind of momento.
I am writing this one in response to this article that Bronwen posted on fb.
http://nymag.com/news/features/67024/ "Why Parents Hate Parenting".... and its not that I hate parenting... its just that sometimes the going gets a bit rough :)
What do you think about the article?
I am writing this one in response to this article that Bronwen posted on fb.
http://nymag.com/news/features/67024/ "Why Parents Hate Parenting".... and its not that I hate parenting... its just that sometimes the going gets a bit rough :)
What do you think about the article?
The words of the little..
Everything I do is recorded on indelible film in their minds. Every time I lose my cool and react in a less than stellar way they have filed it away in their little pocket of MommyMeltdowns to recall at a later date. Like when we are at lunch. And my five year old asks "what does F*$% mean daddy?".
Luckily my husband is as guilty as I am in that department, and we just hose ourselves, spraying iced tea and diet coke across the table, locking eyes as we try to come up with the most appropriate answer for our precocious yet darling 5 year old....
We finally settled on one that bears signific resonance in her 5 year old perfectly pristine mind and reasoning, and that is "its a naughty word that mom and daddy says sometimes when theyre mad but if you say it at school or in front of your friends you will get into trouble, so don't say it okay sweetie?".She nodded, a cherubim angel, locks as golden as the sun and it dissolved into the air around us. The wrinkles around my husbands eyes from laughing were the only remnants of our little giggle.
Issue was dropped for the meantime until many moons later when it made an abrupt appearance once again in her vocabulary. I was driving my mothers car, we parked it at the bottom of the hill, the autumn leaves swirled at our feet, the sky was grey and ominous. And there was this dastardly clammouring and banging coming from up on the hill next to our house. As we shut the cars doors, and my mother and I gathered up our purchases, there was this little voice that spoke out loud and clear above the infernal banging. The then 4 year old little cherub resonated a Cheshire cat grin when she impishly said "Whats all that f*$%ing noise?". We dropped our bags and looked at her quizzically. And then we turned to each other to confer, did she just say what we thought we heard? And I said "What did you say Shannon?" and she said Whats all that noise mommy?" like butter wouldnt melt in her mouth... and I said "no no no I heard you say something else?" and she giggled and her bitten fingernails and pink sausage fingers went up to her mouth as if she were trying to stuff the laughter that was coming out, back in. And we all then threw our heads back in laughter and just giggled as we walked up the hill. I reiterated that what she said was hysterical (I mean lie and say it was not?) but if she said it at the inappropriate time that she could get punished. She said she got the message. And thus far I think she has. There have been no more F Bombs dropping out of her mouth. But as for me, well I would by lying if I said my lexicon was purely chaste.
Luckily my husband is as guilty as I am in that department, and we just hose ourselves, spraying iced tea and diet coke across the table, locking eyes as we try to come up with the most appropriate answer for our precocious yet darling 5 year old....
We finally settled on one that bears signific resonance in her 5 year old perfectly pristine mind and reasoning, and that is "its a naughty word that mom and daddy says sometimes when theyre mad but if you say it at school or in front of your friends you will get into trouble, so don't say it okay sweetie?".She nodded, a cherubim angel, locks as golden as the sun and it dissolved into the air around us. The wrinkles around my husbands eyes from laughing were the only remnants of our little giggle.
Issue was dropped for the meantime until many moons later when it made an abrupt appearance once again in her vocabulary. I was driving my mothers car, we parked it at the bottom of the hill, the autumn leaves swirled at our feet, the sky was grey and ominous. And there was this dastardly clammouring and banging coming from up on the hill next to our house. As we shut the cars doors, and my mother and I gathered up our purchases, there was this little voice that spoke out loud and clear above the infernal banging. The then 4 year old little cherub resonated a Cheshire cat grin when she impishly said "Whats all that f*$%ing noise?". We dropped our bags and looked at her quizzically. And then we turned to each other to confer, did she just say what we thought we heard? And I said "What did you say Shannon?" and she said Whats all that noise mommy?" like butter wouldnt melt in her mouth... and I said "no no no I heard you say something else?" and she giggled and her bitten fingernails and pink sausage fingers went up to her mouth as if she were trying to stuff the laughter that was coming out, back in. And we all then threw our heads back in laughter and just giggled as we walked up the hill. I reiterated that what she said was hysterical (I mean lie and say it was not?) but if she said it at the inappropriate time that she could get punished. She said she got the message. And thus far I think she has. There have been no more F Bombs dropping out of her mouth. But as for me, well I would by lying if I said my lexicon was purely chaste.
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