A special day July 10th” to my Father!”

It has been a while now since the last post. I did finish my red jumper and just love it. But here, at the moment it is another day with clouds and rain. I was hoping to get a few hours in the garden to plant a few things and tidy around.

But I am here instead, in front of the computer typing away at my blog. Nice you would say, yes, but I’d rather be out. This rain has finally got to me. I had a an awful cold and that kept me feverish and miserable for days. Just getting over it with lots of VD3 and VC and probiotic and so on. I am bound to get better.

My sister in law has asked to knit her a jumper and my dear husband has also asked me to redo his cardigan that I had knitted last year. As one can imagine, I am not being short of a job or things to do.

Since I am in form to be in the kitchen again, this morning, I have made a beautiful sweet. Nothing new, just a family tradition. Since, we are a little tired of cakes and biscuits, dates and nuts were  in order. It took me about 1 hour to do about 1.8kg of these bars which will keep for months in the fridge. Many of you would be familiar with this Desert Nougat, because not only of the family background but also the treat f receiving it and tasting it. Image

The stove is burning away on this winter day and I feel nice and cosy being inside. I also would love to thank my sons for being so close while being so far. Enquiring about how I was during all of last week. That was comforting as P. would fuss around with lemon ginger drinks and tending all foods and drinks.

After all the above and chit chat, the real reason for wanting to blog to day is to spend a little time with my father. It has been 5 years today since he left us with a deep sadness in our heart. There has not been a day when my thought did not wander for just a few secondes towards him.  A picture in my head, a thought, a few words of what he used to say. Or at times his stern behaviour or amazing laughter and giggles, his religious silence or sharp tone of being indignant. His serious attitude and at the same time indulgent and giving and forgiving. 

Dressed with his blue cardigan that mum knitted for him, his beanie and his hair, yes his white curly hair, never brushed, never combed or hardly…and when one day it was too long, he just took a pair of whopping great scissors (that he used to have in Paris to cut his material) he would grab a white lock of hair and just snipped. Yep, just like that. He would say then, he could not be bothered either brushing it or going to the hairdresser ( which he never did anyway). getting the scissors was the best way to deal with it. That used to make us laugh and he laughed with us as well given the burlesque of his situation. 

Then, onto preparing cakes or cookies when we used to come up and have coffee with them in their log cabin in Emerald. Mum, would start boiling the water, she was the first one to get the coffee moving. Then dad, would start meticulously to grind it and go through the ritual. But before all that the cakes had to be decorated, finished. Cream added, napping it with all sorts of goodies…a raspberry( from the garden at times)  coulis that would give it a fabulous colour. A delicious filling of stewed apples, based on puff pastry that he used to make. He would arrive tray in hands while Mum served the coffee. Everybody was waiting to get their teeth into the cake. Inevitably groans of ” huuummmm” would echo from everyone as we sank our teeth into the apples and the succulent pastry, the raspberry and at times a little ice-cream if he had it  around. Everyone would focus  on the flavours. But the worse part of it all, we had to bear was,  that chorus of criticisms that would spring out of everybody’s mouth. Hence, Mum would say : “maybe a little more sugar” or dad would add: ” I should have added a little more rhum” or P. would say, : “I find it just right” or I would reinforce with my strong voice ” it should not have cooked   longer, the pastry is a little overcooked, but it fits with the apples”. So, everyone would not rest till our mouth totally filled with luscious morsels would find the little  facet that would bring  dad  to say to cesse all discussions : ” well, I will try better next time” and all will explode with interminable laughters. As we knew really deep inside that the cake was really delicious as not a crumb would say on the plate and even have second helpings, especially P, who would say sheepishly, ” that would be nice” and dad would cut him another slice while mum topped up his coffee cup.

 Then, dad would sit there and roll a cigarette and initiate a discussion, after this moment of bliss, another form of bliss would follow. The interminable explorations that we used to have on any topics. Religious, social, political, personal, psychological books that we used to read together and discuss. Passges that would take us  hours to dissect and go to the bottom of it all. Or so we thought. The pros and the cons, the deeper aspects of Castanada, Alan Watts, Pierce, Kelleman, Grinder, Bandler and so on. These colloquies that went on for close to 30 years. 

How can we forget? How can that be brushed under the carpet? How not to think of a moment of these times that we shared so deeply? Never these moments would engrave themselves into our life and our being forever and become part of us and our own daily explorations till today. 

Here it is…The red jumper that is

After having made a couple of mistakes( not really) I finished the beast.

I just realised that after undoing a segment of the sleeves(which were a tad too long) I did not get the same pattern. Because I used the same wool that I unfolded. So I had to start t a new ball of wool. There was a distinct mark. So, if you undo a segment of your garment, do not use the same wool again. I guess you already knew that hey!

The rain during all these weeks helped me a lot. In fromt of the fire, nice and warm. My fingers hurried along. All the while I listened to some audio books. Had a great time doing it.