Today
Had a spiffing Christmas. The girls were there, together with a friend of Becky's and we had fun, food and friendliness the whole time. None of this quarrelling after 2 days together in the same house, which is what the magazines tell us will happen.
After the Christmas apart last year and with all this year's troubles it was just lovely.
And I got some splendid gifts. Many of them showed a reference to my "Dear Santa" blog which does tell me who pays attention.
I shall sit down and write out "Thank you" letters early in the New Year. Even if you've been able to say thanks in person, nothing quite beats a written letter.
In My Day
When I was little, I rarely received gifts from outside the immediate family. I had no aunts and uncles (at least none whom we spent time with), nor a bundle of cousins. And our Christmases were always spent in the bosom of the family.
So I was never taught about sending thank you letters as it did seem rather pointless when the givers were right next to you at the breakfast table each morning.
Over the years I've much enjoyed the thank you letters sent to me by my neices. I say neices, because my nephews only sporadically thank me formally although the advent of email and texting has made it easier.
But the little cards I've received from the girls! Here are some examples:
After 2 consecutive years of managing to choose the right garments as gifts for one niece:
"If I were royal, I'd make you my official clothes buyer..."
From another, following a gift of a cool Monsoon bag:
"This bag is so cool that at school I've been making money by allowing my friends to hire it..."
And from another neice to whom I'd given a rather nice skirt and top, a somewhat belated card explaining that she'd spent a considerable amount of time videoing herself, using her phone, doing a sort ot catwalk display, but had failed to send it to me. (Later, when we were together, she showed it me on the actual phone, where she was doing a delighted twirl).
The thought counts, but the resulting gift shows just how much the givers understand you. Thank you all for your imaginatively chosen gifts.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Monday, December 11, 2006
Mrs Frosty
Today
Well, I've actually put the first layer of icing on the Christmas cake. Not what you might call a professional job (how do cake icers get that smooth layer? Perhaps they use a sander when the icing's dry.
Hopefully, when I've covered it with jolly little decorations, no-one will notice the poor foundation, so to speak.
In My Day
Mamma was a great cake-maker for birthdays and Christmas. The Christmas cake would be made several weeks in advance. She would double line the tin and wrap the whole thing in brown paper before putting it in the oven to cook for 4 or 5 hours. I can still remember that slight burnt raisin smell that told us it was done.
Later she would marzipan the cake (she bought this and it was always a bright yellow colour) and a few days before Christmas put on the base icing. This took quite a long time and there were always debates about how much lemon juice in relation to how much glycerine went into the icing.
I think that, like me, Mamma always dreamt of finishing the cake well before Christmas, but what usually happen
ed was that she was frantically icing at 1 in the morning on Christmas eve.
This is how she did it:
First the design was worked out and transferred onto greasproof or tracing paper. Then the paper was laid on the cake and the design pricked out with a pin on the base icing. Mamma mixed up the icing and separated it into bowls, one for each colour. Each bowl was covered with a wet tea towel to keep it workable. Mamma used an icing gun rather than forcing bag (in my own forays, I've found the bag easier, but chacun etc....).
The the real work would start. We would help by finding the right nozzle or cleaning the coloured icing out of one so that she could use it with a different colour. (I can remember the taste of icing mixed with cochineal)
The most magnificent design was conceived by my brother Chris and Mamma gallantly laboured over it until it was done. We hardly dared to cut and eat it.
I wouldn't dare to imagine that mine will come anything close!
Well, I've actually put the first layer of icing on the Christmas cake. Not what you might call a professional job (how do cake icers get that smooth layer? Perhaps they use a sander when the icing's dry.
Hopefully, when I've covered it with jolly little decorations, no-one will notice the poor foundation, so to speak.
In My Day
Mamma was a great cake-maker for birthdays and Christmas. The Christmas cake would be made several weeks in advance. She would double line the tin and wrap the whole thing in brown paper before putting it in the oven to cook for 4 or 5 hours. I can still remember that slight burnt raisin smell that told us it was done.
Later she would marzipan the cake (she bought this and it was always a bright yellow colour) and a few days before Christmas put on the base icing. This took quite a long time and there were always debates about how much lemon juice in relation to how much glycerine went into the icing.
I think that, like me, Mamma always dreamt of finishing the cake well before Christmas, but what usually happen
ed was that she was frantically icing at 1 in the morning on Christmas eve. This is how she did it:
First the design was worked out and transferred onto greasproof or tracing paper. Then the paper was laid on the cake and the design pricked out with a pin on the base icing. Mamma mixed up the icing and separated it into bowls, one for each colour. Each bowl was covered with a wet tea towel to keep it workable. Mamma used an icing gun rather than forcing bag (in my own forays, I've found the bag easier, but chacun etc....).
The the real work would start. We would help by finding the right nozzle or cleaning the coloured icing out of one so that she could use it with a different colour. (I can remember the taste of icing mixed with cochineal)
The most magnificent design was conceived by my brother Chris and Mamma gallantly laboured over it until it was done. We hardly dared to cut and eat it.
I wouldn't dare to imagine that mine will come anything close!
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Frozen Assets
Today
In a burst of enthusiam this afternoon I made the red cabbage and cranberry sauce for Christmas lunch. "Easy to freeze", thought I, "and less to do on Christmas Eve".
They're sitting on the worktop, cooling slightly before I bung them in the freezer. Apart from a contretemps when one container of red cabbage sprang a leak (a little of the that red juice does go a long way), they're all done and dusted. And I'll do the same with the Brazil nut loaf mix.
In My Day
It was Paul's father who first enthused about getting a freezer, back in the early 70s. They were on offer at Debenham's and he worked out that he was better off getting credit to buy it, rather than waiting till he had the money when the price would have gone up.
When we moved to Rowan Avenue (our first proper house) we decided that we could do with one as well. We measured up the front porch and decided that a chest freezer would just fit in. To raise the cash we signed up with Barclaycard (our first credit card - what a lot of firsts).
The freezer was put into the porch and we discovered the first law of chest freezers - they need feeding. We celebrated the dubious joys of vegetable freezing. Beatrice worked for a vegetable auctioneers and we bought sacks of beans, parsnips, carrots and nets of cabbages at a knock down price. We didn't count the cost of a) travelling to Wisbech to get them (we'd have probably visited Beatrice anyway) or b) the time cost of laboriously scalding, cooling, bagging and labelling every single piece of produce.
We never got into the side of beef-type purchases but we did buy packs of various cuts of meat etc. We regularly trotted off to the cash and carry and returned with huge amounts of food which was duly decanted into the freezer's capacious stomach.
When Becky was a baby I used to freeze ice-cube trays with pureed vegetables and get out so many a day to give to the childminder.
The purchase of the freezer meant that we were unable to buy a washing machine, so we shared these appliances with our neighbours and best friends. They popped over to get out their frozen goods (it seemed as though they only had ice-cream in there!) while we used their kitchen like a launderette.
Shortly before we left no 33 the freezer died, having first deposited a huge gobbet of ice on the carpet.
Since then, no longer needing to store meaty things and preferring our veg fresh, we've relied on a fridge-freezer and eschewed rapacious chest freezers.
Anyway, I'd better go downstairs and sort things out.
In a burst of enthusiam this afternoon I made the red cabbage and cranberry sauce for Christmas lunch. "Easy to freeze", thought I, "and less to do on Christmas Eve".
They're sitting on the worktop, cooling slightly before I bung them in the freezer. Apart from a contretemps when one container of red cabbage sprang a leak (a little of the that red juice does go a long way), they're all done and dusted. And I'll do the same with the Brazil nut loaf mix.
In My Day
It was Paul's father who first enthused about getting a freezer, back in the early 70s. They were on offer at Debenham's and he worked out that he was better off getting credit to buy it, rather than waiting till he had the money when the price would have gone up.
When we moved to Rowan Avenue (our first proper house) we decided that we could do with one as well. We measured up the front porch and decided that a chest freezer would just fit in. To raise the cash we signed up with Barclaycard (our first credit card - what a lot of firsts).
The freezer was put into the porch and we discovered the first law of chest freezers - they need feeding. We celebrated the dubious joys of vegetable freezing. Beatrice worked for a vegetable auctioneers and we bought sacks of beans, parsnips, carrots and nets of cabbages at a knock down price. We didn't count the cost of a) travelling to Wisbech to get them (we'd have probably visited Beatrice anyway) or b) the time cost of laboriously scalding, cooling, bagging and labelling every single piece of produce.
We never got into the side of beef-type purchases but we did buy packs of various cuts of meat etc. We regularly trotted off to the cash and carry and returned with huge amounts of food which was duly decanted into the freezer's capacious stomach.
When Becky was a baby I used to freeze ice-cube trays with pureed vegetables and get out so many a day to give to the childminder.
The purchase of the freezer meant that we were unable to buy a washing machine, so we shared these appliances with our neighbours and best friends. They popped over to get out their frozen goods (it seemed as though they only had ice-cream in there!) while we used their kitchen like a launderette.
Shortly before we left no 33 the freezer died, having first deposited a huge gobbet of ice on the carpet.
Since then, no longer needing to store meaty things and preferring our veg fresh, we've relied on a fridge-freezer and eschewed rapacious chest freezers.
Anyway, I'd better go downstairs and sort things out.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Bat out of Hell
Today
Last night, having done about half of the Christmas Cards, Paul & I settled down to watch "Love Actually" Great film - I always feel that, if the Americans had got hold of it, it would have been sugary, but with Richard Curtis there's always an element of the ironic, sad or even bitter.
Quite a lot of the film was devoted to showing people running towards their love in a variety of ways, from the little boy living out a fantasy in the airport to the more sedate journey made by the PM.
In My Day
I first met Paul at a party and we had a couple of dates following that. I can't say that they set off fireworks for me. On one occasion I even tried to end it but Paul pleaded so much that I agreed to another meeting. (Well, he had spent a good deal of that occasion talking to an ex-girlfriend!).
Paul had just joined the Sussex police and about 3 weeks after we met, had to go to Sandgate for his training. "I'll see you on Friday" were his parting words.
He wrote me a light-hearted letter during the week, describing the horrors of life at a police training centre. Otherwise life went on as usual.
On the Friday, I came home from college, had a bite to eat, changed. 7.00 pm - no phone call, 7.30 pm - no phone call, 8.00 pm - no phone call. "Never mind, Julia," I told myself, "Pleasant enough while it lasted but no big deal."
I decided to wash my hair, which was very long and straight in studenty fashion. About 8.30 pm, just wrapped the towel around when the phone rang. It was Paul. "So sorry I didn't call sooner, the traffic was grim - I didn't get home till after 7.00 and Mum had cooked a big meal etc etc. Would you like to meet in town?"
Would I!! I bunged on my coat and ran all the way into town. It was downhill, about a mile and a half and the temperature was freezing. By the time I met Paul I actually had icicles in my hair.
We walked along the seafront, talking and talking and the rest, as they say, is history.
What the people in the film discover is that you should never let false pride get in the way of finding your love - and I would agree.
Last night, having done about half of the Christmas Cards, Paul & I settled down to watch "Love Actually" Great film - I always feel that, if the Americans had got hold of it, it would have been sugary, but with Richard Curtis there's always an element of the ironic, sad or even bitter.
Quite a lot of the film was devoted to showing people running towards their love in a variety of ways, from the little boy living out a fantasy in the airport to the more sedate journey made by the PM.
In My Day
I first met Paul at a party and we had a couple of dates following that. I can't say that they set off fireworks for me. On one occasion I even tried to end it but Paul pleaded so much that I agreed to another meeting. (Well, he had spent a good deal of that occasion talking to an ex-girlfriend!).
Paul had just joined the Sussex police and about 3 weeks after we met, had to go to Sandgate for his training. "I'll see you on Friday" were his parting words.
He wrote me a light-hearted letter during the week, describing the horrors of life at a police training centre. Otherwise life went on as usual.
On the Friday, I came home from college, had a bite to eat, changed. 7.00 pm - no phone call, 7.30 pm - no phone call, 8.00 pm - no phone call. "Never mind, Julia," I told myself, "Pleasant enough while it lasted but no big deal."
I decided to wash my hair, which was very long and straight in studenty fashion. About 8.30 pm, just wrapped the towel around when the phone rang. It was Paul. "So sorry I didn't call sooner, the traffic was grim - I didn't get home till after 7.00 and Mum had cooked a big meal etc etc. Would you like to meet in town?"
Would I!! I bunged on my coat and ran all the way into town. It was downhill, about a mile and a half and the temperature was freezing. By the time I met Paul I actually had icicles in my hair.
We walked along the seafront, talking and talking and the rest, as they say, is history.
What the people in the film discover is that you should never let false pride get in the way of finding your love - and I would agree.
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