Tag Archives: mother

Dreams of country kitchens, pea wine, vegan banana cake

Yesterday’s post got me thinking of food and cooking. I used to do more cooking. With children it is a necessary part of life if the children are to thrive. When I was a child my mother did all the cooking. The only way we children helped was pick some vegetables from our garden or wash and peel potatoes. I do not remember ever cooking anything when I was living at home with my parents. Not even when I was an adult visiting my parents.

The food at my childhood home was very simple. Potatoes and bread were the staples at every meal. Perhaps not always – sometimes we had a macaroni dish baked in the oven or a main soup made with macaroni and vegetables. When those were served we did not have potatoes. But bread was always on the table. My mother baked really good bread. We had always rye bread (I think it might be what is called sour bread, although any sour bread I have had here is nowhere near as good) and either mixed flour bread (oat, wheat, barley) or bread made with just wheat or mainly wheat. At least two kinds of bread were always at any meal table.

Meat was never the main dish, it was more like a garnish. Well, that is not the right word. A side dish – perhaps. Some meat could be added to the gravy or we could have some sliced meat to put on bread. Even the roast pork I mentioned in the last post was not the main thing of the dinner. With the roast pork we would have a potato casserole, a carrot casserole, a cauliflower casserole, a turnip (rutabaga) casserole, bread and pickles. And lets not forget the fish dish that I never liked.

I never learnt cooking as a child. I sort of picked it up later on following recipes – more or less. I have always been more of an experimental cook. I might follow a recipe once, but next time change it a little or not bother measuring ingredients exactly. It all depended what I happened to have available. So one time a dish might be really good and the next time not so good or really horrible. One thing I became an expert on was pancakes. When I moved away from home to my own rented room with a little cooking corner I lived on pancakes during the week and went home for weekends to eat other food. I might have cooked something else occasionally, but the main thing I remember cooking and eating was pancakes and more pancakes and yet more pancakes. And I still like pancakes (vegan pancakes made with soy milk) although I do not make them much at all nowadays.

The reason I have not done much cooking in my present home is that the cooking facilities have been somewhat limited. When I bought this house there was a working kitchen and I discovered the original unusable kitchen in the cellar with rusted iron things inside the big hole in the thick wall. Neither of those was what I wanted (if the original had been in working order it might have been – I now have a sauna there).  The working kitchen was really badly designed and really badly put together. The units were coming apart, never having been properly done. I got rid of that kitchen giving the gas hob and the oven to a friend and burning the units (could not do anything else with them). That room is now a kind of store room with the new toilet taking a corner of it.

My new kitchen is inside the main house now. I had a stove company build a wood burning stove and a wood burning stove/room heater going through the wall and heating the room next to it too. Unfortunately, the company doing it was not up to scratch. I commissioned them for two reasons: I read about them in an environmental magazine and they were the only company in this country installing the sort of stoves I wanted. The magazine gave me the impression that they were doing good work building and installing good environmentally friendly products. The literature of the company claimed to build and install the sort of stoves that were and still are very common in my country of origin. Lesson No 1: Do not trust environmental magazines to have checked the products of people and companies they have information for. Lesson No 2: Do not trust what companies say of themselves even when they claim to be for the sort of ideals you hold dear.

The company has been back once to correct something in the stoves. Still not working as well as they should. And the company refuses to come and correct anything else unless I agree that the biggest problem with them is not their fault and I would have to pay to put it right. The biggest problem is the water heating element in the cooking stove. It is not correctly positioned. In all the boilers that I know of the cold water comes from lower down than the pipe taking the hot water up. In this one they are level. The result is that the water being heated goes up both ways and then at some point tries to adjust, I assume, and makes horrible bangs doing it. The noise is truly scary. It is slightly less now that the pipes are better attached to the wall. I had to correct that as the company left them a little loose. They had forgotten their better drill they told me and could not work the screws properly on the wall because of that.

I do not use the cooking stove very much. The oven/room heater stove I use every day in the winter and not at all in the summer. The oven in that is not as good as I had expected. I have not really tried many dishes in it as the ones I have tried have not worked as well as they should have. The cooking facilities I have here that I use all the time are: a kettle, a toaster, a sandwich toaster, a microwave oven I bought a few months ago, a two ring electric hotplate I bought a couple of months ago. I almost forgot, a friend gave me an electric slow cooker recently. I have ideas of how to improve the stoves I have but no money for it at the moment.

I had such dreams about my new kitchen. I thought I would have a proper country kitchen – an environmentally friendly country kitchen. I even dreamt of doing proper cooking more than once a year. I thought once the house was finished I’ll cook (if I cannot have someone else to do it for me), I’ll bake cakes as I used to (I did more of them – my vegan banana cake was delicious), I’ll learn to do the rye bread and other breads my mum made, I’ll make wine again (pea wine, apple wine, berry wine – all soooo good).  There is a tiny, little spark of hope of that still in me. Maybe …. one day.


Protection is the name of the game

I have been sitting here looking at my computer for a while now. Thoughts swirled in my head, but the fingers avoided contact with the keyboard. So now that I have started, I wonder which of the thoughts find their way here.

I read the second first post before starting on this one. It got me thinking of my children and the reasons I could not confide all my thoughts or feelings to them. In some ways I am very close to them, but I think having needed to protect them from harm and hurt from their earliest days made me hide my own hurt and pain from them so as not to cause them any more pain. This need to protect my children has been the overriding concern of my life since they were born. There are issues even now that make me feel that I have to continue this way. Perhaps writing these things here will make me see if there is a real need for it or not.

The father of my first two children was a physically and verbally violent person. Yet I stayed with him for about six years. He was not violent at the beginning. We met while we were both students in a foreign country. He was his mother’s favourite of his siblings whereas his brother was the father’s favourite. I am not sure where the sisters stood in that. There were (still are) five of them. I know my ex was hurt by the father’s favouritism of the younger brother. He was also hurt by the fact that the girl (she was still a girl when my ex left his country as my ex was a boy of 16) he was in love with was out of his reach because of her parents’ disapproval. I am not sure of the reason for the disapproval. My ex talked about it a lot at the beginning, but as English was not the first language for either of us coupled with the thought disorder from which my ex suffered (among other things) I found it difficult to follow his ramblings (the right word for it although it sounds disrespectful and dismissive) at times.

I did not know anything about a thought disorder at the time. I just knew that he kept jumping from one issue to another. I thought at the time that my understanding of English was to blame for my not being able to follow his conversation. It is only later that I got to know about other issues relating to him. Like the fact that the symptoms that he displayed then and now (I have sporadic contact with his sisters and my children by him have visited their family in that country) are indicative of paranoid schizophrenia – left totally untreated in his case although the family seems to realize what is going on. The symptoms that I saw at the time without understanding any of it were the before mentioned thought disorder; paranoia about people around him talking about him in a negative way; any accidental slight being purposefully aimed at him; generally the whole society of the country we lived in being against him.

I did not see any of this until after we were married. It was not a marriage of two people who were madly in love. I went out with him in the beginning because I was curious. I had never met anyone from his country. To me he was a kind of exotic curiosity. Not a good reason to start any kind of relationship. We would never have got married if I had not got pregnant. He wanted me to have an abortion and to please him I asked the doctor about it. I was relieved by the negative answer because my religious background would have made it difficult for me to go through with it at the time.  I did contemplate disappearing somewhere where no one knew me and living my life with the baby without any contact from disapproving relations.  However, we both moved in the same religious circle and had people around us who saw to it that we did “the right thing” and got married. If we had not done that I would not have had my second child. So even the worst things have something good in them: I would not be without my two children from that disaster of a marriage.

The father of my children being what he was I had to protect my children from him. As my little ones told me after I had left him he “was always angry”. We had knives being waved about and even flying past us. If I did not get to the crying baby first, that baby was waved about in the air and I was asked “shall I mash her head in the wall?” Luckily I was quite good at preventing much of this. At the time I thought the anger which he took out on us was caused by the racism he suffered in the country we lived in at the time. I thought that once we got to his country things would be different. Unfortunately, it was not the case. So after about a year there I escaped with my children. My parents gave me the money to leave and I used an excuse of my father’s illness. On getting to my birth country I was finally able to sleep not having to worry about the children getting hurt. My sister told me that I slept through my son howling his head off at night after having hit his nose when he got up in a strange place. And I was right next to him; he was crying straight into my ear.