Rekindling old loves

This grotty old table was close to its final moments. Firewood was on the cards. A dismal farewell for a piece of wood that has fared us pretty well over the years. The memories are etched into its simple grain. It’s held more homework books and pencil shavings than I can even begin to recall. It’s shared numerous birthday cakes, Sunday roasts and candle-lit dinners. It has survived callous abuse of craft knives, cheap kids’ paints and muddy cat paws. Within its corners and underside it has generous reserves of last Christmas’ lunch (don’t ask, please). And if you look carefully you’ll find cemented smears of tomato sauce. Plus eye out the legs and you’ll discover a discreet collection of kids’ artwork.

So its end was near, but I couldn’t find a suitable replacement. I wasn’t keen on a brand new table, its replacement needed to have some character, a few stories to tell – some past abuse. Finding this ideal table was an elusive search for the Holy Grail. It didn’t exist. But then one day I realised it did, and it was just a coat of paint and some elbow grease away from me. So, that’s the story of this table.

primer

Restoring the table wasn’t a one-day job. It took several days. Step one: sand, sand like hell. You’re still vibrating an hour afterwards. Once sanded, prime it. We only painted the sides and the legs. Leave to dry for 650 hours. Once the primer had thoroughly dried we painted on three coats of Dulux Overtly Olive. The photos don’t show the true colour, but in straight-talking English Overtly Olive is paint shop jargon for ‘pale green’ or ‘Sage’, to be slightly more descriptive. It’s not Olive green per se. The top of the table was varnished with a brush-on satin teak stain.

top coats

You like it? I can’t believe it’s the same table. Cat and kids are required to shift around the table with absolute caution. Ketchup is off the shopping list. Christmas lunch will be served from the coffee table this year. Yes, we all know this will last until next week. But let’s momentarily savour the start of a new beginning. Well, sort of.

job done

One giraffe and an elephant, please

In a not too distant life when I was working for a local newspaper I met a Zimbabwean craftsman who carved impressively large animal artworks out of solid wood. I discovered him and his wooden zoo on the roadside. Hawking on the pavements is the norm in South Africa. You can buy anything from plastic clothes hangers and Calvin Klein underpants to rustic diningroom tables and illegal homemade Zulu beer on a routine drive to and from work.

But this craftsman was a newbie to the sidewalk. His large polished wooden animals herded along the roadside were sculpted with real skill. I asked him about a giraffe and an elephant, both created from a mix of light and dark woods and impeccable detail that highlighted folds in the flesh and contours of the eyes.

He shook his head and said they were all already purchased and just waiting to be collected. My disappointment must have shown because he pulled a two inch pencil from behind his ear and a small torn paper from his pocket.  ‘Give me your name and telephone number,” he said, ‘I phone you when I’m back here with another giraffe and elephant.’

He said he was travelling back to Zimbabwe and would be back in SA soon with more wooden animals. I gave my details, thinking nothing would come of it. A few months passed and my phone rang. The conversation went something like this:

‘Hello, I got your giraffe and elephant.’ ‘

‘Excuse me?’

‘You want giraffe and elephant? I got for you. You come collect?’

When you work as a journalist anything is possible and the surreal very often becomes the real.

‘Yes, okay that’s right. Of course, the giraffe and elephant, lovely. Thanks.’

‘You come to fetch these giraffe and elephant today?’

‘Sure, but how am I going to collect a giraffe and elephant? My car’s too small. Why don’t you deliver them to me?’ I forced a courteous laugh.

‘But you want giraffe and elephant, you must come fetch. When you come?’

‘I cannot collect them, they won’t fit in my car. Can you deliver them for me?’

‘They fit in your car, both giraffe and elephant yes they fit in your car. You come today? I have them for you.’

This was going nowhere. I put the phone down. An African man offering me a giraffe and elephant? Only a handful of cows would suffice a traditional African marriage.

Minutes later I realised my mistake. I never saw him again.

Wherever you are, Zimbabwean crafter, please accept my apologies. If only we’d spoken the same language.

Oscar in the games

My guess is that it was Col Olympic outside the lavatory with the gun, the cricket bat and the prosthetics – armed with a bucket-load of rage, zero balls and the freedom of choice. In less than five months Col Olympic went from global race-track phenomenon to murderer; destroying a status that took almost a lifetime to build in the time it takes to comprehend one sentence: ‘Oscar Pistorius has been charged with murdering his girlfriend’.

So the jury’s out. Did he mistake his girlfriend for an intruder? If so did he forget she was spending the night? I sometimes wake up and have no clue what day it is. Memory often fails me during the day, I wouldn’t be surprised if it makes a full escape each night. So it was dark; he couldn’t see that his girlfriend wasn’t in bed. Fine, but come on, would you be able to leg it across your bedroom, open a balcony door, retrieve a fan (electric plug, cord and all), and then make it back into your bed in 100% darkness – with no legs? I’d be battered, bruised and tooth-befallen before even reaching the balcony door. Let’s move on. Okay, it was dark, he cleverly hauled in the fan from the balcony, assumed his girlfriend was asleep in his bed. Or forgot about her altogether, we’re still figuring that out.

He heard a noise from the bathroom and recalled a possible entry point for intruders. He shouted out before grabbing his gun from beneath his bed. Why didn’t his girlfriend – now in the bathroom as we know – respond to his initial shout during the time it took him to get from the bedroom to the bathroom door and fire four shots? Why did she lock the bathroom door? Do you lock yours during the wee hours when you need the loo? Maybe I would if I wanted absolute quiet time to play Sudoku. Then, why force the bathroom door open without first calling the police? If you suspect an intruder has broken in, and followed it up with a flurry of bullets, would you break the door down to face the gruesome scene – alone? What if the intruder dodged the bullets and hid out in the shower or bath? You open that door without knowing what lies behind it, really? Or maybe it’s easier to bash down the door knowing the carnage that lies hopelessly behind it.

So friends, this is why I place Col Olympic outside the lavatory with the gun, the cricket bat and the prosthetics – and the bucket-load of rage, zero balls and the freedom of choice. I doubt it’s brave Col Mustard defending sleeping Miss Scarlett with the candlestick in the pitch black drawing-room.

 

homemade peppermint hot choc

My inner Grinch is gradually reawakening. It poked me in the eye earlier today and whispered obscenities in my ear. Christmas shopping is a painful experience. I must have seen more than 100 souls dragging slaughtered fir trees around the nursery this morning. Lumberjacks in disguise, all wearing faces as taut as granny’s curls. Tis’ the season to be jolly. Please pass the mulled wine?

I digress. I’d like to share this gorgeous peppermint hot chocolate recipe with you. We’ll be making several jars of these for teachers’ gifts this year. What I love about this is that it’s a handmade gift. Nothing beats that, don’t you think?

It takes about 20 minutes to layer the ingredients. I haven’t given precise measurements as you’ll need to decide amounts according to the size of your jar. Each ingredient is layered, here’s what you need:

* Soft brown sugar, about a quarter of a cup (for a standard size jar)
* A dash of cinnamon and nutmeg
* Chocolate chips, dark and milk chocolate, about half a cup
* Good quality cocoa powder, about a third of a cup
* Good quality hot chocolate power, about a third of a cup
* Mini marshmallows, quarter of a cup
* A couple of peppermint candy canes, crushed

Start by mixing the sugar and spices and then carefully pour it into a clean glass jar. Make sure it’s level and then pour in a layer of dark and then milk chocolate chips. Keep it level. Mix the cocoa and hot chocolate powders and then slowly pour into the jar. Add the marshmallows and then top up with the crushed peppermint candy canes. Leave a little space at the top… but don’t shake the jar if you’re giving it as a gift!

To make this delicious drink the jar will need a good shake, then add two heaped tablespoons of the mixture into hot milk. You can write this out on a tag and tie it around the top of the jar with a ribbon and garden twine – or even butchers’ twine.

Enjoy!

festive cherry, chilli and cinnamon cookies

The combination of cherry, chilli, cinnamon and orange zest in a homemade biscuit is heavenly. The flavours fuse beautifully and leave a comfortably delicious tingle on your tongue.

I wanted to make a Christmas biscuit but was craving something other than ginger. The orange and cinnamon together with a pinch of ground spice give it that Christmassy flavour. The cherry adds great texture, colour and a ripple of sweetness. Chilli pops a subtle but cheeky kick and leaves a pleasant aftertaste.

Baking is not my forte so I wasn’t confident of the outcome here. But truth be told, this was a worthwhile make. I used a basic biscuit recipe and added the cherries, chilli, cinnamon, orange zest and ground spice. Conveniently easy for a domestic idiot.

Here’s the recipe:

200g butter
160g caster sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp vanilla essence
250g self-raising flour
½ tsp mild chilli powder (or hot if you prefer)
100g tub of glace cherries
½ tsp cinnamon (or a couple of grated cinnamon pods)
½ tsp of mixed ground spice
Zest of one orange

Here’s how to do it:

Cream butter and sugar then add eggs, vanilla essence, spices and cherries. Beat until light and fluffy and then slowly add the flour. Once the flour is blended drop teaspoonfuls of the mixture into a greased baking tray. Leave a couple of centimetres between each dollop of mixture. Heat in a preheated oven at 180 degrees for 10 to 12 minutes. Remove and leave to cool. Quick and simple.

Enjoy.

PS: What’s the difference between a biscuit and a cookie?

the truth about growing old

Growing old is wonderful. Uncheck. It’s euphoric. Leave blank. It’s a gradual exchange of beauty {and all working bodily functions} for wisdom. Check.

With age comes a new depth of understanding and acceptance. Like knowing that knee high socks and mini dresses are a no-go, and that wearing mohair is right, and polyester is wrong. And that swigging vodka from the bottle while sitting on the shoulders of your soon to be uncle is just downright idiotic.

The first time I seriously contemplated age was last night. To the over 50s my age is ‘young’, to the under 20s my age is ‘old’. To me it’s 35 and climbing bloody fast towards 40. Thirty five years of stuff. Good, bad, sad, happy, not much different to you I’m sure. Or maybe not. Married, divorced, kids. But last night I realised my time was ticking, faster than I had contemplated. One minute you’re 19 with oodles of time to waste. The next you’re studying pension plans.

A couple of years ago I went for a hearing test, only because I had to ask people around me to repeat themselves more often than seemed the norm. Results showed I had the hearing of a 60 year old. Bu t last night I think my hearing had since digressed to that of a 90 year old. I was at an event for a children’s charity – I will write about it soon – and I was clearing some glasses away. One of the children spoke to me, it sounded like he said ‘Do you know God? I asked him to repeat. In fact I asked him to repeat himself about three times. Each time I heard the same thing. I then answered and said ‘I’m not sure, do you know God?’ The kid threw a blank look. A woman nearby, I presume his mother, leaned forward and said ‘He said that Sahara is gone’. Sahara was the youngster sorting the glasses for cleaning. I bared my teeth in a wide smile, made a silly sound, and scuttled away. How could I mishear that?

So, do I know God? Or is there some subconscious acknowledgement that I am edging closer to his waiting room? One thing is certain, I don’t mind getting old. I’m not even petrified of death anymore. I’m just having a little bit of a hard time getting to grips with saying goodbye to certain youthful things. I mean come on, age doesn’t really give you a chance to bid farewell to some of the good stuff. It just flies by.

So here are my personal pros and cons of aging as I know it:

The cons:
* Walking past a building site no longer induces a chorus of wolf whistles; in fact it barely heralds a glance
* The side effect of staying awake past midnight is irritability the following day
* Excitement is counteracted by a sense of balance and moderation
* Yawns are no longer disguised in meetings as a display of inspiration
* Morals surreptitiously replace spontaneity and impulse
* Your breasts are as firm as sad marshmallows heated over a happy bonfire

The pros:
* Olives suddenly taste pretty good and asparagus looks more attractive
* Listening to a piece of Mozart, Bach or Tchaikovsky makes absolute sense (yeah at a high volume)
* Eating overripe bananas is not that bad
* Doing things properly first time takes precedence
* Judgement of people is more attuned, although judgement is withheld for a bit longer
* You realise why it’s important to visit the dentist more regularly
* A warm bubbly bath is just as good as a how a night out on the town used to be
* Full panties are much more comfier than thongs, who cares if the lines show?

So there it is. The list grows each day, but it doesn’t overshadow the diamonds in my life. And for those I don’t need a list. Growing old is an experience, a new discovery. I’m loving it, honestly!

Well my friends, as I book my next hearing test, what are your thoughts about growing old?

button and felt xmas trees

The little people have been asking for the Christmas tree to be put up. But this year I’m holding out ’til at least 1 December before rearranging the lounge to accommodate a gaudy piece of 6 foot greenery. To bide the time I got them making Christmas decorations. It seemed to have worked; until several hours later the little girl returned to the topic of the tree. The decision has been made to wheel it out next week, unless we forget. Do you succumb to the call for the tree before 1 December?

Here’s how we made these little button and felt Christmas trees, which look quite magical on the mantlepiece:

What you need:

• Felt
• Cardboard triangle template
• Buttons, beads
• Fabric glue
• Dowels (I used skewers)
• Small jars (I used those tiny jam jars)
• Cushion inner

Cut out two triangular felt shapes and decorate one with buttons and beads. We bypassed thread and needles and glued on the buttons and beads. Once the glue has dried stitch the two felt triangles together and leave an opening for the stuffing. Stitch closed once you’ve stuffed the tree.

I spray painted the jam jar lids white and hammered a nail through the top to make an opening for the skewer. We covered the glass jar with a strip of brown felt. Carefully push the skewer through the bottom centre of the tree and push it up to the tip, then place the other end of the skewer inside the lid – which will be screwed on to the glass jar.

Time taken: excluding drying time for the paint and glue, this took about 45 minutes.