Hidden treasures
It’s true. We all work better under
pressure. As my non-profit writing list grows longer, and my list of briefs
(list? What list?) grows shorter, the motivation for research wanes.
What will we be like in the
post-covid world that, those in the know, say we have another five years to
endure? I remember learning about communicable diseases in my nursing training,
the plagues, and outbreaks, the epidemics but it was so ho hum. That was THEN.
But this is NOW.
Luckily, I did not throw the baby
out with the bathwater when we downsized. It was difficult knowing what to
keep, and what to give away. I held on to a few items that have sustained me
this last year – and hopefully in the next five years to come.
These are:
A tiny blue and white sewing basket
given to me by my Ouma when I was five. In it, I remember there was an
embroidery cloth and some thread. I made a hash of the cloth, but somehow the
little sewing basket stayed with me all these years. Today it holds the
essentials – thimble, embroidery scissors, tape measure, pins, sewing needles,
crochet hooks – all the bric-a-brac needed by crafters.
My calligraphy and scrapbooking box
of goodies. How pleased I am that I did not turf these out when I thought ‘When
will I do calligraphy again?’
A golden tin of postcards. I
started collecting postcards in the mid 60’s. In my childish handwriting I started
categorising them ‘Burgie’s Postcard Collection No 1’ etc. In my teenage years
this seemed to be a lame thing to do. I did not have time for post-cards when I
was nursing or bringing up my family. Some of the postcards are dated from the
Second World War. I am pleased I did not give this tin to charity.
Then there was an eclipse carbon
copy book of letters my Ouma wrote mostly to family when she enjoyed a couple
of luxury cruises just after the war. Reading
them, I am getting to know the grandmother I only knew when she was old and ill
– irritable, frustrated and short-tempered. I forgive her now that I understand
living with Parkinson’s and having a mastectomy in the sixties wasn’t exactly
fun.
Over the years, people gave me
music books that I couldn’t really use because we had an organ, not a piano, at
home. Now that I have access to the community piano, I have a good supply of
music to learn from.
I also kept some of my favourite recipe
books. One is on bread making. Now that yeast is readily available in
supermarkets, I am learning about this art. Breadmaking takes time and patience.
Your dough has to be just right, adding enough flour to make it soft and
pliable, not too much to make it heavy, not too little that it’s sticky. Out of
the draft, in a warm spot, you wait for the yeast to do its magic while you watch
the dough bubble and rise. Then it’s kneading again, shaping and leaving to prove.
When the oven is piping hot, the final baking begins, the final rising, browning
and crisping of the crust. Fresh and piping hot from the oven … pure heaven on
earth.
Is there something you’ve always
wanted to do? Now’s the time. What are you waiting for?
