different shaped world

 The world that Paris is growing up in is completely different to the one that 13 year old me inhabited.

Her days would be edged by constant cyber+stimulation were she to have her way.

I get that. In my day it was books. I read all sorts of tripe. And then it was writing. Ditto.

I also had a Japanese Cooking phase - it was the shelf up from the 700s in the primary school library. I had worked through that part of the library the Autumn just prior.

Unfortunately Paris has not yet had a cooking phase to any degree - the requirement for "cleaning up after yourself" equates to the requirement for "nagging her to clean up after herself" and it ends up being a pleasure for nobody.  (She is not the daughter of "Princess Grot" - as bestowed by Mrs Leahy the school matron - for nothing it seems).

At 13 I was known for arguing any - and every - point. I would deliberately break the rules to argue the injustice of instilling such regulations. Yet they were always minor misdemeanors because (a) I was trying to expand the edges not shatter them; and (b) I am actually an absolute rule follower AS LONG AS the rule makes sense. I love the cocoon of righteous governance. It's a pity that there is no such thing as a perfect one.

Paris does not have such a chance because the rules in her teenage world have exploded by being controlled by the digital feed.

I wonder was there such a fuss when television came in?

The telephone?

Literacy?

The wheel?

A Hurriquake and a Hugh

 As you (may or may not) know, last week we returned from Southern California - and this week 'Salina is visiting my MIL (lucky girl - miss them both)

Unfortunately she is not the only curly situation over there ATM, as Hilary was on the rampage.

To compound matters, school was meant to restart over there today - but has now been pushed back to tomorrow.

Parents driven to insanity.

Let's see, what else?

Oh yes, an earthquake.

(Reminiscent of our own XTC Oswald)

On a completely different subject - 

Discuss.

On Vegemite sandwiches, amazing women and the lure of sleep

We have arrived back in Australia - I am sure that I missed it as much as it missed me.

While in the US with extended family, Cousin-in-law D (hereafter referred to as CILD2 - due to him being the 2nd with that moniker to occupy such a seat at my extensive extended family table) enquired "what is a Vegemite sandwich?"

"A sandwich with butter and Vegemite" I replied, rather perplexed at such a bewilderingly simple question.

CILD2 was quite serious however, asking "do you mean that Vegemite is an actual thing?"

"Yes" I responded, pretty sure that he was now officially taking the mickey. "What did you think it might be?"

"I thought it was a punch or something slang."

 CILD2 (and others at the party) got to see an actual Vegemite jar and have some Vegemite with butter on on bread - neither he nor the majority of participants were fans - I blame the American version of the butter!

It's actually a pretty weird concept that some - okay many - people consider Vegemite weird.

It was such a staple in every cupboard in our area had a jar. Babies cut their teeth gnawing toast fingers with Vegemite; a delicacy for me as a child was a split weetbix with butter and crunchy peanut paste and honey on one half and butter with Vegemite on the other (I know a horse that was partial to it too); and CWA ladies would cater and give morning and afternoon teas with no table void of a plate of Sao, butter and alternating tomato, cheese or Vegemite toppings.

Just as I sat down to write about the above, V came in to tell me a story that he had just heard the first part of on the radio. It was regarding  Clara Barton.

After a traipse through that I was brought to mind of Joice Nankivell Loch.

Which brought me back to a photo

(Paris doing what the kids at her school were cooking in food technology while she was away - recipe used here)

Bed beckons. 

Question to ponder - what was commonplace to your childhood that others might consider quaint or strange?

Generations, celebrations, education and precipitation

Apologies for no photos yet. A lot were taken but not enough non-identifying in my phone files (and hey, you would probably think that I was some sort of AI if I had my act together that much, admit it!)

Amongst reasons to visit this foreign land were rites of passage for V's family.

Two have passed, some have been born and we have all gotten older.

One to a year of significance, a round number and the first in the family to have reached such a milestone.

Thus the opportunity to gather all of those from that part of the family - especially after events of the last few years - was grasped.

Of the about 60 descendants of V's grandparents, over half rolled up to celebrate this beautiful lady and the culture of the clan.

The table groaned under tributes to their shared memories mixed with the nostalgia for Denmark of a past generation through the medium of Wisconsin cheese curds and brats.

I attempted to convert an estimated crowd figure into units of indulgence through the medium of cake flavoured by the childhoods of Aunty L and her younger siblings, Uncle B and V's mum, Aunty (to a great many of the attendants) R -

Lemon Meringue Pie (or rather, Pies- I used the muffin pan and was forced to use the mini-muffin pan as well - I used a Splenda recipe so it was sugar-free);

Pineapple Upside-Down Cake (ended up being quite a slab and learned a bit about timing and the geometry of laying such a large square -footage of pineapple rings. Tasted good but); and 

Carrot Cake (with the birthday lady's desire of no nuts as she can't stand pecans).

There were many of V's generation, most in their 50s now, each with their own story of getting there from a generally similar starting point.

There were also many wonderful ring-ins - bringing to the gathering their own journeys with those who grew up with this influence.

And then there were the children of the children, although none the age of Paris. She did get star status from a younger fourth cousin (or some such connection).

Stories abounded of Grandma R (Paris's middle name is a tribute to this lady) and Grandad (who V apparently bears an uncanny resemblance to), Aunt G, Aunt B and the other Aunt L. 

I attempted a diagram of the family connections.

Swimming was undertaken, burgers and brats were cooked; there was car guy talk and baseball talk and glory days and reminisces; new insights made, old connections renewed and fresh understandings discovered.

I apparently did not convert any new recruits to the shrine of Vegemite.

We learned - or relearned - the card game "Dirty Thirty-one".

We had fun.

It did not rain, although the promise of such did break the heatwave of the few days prior.

Today it tried harder. We ate leftovers.