Some of my treasures . . .

 

One thing which I have learned about myself in life is that I like things that wear well and have meaning.  This applies not only to things but to friends as well . . . from an old cookpot, to a well trusted and weathered friend . . .

It doesn't matter how many new and shining things I am sent to trial, or that I should happen to buy . . . I find myself . . . time and time again . . . passing them over for that old wooden spoon which has been through eons of stirring, and smells of a thousand meals, stored in all of it cracks and crannies. 

  We have a set of beautiful china which was given Todd and myself as a wedding gift, but it sees the light of day only once a year . . . at Christmas.  I often pass over my newest casserole dishes in favour of the old brown stone one Todd already had when we first married, a brilliant find in a charity shop, no doubt.   It takes living with things to love them, and a million happy memories cling to these old objects like gold dust. 

 

 I heard someone say the other day that one should never get attached to things.  It should always be as if you could go out your front door, turn the key in the lock, walk away and never return . . . and in doing so never miss a thing at all.  Ideally this should be a good thing I suppose, but there are things I would miss a great deal.   Nothing worth a ton of money, no . . . but there are a few other things which have a much deeper meaning for me,  and . . .  whilst not another person on earth would give a pence for them . . .  to me,  they are quite priceless, with a value beyond measure. 

 

This is my maternal Grandmother's old school room reader.  The adult in me scorns the child that had the audacity to write in ink her name at the top . . .  yes me  . . .  I should not have done so. In any case this torn and tattered volume is a treasure of mine.  I hold it dear, although its pages are brittle and worn, tattered and torn and I am afraid to touch it for fear that it will fall apart even more. As a child I loved to peruse its pages. It was very different from the school readers I learned to read from. As I did I would think of my grandmother, dark head bent over its pages, practicing her spelling words by candle-light  at the kitchen table on the old family farm up in Inglesville.   

She gave it to me when I was a very small child, probably only about 4 years old, long before I could even read it myself and I have cherished it ever since.  It has followed me around the world and on it's careworn pages are a thousand hugs and a ton of love from a Grandmother I will not see again this side of the veil.  Priceless . . .

 

I treasure too this old photograph of her with her school mates and some teachers outside the old one room school house in that same community.  She is the one you can see just behind the wee one in the carriage, the girl in the white dress with the white covering on her head and her hands crossed in front of herself, looking towards the right.  All those ancient faces . . .  no longer here on the earth, filled with the hopes and dreams we all have within us. I love old photographs  . . .   

 

This is the only photograph I have of her as an adult.  She is in the middle at the back with her head bowed, my Aunt Freda on her left, only a child of about 12 I would say. the little boy with his head buried in her skirt is Ronnie. He was a foster child she and my grandfather took in and raised. He was with them his whole life until she passed away and then my Aunt Freda took over the raising of him.  He was always just a part of the family.  He sadly passed away a few years back.  I don't know who else is in this photograph. I wish I did.  I think I remember mom saying it was taken when one of her cousins from America was visiting, Lydia McNayr (I have her Junior Cookie recipe), but I could be wrong. In any case this is the only photograph I have of my grandmother as an adult.  She was a very shy woman who hated to have her photograph taken, and so there are very few of her around. I think, but am not sure, that that might be my grandfather Elmer at the far right of the photo with his hands holding his knee. Its not very clear.  

  

When I was in my teens and working part time, I purchased this wooden wall hanging for my mother one year as a gift.   It is a Holly Hobby work.   I loved it and thought my mom would love it too.  She did.  It hung on her walls for many years, but then when she moved out of her house into her apartment many years ago now, she asked me did I want to have it as she didn't really have room for it.  I took it, of course, and it has been with me ever since.  It is old and worn, faded by years of sunlight and a bit yellowed in spots . . . but it is a reminder to me of my mother and the love I have always and will always have for her.  Even more precious to me now because she is no longer with us, and it is one of the few things of her that I have.  Priceless . . . 

Yes, I am very sentimental.  

 

This is another treasure.  This was the very first Christmas Gift my ex Mother In Law gave to me, back in 1977.  It was a little handwritten notebook of recipes, her tried and trues and family favourites.  As you can see it, too . . . is falling apart.  It's pages splattered, stained and worn.  Well used.   It is priceless, even though my ex and I are no longer married and I seldom have contact with any of his family now.   That doesn't mean I don't still love them, or have some beautiful sentiments attached to this little notebook.  I see the love it contained then, and still contains.  Its pages contain a bazillion memories for me of meals cooked for my family through the years.  Some of the writing is fading in it also. I really need to re-do it and copy all the recipes down for my own children. I am sure they would love that, or at least some of them would.   

 

Another treasure who keeps me company each day as I write and putter here at the computer.  Matilda Mouse a beloved gift from one of my beloved American cousins, Martha.  We have not seen each other in person for many, many years.  My last memory of seeing her for real was when she was up visiting Nova Scotia one year with my Great Aunt Melva, who was my Grandfather Woodworth's youngest sister and Martha's Grandmother.  The internet is a wonderful thing as it has put me in touch with all of these lovely extended family members.  Polly, Martha's mother and my mother's first cousin, Martha and a few of her brothers, etc. I love them all dearly. I remember being so surprised and touhed when  Matilda arrived, and she had kept me company ever since.  A treasure not just because she is cute and handmade, but mostly because she came wrapped in love.  Family love, family ties . . .  they are truly eternal. 

 

 

I picked these up eons ago in a yard sale.   They are very old and chipped in places, but I do love them.  Probably are not worth anything at all to anyone else, but once again, these little blue birds have travelled with me around the world and carry a little bit of my soul in them . . . treasures untold. Sadly the creamer got broken a few years back by a husband (another of my treasures) when he was vacuming. He hit it with his elbow and it went flying . . .  accidents happen.  

 

This old cookbook is another treasure of mine.  Once again a bit tattered and torn, I have had this cookbook for many, many years.  It was one of the very first ones I ever bought for myself.   I have cooked most if not all of the recipes on it's pages many, many times.  Madame Benoit was one of Canada's first cooking celebrities.   I remember watching her on the television when I was a girl, on a show called (I think) Take Thirty.  A lot of North American cooks cut their teeth on Julia Child . . . for me it was Jehane Benoit.  She also had a weekly column in the Star Weekly magazine.  She was my very first culinary inspiration.  You could take away all of the cookbooks in my collection and leave me with just this and whilst I would miss the others, I would think you had left me with the real gem of the bunch. 

 

This Victorian Penny Doll my sister made for me many years ago.  It is the one on the right.  The othr is a gift from a friend many moons ago also.  I love both these very much.  They represent the love of family and friends. I am reminded of that every time I see them.  Whenever my eyes glance upon the one my sister made for me my heart fills with memories of all the many times we have spent together through the years, crafting and cooking and just being together. Bird watching, berry picking, cooking, baking  . . . sewing, talking, crying, laughing  . . . hours and hours . . .  a lifetime of precious memories that are another one of my treasures . . . 

  

Most of my treasures I carry in my heart  . . .  the moment I held my first child in my arms and knew I was a mother, along with the four that followed. First words, first steps . . . the many friendships I have been able to make through the years, the places I have seen.  The people I love and who love me back, relationships . . .  silky puppy dog ears and wagging tails, wet noses . . .  the sounds of the birds in the hedgerow of a morning . . . the way the sun rises over the terraced houses to the front of us in the morning and sets behind the terraced houses to the back of us of a night  . . .   

 

Jake & Baya glamming it . . . 

There are at least a million of these things if not more.  I have learned the secret of a happy life and that is to find joy and to find love in the every day things . . .  in the seemingly mundane . . .  in those simple moments which make up the fabric of life, that seem like nothing at the time, but when you look back on them  . . .  you are simply amazed at just how wonderfully woven in perfection it is, and you wouldn't give a single jot of them up for anything, because they are all a part of who YOU are and who YOU have become. 

That's my story anyways, and . . .  I'm sticking to it.

A thought to carry with you  . . . 

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
 *One of the secrets of

a happy life is

continous small treats.

~Iris Murdoch•。★★ 。* 。 

I had a fairly busy day yesterday.  I am going to be featured in an issue of Canada's Hello magasine.  (I know yikes!) along with some of my recipes so I had to re-cook and re-do some of the photos.  Then because we had cake and I am not supposed to be eating cake and it is so tempting to have too much cake around here, we went to visit a friend and I brought her half the cake.  Todd will have to eat up the rest. 

 

I hope it will do.  This is Eton Mess Cake. Its far too tasty

for my own good.   

There is supposed to be a BBQ at the chapel today but I am not sure if we will go.  I have a ton of work to do and very little time left to get it done in, so we will probably give it a miss this time. Plus I am teaching in RS tomorrow and I want to polish my lesson a bit more. Its based on this talk by Sister Becky Craven, entitled Careful versus Casual.  Its a great talk.

 

This is the cake I baked for the Missionary BBQ we had the other day.  A Proper Lemon Drizzle Loaf.  Moist and dense, with pleny of lemon flavour and a fabulous crunchy lemon drizzle.  They gobbled it up with fresh berries and whipped cream.

Have a wonderful Saturday no matter what you get up to.  Don't forget! 

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And I do too!