There are some days that one never forgets. What happened, where you were, what you were doing and what followed. I was standing in my kitchen starting to get supper ready when I heard the news that Queen Elizabeth II had died. It got me thinking about how, in my life, I've lived history. It's … Continue reading Some September Stuff
For the last couple of days, I have been musing on the heady, awful and wonderful days of the mid-1980s. At the moment, there's a kind of pall hanging over South Africa which is a function of the nearly fifteen years of electrickery drama, ongoing corruption and impunity, only the surface of which Zondo has scratched. … Continue reading The dying memories of the 1980s: looking back to look at the now
It's Mothers' Day today. Growing up, Mothers' Day was not a thing. I do, though, remember sermons about Mothering Sunday. Until I went to boarding school where peer group pressure made me pay attention and "do the right thing". My mother's response was less than enthusiastic which, with hindsight, I still don't understand. Was I … Continue reading Musings on Mothers, Motherhood and Choices
An opening word - or three I wrote this post as an experiment in November 2018 in response to a challenge: pick one favourite song. For me, that is a virtually impossible task. I have favourites depending on my mood, what I'm hearing, the context, where I am... I delighted in rising to that challenge … Continue reading The soundtrack to my life – a kind of musical “back story”
It seems I've written quite a bit about sandwiches over the years. They were the subject of one of my earliest (and surviving) blog posts. Given that a sandwich is food - a filling - wrapped up - or between two slices of some sort of bread - I really have. Quite something given that … Continue reading Sandwich Memories
Around May 2017, around the time, my regular blogs became increasingly sparse, as one chapter in my life ended, and others began. One of these was Sunday Suppers @ The Sandbag House. Two years later we were still doing it. Menus went out weekly to a WhatsApp group and via various social media and e-news … Continue reading Sunday Suppers: A season past?
In December 1999, I spent my last Christmas with my father. Three days earlier, we'd bade my mother a final farewell. As I've probably said before, her death was a shock. Six weeks prior, she'd had surgery. By all accounts, it was successful although the procedure meant a protracted stay in hospital. Cleared of nasties, … Continue reading Not killing mother
What's in a name? You may well ask. My parents rarely, if ever actually called me "Fiona", even though it was the name they chose for me. My father only ever used my given name if he was getting serious about something. For years I loathed it. Why? Thank you for asking. But first: They … Continue reading What’s in a name?
Other than beer, there were three things that my Dad cooked. One was stovies, another soda scones and the third, tattie scones. My mother claimed she couldn't bake anything, let alone scones. Realistically though, neither of these scones were never baked - baking happens in the oven, right? Rather, they are cooked on a girdle … Continue reading Dad’s Famous Tattie Scones
I must have been seven or eight. We had been away for the weekend. I don’t recall the reason. I suspect it was the annual trip to the agricultural show at Gonubie outside East London (South Africa). For a number of years after we moved to Grahamstown, this was a regular thing. Dad judged the … Continue reading The big (beer) bang