Let the story unfold…

I always cared about books. A book was the very first thing that I bought for my son even before I got his first baby grow. Books are integral to our family life. Our spaces seem incomplete without them and our days somewhat deprived if a book is not read or heard being read.

I never had many preconceptions about motherhood or about having a family. But there was always one thing that I didn’t want for my child. I never wanted to create a home where stories are not read, not told, not re-enacted or not invented. I never wanted books to be just lonely physical objects perched on shelves. In fact, I often felt sorry for those children who are given wonderful gifts of tales and fables and nothing is done with them… where those presents are really never unwrapped for them which means that the stories for these children never come to life. This is such a waste. Isn’t it true that to a large extent stories shape childhood? The stories we read, the stories we tell, the stories we repeat…. they make an impact on our child’s character and on the ways in which they perceive the world around them and their own role in it… Stories warn, stories educate, stories entertain and comfort… Stories remain when we are gone.

That first book that I purchased two years ago… There was a wonderland in that book. And I wanted my son to be transported there. There was vibrancy and strength in that book. And I wanted him to be energized by it. There was a meaning within the story. I wanted him to remember its message. And mainly there was joy… a pure joy that I sensed would emerge from engaging with it. A break. For my son and for me. Joyful, peaceful and energizing break.

Mothering with books is a form of simplified parenting. You allow the books to do the hard work of showing, telling, instructing and in many cases they are probably more effective than we are. It’s just much easier to follow a story than a parent. This year I am not buying any books but I am writing stories and poems because I see them as crucial for my son’s development. I see them as essential for his imagination, health and playtime. Without them I wouldn’t be myself and my son would not have the childhood that he deserves to have.

I know I am just a mum of a toddler… of a boy who cannot engage with an elaborate story yet and who frankly has just only recently moved on from the stage of book eating to actually being able to listen to the story. You may think that reading is not really that significant at this stage… that stories do not make as much impact…Well.. you see… I look at this small child and I look at the way he handles his books and I see a very strong need in him… the need to engage with the world that’s presented on those pages… the need to know, the thirst to understand… those small things such as why the little chicken is pulling a bucket full of water from the well or why the small kitten is in bed with a high temperature. How can you not tell the whole story when those small eyes are pleading to know?

What’s inside our bread?

Wanted. Loved. Devoured daily. But messed with on a big scale too. Only a few decades ago in the UK its “particularly interesting” example was so white that it appeared almost luminous. People marveled over its brighter than chalk tint. The astonishing hue was mesmerizing and very few questioned its look. This was a mistake. Chlorine dioxide gas was nothing but a type of bleach used in the UK’s bread till 1999 when the government decided to put a ban on it (Whitley, 2006).

There is no chlorine dioxide in the UK’s bread today but there are still many bleaching agents, additives, preservatives and enzymes that aim to artificially enhance the taste and the look of bread, decrease its mixing and baking time and superficially boost the volume of the bread. In his book Bread Matters, Andrew Whitley gives a very long list of various enzymes (and their effects) that are used in making bread dough: Maltogenic amalyse, Peptidase, Amylase, Xylanase and many more (the names in themselves sound terrifying, don’t they?). Most breads also contain emulsifiers. Their job is to prevent the loaf from going stale too quickly. These and other supplements compromise the nutritional value of many loaves that we eat. No wonder therefore that there are more and more people who are deciding to go back to basics and who are learning to knead the bread again within the corners of their kitchens and who are finding enormous joy in doing so. Maybe it’s because they are creative with making different bread shapes (buns, rolls, loaves and flat breads), with using different flour compositions (wholemeal, white, rye, spelt, malted wheat flakes) and with putting their favourite ‘stuffing’ (sunflower seeds, sun-dried tomatoes, dates, pumpkin seeds, olives) into their breads. We do that too and I must say there is something very satisfying about baking your own bread… perhaps it is its comforting smell or the appealing symbolism that bread-making conveys… that of motherhood and that of life, strength and resilience. (More Images and Recipe Below)

Bread Recipe:

Ingredients:

250g Strong White Flour

250g Strong Wholemeal Flour

100g Malthouse Flour also known as Granary or malted wheat grain (it’s optional, but greatly enriches the flavour)

400-500ml Water

1 Teaspoon of Dried Yeast

1 to 2 Teaspoon of Salt

25-50ml Olive Oil

Into a small bowl of lukewarm water put the yeast with 2 spoons of flour. Put it aside for half an hour and let the yeast feed off the flour. When you see small bubbles forming on the surface of the water it means that the yeast mixture is ready. Now, in a large bowl mix all the flours with the salt and slowly stir them adding the water. It’s ok if it feels quite sticky at this point. Knead the dough for at least 10 minutes until it feels fairly soft and elastic [you can add extra flour or water to ease the process]. Slowly pour the olive oil and again knead it into the bread mix. Form a nice rounded loaf and cover it with a wet tea towel and leave it overnight for the dough to rise. A day after, cover a flat baking tray with grease proof paper and form small (4-5 cm) buns. Add dates, sunflower seeds or nuts to the mixture if you wish. Bake in 180-200°C for around 30-40 minutes. There is no need to preheat the oven. It’s good to allow the buns to grow with the increasing heat. It’s delicious served with butter and mirabelle jam (or stuffed with dates) especially if you are only baking with wholemeal and white flours. The wholemeal can be quite bitter and the sweetness of mirabelle plums or dates just complement those flours so well. Enjoy! Bon appetite!

Based on: Andrew Whitley (2006) Bread Matters. Fourth Estate: London.

How does a life without a luxury feel?

The parcel was almost bigger than us. We would dive into it and we would fish out the fabrics and get more and more excited with each item of clothes that we pulled out. We were not poor, we were never destitute but we were, in the early years of our childhood, growing up in Communist Poland, in the country that, although rich in culture, human spirit and intellect, did not offer much or rather nothing to its citizens on the goods front.

We relied on those parcels to be sent to us from our family in Switzerland. They would last us and frequently also our cousins and neighbours for a long long time. We would swap, lend, borrow, alter and exchange clothing with others. Very rarely would my mother get us something new. There was just no option. No clothes available. We were dressed in second-hand garments from top to toes and not for a minute we would feel worse off because of that. We didn’t really notice it. It was just something that we were doing… how we were going about having things to wear. That’s it. No great philosophy behind it. Just the circumstances.

When I was six I travelled with my mum to Switzerland. I remember seeing many things and not really being able to make a lot out of them. I probably admired some of them… I probably tried to play with them… But clearly they didn’t make a very lasting impression on me because I just cannot remember them too vividly. As if I didn’t really have any emotional response to them. My heart back then was stolen by something much simpler and common, by vibrant and juicy mandarins. For me the pleasure of the open market was concentrated in those fruits. I just loved them. Their sweet, invigorating and citrus smell. Their colour. Their shape. Their delicate skin so easy to peel off with my tiny and dexterous fingers. It was a joy to have one of them, happiness to have two, euphoria to have a full netted bag of them. Yes, yes… they were already packed like this in those days. This hasn’t changed much.

So how does a life without a luxury feel so far? It feels like that visit to Switzerland when my mind and heart decided to be oblivious to the goods around.. not to take much notice of them.. to forget them. Instead I think I am able to see mandarins again… I feel that I am fishing out the real goodies out of the life box… the tastes, colours and textures of the Earth. As if my mind was programmed to seek beauty and pleasure and because it is not allowed to do it through shopping it develops its other ways… it seeks and finds those two elsewhere.

It’s so easy to get used to one source of pleasure and to become reliant on it. To play safe. To always go for the familiar. And then to despair when that source is removed.

My resolution of not buying left me a bit uncertain about what I should do with myself after meeting an important deadline. In the past I would have gone shopping in town to treat myself to something nice and new. I really wanted my reward for all the hard work that I did. I needed balance. It’s really interesting to see it in yourself that you were used to rewarding yourself materialistically, with a physical object. When did I learn that? I thought to myself. It wasn’t my default behaviour a few years ago. Or maybe it was?

Now I am beginning to see that my hard work can be rewarded through many other ways. Time for myself, a book, a film, music, a winter walk, crazy dancing with my child, a conversation with a friend, a comedy performance? And you know what? It’s so much nicer to find yourself lost in giggles than lost in a shopping centre!

I will not steal from the giving pot

Every January while budgeting for the year I remind myself of what my mother taught me: Don’t save on giving. The giving pot should stay full. The truth is one: there would be no justice in the world if we didn’t give.

We are lucky in the west… we are wealthy… although with all the temptations available it’s so easy to see ourselves as struggling, to wish for more, and to fear of not having, of being worse-off, of living in smaller houses, the fears of x, y, z. The list is long. This fear has been injected in us with a thick syringe and has been fed and fueled… so that we look up and dream of what others have and what others do.

They don’t make you feel rich, these dreams. They don’t make you feel lucky but I am telling you here: You are rolling in it.

If a few days, weeks, months of saving mean that you can afford a luxury (a new phone, branded items, a computer, travel etc.), you are rich. If you feed your family, pay your bills, and maintain your car or travel round with minimal budgeting effort, you are rich. If that’s your situation, there is no need to cut on the giving budget, there is no need to cut on sharing the wealth.

The reality is that despite the inflation, in spite of rises in regular expenses, regardless of our dreams to live bigger and better, we can still give and if this year is a bit harder than the last one we can save to give!

This is not a new concept. It has been happening in the past. It has been exercised. There are families in the world who save the best of their foods over months for their visitors. There are children in the world who are saving every coin they get so that they can give their mothers’ presents for their birthdays. There are single parents and pensioners who limit their purchases so that they can support a cause that they believe in. There are people who just watch their daily expenses so that they can donate, so that they can contribute, so that they can do their part. Some of these people have to be strict about how much electricity they use, how much milk they buy, how many showers they take, how many pairs of shoes they buy. They go to great lengths so that they can take part in this great giving scheme while for so many of us saving to give is just a purchasing delay. If giving means as much as waiting for longer, it’s not a sacrifice. It’s justice.

Let’s stay generous in 2014. It’s a good rule to live by.

Problems, Apple Mousse and Sugar

The promise of warm lunch used to make me walk fast from school. My grandmother would cook something nice for us. Pancakes, carrot soup, potato dumplings or at times very apologetically she would serve some fusilli pasta with cinnamon, apple mousse and sugar. She didn’t need to apologize of course, we devoured it in seconds. We would exchange a few stories with her, have some tea and then run upstairs to our rooms to do our own things. Every so often I would complain to her about something, maybe about the lack of time to do what I need to or want to do, to which she would just utter her simple wisdom: “You know, child, sometimes you just need to wake up earlier.”

I don’t always wake up earlier. I stay up till late or even till after the sun rises when there is something that I feel the urge to complete. What struck me was the straightforwardness of my grandmother’s phrase: “You know, child, sometimes you just need to….” This is how she fixed problems, in this easy, plain and unproblematic manner. Of course, this would make me a little upset at times because when I was a teenager my problems were unsolvable, greater than the Earth and too important to be ‘belittled’ like this… but it was only when I left home that I learnt to appreciate her attitude and admire it in a way as well. Her plate was always full of responsibilities. There was a lot that she had to manage. The house. The children. The farm. The hay selling business. The orchard. The cleaning. The sewing. The preserve-making. The roses. The vegetable garden. The laundry and the ironing. She did it. She did all these things. Sometimes with help. Often on her own. She did it all.

Her workspace was clean, spaces uncluttered, and the floors washed. She made her life clear and manageable. She made her rooms bright. She had many dreams and passions when she was young. She loved music and learnt to play the violin. She loved German and was able to hold a conversation even in her old age. She enjoyed maths, geography and had an impeccable aesthetic sense. She was feminine and graceful. And although she was all these things also when I knew her, her life was so tied to her responsibilities that all her passions became secondary to them. My grandmother pushed herself too hard, there is no doubt abut that. Partially it was a survival tool developed during the war and after, but I think that largely it was who she was. When there was work to be done, she would just do it, without dithering, without a second thought. There was a lot of dignity in the way she led herself. There was character and eminence. There was elegance and style. Maybe there was a little bit of pride in her as well… pride of having survived…. or maybe inner gratefulness that she had survived. But to me her attitude to work and effort and her decision to look for clear solutions to her problems was most prominent. This is an attitude that I’ve been traveling with ever since she directed me that way. Thus, the day I left my country, despite being an enormous and relentless dreamer, I was not confused over one thing… it was perfectly clear to me that adulthood is full of those days when I just need to wake up earlier…