will you still feed me?

My Aunty Joan is my living hero.  Now, almost 97 she has finally come to the place of knowing she can't live on her own anymore.  She is almost blind.  She's had a couple of falls, no serious damage, but enough to show it's not safe to be alone. The little timber cottage in Gatton has been closed up and Joan waited in the local hospital for the next step. That step was something she could not handle herself so her daughters, son and their spouses had to organise a residential home for her. It took a while, but finally she is installed in a lovely unit of a large bedroom/sitting room and a large bathroom, all kitted out with movement sensors and emergency buttons.  There is a dining room and a TV room, and a swimming pool.

"Will you swim?"  I asked.

Joan was never a highly sociable person. As a child she disliked helping with her mother's fund raising bridge parties when she wanted to crawl into a corner to read a book.  Through her teens she studied nursing and as a young woman she faced hard work in several areas.  Later she nursed her husband through heart disease and during his last days Joan slept on the floor by his hospital bed, just to be there for him.  She was 85 when he died.  So then she lived alone for almost 12 years, eventually adjusting to the busy social whirl of meals on wheels deliveries, a fortnightly home help cleaner, visits from a nurse/social worker and an occasional shopping trip on the bus for the elderly. She told me she loved the mango tree that filled the backyard. It was her retreat. When life got too much she'd go out there to feed her face and calm down.

I was interested to hear about social life in the new 'home'.  She is pleased to be one of only three at her table in the dining room. One of the other ladies is very  quiet, and that suits Joan. The other one chatters non-stop and Joan says she just has to accept she will be asked if she takes sugar in her tea over and over again throughout each meal.

95th Birthday cake

She said, "I thought I'd be nice to this poor woman so when she said there was a good film on the television I went with her to watch it. Of course I couldn't see anything as we sat at the back of the room, and I couldn't hear it but she seemed to be enjoying herself and I just tried to stay awake and think about other things. Then the next day I said to her, 'That was an interesting film we saw yesterday'.  And do you know, she didn't have a clue to what I was talking about.  She said, 'What film, I didn't see a film, I went to bed early'.  So that was a waste of time." This was presented in the tone of dry humour that is my Aunty Joan. The humour that wraps around ordinary things and makes them amusing from her point of view. 

I choose to phone her rather than visit because visits are physically exhausting for her.  Joan has children who visit her regularly and I have phone calls - and she phones me as often as I phone her.  That is very special.  She told me once that she has the names of her children and grand-children written in a notebook by the phone so she can remember who everyone is and who to ask about.  And one day I realised my end of the family is on the list too as she asks after my sister and brother and then our children in order, during conversations.  I'm delighted to be 'on the list'.  My daughter she calls 'your girl' and my granddaughter is 'the little one', as she knows them the best from the family gatherings for her 90th and 95th birthday celebrations.  "And I'm not having another one for 5 years", she said each time.  

It was wonderful that for the 90th birthday her cousin Ian came up to Brisbane, from Sydney, for the event. Their mothers were sisters and though Ian was a bit younger he spent a lot of time with Joan and my mother. Now he is no longer available for parties or anything else leaving Joan as the surviving member of that generation, in our family.

But, Joan was not born as an old lady.  She was a vibrant young woman who did well at school and wanted to continue studying. Her exotic looks were not appreciated by her blond haired, blue eyed mother so Joan grew up thinking she was not attractive and would have to fend for herself.  Careers for women were limited to nursing or teaching and Joan followed her mother and aunts into nursing.  The war came and she was patching up Aussies wounded in the mountain jungles of New Guinea. One wounded soldier staggered down the Kokoda track and into her life.

My uncle talked of their meeting at their 50th Wedding Anniversay celebration.  "Joan was an Army nurse. After being wounded on the Kokoda trail I was delivered to her at a Military hospital in Sydney in Dec 1942. Joan was an energetic business-like officer with two pips on her shoulders and me a lowly corporal with two stripes on my sleeve. I was a little the worse for wear but was slowly brought back to working order with her help. Then Joan was sent off to the war in New Guinea and I went to work in Sydney for a firm of wool brokers."

His elbow had been shot away so doctors gave him the choice of having the arm permanently set straight or bent.  He chose bent so he could ride a horse and shoot a rifle. As he had studied wool classing before he joined the army Don went back to that city job, but the 'bush' was always in his heart. When Joan returned from the war they were married and Don worked as a station manager, just west of Charleville and a year or so later moved to Murweh.

Joan told me, "Don finally won the soldiers ballot for free land. Mogera was 80,000 acres of rough country inhabited by dingoes.  We chose a paddock near a dry dam and pitched a big army tent for a bedroom. Don built an iron shed for a kitchen and a bough shed to 'live in'! Our fourth child was born at Mogera 1952."

The iron shed was too hot so cooking was on an open fire outside and the baby was hung in a sling from the tent post, to protect him from snakes. The children played in the dust under the gaze of wild dingoes - starving in the drought and on the lookout for easy prey.  They had no water, no fences and no grass. Don pushed down Mulga scrub for the sheep to eat and guarded them on horseback. Then the wool boom burst and the price went down overnight. Don had a fall from the horse and a long stay in hospital.

Eventually a house was built, the station sold and another bought closer to town. At least the children could attend school but the school burnt down and Joan had to teach them at home after all. And, as Don described it, this venture turned out to be a non-profit business. Life was a battle with heat, drought, snakes in the wood pile, distance from family, from friends, even from the post office. Visitors were few. Sheep had to be cared for, fed, sheared, drenched, sometimes killed and eaten. Dogs and horses had to be trained, fed and cared for. Shearers were accommodated and fed, cows herded and milked, fruit cakes baked, dingoes and wild pigs hunted, kangaroos discouraged, snakes killed, beggars and thieves chased from the door, children educated, clothes made, books read by lantern light, clothing washed by hand, wood chopped, fires put out, fire breaks burned, neighbours helped, illnesses treated, wounds bandaged, vehicles repaired and each day started it all over again.

Finally a generator added evenings to their day, better vehicles brought the town closer and telephones connected the family. The outback station was sold and a smaller produce farm, a few hours from Brisbane, became home. Four children turned into two nurses, an engineer and business woman, six grandchildren and two great grandchildren.   

The house near Charleville - Joan's sister Margaret (my mother) visiting.

Of course Aunty Joan is not the only person to live a life of struggle and difficulty and she told me that herself when she talked about the desperate situation of other families during the depression. She has memories of going in the car with her father to deliver food parcels, until the family business closed and they could no longer afford to help others as they were also eating wild caught rabbits and home grown potatoes. The family lost their home and when her parent's marriage broke up Joan was sent to live with her mother's sister - not a big disaster for Joan as her cousin Claire was her best friend. Little sister Peg stayed with Mother while Father moved in with his former secretary. The loss of her father that way hurt Joan deeply, a hurt that is still there today, though it lives in the shadow of losing her oldest daughter to cancer, the same year that Don died. 

Joan once said to me - "We each have our own life and how we live it depends on the bits we inherit from parents."

And so I asked about her new home.

"It's all very nice," she said. "In fact it's luxury but I suppose I'll get used to it."  lol  "I'm not sure about the pool though."

'What do you do during the day?

"I read, I've got a nice chair here and there is a library. In the afternoon someone brings me a cup of tea, it's all very nice. I have lots of little sleeps. I can go to the TV room if I want, but I'm not interested in television now."

"Do you need anything? A fruit cake or a packet of biscuits?"

"I have some biscuits in the room but I can't eat them because I'm always full."

"Maybe I'll bring you a little bottle of coke when I come."

"He he, yes, that would be nice. But I have to be careful because I only have rotten teeth left."

"How's the food?"

"Oh, it's ..... it's alright. There's plenty of it."

Hmmmm - change in tone. She won't explain unless I insist.

"What is wrong with the food?"

" Well... it's not what I'm used to."

"You were used to meals-on-wheels."

"Yes."

"And this is different?"

"It's .... the way they ... present it."

"How?"

"It's frozen."

"Oh!"

"Apparently, this is what all the big hospitals do."

"And the meals-on-wheels were cooked fresh each day."

"Yes......  it was like I used to cook myself."

"Some frozen food is okay."

"Some is."
"Even meals-on-wheels is going to frozen dinners in some places."
"That's a shame."
"So you're eating airplane food."
She laughed. "They do whatever they do to heat it and it tastes okay. Rice is a bit .......... well ... let's say I've had enough chicken and rice to last me."

I am so sorry. So sorry that we can't give our darling oldies fresh food, sorry that our infirm get microwave dinners served in cardboard trays, with instant mashed potato and dried out beef. So sorry that your reward for a life of caring for others is that we can't afford to feed you properly. Forget about the wounded soldiers, the dust and dingoes, the barefooted children and snakes in the woodpile - forget about the sacrifice, the pioneer spirit, the building of family, here - have a frozen dinner.  

Caring for our elders should be part of family life. Children who don't see their grandparents regularly, if not daily, are missing an important part of their development and they lose track of where they are in history.

In traditional societies people look forward to living out their last years surrounded by their children and aging friends. Ancient Chinese society was held together by the belief in family. The greatest virtue being devotion to one’s parents.  They still respect the declining abilities of the aged to tend gardens, care for babies, assist in the education of children - allowing the young adults to work. Value is given to craft work, sharing skills, knowledge and understanding of life and passing on the family stories.  In sedentary farming societies around the world, the elderly are fed and cared for and live in the same hut or one near their adult children.

With nomadic people the elderly can become a burden and occasionally tribes were forced to abandon their aged and infirm. There is even a word for it.  Senilicide. It loosely means doing away with the olds.  When there is enough food to go around, everyone gets a share, even those who are not productive. During times of famine not feeding the elderly often saved the young.  When desperate, the Inuit left their old folk outside to die of exposure or starve to death, considering it to be assisted suicide. It was often a mutual decision.

Today's elderly live away from their children. After they do the expected retirement road trip they're supposed to quietly disappear into assisted living villages or nursing homes - if they can afford it, or a council flat, out of sight, until required for weddings and funerals. They feed themselves, they feed cats and lap dogs and sometimes go without.

We are all part of the aging population. Grannies struggling to keep up with technology give the smart young things the impression that old people have no place in the modern world. These old people are eating food, breathing air, using up valuable natural resources and clogging the medical system - becoming a burden. Some hospitals have a policy of treating young people first, some doctors prescribe drugs with little attention given to good health for the elderly, it's easier and cheaper. A version of senilicide has been practiced in hospitals and nursing homes for centuries - withhold food and they fade away. 

Often they don't really mind - being very old is not fun. But what is old? It's getting younger every year. Applying for a job is difficult at 55 and TV ads tell us we should be buying funeral insurance in our 40s. The Protestant work ethic of measuring a person's value by their ability to work - has led to our youth centred culture in which we idolise individualism and independence. In 2004, France had to pass decree requiring citizens keep in touch with their geriatric parents after a heat wave killed 15,000 people - most of them elderly and many bodies were not found for weeks because of neglect by their families. Also, France had the highest number of pensioner suicides in Europe.

So what are we going to do? Maybe these huge modern houses with parent retreats, teenager's living area and home theatres should also include granny flats, for us - but that depends on our children becoming millionaires. The question of where we'll end up when we can no longer manage independently is a big one.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, 
when I'm sixty/eighty four?

How did you MAKE that?

So many blogs I read are on arts and crafts and I enjoy looking at all the lovely things being made - so I thought it's probably time to show my work. It will have to be something a little bit novel as my crafting skills are just average. This latest project surprised me when it came out as well as it did.

I make laundry bags for Aussie Hero Quilts and Laundry Bags, to send to Aussie personnel deployed overseas.  I enjoy it because I know the bags will help people keep track of their laundry and that saves time often spent trying to find a clean uniform.  Also I can also be as creative as I like.  More information is available on the AHQ blog - http://aussieheroquilts.blogspot.com.au/

Laundry bags - cotton drill, and printed duck with kangaroos

Probably most of the AHQers make quilts - I've not done a large project like that for years, and quilts are mostly repetitive - that's not a put down, I love quilts, I love traditional patterns and modern styles. I love the fact that so much work goes into them. I especially love scrap quilts and crazy quilting, but - for me, once the design is decided the most interesting part is over.  Until it's completed, that is - holding up a quilt you have made yourself, or that has been made for you, is a very special feeling.

We had a dinner in Brisbane for the Qld AHQers and along with speeches, door prizes and a pretty good raffle, there was a laundry bag competition.  The theme was open, but the Aussie flavour seemed to be the most popular. I wanted to enter just to be in it and thought maybe I could have fun and be really creative.

I had a picture in my head of a photo bombing giraffe I'd seen on line and a painting by my little grandniece, Izzy. I thought of making a wall hanging or cushion from that image - but with an Aussie animal. Earlier in the year I'd used left over strips of fabric for the desert landscape above, with Ayres Rock and a kangaroo -  I could do that again.

Giraffe by Izzy

My plan was to draw onto calico with fabric pens, fuse that to the bag and see if I could draw more into it with the sewing machine - not embroidering, I'll leave that to the very clever ladies with wonderful computer embroidery machines -  just drawing with sewing thread using the common straight and zigzag stitches.

Now to the design.  Australia = big blue sky, bright sunshine, orange earth, lots of green, and blue ocean. Recently I'd made a block for a group quilt with these colours - it was included in the quilt they raffled at the dinner.

Aussie theme patchwork block

Choosing animals. I like kangaroos but they are not easy to draw - they can turn into huge mice or rabbits if you aren't careful. I wanted something orange to contrast with the blue I'd chosen as a background so I tried a kangaroo.

Years ago I made papier mache animals as stage props. They were the size of small children and were carried across the stage by the small children.  One was an emu. He'd be perfect.

Drawing animals is not easy for me and I always need to research. Once upon a time I'd be searching through books and magazines, then photocopying the pictures, but now we can google anything. I cfound animals in the positions I wanted, copied them. turned them black and white, erased the details and outlined the shape - just love PhotoShop.   I worked out the size I wanted then cut the pictures up in the program, as my printer only takes A4.  When printed I stuck the bits together, cut out the shape and used it as a guide to get the outline and proportions, drawing around it with a 3B pencil. The choice of picture is important because any foreshortening does not translate to a flat image.

Once the outline was on the fabric I filldc in the details with ink, looking back at the original photo on the computer screen. The pose or expression can be changed at this stage.  Colour and shading was done with fabric ink pens I bought on line.  When I felt it was ready I cut out the calico animal. The kangaroo looked uncomfortable - but they look that way in photos too. I had high hopes for the emu.

The background had to be sky blue but I didn't have the right colour. I like to use a medium weight cotton drill or printed duck for the laundry bags because it's sturdy and nice to sew and comes in lots of colours.  But my usual ebay sellers couldn't help me with sky blue drill or similar so I was forced to actually go to a shop. I'm not an expert on fabric but love to handle it and finally found some cotton chino in the right colour. I'd never seen Chino before.  It was a bit lighter in weight than the fabric I usually use, and felt a lot softer, but looked almost the same.... hmmm.

The blue alone lacked richness so adding a strip of bright yellow desert, in cotton drill, to the bottom made a big difference. Using a fabric fix I ironed/glued the animals to the chino.  Ugh. Chino is not the same as drill.  It stretched out of shape and twisted. Also it was very humid that day and the fixative came away from the backing and didn't iron on properly. That turned out to be a good thing as I was able to pull the calico off and stretch the chino in the other direction - almost flat.  But, it meant the glue didn't take hold at the edge ... so all the edges would have to be covered by stitching. These little accidents along the way have a part in defining the finished piece, and I love that. Art often wanders in a different direction to the pattern.

Heat fusing the sketches on calico to the backing and stitching on Kangaroo

Stitching, stitching, stitching. I changed top thread colours but kept a neutral in the bobbin. The back of the piece was almost as interesting as the front. Some areas were straight stitched first, outlining the eyes and some long feathers, but most were zig zagged in different widths, making sure feathers or fur stitches covered all the raw edges.  I worked on the stitching for 4 or 5 days - in spurts. I loved it.  Maybe it wasn't exactly like drawing with thread, a little more like painting at times, I was learning what my machine would do in the way of free stitching and it was exciting to see the animals develop under the sewing machine.  I love the eyes on both of them and Emu's little grin is his own. Kangaroo looked a bit nervous so I added a stalking emu and then Emu needed a kangaroo to chase him.

Ironing the back of the fabric to smooth out puckering  - stitching feathers onto Emu

There are no instructions to give because the stitching is like drawing, you go with what feels right at the time. I did spend time unpicking tiny stitches when the Chino stretched our of shape, several times. And no, I didn't win the competition - I didn't really expect to. I find the sort of things I make never get the popularity vote, I think my designs have to grow on people - and, the judges were male soldiers. They are not into fabric art, they want something to give them a laugh, to tell jokes about and that's what they chose.  Congratulations to the winners, who understood the nature of their recipients.

At this stage the bag was one flat piece. I decided on where to fold it, ironed, stitched the side seam (three rows of stitching), ironed, added the channel for a drawstring, lined the bag with flannel shirt type checks and ironed again. While sewing the bottom seam I realised the bottom of the Emu and Kangaroo would meet in an ugly, thick lump. All I could do was sew in another folded strip of fabric to at least make colour break. The final job was to thread the drawstring through. I use cotton sash cord because it feels so nice.

OOppppsssss I had cut out a yellow sun which was to be over-stitched in white, but I  forgot to attach it before sewing on the drawstring channel. By that time I'd done so much sewing and unpicking ... I just couldn't do anymore. The sun was left off.

One flat piece - side seam stitched and ooopps, the sun wasn't included - bottom seam done with inset strip
- Kangaroo on a full laundry bag.

I posted the bag away and found I missed Emu's face for days, almost like losing a pet. When I saw it in the display a week later he seemed to have settled down and was sitting fairly flat.  I wonder who will open a parcel one day, pleased to get a new laundry bag, and find my Emu looking back at them. I'd love to see that.

The finished bag - Kangaroo's side with the lining hanging out, Emu in all his glory
and demonstrating how he'll look on a full laundry bag. He might be a little bit scary.

for all the TEA in China

In my grandmother's day everyone drank tea - there was very little else to drink and in some places drinking tea was actually better than drinking plain water because the water in the tea had been boiled.  The whole family drank tea for breakfast, lunch, dinner and in between.  It was relatively cheap,  refreshing in hot and cold weather and gave people something to do when socialising.  The process of boiling the water, brewing the tea, pouring and sipping helped to solve all problems, calm the spirit and to heal all wounds.

Tea is a hot drink made by infusing dried crushed tea leaves in boiling water.  We often refer to the infusion of other leaves, plants or flowers as tea, or herbal teas, but that is not real tea.

Real tea is made from the leaf of the tea bush, Camellia sinensis, which is native to southern and eastern Asia and has been grown as a cash crop for hundreds of years. The plant is a close relative of the camellia.  In Mandarin it was called ch'a, which is the origin of the char and chai words for tea, and in the Amoy dialect it was T'e.

The tea drinking habit came to Australia, from the United Kingdom, with the first settlers. For middle class England tea was served with a light afternoon meal  of sandwiches and cake.  I think the main meal was in the middle of the day and they had supper of buttered toast and cocoa late at night.  For the working people tea was the evening meal and both these concepts became part of the early Australian culture.

High Tea was a tradition from around the mid 1700s as a late afternoon meal for working men. They were usually grubby and smelly after work, so had their tea standing up, or sitting on tall stools at a high bench and it became a 'high' tea of scones, toast and fruit cake, served with tea.

Later, this evolved into an early meal for 'well to do' people, before a night out at the theatre or playing cards so High Tea was a light but nourishing meal. Later in the evening they returned home for supper, which was often cold meat and veg as the servants had gone to bed.  Around this time the Fourth Earl of Sandwich had the idea of holding a slice of meat between two slices of bread - so he could eat while playing cards - and the High Tea sandwich came into being.

My grandmother, who was born into a large family and grew up in a one room shack on a dairy farm, liked to feel that as she had trained as a nurse and made something of herself she could put on a few airs and graces. 'We' never referred to the evening meal as tea. That was for working class people.  In our house 'we' had dinner in the evening.  I was never quite sure about meals because on Sunday, when the lamb roast was served in the middle of the day it was also called dinner and on Sunday night we had early tea of toasted sandwiches and later on a supper with hot chocolate. So, if you had lunch you could have dinner, but if you had dinner at lunch time, then after tea you got supper.  I'm glad elevenses remained in England.  It all depends on who your grandmother was.

Until the 1960's tea, in Australia, was made in a pot and the left over tea leaves were disposed of by the back door, usually into a vegetable patch where they acted as fertiliser and mulch, or into a pile of maiden hair ferns that seemed to grow where people tipped tea leaves.  People who didn't have a back door often emptied the tea pot into the loo and at one family gathering I remember a small cousin came back from a visit to the toilet to announce to the room of relatives that 'someone in this house has a very sick tummy'.  Apparently Great Aunty had emptied the teapot and not flushed.

In the Aussie bush tea was brewed in
 tin billy-can over an open fire

An Australian tradition is billy tea - still make in camping grounds all over the country, it just takes a fire, a tin can of boiling water, a handful of tea and a gum leaf.  Tea and rum were the drinks, and at times currency, of early settlement days but real tea was not always available to people in the bush. The Leptospermum tree, from the family Myrtaceae, is commonly known as Teatree, from the practice of early settlers soaking the leaves in boiling water to make a tea substitute. I can't imagine what that tasted like.  I live near the town of Nambour which gets it's name from the local Aboriginal name for the tea tree.  

Tea tree oil distilled from Melaleuca alternifolia is popular for it's amazing antiseptic, anti-bacterial, anti-fungal, anti-inflammatory and anti-viral properties.  

But, back to real tea, a visit to a Chinese tea shop will cause confusion because hundreds of different types and blends of tea are on offer, but there are only a few basic categories of tea and they all come from leaves of the same Camellia Sinensis plant. The processing of the newly picked leaves is what determines the tea's colour and taste.

Black tea is exposed to air until the oxidation of the leaf brings on its dark colour.  

Green tea comes from quickly heating the leaves to prevent further fermentation, and this gives the green colour and milder flavour.

White, yellow and the oolong teas are in-between, with different grades of fermentation.

Picking tea in India

History tells that tea travelled to Europe around 1590 when a Portuguese priest visited China and got permission to take some tea plants home, but until the 19th century nearly all tea was grown in China and most of it was exported to Great Britain.  

When political and business problems made trade difficult the British managed to get hold of (make off with), enough tea bushes to start tea plantations in Assam and Darjeeling in India, and Kenya in Africa, where it is still produced.  And, though China is still the biggest producer of tea, India comes a close second.

Apparently, for 300 years, at the London Tea Auction, tea was sold ‘by the candle’ system; bidding for lots went on until an inch of a candle had burnt away.

Water is still the most consumed beverage in the world today, but tea is a close second as we drink more than 3 billion cups of tea a year. The biggest consumers - and this may be a surprise - are the people of United Arab Emirates, followed by Morocco and then Ireland! 

Elkhorns

My grandmother, and her sisters, treasured their tea pots - one for every day, one for special occasions and one for decoration but today most people don't own a tea pot because teabags have replaced brewing in the pot. But, tea post are still included in children's toys and cartoons. Gone are the tea pots and knitted tea cosies, tea caddies and spoons, and the tradition of one for each person and one for the pot. Even the ferns miss out as tea drinkers who don't want to waste the used tea bags 'feed' them to elkhorns in their garden.

Some healthy things people say about tea: 

Green tea and white tea especially are praised for many health benefits, including antibiotic effects, anti-cancer properties, boosting of the immune system, lowering of cholesterol levels and improvement of cardiovascular health.
Tea contains vitamins B2, B1 and B6 and is also rich in potassium, manganese, folic acid and calcium.
Tea contains half the amount of caffeine found in coffee.
One cup of white tea contains the same amount of antioxidants as 10 cups of apple juice.
Tea can help soothe a sore throat, black, green and oolong tea have antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties that may help alleviate symptoms.

Times to avoid tea:
Black tea can block iron absorption from foods and supplements so it's best to avoid tea when taking vitamins or eating foods that are rich in iron.
Green tea is a significant source of vitamin K, which can interfere with the effects of blood thinners such as warfarin.

A few other uses for tea: 

The used tea leaves can be beneficial as fertilizer for the garden.
Used tea leaves can absorb odours in the refrigerator.
Tea in a foot bath can eliminate some foot odours.

Interesting things said about tea:
The water source, temperature and brewing time effect the taste of the tea.

Half a kilo of loose tea can make about 200 cups of tea.
An experienced picker can collect over 30 kg of tea a day!
Until the 19th century, solid blocks of tea were used as money in Siberia.
Tea breaks are a tradition that have been with us for approximately 200 years.
Drinking 4 cups of tea a day is recommended for health.
Tea is a natural source of fluoride that could protect against tooth decay and gum disease.
The first book about tea was written by Lu Yu in 800 A.D.
Apart from tourism, tea is the biggest industrial activity in India.
98% of people have milk in their tea, but only 30% have sugar.
Tea bags were invented in America in the early 1800s. 
Tea bags were originally made of silk and were used to hold tea samples from India.

Slightly damp tea leaves can repel insects.

And I don't know if any of these things are true.

'Women are like tea bags. They don't know how strong they are 

until they get into hot water.'   Eleanor Roosevelt.

ICE TEA FACE TREAT

2 cups water

1 green tea bag, or loose green tea (for antioxidants)

2 teaspoons turmeric powder (antibacterial, exfolient)

1 tablespoon honey (moisturiser and softens)

2 -3 teaspoons rose water (smells nice)

Prepare:

Steep the tea in boiling water until you have a brew of very strong tea.

Open the teabag if using one, the leaves act as an exfolient.

Stir in turmeric, honey and rose water. 

Pour into a standard ice cube tray and into the freezer.

Use:

Wash your face with warm water to open the pores.

Rub a tea ice cube all over your face for several minutes, paying attention to the forehead, nose and chin.

With your fingers, gently massage the turmeric/tea leaf residue over your face to exfoliate.

Rinse off with cold water.

Finish with a splash of witch hazel or other toner, and moisturise.

-----

... and WASHING clothes.

Australia currently has quite a few interesting female comedians, or comediennes as was once the female term. A little list of some I enjoy is strangely Irish in flavour - Kitty Flanagan, Judith Lucy, Corinne Grant, Michelle Laurie, Julie Morris, Fiona O'Loughlin, Denise Scott, Gina Riley - with Fiona being a favourite.  Her dry-as-dust tales of life with five kids and a husband in Alice Springs actually make me laugh out loud - and it must be funny, not just silly, for me to laugh.

Fiona claims that she escapes to the stage of comedy clubs as a way of coping with family life ... though as I can't imagine there are too many comedy clubs in Alice Springs, in the middle of the desert, her escapes must include a long weekend in Adelaide or Melbourne. Nice.

One of her top tips for surviving the daily grind is - just chop some garlic and onion into a hot pan with oil and stir. When they all come in with stomachs growling they'll smell it and think something is happening - clear out of the kitchen and don't bother the cook - thus buying yourself another half hour to finish your coffee before starting the real meal preparation.  The phrase ' chop up some garlic and onion' is applied to a number of situations in our house.

I've recently realised that washing on the line has become my version of this.  After a 3am session of writing, editing, drawing, sewing etc - activities I really enjoy, I crawl out of bed at 10am and stagger to the washing machine.  If, late the night before, I'd put on a load of washing it would be there in the laundry basket, and I'd just have to peg it out -  giving me half an hour to doddle around the house until I am fully awake. When Big R comes up from the paddock for his 10.30 cuppa the washing line is full and housework seems to be underway. Big grin.

My washing line

And watching the drying process is very relaxing. It's lovely to sit back and admire that line of clean sheets or blindingly white nappies flapping in the breeze.  I was delighted to hear my darling nephew Jos, back in the day his youngest child, who is now 12, was a very little baby, say he thought a line full of clean white nappies was a lovely sight.  Delighted .... because men usually do not fully appreciate that style of domestic art.

J and K with middle child and a line full of nappies

Of course 'washing on the line' can be translated as laundry.  Why we use the verb washing instead of the noun that belongs there is a mystery, but that's Aussie English.  We 'do' the washing, peg out the washing, dry the washing, bring in the washing, fold the washing and put it away. Some of these jobs are done in the laundry - and that should probably be laundry room, where we keep the laundry basket and the laundry soap.

One of my favourite family stories came to me through one of my grandmother's sisters. They lived in a one room house on a dairy farm at the foot of the blue mountains west of Sydney.  The seven children were born between 1883 and 1894 and they were poor farmers - though I have seen, in old newspapers, that they won prizes at the local show for cows and jam etc. 

There was no electricity in the house, cooking was done over a wood fire, the children wore underwear sewn from flour sacks and slept on bags stuffed with straw. With the house full of children the parents had very little quiet time. The children remembered falling asleep to the sound of their parents voices coming from outside, as they discussed the day's work and future plans - mother Annie pegging washing on the line, and father, John, holding the hurricane lantern and helping with the big heavy items.  When people are so busy with hard physical work, simple tasks may seem like a break.

Bush washing line with prop

I don't think Annie bashed her clothes on rocks in the river or scrubbed them with sand to get the dirt out, but washing for a family of nine people would have been hard work and a never ending job. 

First collect the water - from stream, pump or tank, possibly in buckets and carry to whatever tub or basin she used for washing.  To remove dirt from clothes you soap and rub and rub and rub. If Annie was lucky she had a wood fired copper - and that's an adjective turned noun. The copper tubs were on legs, or stands, with room underneath for a fire. When the water reached boiling it melted grease and the bubbling action agitated the clothing, removing the dirt which was trapped by Annie's homemade soap flakes. A long stick, in our house called The Copper Stick, was used to move the clothes around and also to lift them from the hot water. I've actually continued to have a 'laundry' stick for poking things into the machine ... and killing spiders. 

I remember these wooden pegs, often called dolly pegs
because children like me turned them into dolls

Then more water was needed for rinsing before wringing everything out by hand. That requires incredible strength of hand, wrist and forearms. Just imaging trying to wring water from sheets! Two strong men would find it hard work.  Hand wringing hot cloth made incredible wrinkles so good clothes were often ironed before they were completely dry just to get those wrinkles out again.

The wringer, or mangle was another laundry aid. The heavy metal device, with wooden rollers was mounted over laundry tubs and operated by turning a handle. The washing was fed through the rollers, handle turned, fabric squashed flat and the water ran into the tub to be saved and used again. Many fingers were squashed flat, and long hair torn out, in wash houses and laundries. They were even more frightening when attached to washing machines and powered by electricity.

A wringer mounted over concrete laundry tubs

During the 1950's our new laundry had both electric washing machine and a gas powered copper. But, later, as a student I lived in a few old houses where a copper was the only furniture in the laundry (room). I hated the whole procedure and would usually opt for the Laundromat. To me the copper was time consuming, unnecessary, hard work, and I had the alternative. 

The coppers also came in handy for boiling Christmas puddings. My grandmother made about a dozen a year as gifts - that was the number of puddings she could fit into the copper. The puddings were then 'hung' in the laundry for about two weeks.

Boiling puddings

The invention of washing machines set women free. and moved puddings back to the kitchen, but even the first of the 'modern' washing machines were mechanical, and very hard work. But then electricity was invented and that changed the world.

The Hill's Hoist was an Aussie invention and was a great space saver in the backyard
and a play area for kids - we've all been in trouble for swinging on the Hills

My great grandmother Annie Wilmington Morehead was born in 1854 and died in 1940.  During her 86 years she went from hand washing clothes in tubs to boiling them in a copper using wood fire and then gas. I'm sure that even if she didn't use an electric washing machine herself in her later years she certainly would have seen one, and that's amazing.

AN AFTERTHOUGHT:
When my children left home it took me two or three years to adjust - the washing was one thing I found difficult... or lack of it after all those years. I'd go into the laundry and wonder what to do. When I saw this sign on facebook it meant a lot - and I agree, be glad of the washing you do, it means you have someone to care for.