Onions are good for you.

Onion is a vegetable which is not revered as it should be, and yet when cooked it has a sweetness comforting to the soul. And apparently the onion also has therapeutic and preventive qualities. They say that the plague didn’t enter the houses where raw onions were displayed, it cleans out the liver, and it is good for the cardiovascular system. It is also has been a common item on still views painted by the greatest artists.

I personally love to eat onions, cooked onions. Here are some recipes I like.

 Onion and potato soup: KISS method.

1 TBSP butter, 2 lbs onions, 2 lb potatoes, 1 bay leaf, 1 pinchette of thyme  ( pinchette = very small pinch), 3 to 4 sprigs of parsley, 1 bouillon cube (chicken or vegetable).

Melt butter, add chopped onions, chopped parsley and cook covered about 8 minutes over mid-low heat, stirring frequently not to burn them until they are translucent. Add the potatoes cubed, bay leaf, bouillon, salt and pepper and about 11/2 l of water.

Bring to a boil and simmer for about 30 minutes. Remove bay leaf and blend with the mixer. Salt and pepper to taste.

All you need to do is serve it with some grated cheese on the side.

You know you can make a lot of soups that way Leak and Potatoes, Celery soups are just as easy always try to have ½ and ½ potato - vegetable.

Onion Soup au Gratin  (like the one served in the restaurant) Super KISS method. Serves four

2 TBSP of butter, 2 lbs of onions, salt, pepper, a pinchette of thyme, 2 tsp of flour, bay leaf, 1 can of beef stock, French bread, grated cheese (Gruyere and/ or Cheddar).

Melt butter over medium heat, add sliced onions, salt, pepper and thyme and cook slowly and covered until onions are translucent.( if you like it with a few burned bit, just don’t stir it for awhile and you may get some…but watch it carefully)When the onions are cooked, add the flour, stir and cook about 3 minutes longer. Add the can of stock, and one can of water, bring to a boil and then simmer for about 10 minutes.

Toast a few 1” thick slices of bread and cut in 1” cubes. Pour soup in the bowls, put the bread on top and shred the cheese over it. Broil for a few minutes to melt the cheese.

• I have tried it with my own stock, but somehow I feel that I get the best result with canned beef stock.

And now there is the famous Onion Pie, one of the Christmas favourite in our family. This recipe is a little trickier than the other two.

Bread dough pie crust is best, but I’ve also used some of the frozen pie crusts and it isn’t bad, but make sure it is for a deep pie plate. If you do make bread dough pastry, I always make it with an egg in it. I used to make it round cake pans, 1 ½ to 2” deep I think. Also even if plain milk works, I find the taste enhanced when I use Carnation Concentrated whole milk. That way it tastes as the first time I had onion pie with my parents in a small restaurant in Paris. I must have been around 11 or 12 and loved its taste so much my mother and I made up the recipe; she came up with it and I fine tuned it to my taste!

1 Kg onions, 2 Tbsp butter, ½ C concentrated milk, Salt, pepper, grated nutmeg to taste, 1/4 C shredded gruyère cheese, 1/4 C shredded cheddar, 2 egg Yolks.

IN a heavy bottom cooking pan melt the butter over medium high heat. Add the onions previously sliced. Cook covered until the onions are translucent but not brown. Remove from heat, mix a bit of onion mixture to beaten egg yolks then pour back into the pan with the rest of the onions. Add milk and spices to taste. Keeping the mixture off the heat, add cheese.

Prepare a bread dough pie crust. Pour the onion mixture into it (about 2/3 up the sides) and bake 350°F for about ½ hour to ¾ of an hour depending on the volume of the filling. It is cooked when a toothpick inserted in the middle of the pie comes out clean. DO not over cook because it can develop a grainy texture or become watery if the cheese cooks too long.

There are also many other recipes with onions: stuffed onions, glazed onions, pickled onions… that’s about it for my repertoire of onion recipes but you can add them to many other dishes anyway such as stews, salads, dips...

I hope you try these easy recipes, apparently eating onions is good for you in the spring!

Cheers,

Macooo

I had a spiritual awakening!

The other day I read my daughter’s blog and had a spiritual awakening! She had inserted a video of Bren Brown giving a talk about vulnerability. You can find it on Katy’s “mamabeing.blogspot.com.” or on Facebook where it is posted. I would put that video here, but am not enough of a computer wiz  to do it...Macooo has her limitations!

In my life I went through a period where I lost myself, lost my values, lost my spontaneity, changed so much I had a hard time recognizing myself… I knew I wasn’t the same person but could not get out of it. I felt numb going through the motions not really feeling joys or pains, feeling like an imposter in a life which was no longer really mine to live. That was after the death of my sister Marie Anne. I went awry; abused alcohol and the good life to the detriment of my marriage and my children.

In her speech, Bren Brown talks about vulnerability being on the one hand “the core of shame, fear and struggle for worthiness”; but on the other hand being “the birth place of joy, creativity, belonging, and love”. That if a person wants to numb vulnerability in order not to feel pain, rejection, struggles or whatever vulnerability brings; in the process you also numb the potential of joys, belonging, creativity and love.

Click!

After Marie Anne died I said I changed. Many times I wondered what happened to me. Even though at the time of the accident and her death I did cry and I could feel that pain actually I was numbed by it.  The thing is that I stayed numb! I had to be strong for my parents, I had to be strong for her husband and especially for the children who were only 6 and 8 years old, plus I had to be strong for my children.

You know, when you are young and full of life you think you are invincible, that bad things only happen to others. But when she died, I knew what it was to be vulnerable. No one is protected from their destiny. Vulnerability SUCKS!! I built a wall. No one was again going to make me feel that kind of pain! When I looked at the video, it reminded me of what I did: I didn't want to feel that pain, therefore I also desensitized myself from feeling joy, a sense of belonging and right to happiness. I became invincible. Went into politics, I could win or I could lose because the real pain was not going to touch me. I viewed it as becoming strong, an achiever to make Marie Anne live on since she truly had always believed in me. I detached myself from people who loved me, like my husband, my marriage, my children. I could help people, they needed my strength, I could make them laugh… I numbed the pain with booze, preferred short term relationships or unattainable relationships to sound ones…I didn’t need to invest myself or take a risk …now it comes all in perspective.

Click!

Many years have passed by where I have always wondered why I couldn’t cry, or so little it has no healing effect. Why I couldn't laugh to tear as I used to. Why my laugh felt so hollow? My father died, I nursed my brother to his death with no tears. I would even say that I escaped from the pain by incongruous means like trying hats in a supermarket, being a clown so I wouldn't see my mother cry! Being a clown, yes, hidden behind that mask making people forget their worries and grief, hinding my own behind the mask...the grinning untouchable mask!

Click!

Last year I was in a depression and went to a psychologist. It was to deal with my relationship with my mother who is 94 , the changing roles, seeing her deteriorate in front of my very eyes, that pain that I shouldn’t feel since I was invincible. Close to the end of the sessions, feeling already much more in control,  I told him I also wanted to grieve my sister’s death. He asked when she died and I told him “30 years ago”, as any good psychologist would do he said “hmm, hmm it is never too late” and planned the next few sessions to work on it. THIRTY years later, feeling very safe with him, I dared going through the process of grieving, “de faire mon deuil” as they say in French! I was SO afraid of that sorrow, of that pain of losing her again, I didn’t want to lose her again or for ever! …During that session I felt as if a huge house had been lifted off my shoulders; neck pains magically relieved as I peaked under that shroud of bricks. I didn’t feel any pain when the brick wall fell apart; I only felt relief, deep relief, a certain lightness, love and comfort. My sister actually more present in my memories than she ever had been in thirty years.

                                   

That video I saw two days ago made me realize the process I went through. I knew I had changed, I knew I couldn’t cry and felt that my laugh sounded hollow. But now I know that by numbing the pain I also numbed so many of the joys.

I also need to say though that during that time of invincibility I did achieve many things that I am proud of because I had lost the fear of failure, I had much more (fake) self confidence - even if I felt like an imposter when people complimented me on my successes. I’ll never regret those successes; my confidence may actually lose its fake aspect but it is there now; I will probably eventually truly appreciate those successes of mine and appreciate the person I am as I should, with my strengths and my weaknesses.

Cheers everyone,

Macooo

Thirty nine years ago.....

Oh yes, thirty nine years ago I was about to have my first baby…. Why is it that Mama’s never forget a delivery?

I was a little late and the doctor had told me “any time now, everything is go” on Wednesday, day of my weekly visit.  I came home and cleaned the house with a vengeance from top to bottom, including the walls; this was totally out of character for me. I guess now they have a name for it: the nesting syndrome.

But early Friday morning, yes the syndrome was short in duration, around 6:00 a.m. my water broke, and I had strong pains in the back. The well rehearsed exit took place. Put the dog out for a pee, get ready to go. Since it was to be a natural birth, the key was to stay calm and breath into the pains. I must admit that I wondered why they were in my back and not in the belly as they should be, but then … I have never been a textbook case!

March 17^th, wouldn’t you know it, in this teaching hospital,was the day when the medical and nursing rotations changed. That meant that the front line personnel who are usually student nurses and interns were experiencing their first day in the obstetrics department with a first time mama. Which is probably not a huge thing if everything goes well… but as I said I have never been a textbook case.

At each examination they were reassuring me that I was NOT dilating, 1 cm by almost lunch time with very strong contractions, nausea, throwing up and the likes. The student nurse who had probably never seen labour or a birth in her life, was caressing my hand with eyes as big as saucers; the intern who may never have done a vaginal exam kept saying I was 1 cm.  Around that time I sent my husband home to feed the dog and let her out. I wanted to concentrate on the labour, kept asking for my labour coach who was an anaesthetist I worked with who had coached his wife for natural vaginal births (but he was nowhere to be found) and for the obstetrician to come and see me which I thought was a reasonable request after 4 hours in strong labour.

A few minutes after I sent my husband away, I started to have the feeling that I wanted to push. I couldn’t help it. Each contraction was a pushing one and they were coming in fast. The student nurse was saying impossible according to the books; even the head nurse thought I was exaggerating. The intern stayed firm on his 1 cm, but was getting a little confused and saying that it felt like the baby was wearing a hat. That’s when I lost my cool… and told the nurse that if she didn’t want to be responsible for the brain damage to my child, she better go and get that obstetrician “Manu militari” in THIS room or he would be equally responsible. Lunch or no lunch get him in here RIGHT NOW!

Within 5 minutes he was there, a little insignificant man, meekly lifting the sheet to have a look and a feel at my dilating vagina! Did I see a nervous twitch? Did I see a droplet of sweat before I heard him say “ it’s a breach, let’s move her STAT in the delivery room, call the anaesthetist”. The meek little man had become an agitated midget!

On the way to the labour room, I saw my husband looking shaken in the hall: he had just been told abruptly he couldn’t come in for the birth; it was now upgraded to an emergency. In the seventies, women didn’t know much and my cool and easy going self had never really wondered about complications or anything else. Call me naïve, but for me labour was a natural process helped along by calm breathing, pushing and working with the contractions. If it was as horrible as some women made it out to be no one would have a second child! I am not sure that I really understood the term breach at that time since it had never been mentioned during the pregnancy and 2 days before at my last visit, everything was fine.

I was determined to see that little baby’s birth though. Never mind that everyone was moving fast, sweating, whispering, giving each other furtive looks ( since that’s the only thing you can see in a labour room, only the eyes are talking leaving you in this dreadful silent secret). “Please, get that mirror up so I can see the birth!” They tried to dissuade me telling me that I needed to concentrate on the labour; that it was very important that I concentrate on what the doctor said and nothing else. But I am curious by nature, I need the visual to help me understand, I told them that I would only be able to concentrate if I could watch  what I was doing “down below” as the meek obstetrician used to say for the nine previous months when he had to check me vaginally.  Finally the sweaty doctor seeing that I was not going to let it go, and that I was indeed  losing my concentration replacing it with frustration and anger, finally set the mirror up.

What a relief to see the birth; to see what I needed to do. By then I knew that it was an emergency, I knew that everything I did would help the little baby. In only a few seconds, I knew it was a boy!  A real boy! So big…for a little infant! Only his little butt was out, no legs. I had to laugh and crack a joke! But the sweaty doctor didn’t appreciate my humour or found it out of place…. Well, it probably was out of place in view of the critical situation. I was soon put back on track and put back to work. Push….  Some manipulation to get one leg out, and then the other …Push,  push, then more manipulation to ease the shoulder out and then the arms…. By now the doctor was soaked in sweat … … I could see that little blue shiny body flimsily hanging by his neck which didn’t look any thicker than my index finger…. I knew it was serious. I knew then that it was a critically dangerous situation…. Had I not had the mirror to watch this, would I have really realized the danger, would I have pushed as hard? In a breach it is the head which comes last, the hard part, the big part of the baby, it is not like in a normal birth, where once the head has gone through; the rest of the body comes out like a wind. Here the head can get stuck and the cervix isn’t as softened and stretched as in a normal birth.

The next push, a huge push, Derek was born. It was 1h12 in the afternoon or thereabout. He didn’t take long to let us know that he wasn’t particular happy with his trip out, a little too narrow to his liking! He was so long, folded in half with his feet beside his head; hard to unfold long enough to measure.

He was beautiful! Still is!

I had a baby boy! It had been a misdiagnosed breach birth, and I had delivered naturally, but I felt like a queen all wrapped up in warm blankets! I had a beautiful boy! I was a Mama!

 Isn’t it strange that the story of the birth of our children has to be told, and retold on every single one of their birthdays!

From the first butterfly flutter inside my body, to the first sight of your little body struggling to come butt first, to now with your own children I love you Derek, always have and always will.

Happy birthday Derek

Shame, shame ...

The Japanese are suffering a triple disaster: earthquake, tsunami and nuclear. It is not a war like in Libya; it is not due to the insanity and wrath of humans. It is the earth shifting, it is the universe changing on its own, the wrath and consequences of a natural disaster.

I admire the Japanese strength of character; their reaction faced to this disaster is just as breathtaking as the desolation, ruins and nuclear fear which surround them. To think that one minute your life is happy, organized and full of dreams yet to be reached. The next second you are homeless, jobless, immersed in loss, grief and chaos and shattered dreams; survival being your new and only priority. Just thinking about it I feel tightness in my chest!

It sorts of make us humble, make us realize how vulnerable we are, that life and happiness only hangs by a thread for anyone of us.

SO, why is the Press on a witch hunt, having such a field day with this disaster!!! My husband being a News buff, we watch the news from France, Switzerland, Belgium, Québec, Ontario, and B.C. I can therefore say that I am not making my statements without a pretty good viewing base. They’re all the same, some worse than others!

 The anchorpersons of every television channel are complaining about the lack of information, the mixed information, and the false information. And while that may be true since the Japanese are right in the middle of this triple whammy disaster; maybe not necessarily getting all the information, being invaded by true, untrue, emotional and biased information themselves; having to weigh, analyze and contemplate action for every single information they get from the diverse sources, while themselves have to deal emotionally with the event, the fears, the losses, the uncertainties and probable consequences. Let's not lose sight of the micro, personal, immediate reaction within the disastrous macro, Japanese and worldwide consequences of every decision made in this horrendous climate of urgency.

 I find it most unprofessional and unethical for broacasters to critique. Have they ever been in a situation where they were the decision makers for millions of people facing a disaster of that amplitude, or even smaller amplitude; I doubt it sincerely? “La critique est aisée mais l’art est difficile” as they say in French.

For some of those Anchorpersons, sitting in their cushy seat with a roof over their heads,  you can actually see glee in their eyes as they twist their questions and wring their witnesses dry, trying to have them say things they haven’t seen, they haven’t heard; as they go into the core of their wrenching emotions and break their spirits. They will spend 5 minutes on one term, stretching it, bending it and twisting it around, until the witness breaks and says “the word” the press wanted so much to hear out of their mouth to be able to cast fear, doubt or plain accusations. Shame to some of those anchorpersons! Even their reporters in Tokyo sometimes have a hard time to place a word of hope, a word of admiration for the victims, something positive to hang on to amidst this apocalypse they are facing. Should they dare to say something positive, they are quickly “but…’ed” out of their comment if not cut right off with a “thank you” before the end of the sentence. Shame, shame, shame… and to think that you do all that for ratings and money! Where is your integrity?

Isn’t it enough that these people’s lives have been shattered in one second? Isn’t it enough that they have lost children, parents, friends, homes, jobs, security? Isn’t it enough that they have little fuel, little electricity, a nuclear cloud over their head contaminating their food supply? Isn’t it enough that you also have to take away their dignity and pride trying to find blame, trying to find flaws, trying to instil doubts, fear, despair, let’s even push it a little farther and bring panic if you can with unfounded prognosis and insinuations!

Get off your superiority complex! Stop thinking your country wouldn’t let it happen; would not react like that, would be prepared for the worst; that your experts and politicians are more intelligent, more honest, more transparent, and are just plain superior! Just take a good look at yourselves: it is much easier to see the straw in your neighbour’s eye, than to see the beam in yours!”  

Shame, shame

Mama not so Cool

Women’s Day? Men’s Day? Societal evolution!

Macooo says: 

Isn’t it amazing that we are still celebrating Women’s Day one hundred years later?  A man asked how come we had a Women’s Day when there was no Men’s Day!

Why? Because women are still not equal to men in many areas: they still don’t have equal pay for equal jobs, they still don’t get the top jobs, they still aren’t allowed in some professions, when they do work they still have to hold not only to their job but also manage the household, do the cooking, cleaning and take time off when the children are sick. Some religions still view women as inferior to men: not allowed to be educated and “obeying” their husband rather than being equal to them. Some cultures still lapidate women for adultery but leave the men totally free of guilt.  There is still too many: “That’s a woman’s job” when we talk about raising kids and household chores; or “That’s a man's job” when we talk about car mechanics, or construction engineering; or “Women carry the babies and have the kids, it’s up to them to raise them, that’s why they can never be equal in the workplace!”

Macooo says: That’s why there is still a Women’s day.

On the other hand:

It is true that women are different than men, but different in no way means unequal.

While I cannot disagree that it is the women who get pregnant, carry and deliver the babies and “that ain’t ever going to change darling”!  There is no reason why men cannot take a much more active part in raising the children and doing his or her fair share of household duties.

But ladies, look around, things are definitely changing!

There is a definite improvement from the 60’s and the 70’s! When I compare my generation to yours, the things men do now with the kids and in the household are amazing. Now you have men who genuinely are doing their share and more, they help with the babies even change their diapers, give them their baths, put them to bed, they clean floors, they vacuum, they cook, and they do the laundry. Just in my tiny circle of friends and family I know two stay-at- home dads who enjoy the experience, while their wives are at work bringing the bacon as they say.

I truly admire men who respect thier wives as equal and help them achieve their goals. I feel blessed to know many men who actually are right in there raising the children, helping out with the chores.

It is really refreshing to see men like Derek, Kirk, Sean and Vail being so present for their children. (I have to mention them because they are part of the fore-runners of this movement).They can nurture a crying child just as well as a mother, they can also bond in the kitchen or in a hockey rink, they can bond mowing grass and reading a book, they have their special bath games and private jokes. They also clean up the kitchen, clean the floors, do laundry, pick-up toys and they are real men! 

Maybe many women in my generation just didn’t dare asking? Maybe it was so engrained in our generation that women stayed home, raised the kids and their place was not in the work force that we just did it, frustrated by the inequality of it all. I remember many a time when my father’s moustache would prickle up his nose because he just thought I was  a dreadful wife to let my husband press his own shirts. It never entered his mind that I was working full time, didn’t have a maid, was taking a bus at 6:00 a.m. after having served him breakfast in bed, and came home by bus around 6:30 p.m., and was the only bread earner in the family while he worked on Masters degree and then his medical school…and guess what, I never asked him to press my uniform for work!

Women have come a long way in their expectations; they demand more from their spouse than we did. I think it is better for all concerns: children, dads and moms.

Macooo says: you’ve come a long way guys! Be happy you didn’t need a Men’s Day to get there!

 Cheers,

Macooo

Here is why I am Macooo

I didn’t really want to be called “grand ma” or “Mamie”. My mother didn’t like it either, and her first grand son who couldn’t pronounce “Bonne maman” came up with “Boumba” and it stuck like honey to my mother… everyone adopted the name: grandkids, family and friends. She is now almost 94 and has been wearing the name proudly for the last 40 years. Some of us have even given her the nickname “Boobsie”…

I also wanted my grandkids to come up with an original name for me; especially when Ronan, the oldest grandchild at the sweet age of 2 baptized my husband Papa Toad when he was trying to say Papa Claude. That name has stuck and now everyone calls Claude “Papa Toad”. This grandma felt left out not to have a special name like that!

My kids call me mom, but I have pretty well adopted all my nieces and nephews as my own children. Two of them lost their mom (my sister) when they were very young and two of them had parents who didn’t want to join the “Anglophone” part of the family. Since the children, unhindered by obtuse vision wanted to be part of the cousin’s clan regardless of the language, my sister and I adopted them in the group so they could have crazy week-ends and holidays with the rest of their cousins. When my sister died, my mother and I kept the idea alive; they have always formed an inseparable group; even now in their late thirties.

I have always felt very close to all of them, very protective of them, and I have made myself available to them if they needed to talk or wanted to share their joys or struggles. As time went by I felt like a friend, an aunt, an adoptive mom to them all. Therefore I started to sign my letters and messages, with Mama Cool: a neutral title reflecting the way I saw myself fitting in with them. Ready for anything fun; always ready for a party but always available should they need to share their thoughts and feelings with a mother figure.

Finally Ardan, when he was about 2 came up with Macooo since he couldn’t say Mama Cool.  It has such a sweetness about it when he says it, just like when Ronan says Papa Toad.

I wanted to share one of the pleasures of being a grandmother.

Cheers, Macooo

It is sad theey don't teach manual skills such as knitting, crochet and sewing in public schools anymore.

I didn’t learn to knit or crochet from my mother, but in public school in Belgium from grade 1 to 6 we had what they called “manual skills” and we learned to knit, crochet, embroider and sew by hand. In High School in Canada, they had Home Economics to teach us how to cook, plan meals and sew on electric machines.

I have spent many hours knitting, crocheting and sewing, and taught myself many other crafts like silver jewellery making, beading, pottery, leather work, stained glass….

Name it I’ll try it. I reckon that the money I spend on the materials probably equals the money I don’t spend going out to dinner, to the show or out to the bars. (Well, there was a time where I slipped on that one… not too much “hand-made” production during that time.)

I have used those skills to make gifts, to make some pocket money when my ex-husband was in medical school, and I also have made wedding dresses for my daughter and niece, clothes for friends, recovered furniture for my sister-in-law, covered chairs for my mother, made curtains so many times I cannot remember. One year I knitted 24 hats for Christmas.

Another year I made 12 wind breakers with knitted cuffs and collars, or lumberjack shirts for the kids. I usually use a pattern but many a time I just see something and design it and let my imagination go, put the personal touch; I also have designed many items from scratch like the macramé hanging made with kitchen cord and blue mussel shells picked in the Iles de la Madeleine.  My sister (when she was alive) and I started making our Christmas present around September or  October…we felt gifts bought were less personal; we much preferred putting all our love in making something special for someone special. Fall was such a special time for us designing and making presents for our loved ones!

All that love giving just from some Manual Skills classes in primary school! Amazing how much pleasure that one or maybe two hours  a week of primary school teaching has brought into my life…somehow I don’t get the same kick and lovely feeling when I apply what they taught me in geography, arithmetic and oh yuk, super yuk French grammar!

 They have found that learning two or three languages early in childhood actually has a positive correlation with the brain development and intelligence of a child; I wonder if teaching Hand Skills early in childhood wouldn’t have similar neuron stimulation as far as dexterity, eye hand co-ordination even logic. It certainly helped in arithmetic counting and recounting the stitches to make sure we didn’t lose one or add one with our clumsy fingers! It certainly taught us patience and perseverance!

It also makes for very fond memories of my sister, our giggling spells while sharing a small tablecloth we were embroidering… laughing fits so bad that we peed our pants and the teacher, Madame Charlois, in an effort to calm the two of us would sternly tell us to stop, which sent us in an even bigger laughing spell. Actually some times Miss Charlois had a hard time to hide her smile, our giggles were catching.

 I also remember having to knit a wash cloth in cotton; I had chosen white cotton, but my hands sweated so much that it was four shades of grey by the time I had the required dimensions. The problem was that I had pulled so much on it to have the right length that when my mother washed it, it lost half of its length! I think I was 6 or 7 years old at the time. My mother quickly knitted the missing rows so that I could hand it in in time!

My daughter planned her wedding so that all the people really dear to her participated in the event. We all shared our talents to make her wedding the best I ever attended. My nephew Olivier provided the music; my niece Natasha decorated the reception hall and the tables with flower arrangements out of this world; her cousin’s wife Debbie made the wedding cake; her mother-in-law made the wedding arch and decorated the signing table…. I made the wedding dress and Kaya’s dress and their jewellery: soft water pearl and garnet necklace and earrings.

It was with pride that I watched my daughter dance happily in her wedding dress holding the hand of her little ring bearer Kaya in a matching dress: all hand made by the mother of the bride!

Please, oh please bring back these wonderful courses in the curriculum…they will give hours of constructive pleasure to so many women, and erase the word boredom from the dictionary!

Cheers, Mama Cool

 

Macooo says: Thank you Atlas-ti; big companies still have a heart!

In order not to allow my brain to stay inactive for too long, I love getting it working on translations, transcriptions, and now I am helping a friend of my daughter Katy with some of her Doctorate work. I had met H before and actually had been a participant for her Master’s thesis: a wonderful person very dear to me too.

Katy, knowing me well, had offered her my services last spring to transcribe interviews she had done for her thesis. I had never transcribed one word in my life, but that’s O.K.; Katy knows her mother will try anything once.

So I downloaded transcribing software, got myself settled and transcribed interviews. It kept me and my brain occupied for about 3 months. The interviews were most interesting to listen to, even if transcribing is a slow tedious process, I enjoyed it and learned a lot.

Now, my friend H has to do a qualitative analysis of all that. Have I ever done that? No, but it sounds interesting to me. We only live once right? And H seems very interested in my input because of my life experiences which fit with her topic and then she says she appreciates my wisdom …. You see age has its positive sides!  Qualitative analysis of a textual content is one of the hardest analyses to do; trust me we’re getting far away from my usual KISS Association mantra.

H had purchased a software, which she thought I could share with her to do the work. But I couldn’t get on it, therefore I wrote to Atlas-ti to tell them my problem. Atlas-ti is a big worldwide Software company based in Germany. They first said that the license was only good for one person; students could have them at a special rate with proof of being a student in a recognized University, otherwise you had to purchase the business license for over $ 1,000 and there too you had to give proof that you were a business.

I really wanted to work on that analysis; it is so stimulating! Therefore I wrote to them again, telling them my story. That I enjoyed helping students; didn’t belong to any university to be able to get a Student license but was willing to pay for a student license however not for business one since it was truly for a personal use to help out someone who already had purchased a license. I also gave them other options which I felt were fair as well as told them how important it was for me, how much I enjoyed helping students  while learning myself.

When I told people of my letter, they laughed at me, they were cynical, they thought I was pretty naive…. But three days later, I did get an e-mail from them offering me a student license for FREE. All they asked is that I  do not use it for commercial purposes and that I write them an e-mail which they could use for marketing purposes.

It reinforced several of my beliefs, that: 1. Nothing ventured nothing gained. 2. Honesty still pays and last but definitely not least 3.Corporations still have a heart… and credit must be given when credit is due. That’s why I am saying: Thank You Atlas-ti.

Cheers,

 Mama Cool

Macoo says: Preparing a sea lift order

I know I whetted your appetite with my enthusiasm about making bread, but did I make you curious about the subject of the sea lift?

Just in case I will tell you about it.

When we made our decision to move to Frobisher Bay, now Iqaluit, we were told to prepare a shopping list for a whole year and to bring all of our non perishables on the boat which was much cheaper than air travel which we needed to use for our perishables.

At the time of our decision, we lived in Thunder Bay my husband and I and the two children about age 4 and 1 ½ or there.

            I therefore started to measure everything we ate, everything we used, everything we drank etc… I put a new tube of toothpaste out, measured the cereal we used, the jam, we went to powdered milk (yuk) to see how much powder we needed, laundry detergent, chocolates, sugar, salt, nuts, peanut butter, chocolate chips, oat meal, corn flakes; we started to use more canned goods: peas, carrots, mushrooms, since air freight was $1.00 per pound. No more potatoes since the “winter potatoes” which keep for a long time were not going to be harvested until after the boat left Montréal; we would have to make do with dried potato flakes, dried scalloped potatoes, rice and pasta. Soft drinks, which we didn’t use much, but would now be a real special treat had to be included. And of course I started to make my bread to see how much I would need per week, or per month and then multiply by the adequate factor: 52 or 12.  

          Once you have the list made;  how I wish I had kept it! Then you had to chose a grocer and get the grocer’s wholesale catalogue. I was really lucky there, because the grocer had 20 years experience with the sea lift to Baffin Island. I called him many times while I was making my order to pick right the size container  and the right size of case. He was a very patient man and laughed many times at my anxiety about all of this. He was happy I spoke French with him since he was Québecois.  Did I want the small size containers, or the large size, could I break a case, were there any other options, did he have any smaller cases , did he have another product because I didn't like that one. I really did not want to fall short of anything and therefore we did over purchase the first year, but since it was non perishables we weren’t really losing much except may be some freshness and flavour for the next year.

          
When we left Thunder Bay at the end of April, we went to Montréal to meet him and bring him the final order and the cheque. I was shocked when I found him in a little tiny corner store no bigger than a postage stamp in a remote section of Lachine. My order was larger than the store itself. My fear and anxiety must have been easily read on my face because Monsieur Turenne started to laugh his good hearted laugh again. He showed me the warehouse behind the shop where he packaged the orders and he packaged almost all of the orders for the whole of Baffin Island. Explained the whole set up to me. Him and I became very good friends over the years; we worked together on improving the seal lift service after  the horrible fiasco when it came to late and couldn't be unloaded. Not only did he do the shipping for the sea lift, but he also was one of the main grocers involved in the air lift for the perishable goods which came in once a week on Nordair. We are talking mid seventies here, things have changed drastically in Iqaluit, Nanavut territories; they have flights every day now, and more stores than The Bay. It is the capital City of Nunavut Territory.

        But doing your shopping that way actually saves you money, because you have fewer visits to the stores and therefore less temptation. However, children change their eating habits, develop different tastes; in Thunder Bay they ate cornflakes all the time, they adored it; by the time the sea lift arrived they couldn’t stomach it at all…. And I had two cases of 12 large boxes!  Luckily there is a big frenzy around sea lift time, and every one comes and check if you  have extras, or if you want to trade or share when the sea lift arrives. Also I made cookies, breads, crumbs, whatever I could invent with cornflakes. Many of my friends were blessed with some of my corn flake inventions in Xmas baskets.

I’ll leave it at that, because I have a tendency to not be able to stop when I get going so maybe the subject will come again under another lens, during another blog.

Cheers

Mama Cool

Macooo says: let's try again with the bread making

Yesterday I wrote a blog which went to Internet Heaven, it just disappeared. It was about the wonderful smell of bread baking in the kitchen. I have been baking my own bread for about 32 years!
I started making it about 4 months before we left for the Great White North, Iqaluit now, Frobisher Bay then, in the mid 70's. We had been told that buying bread there was at your own risk, and very expensive. We were strongly advised to include flour in our sea lift so we could make our own breads. In order to know how much flour I needed for a whole year, since the sea lift with our food only came in once a year,( but that's another story I'll share with you one day) I had to make bread and see how many we ate each week in our family of four, and then multiply it by the number of weeks, and add a bit more for pastry and other uses.
Baking bread is not as hard as they make it out to be in the books. And in the 70's there wasn't yet all that talk about fibers and the arguments between white vs. brown bread. We were a white bread family.
For two loaves, or 12 buns I used 3 1/2C  to 4 C of flour, 2 tsp of yeast, 1 tsp of sugar and 1 C of warm water. Put the sugar and the yeast in 1/3 of the water and let it rise ( no draft please); the 3 C of flour in a big bowl with the salt and make a well in the middle. When the yeast was all bubbly, about 10 minutes, ( the comfy smell is starting) poor it in the well and add the rest of the warm water. With your fingers, blend in the flour into the liquid. When it gets a big hard, sprinkle some of the flour on the counter, plop the dough on the counter and start kneading the  rest of the flour. And knead about 10 minutes until the dough has an nice elastic body and is velvety or smooth like a baby's butt on top. Kneading is just folding the dough and then rolling it with the heel of your hand. It is sort of stretching it and rolling it back together. You can actually get a nice rythm doing it and sing along while doing it...very therapeutic!
Put the thing in a greased bowl , roll it in the bowl so it gets greased all over, cover it with a towel ( no draft please) and let time do its work. Wen it is double in size give it a punch and watch it deflate like a balloon (kids love that part). Then you have a choice, either let it rise a second time in the bowl, or shape it in loaves and let it rise like that. I have done both, it gives you a different texture for the inside, that 's all. 
Let it rise in the loaf pans or in a ball, or as baguettes and then bake at 425° F for 10 minutes, then turn down to 350 for breads, buns I just let them cook at 425 for 15 to 20 minutes. 
If you want a hard crust, steam the oven with water (either in a pan at the bottom or just spraying water in the hot oven when you put the loaves in). If you want a soft crust, rub some butter on it when it is still really hot. 
There you go. You can get fancy after if you want and experiment with various flours, and recipes, but whatever your searches and recipes, try to always use the KISS method (Keep It Simple Stupid) that's usually gives you the best results. Remember that bread making is an ancient art, invented when there were limited resources....no big secrets and inventions there!Kids love it, I have so many lovely memories: making breads with my children, one on a chair, the other right on the counter, they had their own little pans. There is nothing as soothing as the feel of warm dough, its velvety touch, warm, elastic, floury... and I personally love eating it raw!
The children made beautiful breads full of raisins, dog hair, stones, and whatever esle was flying around the kitchen: the dog loved it too licking all the bits dropped on the floor. I have never been one to be really concerned about tidiness, cleansiness, over-washing your hands, using all those super duper cleaning products that sterilize your environment and make you breath all those odours and chemicals...a strong believer in building immunity to germs and bacterias. Maybe that's why my children were rarely sick after the age of 2. But that's another topic altogether!
Rising bread has such a wonderful scent, baking bread bathes the house in a wonderful, peaceful, comforting and loving smell. Plus you know exactly what is in it, no additive, no bleach ( I always use unbleach flour if I can).
Home made bread is not only good for you, it's psychologically good for you, it's a great entertainment, a great shoulder exercise, great passtime for kids, a rewarding craft, a creative art, a great gift for others.... Need I say more?

Cheers Mama Cool

Macooo says: GRRRRRR.....

I had just finished writing a post, was just checking the spelling mistakes, and GRRRRRR as I said I must have hit the wrong key or Internet stopped working, but I lost the post , I lost my blog page and this not so techy lady just lost a lot of time trying to get back on her blog to write. I couldn't get back on it to post... but I just found the page again, through Facebook... You'll have to be patient with me.
Anyway my lost post was about the beauty of making home made bread! I am not going to re write it now though. I think that what I may do from now on is write the blog on word and then paste it, maybe Internet will not play games on me then!
Now I am just going to go and eat a nice crust of homemade bread, too bad guys and girls, you'll have to wait for the KISS recipe to bread.
Oh, by the way I am a very faithful member of the KISS Association (Keep It Simple Stupid), so you will never find anything very difficult on this blog. But I will probably share many ideas, fun anecdotes... of course as I get more expert at all this I may share pictures, patterns etc....
Cheers
Mama Cool

Macooo says:: Macooo says: Let's get started

Macooo says:: Macooo says: Let's get started: "Here I go ladies and gents. Why did I choose the name Macooo. My mother , when she became a grand mother was given the nickname Boumba by h..."

Macooo says: Let's get started

Here I go ladies and gents.
Why did I choose the name Macooo. My mother , when she became a grand mother was given the nickname Boumba by her first grand child who couldn't pronounce "Bonne maman" at the tender age of 28 months. I always loved that name and all the grand children adopted it.
When I became a grand mother I wished to also be baptized by grand children. My first grand child didn't pick a name, because his parents were talking about me as Grand Ma, and not using Mama Cool, therefore it was the second one Ardan who baptized me, because there Mama Cool was used by the parents, aunts etc...
There is nothing sweeter than hearing say " Hi Macooo, or I love you Macooo"... Maybe one day they will all call me that way. Or maybe each will find their way to call me... their voice and soft tone make me melt every time, whatever they call me anyway!
It's funny because until I became a grand mother I never believed that it would be special, that I would become "gaga" over those little ones, that hearing them or seeing them would brighten my day, would fill my heart with that special kind of love and happiness...but I have been really hit by that grand mother bug... trust me it is LOVELY!
Cheers
Mama Cool