Grandma's things

Tonight as I sit here, on my own for five minutes, I can smell the cinnamon, corriander and cumin we cooked with today. My tummy is happy with the slow cooked goodness. I think about all the other people I know who search for inspiration each day, every week to keep meals interesting and inviting, especially to an often uninterested, unenthusiastic small crowd of critics. It can be disheartening sometimes. But we still do it again tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And every now and then it's met with a positive and that makes it worthwhile. 


Something that is keeping me thouroughly interested at the moment is what is on my bedside table. The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough. It's a bit old now and apparently there was a tv series made of it, although I think I may have been a little young at the time. I am enjoying being lost in someone else's story. It's a luxury. 

When we were in England I spent some time with my Uncle, sorting through alot of my grandparents things. I brought a few things back with us. This is one of them. 

It carries some signature Grandma habits. Her name and address are written inside the front cover. There are the odd small newspaper clippings throughout. Book marks made from old Christmas cards with the same poetic words on all three five (I've looked again). And it has a homemade slip cover, from what looks like old wall paper. 

Each time the pages flip I get a little scent. A scent of her, of her home, of her being. And each time I place that bookmark, I read those words and reflect on how much she loved poetry, how important it was to her. I'm glad she has placed these words before me. She chose some very good words to re write. 

It makes me smile and reminds me to think of her sitting, reading this book, enjoying the journey as I am.

What are you reading? Whare is it taking you?