What are you on about?

What are you on about?

I’m not good with rules and regulations or directives from self-styled authority figures.  This is vast territory and inclusive of almost anything that smacks of stricture.  I’m still rebellious and getting dangerously proud of it.

I’m getting better in my late youth at reading instructions, but following them remains a sometimes thing.  Recipes?  Mere suggestions to be expanded upon.  Software?  I’m sure I can figure it out, even if it takes far longer than if I’d actually watched the instructional tutorial.  Work-arounds are a mere challenge to my creativity.  Repairs?  Hand it over.  Duct tape is my best friend.  

So, I was surprised when I actually followed a directive hurled at me at the local petrol station in my little neck of Aussie woods. 

I’d been waiting my turn to pump gas at more than $6 Aussie dollars (pretty close to parity to US dollars) per gallon.  A man was ahead of me — tall, about 35 years old, his nut brown face creased and folded with hard living and the ancestral stamp of Australia’s first migrations.  

He’d ordered his companion to pull away from the pump to a parking spot with an abrupt gesture.  I thought he’d made the gesture in kindness so I could pump the gas.  As he came out of the minimart/gas station, I nodded at him and said, “Thanks for that.”

After the storm

He jerked his head toward me, anger in his voice and spit out, “What are you on about?”  He threw his arm out, like he might command a working dog, gesturing for me to return to my business and quit bothering him. 

I did.  Immediately.   Uncharacteristic instant obedience.

I realized later, when I’d had time to reflect, that he’d ordered the car moved to the pump because he’d wanted the woman with him to inflate the spare tire.  She’d scurried, head down, climbing from the passenger seat to the driver’s seat to obey his orders.  

Luckily, neither aggressiveness nor anger are part of my everyday life anymore.  But they were part of my life as a child, and I returned, in that moment, to the quiet-as-a-mouse, you-don’t-see-me, good-as-gold child I once was. I did as I was told just as quickly as that woman in the car had.  Obedience equaled survival of the spirit and possibly of the flesh.  Not well-being, a relative assessment after all, but survival.  

That flash of irritation as a response to my mistaken thanks stayed with me all day.  

I don’t want to imagine what made the man angry, nor the treatment he’d received in his life that made him suspicious of me.  I’m sorry for him, though, and for those around him.  And I hope that one who deals with him on a daily basis will someday find a way to break the cycle and legacy of violence.  

I was grateful, too, for peace and the space in my life to choose not to unquestioningly obey, read the instruction book or follow recipes.

Muesli Management

Muesli Management

Unbaked muesli swells.  I had no idea how much.  We’d been putting the muesli out the night before in bowls, moistened by heavenly unfiltered Huon Valley Gala apple juice we’d gotten the first couple of days in Tasmania.  Covered it with plastic wrap.  Left it to soak overnight. 

Can you see that the “we” I refer to is the “royal we”?  JJ, the ultimate foodie, had done the honors for days, and now it was my turn.  I’m usually on the “be patient with her, she’ll learn” foodie team and pitch in where I can be marginally useful. 

Now it was my turn.  With a mental squaring of shoulders, I filled the bowls with muesli, poured on the juice, gave it a stir, covered it and set it aside for breakfast.  How hard could this be?

Three-fruit coulis

When we opened the fridge in the morning, each bowl of muesli had made a mound of moistened cereal of enormous proportions.  It was amazing that it stayed in the bowl.  We could have invited several muesli-loving guests and their nearest relatives — and still had enough to go around.  

“How much muesli did you use?”  JJ contained her face very well, but clearly she was amused.  

“Just a bowl-full each.”  I realized as I spoke that I’d seen the results each morning rather than scrutinizing the efficient beginnings the evenings before.

“A handful will do next time, girl.”  So I could see.  

My frugal ancestors rolled furiously in their graves when we threw out most of it.  We were on the road, after all.  But we’d dragged along yogurt in the cooler we’d kept from the Barilla Bay oysters purchased the first day in Tassie – that’s frugal, no?  JJ  used leftover raspberries from the day before and a sugar packet found in the complementary coffee/tea kit to make a coulis to spread over the yogurt on top of the moistened muesli.  

Energy for the day, good for the innards, excellent use of resources at hand, and…just the right amount.

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Coulis

(a cooked fruit sauce with modest amount of sugar)

In a relationship of 6 to 1, mix fruit with sugar, (lots of fruit with just a little sugar to sweeten) and a squeeze of citrus to preserve the color and a touch of piquant, in a sauce pan, bring to a low boil and simmer for 10+ minutes, stirring regularly, until the juices run and thicken.  Pour over muesli, yogurt, or fresh sliced fruit.  Garnish with mint. Use warm or cool.  Can be stored in the fridge for up to a week.

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