She reminded me of my grandmother: puts to shame my cooking skills and my equipped kitchen. Enjoy!
A great-grandmother from India is winning hearts with her cooking video.
A great-grandmother from India is winning hearts with her cooking videos. Mastanamma doesn’t have a birth certificate to prove her 106 years but has millions of followers who can’t have enough of her recipes and #GrannyWisdom.
My previous year Zara Home Christmas tablecloth looked far from the festive look it was promising when purchased. And Christmas last year asked for something meaningful de celebrate.
On Christmas Eve, I was in the capital of what is still known as the poorest country of Europe. -10Celsius. The souvenirs market colored the grey December afternoon with paintings, souvenirs and handcrafts. She was there. She is as beautiful as i met her four and a half years ago https://lovevonbeautyvonlove.com/2012/07/23/lets-talk-about-aging-part-2/
I am with my daugther. We spot a white tablecloth with a delicately crafted finishing. It is exactly what we wanted for our Christmas dinner.
The beautiful old lady is frozen and asks as to help ourselves. I touch her hand. It’s as cold as ice. I offer to bring her a hot tea. She declines. With modesty. She switches the conversation to my daugther. The purchase made, I leave with a hope to see her in Spring. I hope with all my heart.
The white tablecloth joined the other two tablecloths i bought from her. They witness our family meals, meals with friends, silent meals, joyful meals. They keep the story of the beautiful old lady part of our stories.
– Look at my back. It’s a question mark!
My sixty something dearest friend in her early retirement months is doing a self assessment of her forty something career behind a desk.
Her question was more about the point. Not the posture. What was the point of a rounded upper back she developed sitting behind a desk? Formally, she was a seniour civil servant who outlived (office time wise) dozens of ministers and deputy ministers. Personally, she is a mother of two and a granny of 3. She has been married to the same guy, who still makes her laugh, for 45 years.
Throughout her career she has been offered numerous top positions. She constantly declined. She was well too aware of the costs. That kept her head clear and down to earth. The earth of her family. Top positions would have brought her all the perks promised by her benefactors. She also knew they would have taken her away from her family. Her backbone.
Ministers are gone, policies are enacted and changed, re-enacted and changed again. Her family is there with her, for her. She is there with them, for them. Her spine line might not be perfect. But her backbone is perfectly aligned to her source of hapinness.
Women struggle with family-work balance. We read more and more about it. Striking the right balance is a choice. With consequences in each case. It’s not always linear. Some choices are more fulfilling than others. Some choices are more fulfilling in some life periods than others. Once women are kind to themselves the balance is there. I only caught a glimpse of that. Thank you, dearest friend! Ask me more.
Le Glezio’s phrase “Now the photogrher’s kitchenette is full of boxes of gunower tea and jasmin tea and little bundles of mint” in “Desert” triggered a memory.
I was having breakfast in one of the locally branded cafes in an airport in the easterm part of this double-baptised continent. A vegetables omlette, a fresh orange juice and an espresso.
A lady asked if the seat vis-a-vis mine is free. Her grey well done hair was nimb like. The light of her spirit made her face look wrinkless. She was above eighty or maybe seventy or sixty? It did not realy matter. Her softness and kindness was just transcendent, translucent and ageless. She looked briefly at the menu and ordered a mint tea. The waiter respectfully obliged and returned within minutes. She seemed content.
I finished my breakfast in her quiet company. Her gestures made it clear that no talk will be imposed from either sides. I did not want to spoil the mint translucence either.
As my boarding time was announced, I went to the waiter to pay for my breakfast and asked him to include the lady’s mint tea on my bill. He was surprised yet managed it quickly with a humble accomplice smile. His smile had the mint flavour without him knowing it.
I returned for my things and wished the beautiful lady a nice day. She responded with a quiet mint smile. I stored it in my memory box in the department of “beauty is all around us” with the mint color label of “all we need is to see and feel it”.
I have a black dress with a beautiful flower print, three quarters sleeves, midi length. I call it my 90s dress. As in “a dress to wear in my 90s”.
I picture myself in my mid ninetees wearing it with an orange scarf, a flirtish small purse, mid heels, by my partner’s arm, heading to my daughter’s house for an afternoon picnic.
This is my pledge. A pledge to a long, healthy, happy life, surrounded by people with whom I share a commitment to nurturing. I love the feeling this pledge gives. It makes me grateful and wise about how I use my life resources.
I once met a psychiatrist who cautioned me about the way I use my resources, in a period I worked for five big clients simultaneously, under tough tight deadlines. A did not know the word No at that time. From an Yes person, I turned into a robot. The psychiatrist asked me to pay a visit to her hospital. Seeing Mentally alienated people was an wake up call. It showed the bottom which brought in the salvaging perspective. The mind is a servant. Put it to good use and it will serve you. Make it run endless, meaningless errands and it will rebel. Payback time will get tough. The bottom will be quick to hit. Regaining balance will be challenging.
Back to my dress. It was on my “to donate” list. Until its orange flower print gave me that sense of perpetuation. Was it its stand-out orange pattern, with its energising sunny colour? Was it the contrast between black and orange as in a competition for a bet on the bright side of the life? It can be both. It regained now a prominent place in my wardrobe. This pledge is printed out, folded and kept in my diary, as a claim made with an open heart and humility to a long, healthy, prosperious, loving, fulfilling life for the good of all.
People are my inspiration. For To Do as well as for Not to Do.
Just back from people’s observatory, my mind made a mental and spiritual commitment to avoid doing a number of things when I’ll embrace seniority. My guess is that my mind will keep adding or deleting items from the list. But there always room for a good start. So, I decree that my senior years shall be free of:
- Lipstick. Leaving traces of lipstick on my grandchildren foreheads? No way!
- Dyed hair. White is beautiful! Kind of cloudish!
- Gossiping: being caught up in the poisonous net of word of mouth is taking away precious time to enjoy the calm years preceding the entry into another stage. Occasional gossips about what a neighbor was wearing at the Sunday Mass or Yoga class (depending on my preferences in the years to come) are allowed :).
- Envy: especially targeted at younger people. We all have our plates full of what we order life to bring us.
- Excessive fashionism: occasional Armani bags allowed :).
- Commitments to a job to hate. I’ve witnessed too many seniors being torn between a self-imposed commitment to other family members and the need to go to a job that takes away too much energy. Baking with joy, working with kids, gardening are allowed and fully encouraged.
- Financial worries for descendants. My dear descendants, I know you are bright, smart, entrepreneurial and able to multiply everything I have put together for your and other’s good.
- Arrogance. Who would want to listen to or talk to an arrogant octogenarian?!
- Being stuck in unhealthy relationships of any kinds.
- Regrets, of any kind.
- A grandiose sense of self-importance.
I have still to think about scuba diving, ice scatting and bungee jumping 🙂
“Age may wrinkle the face, but lack of enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.” – Danish Proverb.
I am surrounded by people of all age both in my working environment and my private life. Creative vibes among us are not about the birth year. The enthusiasm is that defining link which erases the difference between a 23 year old and a 90 year old. A lively interest in life is what differentiates us from others. That spark in the apple of the eye is what makes escalating mountains of life a piece of cake. Have you noticed that some elderly complain about walking difficulties? It’s because they refuse to advance and forgot about that lively interest in life and all its gifts. Remember that next time you feel you feet hurting or legs aching.
This week-end I was looking for some presents for teenagers of my child’s God parents. Wanted something hand made in this era of gadgets. There is a pretty decent local artists’ square downtown in my current location. After half an hour of wondering about between walls of paintings and ceramics, I hear a voice of a lady eagerly suggesting to her customers what to choose from her offer. It’s the voice of a seventy something energetic lady. A proud owner of a splendid grey hair. Her face is wrinkled but her voice and soul is untouched. Obviously, it attracted me and couple of more customers. There were more customers with her than any other much younger vendors. I made my purchase there – a neatly made purse and a vintage bag – ok, ok, I admit … for gadgets :).
This lady with eyes enthused with amazement for life told me she works for USD 1 commission per item sold and is happy about it, even if she has to carry all those tablecloths, carpets, paintings, purses and bags every day to and from the market, on a hot or rainy day. She shared how proud she is to have terrific grand children, one of whom is a sports’ champion with dozens of medals by age of eight. And that her daughter in law is expecting another baby ….
I carried on with a wide smile on my face and sparkling eyes….
Probably the author of that Danish proverb got inspired by a similar face and soul. Wisdom is eternal, isn’t it?