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Memory, turn your face to the moonlight.

 

A grey figure is hunched over her wooden kitchen table. The blackened kettle whistles on the Agar stove as she patiently sieves, mixes and blends. She gently wipes the flour off her hands on her starched white apron and blows a grey hair from her face. It is a cold Karoo evening but there is a lot to do before she can light the lamp and crawl into bed. Her body aches at the thought of her cosy bed with the patch work quilt. “Tomorrow I will see the whole family again.”

A Karoo morning....

A Karoo morning….

Another day is dawning….

It is 6am and I stumble out of bed and precariously make my way down the stairs.I want to surprise the extended family with a batch of my ‘famous’ cheese muffins. Auto pilot switches on and out come all the ‘tools of the trade.’ All these electrical appliances had to be replaced when we made the journey across the sea, as nothing was compatible with the Canadian voltage. So I was spoilt with a rather zooty looking stainless steel mixer. It does everything! It is useful but I hate to admit that it is not my favourite. The piece that steals my heart is my old hand driven sieve. You know the one with the handle that turns…

I regular get reprimanded by my family. “Mom, when are you going to throw that old thing out? It is all rusted up!” My retort is always the same……

Are you going to throw me out when I am not useful anymore?

The old sieve finds a new home...

The old sieve finds a new home…

 

Memories, I can smile at the old days.

My sieve was found in an old junk shop. I rescued it from the kitchen scrap yard! I could not help myself……It reminded me of the one that my mom has used all these years. We have delighted in the Christmas cakes, tea loaves and ‘dinosaur pies’ that my mom’s expert hands and this little wonder have churned out from her busy kitchen. So call me sentimental, but I relive those special times with each turn of my ‘rusty old timer.’ 

And the new day will begin…..

The timer blasts forth and I take out my golden offerings from the oven. The mustardy, cheesy aroma makes my stomach grumble. Soon my mob will come thundering in with bleary eyes. They always seem to know when there are freshly baked offerings. I am left wondering about the family that once sat around that wooden table in the middle of the Klein Karoo. At least their old sieve has a caring custodian.

Antiquity versus modernity!

Antiquity versus modernity!

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