Things to remember our mothers by.

I love Marchmont Street in Bloomsbury, it's one of my favourite streets in London. It's like a village high street but in the middle of the city.
I have often walked over an art installation embedded in the pavement on Marchmont Street, consisting of little tokens from the Foundling museum,..but I only recently stopped to look properly and photograph each one.
Here are some of them:

These tokens were given by mothers who through hardship, had to give their children away to be looked after by the Foundling Hospital. They were given in order for each mother to identify and collect her child in the future, if she was able, though this rarely happened. Most times, the tokens simply ended up as things for the children to remember their mothers by.  I have visited the museum which houses many more of these tokens, and I was so moved and struck by the simplicity of each item, probably something near and to hand. It felt like these tokens communicated love, a mother's love, even in the midst of unimaginable heartache.

Tokens, little things that represent love, are so important, even in the undramatic everyday living. What things can we use to communicate love? I don't mean grand gestures, I mean in the little things. Sometimes, (if I am organised and think ahead), I put a little 'love token' in my daughters' lunchboxes. A little heart shaped cookie with a little note attached with pretty ribbon, telling them how much I love them and how wonderful they are. I like to think that they have a moment in the middle of the school day to be reminded that they are loved and precious to someone.

Writing this made me think of my own mother and the things that remind me of her. Thankfully she is still very much with us and such a blessing and I am grateful for her everyday. But I write this also with the knowledge that some of my dear friends have lost their mothers and it is still so painful...They are left now with precious memories, love tokens that their mothers left them.
 My mum's cooking will be central in my memories of her, particularly her Jellof rice, which I have never been able to recreate in the same way, also her groundnut stew, which is still talked about by my hubby's family, for whom she cooked it. More recently, my mum comes over to mine once a week to teach my girls piano and we have lunch together before they get in from school. 
Simple meals.. the simple things that communicate love...

This meal of bread and vegetables brings to mind one of my favourite proverbs. 

"Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a fatted calf with hatred".

The Healing Power of Cake.

My 11 year old daughter has just started secondary school and each day, with a huge amount of trepidation on my part, she takes the bus on her own to school. So I was actually quite relieved when she was off school a couple of days ago with a sore throat and temperature as this was an opportunity to have her at home all day and not have to worry about a thing, because rather selfishly perhaps, I still need to feel like she's my little girl who needs her Mummy.
So as I was making her favourite cold remedy hot drink with freshly squeezed lemon, grated ginger and loads of honey, I thought it would be a great idea to put all of those ingredients into a cake. What could be better than having a sweet treat and also feeling like it's doing you some good at the same time.

The cakes turned out really well. I decided on heart shaped mini cakes, because when you're feeling unwell, not only do you need a healing treat, you also need to know that you are loved.

Here is the recipe: (I decided on a basic sponge recipe, but substituted some of the sugar with honey, and added the fresh lemon and grated ginger also.)
8 oz butter
4 oz caster sugar
2 or 3 tablespoons of honey( depending on how sweet you like things..)
4 eggs
Juice and zest of one and a half lemons (or one large lemon perhaps)
Fresh ginger (about thumbsize), peeled and grated. (you could use a bit more than that if you like a really strong ginger hit.)
One teaspoon ground ginger
8 oz self-raising flour. (maybe you could add half a teaspoon of baking powder also, because my cakes didn't really rise that well.)

Well I guess as for instructions, just mix the whole lot together, in the way that you would for any other cake, and stick it in the oven, in a cake tin, or individual ones, and bake for about half an hour at 180 degrees C.
For the topping, I used buttercream with lemon juice and zest.

Anyway, here are some more photos of my marvellous and delicious healing cakes. They worked, a little too well I should say, because she was back at school the next day and I'm back to being a nervous wreck!

A Silent Retreat.

In the middle of the mayhem of the summer holidays last month, I decided to take myself off on a silent retreat. I had been meaning to try one for ages but never could find the courage to take the plunge. But it just happened that one day I was feeling exhausted and rather overwhelmed, and the next I found a retreat centre online, was booked in for four days and was on my way!

I had a few things to overcome.. Firstly, I am terrified of driving on the motorway. I don't cope well with driving at speed and I start to panic that I'm going to crash and die, but on this trip it was necessary and easier to drive. Secondly, it was about a week before our family trip to the States and there was still a lot to organise, but I knew that I needed to get away. I guess sometimes you just 'know', and your soul says 'enough, time for time out'.

So off I went, waved off by hubby and the kids, feeling guilty and terrified, clutching the steering wheel tightly and gritting my teeth. After about an hour of shallow breathing on the motorway, I started to relax. I realised that the fact I was actually driving on my own was a good metaphor in itself.  I was actually taking hold of the reins of my life and taking responsibility for my emotional and spiritual health.

And so it began..
I arrived at Glenfall House in Cheltenham, worrying about how I was going to communicate and find my way round, especially as no one was allowed to speak! But I needn't have worried..I was met by the Chaplain, who was also going to be my retreat guide for the duration, and she showed me round, explaining everything in hushed tones.

What struck me straight away was how quiet everything was. Even the sound of the kettle boiling in my room seemed deafening. The few people around seemed to walk everywhere really slowly and I felt instantly like I had permission and space to breathe. There's something really precious about everyone allowing each other the space to just be, to not have to make conversation or be polite. I spent four days and shared all my meals with, a small group of people who I never knew what their names were, or spoke to, but I felt like we had bonded because we all had the same thing in common. We had all chosen to take time out from our lives, to spend time alone, in silence. (I must say though that sitting at a table with a group of people and not talking at all was one of the strangest things I have ever done. There was nothing but the sound of chomping and trying not to make too much eye contact. I frequently had to suppress the urge to giggle which I tend to do when I'm nervous, and I also became disproportionately worried about burping out loud.)

It took me a while to get used to the silence, and I realised that even when I'm alone, I'm seldom still. The voice in my head is constantly jabbering away, and I'm constantly trying to validate every minute by keeping busy. Eventually I started to slow down. I had been instructed by my retreat guide to go on nature walks (according to the teachings of St Ignatius, upon which this silent retreat was based). The gardens and grounds of Glenfall House were stunning, and I started to really enjoy walking slowly around, enjoying the views, and being with myself in an altogether lovelier and more accepting way.

No sooner had I settled into the new rhythm of things, it was time to go home. Back I got into the car, initially driving like a maniac, because after being still for so long, I found it difficult to coordinate myself. On my return, I've realised that everyday life is extremely noisy. We are bombarded with so much stuff, all the time.  It's essential to have a break from it all from time to time, to reconnect with ourselves and to have some rest.  I'll certainly be visiting again, and I really think I'll try to make the silent retreat experience a part of each year. I found it very liberating and although very hard to do at times, really really worthwhile.