Back to normal

"Normal - the usual, typical, or expected state or condition"

Oxford Languages

I just tested my COVID status, and as expected, it was negative. It probably has been for a couple of days, but I just didn't get around to testing. So medically speaking at least I'm back to normal. That is a definite, but normality is not really a definite thing is it? Because, of course, everybody's 'usual, typical or expected state or condition is not the same.'

This morning I woke to the raucous screaming of a group of sulphur crested cockatoos, who, I imagined, were perched on my heavily laden wild plum tree, taking all the fruit. They were definitely somewhere nearby. It's a fairly normal way the day begins here - although sometimes it's a kookaburra, or the myners, or the ravens. All loud and raucous and uniquely Australian.

The cockatoo is perhaps an example of what normal means to different people. Nowadays it is normal in my life to hear flocks of cockatoos cawing loudly to each other as they fly up and down the river. But that everyday reality is still tinged with magic for me. Not very long after we had arrived in Australia, although it must have been a few months at least, we played tennis with some friends in the Exhibition Gardens in Melbourne. Whilst there a cockatoo flew through the trees screaming as it went - a large and stunningly beautiful flash of white tinged with yellow, against the dark trees. It was a magic moment for me that has stayed with me over the years, and which turns the normal everyday shrieking and bad behaviour into a return of that long ago enchantment. They are a pest to us suburbanites as they eat our fruit and vegetables and even eat our window frames and balconies. Plus they are very, very noisy - and certainly often wake me in the morning. But I love them.

To a farmer protecting his crops they are certainly not magical at all. Normal yes - but in a different way to myself. I might be worried about them stealing my plums, but this year my plums are bountiful, there are more than enough for myself and for them too. The plums are not my livelihood as the farmer's fruit is. They are a bonus and a chance to make jam, which although tedious is ultimately satisfying. This is just one branch of the tree today. I have already harvested two large baskets from this tree, and two more from two other trees, for jam - the first batch from this tree is complete - a dozen jars. And I have run out of enthusiasm somewhat - and jars. So one more batch only I think. Although there is one more tree by the gate - not ripe enough as yet. It is a normal annual event - the plum jam making - but it is not a normal everyday thing. It is one of those notable moments in the life of an ordinary old lady who likes to cook and is lucky enough to have the bounty of nature on her block of land.

The last week or so has not been normal, certainly not to my friend with the broken wrist, but to a lesser extent for us too. It's not normal, although not that exceptional either, to have COVID. It does knock you about a bit and takes away some energy. Hence today was the first day I have walked for over a week. My same old walk with the same old scenery - and yet of course the scenery is different every time, as the days creep changingly through the year. The flowers change according to the seasons, houses are built and knocked down, odd things happen here and there. On the cusp of summer it is the grevillea's moment, which means a feast for the bees, whom you can't quite see in my photos but there were several:

Yes summer is beginning and the agapanthus which will be in full bloom by Christmas is just beginning to hint at the glory to come. All normal for the time of year, and for Melbourne. Not for my sister who is about to leave her freezing home in England for a summer on the other side of the world. Not for anybody else at all.

Normality has been in suspension as well, in terms of this blog. There has been no blog for a week or so. My daily routine, and my weekly targets have not been met. I have not fasted at all, and so have put on weight, because I did continue eating with a reasonable amount of gusto, believing that I should keep up my strength. My weekly aims of cooking something vegetarian, some fish, some legumes, and something from the freezer as well as something from a recipe - either new or from a guru - have not been adhered to, and if they have it was by accident. The freezer target did well. Now it is true that I do not often meet all of those targets, but last week I didn't even try.

My world is shrinking somewhat as I age. There are no grand trips abroad to come, or even within Australia. There are not many excursions to restaurants or cinemas, not many dinner parties - well none if I'm honest. Which is not to say that it is not a rich life. The normal has changed. What was normal for me as a child, a teenager, a young woman and mother, a working woman ... is no longer normal. Age, economic and family circumstances, home - all change over time and with them normality adapts. "Normal is nothing more than a cycle on a washing machine." says Whoopi Goldberg although that's not quite right is it, because the number of cycles on a washing machine are limited and the different faces of normal in real life are pretty much infinite.

"Maybe your weird is my normal. Who's to say?" Nicki Minaj

Anyway I'm back to normal and not quite looking forward to summer, because some of the normality of summer in Melbourne is high temperatures and anxiety about fire. But I think it's about to rain, so no fires today.

This photograph has nothing to do with normal, although it is of course normal for the time of year. It's a native plant - a native creeper - a clematis - in its seeding phase as it slowly strangles the tree around which it is creeping. It had a strange kind of wedding-like beauty I thought and so took a photo.

Perhaps like a cockatoo it is beautiful and yet a pest. But then bad things are not necessarily ugly and good things beautiful. And normal is - well- many different things to many different people, places and seasons.

But I am at least endeavouring, with a new week and a new season, to return to my normal routine, but hoping for little moments of magic along the way.

Normal is the framework for surprise. Without normality there would be no surprise.

POSTSCRIPTS

LAST NIGHT'S DINNER

My photograph of my attempt at Elizabeth David's Chicken baked with green peppercorns and cinnamon butter is no better than the one that Jono and Jules took. And I suspect I should have cooked it a little bit longer, but nevertheless it was as Jono and Jules said - surprisingly delicious. It had a very subtle and very different taste. I shall certainly make it again. Her cooking time was an hour, but I think it really should have been an hour and a half. I cooked it for maybe 1 hour and twenty minutes. I also made some gravy from the juices - thickening them with flour, because there were a lot of juices, and as you can see I cooked potatoes and beans as sides. Not her choice and I think she would have disapproved. I also did not follow her advice of accompanying with lemon wedges, which David in particular thought would have been a very good thing to do. Next time.

BACK THEN

December 1 - the first day of a Melbourne summer. What did I do to signal that in times gone by?

2023 - It's summer - time for a warming bowl of soup! - it must have been cold

2022 - Little vinegar - vinaigrette

2021 - My pissaladière story

2020 - So many plums so I'm trying fruit leather - I guess I could do that again

2019 - The times they have changed - the normalities of differing times perhaps

2018 - Nothing

2017 - Mietta O'Donnel - a sort of A word from ... and also Oysters

2016 - So many seeds