career woman's cookbook and other gems

There's a post brewing about my motherhood stuff. It's in draft form and every couple of nights I open it up and type a few words or a sentence here and there, and then suddenly feel really, really tired and have to aimlessly cruise flickr or go to bed. I think this draft is blocking me from writing about all sorts of other stuff. Like opshopping. Sometimes when I read dear meagan or fiveandtwo and about their fabulous opshop scores, alongside the vicarious pleasure ( a bit like the best kind of make believe/virtual/internet opshopping), I get this feeling oh, I don't go opshopping anymore, boohoo. Which is just not true. Not at all. There is always some opshopping (or trash and treasuring) in my life. Without it, I feel bereft, so lately I've taken to having a longer lunch break and once a week, striding down to one of the oppys near work. Last week I got some fantastic new tea towells and small tableclothes useful for draining glasses in the scullery. This week I found an orange folder of neatly ring bound women's weekly cooking supplements. I can't tell you how much pleasure it's given me, the touch of old paper, the history, the recipes. And this one spoke to me, not that I see myself cooking prawns at home on a weeknight.




I remember my mother making us dresses like this and I think there's some photos somewhere which I might drag out for a flashback friday soon. Except mine wasn't white, but lurid purple. A bit like the dress in Miles Franklin's, My Brilliant Career, you know the moment when she gets out the beautiful dress her mother has slaved over and it's all wrong, it's lurid and gaudy. All the other girls have dresses that are tasteful, pale and understated. And then she digs herself into an even worse hole and says it's the dress of some girl who died.


There is also a book on cooking with potatoes, some racey rice packet pictures, copha cooking (but no White Christmas or Chocolate Crackles which are the only foods occasionally justifying the actual ingestion of copha, in my opinion), spring lamb cooking (yum, yum pigs bum), some cakes and slices, kids cakes and a book of wedding cake designs. Which contained this one, for a young wedding


It's decorated with jasmine, pink rosebuds and the bride and groom design is flooded onto the cake. I don't know what that means exactly, but all the other designs look stuffy and middle aged by comparison. Not hard, I guess, when this couple look like very young children.

6 comments:

  1. Child brides and cooking prawns at home on a weeknight!
    God, the 70s! We were so liberated!

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  2. I think my mum had those soup bowls. But not the dress.
    That wedding cake is just frightening. Reminded me of Holly Hobbie embroideries.

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  3. I get a lot of enjoyment from reading about and seeing other peoples' opshop finds. There's a long shelf of old cookbooks in "my" opshop that I look at every week, I want to take them all and read through them all, and if I happened to say something like "$7 for the lot" they'd most likely give them all to me! But I'm going with one a week, to spread it out. Also, where to put them?!
    Last night my husband was debating what sort of tatoo to get to celebrate his 30th birthday at the end of the year (living out teenage fantasies I suppose), and my best suggestion was "We turn trash into treasure."

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  4. There's something very Big Love about that cake. Very Christian child bride. Very hicksville underage arranged marriage...where do I get these images from?!
    And the only prawns going down here on a weeknight would be those found in take away Chinese fried rice. Amen.
    My brilliant career. Oh I must watch that again. Sigh.

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  5. I'm a lucky-ducky! I live in a country town. The op-shops aren't picked over by the abominably trendy all the time. Yeah, well. Not Like I'm about to go out to a show/band/pub band/gallery opening/new exhibition or anything. There's always a trade-off, you know. Sigh.

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  6. Oh that dress! And i love the carafe and the orange glasses on the lurid tablecloth.
    Chocolate crackles are banned in my house because nothing makes copha edible to me.. I know, I know, my poor deprived children

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