Nona

All posts tagged Nona

Say No to Tommy K on Pasta

Published February 24, 2020 by helentastic67

Say No to Tommy K on Pasta

In some ways I am a shame on my Nona (and my Italian heritage), who I only have few memories of, as she died when I was around six years old.

But the memories I have are of great love and fondness. So, in a sense I’m a shame on my Italian heritage, because I barely understand garlic. I use it on very few things because I try to make my Nona proud “But chilli?!” Like, sweet Jesus!

WFT! Who can I blame this abomination for this? I’ve just had some at a café and my lips are numb and I feel dehydrated.

But, in one way I can never find an excuse.

IT IS NEVER OK TO PUT TOMATO SAUCE! NO! NEVER! IT IS NEVER OK TO PUT TOMMY K ON PASTA!

I got some very WHITE cousins and they are lucky I didn’t slap them.

Now, that is an abomination. If you can’t use a tin of tomatoes, throw in a few vegies (carrot, capsicum, broccoli etc) and some spices and make a quick lazy pasta sauce, you have bigger problems.

So, SAY NO TO TOMATO SAUCE ON PASTA!

Let’s Be Friends

Published February 10, 2020 by helentastic67

Lets be Friends

So that is to say, when I was diagnosed, I did have a boyfriend. But all the boxes were ticked for it’s not a forever thing.

  • I’m a Nona, he wouldn’t let me feed him.
  • He would not sleep over (No, there was no sex) I’m fine with as he was not ‘fit’.

*Fit – The term I picked up from living with two British Geezers for a month, to describe someone as ‘Sexy’. They flicked through a magazine to point out all the pictures; “Fit! Fit! Fit! Not Fit!” Hilarious.

Fit

Not Fit

 

And we’re back.

And he was working, but had some crazy idea that he was the ‘Hero’ in every scenario. He had moved back home at 37. You get me, right?

Oh, good lord. Guys just have that deer in the headlight look, don’t they?

What are we doing? Is this working?

Fine! I’ll rip the band-aid off.

“Let’s be friends!”

We remained friends for some years, which was more what we had been anyway. But…..

Today’s Lunch – 15th January 2020

Published January 15, 2020 by helentastic67

Today’s Lunch

Good Mental Health Day

After a nice Christmas break, I’m back at my favourite cafe. Most appointments have returned to normal. Visit to my chiropractor I foresee, me well-adjusted finally and tape on my left shoulder. It’s Tuesday night as I tap this out, but I’m predicting my chiropractor will work on my neck and ask if I’ve had a migraine? I will shrug with a “yeah, sure” and she will ask for how long and I will remind her I am 47 now! So, it’s hard to tell? I’m a every week chiro subscriber, because I need it! When I’m struggling with migraines, ribs out of whatever I might go twice or even thrice in a week. If bloody only the NDIA would get onboard!  Mustards! (It’s a swear word substitute)

Oh, Monday I had a lovely lady’s lunch with my friend Susanne. We had lunch down in Westgarth and then saw a film. I’m still way behind in my films. I had a hamburger minus the bun, another perfect example of why Helen cannot do Insta? I had already cut into it.

We saw “Little Woman” it was not only women in the audience but every now and again a character would do something (not quite right) and there was a little murmur shared around the cinema, then a giggle. If you haven’t seen it, do. It was really good.

I was also given a compliment yesterday, from a friend. I sent her a photo of how I manage my “Out-Tray” near my front door.

She likened me to her Nana, not appreciating being liked to an elderly lady. Hey! It’s okay when I do it? As I refer to myself as a Nona all the time. She responded with her Nana was the most productive woman she has ever known. I’ll take it.

And finally, before the storm hits today to put out some fires and dampen the smoke haze, lunch today is, the old classic pancetta quiche with side salad and medicine! Happy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cheers,
H

Today’s Lunch – 4th September 2019

Published September 4, 2019 by helentastic67

Today’s Lunch

Good Mental Health Day

Well, Tuesday I went out on my scooter. Spring has sprung in Melbourne. So hellonwheels is out on the streets and I should mention, when scootering I have this soundtrack in my mind. It goes like this

Off to the dentist! Oh, how I hate the dentist, I do the reverse-planking. It’s when I am tense from head to toe and I feel like I’m being drowned. Handy hint. Put the suction tube between your lips and let it suck all the saliva free. I love having to tell them “If I’m drowning or not coping, I’ll raise my right hand” and they suggest using my left hand so I don’t get in their way, Mmmmmmm, no it will be my right.

Scootered home for a quick lunch and tops up on charge, drop some Oxy and then out again in the opposite direction for my next appointment, Electrolysis with my beautician. Haven’t had any for almost 3 years. Still can’t be a hairy single barren spinster. Had a bit of time in between as the beautician had an appointment.

Had this nice pecan tart and medicine at Taos’s in Thornbury. Mina the owner is so sweet, she cuts it up and sugars my coffee. She is the Greek Nona.

On my scooter home I stopped to take some snaps of street art, on the side of the Thornbury Telstra exchange.

 

 

Wednesday seems to have become my punchy, stabby and electrocute day. Chiropractor, acupuncture and physio.

Today’s offering is a beef burgundy pie, no salad, I feel terrible and medicine.

Preston Markets

Published August 26, 2019 by helentastic67

Preston Markets

This is about my fifth blog post I’ve written in a sitting, over ninety minutes, so it might give you an idea of how the old filing cabinet that is my brain works and I haven’t had a day to sit and write for maybe a month, so I’m way behind.

But I just wanted to circle back briefly to my adventures to the Preston Markets on the Saturday mornings with the then boyfriend.

While I was working in the area, I would prefer to go after work on a Thursday or Friday night to get “just a few things” and carry them home on the train. Early evenings were really quiet and it was a nice way to finish the day after work.

However, as you might recall, going on a Saturday, I had a strict time schedule that I wanted/needed to go because and this is the main reason. I think the boyfriend did not like going and that is because he hated the ‘wogs’.

What? Shock horror! That sounds racist. However, he was not from Australia, he was from the States and he didn’t understand “wogs”.

Preston and other areas around Melbourne have a long history of wogs (Italian/Greeks etc) and while the ex was tall, he didn’t cope with the masses of Nona’s pushing their way in and around him and their shopping carts into him.

He would often let out a noise of displeasure in a fruit and veg stall and I would look over at him. A Nona had pushed her trolley into him as if he wasn’t there. He was just in their way and they didn’t much care.

He obviously just needed to give them the European stare. Yes!

Heritage – Part 1

Published May 10, 2019 by helentastic67

Heritage Part 1

I was introducing a friend last night to the best thing about roasted vegies (if I tell you I have to kill you) and it led me to tell her the difference between my mum’s family heritage and my fathers. So, the basics were when I was growing up, we on a rare occasion we went to my grandparents’ house for dinner and we had a roast. Pork crackling yummy goodness, my older sister and I would sit at the ‘kids table’ (I know, doesn’t happen now, does it?) We would sniff around the kitchen and offer to help and beg for Pork crackling. “If you eat it all now, there will be none to go with dinner” like we cared.

My mum’s side seemed very English with a Sunday roast for lunch or dinner. In complete contrast, the Italian side of my family was Sunday Lasagne. So, at home our Sunday roast was Lasagne and it would last for days. Garfield would be proud.

So, also in contrast to Nona’s, we would be served generous portions of spaghetti and Nona would be at the kitchen sink doing the dishes and not sitting with us. Mum would tell her to sit and join us, while my father and grandfather spoke Italian. Nona would ay to start without her. Mum would nudge her husband to tell Nona to join us and then, he would jut tell my mum to let her go. Mum would then look to me to go get Nona to sit and join us. She would be washing the big pot by this stage and shoo me away.

Isn’t it interesting how times and culture has changed?

 

When Disability Becomes Embarrassing – Part 1

Published September 17, 2018 by helentastic67

When Disability Becomes Embarrassing

When Disability Becomes Embarrassing – Part 1

There are many times my disability has been embarrassing or humiliating. However, this is one of those occasions where I was standing in front of a large room of people with a microphone shoved into my hand and all I could think was – “FARRRRKKKK” (you will forgive me for that shortly)

Microphone in hand

Then I was thinking, rather swiftly I might add. “What just happened? Who did that? Where did they go? Help! Now what? How do I get myself out of this situation?”

What just happened

Now, to back up a second, I will put this situation into perspective. I was in Bendigo a few years ago at the ABIAW (Again: Acquired Brain Injury Awareness) week event. I had travelled to Bendigo from Melbourne with my mum, who had driven three and half hours to get to Melbourne, so she could carpool others around also from the ABI Group in Melbourne, I was part of.

Carpooling

So, mum was there also and we shared a room in the hotel we all stayed at.

The first day was a long one, lack of sleep and we went to sessions and heard people speak, we mingled, we ate, we collectively drank bad coffee and the first night we gathered at a dinner to mingle and socialize.

Mingle and Socialize

Now, mum and I retired to our room, like many others for a break before we went to the location for the dinner. Needless to say, my mum and I are both on a different page when it comes to tiredness.

Stubborn

I like to be early to be on time. My mum is much more lenient and we are both very stubborn on this.

By the time we arrived, the people we knew there from our group in Melbourne were spread over two big tables and there were NO SPARE SEATS and no one had thought to save us any.

Crowded table

The guy upon entering, suggested we could join another table to make some friends or sit at another empty table on one side and that table would likely fill up soon enough.

Single Girls Table

I dubbed it the single ‘girls table’. Oh, hell why not?

Here’s where mum and I differ. I was completely okay sitting there out in the bitter lonely cold, but mum wanted to join another table. Soon enough a younger ‘normal’ woman joined us and I enquired if she was single or not.

Matchmaker

Sometimes, I can be such a Nona. Nona’s very prone to want to match you up with someone’s son/nephew, whoever.

She claimed to be single (turns out that was a lie), she soon decided to find secure and encourage us to abandon our single girls table and join another table with conveniently three empty seats. This table was front and centre.

Front Row Seats

I had already had a comment about the man facilitating and Master of Ceremonies. While it wasn’t bordering on sexual harassment, it might have been a bit wrong.

Master of Ceremonies

“Let’s give single girl a name, Stacey and let’s call him Fred. Again, Fred gets such a bashing, doesn’t he? So, Stacey spoke to Fred and as she returned to her seat Fred came up to me and…

Deep Breath 2

Wait… Deep breathe,

Deep Breath

He announced to the room there were single ladies at the front table and were there any men looking?

To be continued

To Be Continued

Death of my Catering Business

Published July 30, 2018 by helentastic67

Death of my Catering Business

The Death of my Catering Business

Possible death of my catering business, if ever there were horror felt with so few words. I’M OFF SUGAR!

Off sugar

What I have largely found is people love trying my goodies when they are free. Turning that appreciation into dollars?

Free food

I love to cook, I love to bake, I love to give things I cook and bake away because I make more than I can consume. Ideally, it would be good to be reimbursed for what I share. So, I can continue to cook.

Love to cook

Size-wise I cook like a Nona, for those who don’t know, that’s an Italian grandmother. Mine pasted away when I was young and I barely remember her but I do remember despite not speaking English she would greet us with warm hugs and then usher us inside to open the fridge and gesture to food or drink to offer to us.

Nona cooking

She always cooked for large numbers of people. So, maybe that’s the wog part in me?

I make a mean bread and butter pudding and I make a huge baking dish full and most of it I then it give away, recent feedback is that they are addicted. This is really positive feedback with the exception that when I handover the pudding I comment “That is diabetes right there!” And so many people these days are quitting sugar. Thus, the death of my catering business before it even gets off the ground.

Quitting sugar

 

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