Summertime and Youth

I love summer.  I have no idea why, but I just do.  I guess, I as raised in a warm country where the beach was always ready and the waves constantly crashing at the seams.  Magical...  Some of my fondest moments was when the wind was whip lashing my hair against my face, and me, worrying about the state of my hair and thinking, “please look normal, please stay in one place.” Then I would forget about it as soon as I see my friends. Ahh... Youth.

I guess this is where I kind of hung out in my teens. Hanging out in the warmth.  And being a teenager means, crazy hormones, crazy out bursts and loving life too its fullest all whilst rebelling against anyone with authority.  I was a 90’s child, the era coming out of the 80’s with bad hair and bad clothes.  Ours? What I remember was so bright and tender and lots and lots of glitter on crack! Of course there was the colours; aren’t there always colours? In your hair, on your clothes and all over your eyeshadow make up.  My make-up colours was silver, gold and red.

Oh the 90’s, I think we desperately wanted to be the 60’s.  But we weren’t, technology was starting to take over and life opened new possibilities, but most of did not see that.  We were young and stupidly beautiful children.  Oh, I remember, my strings of my heart are being tugged.

My life then, seems like a million miles away in the my summer day dreams. I can hear the insects buzzing and the grass just been cut causing my hay fever to storm. But what now? Now my life has gone through some sort of tornado, life as a teenager is vastly different to an adult. Being an adult really does suck, but so does being a teenager, because you have parents and acne (okay I did not really have any acne, but I had stuff too) and don’t forget the school assignments. ERK.  Nahhh...  Now I have taxes and bills. Some trade off for freedom.

Even so, life is great, because it gives you little gifts in life, your memories.  The great thing about memories is that it can be triggered over and over again. And if you are lucky and you have a positive affiliation like I do, you can relive them over and over again. Like I do, when it comes to summer.

Ahhh... Summertime and Youth.

It's not my fault I can't Bake!

I have mention that I can’t bake, well it is hereditary.  Yes, this is a piece from my childhood.  

When I was young and my Grandmother came over to stay with us (she lived overseas).  I was extremely excited that she was staying with me for a few months (forever in my head).  Then, one day she decided to cook or should I say bake us a custard thing with caramel. Yummy, Sugar!

As all good grand-daughters I watched her grab the ingredients, whisking away and showing her where all of the stuff was.  I got bored watching her so I tuned out all I remember that it was a sunny day and watching for my mothers car coming up the drive way.  “Huh? You have to cook dinner?” I think my grandmother kicked me out of the kitchen, thank god I was bored.

So dinner arrived, it kinda sucked, but that is alright I was use to have not having a great dinner (mum was a useless cook, still is).  Oh... the smell that was coming out the oven; sweet and caramel aromas, it is what you need on a cold night.  I remember the loaf tin coming out, and this giant yellow puff: We all paused.  My mother, Mr Saturn (brother) and me, stared at my grandmother and the puff, poor woman was shaking her head.

It was a giant loaf Omelette with Caramel! All I could do is look down and maybe they won’t see me! But I can’t, our kitchen was small I had no - where to run.  We can’t hurt my Grandmothers feelings, so we had to eat this sickly sweet thing with hot liquid sugar poured on top.  My mother was laughing; my grandmother was cursing and blaming something for something. To make matters worse the omelette was stuck inside the tin so we had to scrape out that thing and smile whilst we were eating it.

So you there you go, she can’t bake and neither can I!  So what was that dessert meant to be.
Crème Brûlée.