My Mother's Daughter

I haven't been on blip for a long time, I've not even kept up to date with those that I follow.  Life has been busy and I've been lacking the energy and motivation.  But today, as I stood in the kitchen, I felt inspired.  Inspired not only to pick my camera up again but to take a photo and share it and talk about it.

I was half way through soaking the fruit for the family's Christmas cakes.  I looked at the glass in my hand and realised how silly comments become traditions handed down within families.  I am my mother's daughter. 

I've been making my family's Christmas cake for at least 15 years, possibly even twenty.  I can't quite remember what age I was when I took over making ours from my Auntie (maybe Mrs Kanyl could shed some light) but I'm sure it was whilst I still lived at home because there's the tradition (though that must have also come about from the rum custard). 

As my mother would accompany me in the kitchen soaking the fruit, there would be the joke about testing the rum to make sure it was okay.  Christmas cakes are expensive to make and you'd hate to ruin it with rum that had gone off.  So there I stood in my own kitchen, drink in hand, "testing the rum" out of my grannie's crystal, making cakes to my Auntie's recipe for my parents, my sister and myself, thinking about family.

One day I will teach my niece or nephew to make Christmas cake and we shall test the rum.


Here's tae us, wha's like us, damn few an they're aw deid.