Where the streets have no name.

LONDON STREET NOMENCLATURE.
The sponsors of Old London performed their duties more conscientiously than most of their successors; as a consequence, the names of the older streets of the capital serve not only as keys to their several histories, but as landmarks by which we can measure the changes wrought by time in the topographical features of the city.

The book of days: a miscellany of popular antiquities in connection with the calendar, including anecdote, biography, & history, curiosities of literature and oddities of human life and character
by Robert Chambers, 1832

(accessed via Googlebooks)

I was interested in an article by Mary Costello in The Age this week regarding street naming, and it started me thinking about how we name our streets and what that tells us about our history, our culture and our people.

Before our time, the first settlers to Australia had an opportunity to start from scratch in the naming of the streets they were creating, and they chose to name them predominantly in a number of categories:

• To commemorate and remember where they had come from: York Street, Kent Street, St Kilda Boulevard.
• To honour people important at the time: King Street, William Street, Murray Street, James Street.
• To commemorate events: Coronation Street, Centenary Drive, Olympic Avenue, Federation Way.
• To point to topographical and/or commercial features: Mill Street, Barrack Street, Exhibition Street, Hill Street, Spring Street, Station Street, Church Street.
• To interpret Indigenous names for local places or features: Toorak Road, Dandenong Road, Warra Street.

So these historical street names serve as pointers to the history and culture of the time.

I once lived on a Water Street named, quite obviously,because it ran down to a pool in the river. My grandparents lived in a house on School Road, which..surprise, surprise...was just along the road from the local school. I've also lived on streets commemorating places and people.

Acknowledging the origins of these street names embeds us in the context of the timeline of the history and geography of the place.

One part of Mary Costello's article that I found a little disturbing related to the naming of streets in new residential developments. She wrote, "Nowadays, naming residential areas is about selling a promise of a particular kind of utopia to a targeted demographic".

I'm not sure I feel comfortable with the idea that street naming responsibility lies with the marketers of the 21st century.

I tried to imagine myself as one of those land marketers faced with selling a hypothetical new housing estate carved out of flat featureless land that was once a municipal waste facility (i.e a rubbish tip). Knowing that a housing estate on similar land was recently in the media regarding the leaching of methane gas, if I was a clever marketer, I would be at great pains to create an image of my estate that is far removed from any such issues.

I may call it something like, "Babylon Gardens Estate", and perhaps I would label the streets with monikers such as; Heliconia Way, Cattleya Crescent, Calethea Court, Ginger Grove...all names of plants of the tropics.

Which may make for some colourful and interesting advertising and sales of the land, but in a hundred years time, what will those names tell the residents about the history and culture of their homes?

So then I imagined what I could call the streets if I used the methods traditionally used by the early settlers:

• Rudd Road (after the Prime Minister of the day)
• GFC Circuit (for a current day event)
• Cholesterol Court (this will be the street the fast-food shops will be on)
• Water Feature Way (as every housing estate has to have a man-made lake)
• Pokie Place (for the street the local Tabaret will be on)
• Three-ars Parade (the road where the school is)
• Empty Nest Avenue (to commemorate and remember where you've come from)

What do you think? Would you want to live in my Flatland Estate?

Who sits where at your house?

DINNER BEING ANNOUNCED, the host offers his arm to, and places on his right hand at the dinner-table, the lady to whom he desires to pay most respect, either on account of her age, position, or from her being the greatest stranger in the party. If this lady be married and her husband present, the latter takes the hostess to her place at table, and seats himself at her right hand. The rest of the company follow in couples, as specified by the master and mistress of the house, arranging the party according to their rank and other circumstances which may be known to the host and hostess.

Isabella Beaton, The Book of Household Management, S. O. Beeton 1861

This is our dining arrangement.

I sit in the closest chair, husband in the chair near the door,

daughter to the left, son to the right.

When dinner is announced at your house do you (a) grab the nearest chair (b) sit in the same seat you’ve sat in for the last 15 years or (c) grab the piece of couch closest to the remote?

Perhaps the last time you considered seating arrangements was when you were wondering how to seat Aunt Maude and distant cousin Reginald at your wedding so they wouldn’t cause a scene. But there was a time when sitting down to dinner involved time-honoured arrangements about who sat where. Father at the head, mother at the other end, children seen but not heard sitting somewhere between – or in some houses, up in the nursery eating bread and butter.

In our house we have set places to sit. This has evolved over time but in every home we have lived the seating has followed a similar pattern. That is, I – being the primary cook – sit in the seat closest to the kitchen. We have a round table so there is no ‘head’ of the table but even if we sit at our rectangular dining room the four of us will sit in the middle seats, with no-one at the ‘head’. I think I may be the only one in the family who cares about this.

Last week, at breakfast, my husband prepared a bowl of Weetbix and went straight to sit at my place at the table - closest to the kitchen - instead of walking around the table to sit closest to the outside door.

Quell horreur!

I asked him to move around to his normal place. I stated (I may have puffed my chest at this point) that, as the primary breakfast-getter and the one with the least amount of time to eat my food on account of having made the school lunches, packed the bags and prepared the children's breakfasts, I should sit in the seat closest to the kitchen. If I was quicker of thought I may also have pointed out that if he was in a chivalrous frame of mind he would sit closest to the door should any undesirable attempt to enter the kitchen (like gentlemen of the past walking on the road side of the footpath).

Was I being a little pedantic? A little unreasonable? Why should I have special dibs on that seat? It isn’t even the best seat at the table (that had been ‘baggsed’ four years ago by the eldest child).

If I look back to my childhood the seat closest to the kitchen has always been taken by my mother and it was she who primarily prepared . It makes sense to me that the food-preparer sit closest to his or her means of production.

My husband, for the record, looked at me as if I was mad, rolled his eyes and stood his ground. I noticed, however, the next day he sat in his normal seat.

Do you have set places to sit at dinner? Does your seating arrangement mirror that of your parents? Or perhaps, like some families, you have a regular rotation of seats to avoid all-out sibling war?

Marmalade as meditation

"I got the blues thinking of the future, so I left off and made some marmalade. It's amazing how it cheers one up to shred oranges or scrub the floor."

DH Lawrence writing to Arthur McLeod, from 'Villa Igea', Villa di Gargnano (Brescia), Lagodi Garda, Italy. 17 January 1913.

The selected letters of D.H. Lawrence
By D. H. Lawrence, James T. Boulton
Compiled by James T. Boulton
Published by Cambridge University Press, 2000

It seems DH Lawrence may have been onto something.

With thoughts of the future spinning in my head the past few weeks, I took some time out yesterday to make some marmalade. (I drew the line at scrubbing floors.)

I used a recipe from an 1845 cookbook, and apart from a brief moment when I was perplexed as to what the 'straw' may be* that I was to pierce the tender oranges with, it was a very easy recipe to make.

ORANGE MARMALADE Procure Seville oranges, stew them till they become so tender, that you can pierce them with a straw, changing the water two or three times. Drain them, take off the rind, weigh the pulps, previously taking out the pips; and supposing the quantity to be six pounds, add seven of sugar; boil it slowly till the syrup be clear, then add the peel, having cut it into strips. Boil it again and it is finished. This is a new method, and found to be excellent as well as economical. Seville oranges are in their best state at the end of March or beginning of April.

The practical cook, English and foreign, By Joseph Bregion, Anne Miller, 1845

And at the end of the day, I had around six months' supply of marmalade for my breakfast toast.

DH Lawrence was right, it is amazing how the nature of shredding the rinds can be almost a meditative experience, as can the stirring of the boiling pot.

In today's world we have a tendency to see repetitive tasks as tiresome chores, something to be endured and something to get through as quickly as possible.

In doing so, we are missing an opportunity to enjoy the experience of taking time out to do something productive. Chores can instead be a time when we can focus on the task at hand, dismissing the day's concerns from our minds.

When I am working on creative writing pieces, some of my best ideas come about when I an doing 'a chore' such as washing the dishes.

What repetitive tasks do you do to unwind or cheer yourself up?

* thank you to the Before Our Time Twitter followers who offered opinions about the nature of 'a straw' in my hour of need.

Which drawer down?

It appears my husband has been harbouring unresolved angst since we moved into our current home nearly four years ago.

Angst about the location of our cutlery (flatware) drawer.

You see, when we moved in the previous owner kept her cutlery in the second drawer down and her kitchen utensils such as wooden spoons, can opener and whisk in the first drawer. I thought this was unusual, sure, however I was willing to give this arrangement a go - after all, the previous owner had lived in the house for forty years, perhaps this was a better arrangement.

And do you know, I thought it was. I use my kitchen utensils more often during the day than the flatware, and when unloading from the dishwasher or dish-drainer I use the big rocks first method and thus unload whisks and spatulas into the first drawer before the flatware into the second.

However, this all changed two weeks ago. In a conversation with a certain co-writer on this blog whose name starts with an A my husband sought support for his personal issues with our kitchen drawer organisation. Finding support for his cause he then crept down in the dead of night and changed over the drawers.

I have been having trouble with finding what I need ever since.

Using patented Before Our Time survey techniques I have asked all and sundry how they organise their kitchen drawers and all agree that cutlery or flatware should go in the first drawer down, kitchen utensils in the second drawer down, tea towels in the third drawer down (although this varies) and always cling wrap and foil in the fourth drawer down.

Clearly I am a kitchen renegade.

I have not found written support for kitchen drawer organisation in the before our time literature. However perhaps you have your own views.

Do you follow time-honoured methods for kitchen drawer organisation or are you a kitchen drawer renegade?

Quince of darkness

"QUINCE PASTE If the full flavour of the quinces be desired, stew them sufficiently tender to press through a sieve in the prepared juice of page 456; otherwise in just water enough to about three parts cover them; when they are soft quite through lift them out, let them cool and then pass them through a sieve; reduce them to a dry paste over a very clear fire and stir them constantly; then weigh the fruit and mix it with an equal proportion of pounded sugar or sugar boiled to candy height, we find the effect nearly the same whichever method be pursued and stir the paste without intermission until it is again so dry as to quit the pan and adhere to the spoon in one large ball; press it into shallow pans or dishes; cut it as soon as cold into small squares and should they seem to require it, dry them with a very gentle degree of heat, and when they are again cold store them in tin cases with well dried foolscap paper between them: the paste may be moulded when more convenient and kept until it is wanted for table in a very dry place. In France where the fruit is admirably confected the pate de coigns or quince paste is somewhat less boiled than we have directed and dried afterwards in the sun or in an extremely gentle oven in square tin frames about an inch and a half deep placed upon clean slates"

Modern cookery for private families reduced to a system of easy practice, in a series of carefully tested receipts, in which the principles of Baron Liebig and other eminent writers have been as much as possible applied and explained By Eliza Acton, Published by Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts, and Green, 1864 (via Google books)

There's been a lot of talk lately about eating local foods, and eating them seasonally. And when you do so, it creates a certain rhythm to the year: berry desserts in summer, root vegetable stews in winter, fresh shelled peas in spring.

However, the canny cook from before our time also knew that there was a rhythm to the pickling, bottling and preserving of these foods, which allowed variety on the dinner table all year round.

Tomato-sauce-making-day for instance, continues to be a tradition among some Italo-Australian families I know. Held towards the end of the summer when the tomatoes are cheap and plentiful, a day of chopping and boiling in the company of friends and family creates a store of pasta sauce to carry the family through the year ahead.

In my own family home, I remember the citrus season was marked by a day of chopping and peeling to make jars and jars of marmalade which would be consumed on toast throughout the year and also given as gifts to the less citricly-endowed (yes, I know citricly is not really a word...just indulge me.)

At this time of year in Southern Australia, the rhythm of seasonality dictates that it is quince paste making time.

This is the second year that I have made quince paste. Last year's didn't quite set like it should have, but I now have a legion of fans for my legendary "quince jam". In fact, one friend who I have given several containers to has begged that I make it in exactly the same way this year. If only it were that simple. She seems to think I have some control over the process!

Megan has already posted about her quince paste making experiences and I use the same basic recipe that she did.

One of the great delights of making quince-paste on a cold early winter's afternoon is that it gives you an excuse to loiter around the house. Oh no, I can't go out...I have to stir my quince paste. And the reward for judicious stirring is watching the fruit turn from a light flesh to a deep red colour. Made to perfection it should be as glossy and reflective as rubies.

There is a certain magic in turning a couple of kilos of furry fruit into a delicious dark treat to be enjoyed with cheese the year round, and given to friends as gifts.

What seasonal food preparation days mark your yearly calendar?

Incidentally...are you missing opportunities for exercise?

"Australia is one of the most overweight developed nations, with overweight and obesity affecting about one in two Australian adults and up to one in four children."

Weighing it up: Obesity in Australia. Report by the House of

Representatives Standing Committee on Health and Ageing.

Released 2 June 2009.

In my current house, I have just one landline phone which is a traditional corded phone (slightly more modern than the picture above, but not a lot more) plugged into a phone point in the kitchen, which is downstairs.

This is a fairly unusual situation for me, as in previous houses I have had up to five cordless phones scattered around the house. For technological reasons too long-winded and boring to go into here, that arrangement is not possible in this house, and for the moment at least, I have just the one phone.

Did I mention it is in the kitchen? Which is downstairs? And that my study where, when I'm at home, I spend a great deal of time, is upstairs?

So every time the phone rings, I spring from my desk, I belt down the stairs taking several at a time, I swing around the corner and down the corridor and I lunge across the kitchen at the phone - often reaching it just as it goes through to Messagebank. Grrrr.

It is a frustrating situation, but I've learnt to turn my frustration into a positive experience by thinking, at least I got some exercise. I've stretched out my muscles after sitting at the computer and I've pumped some blood around my body.

It's what they call incidental exercise. And before our time, people's lives were full of it. Who needed to go to the gym when you were active all day long just by getting on with life?

So I've looked at my own life and realised it's full of missed incidental exercise opportunities such as:

• Using the TV remote vs getting up and changing channels on the TV itself
• Using a garage door remote vs getting out of the car and opening a door or gate manually
• Using an electric mixer vs handbeating cream, eggs or a cake
• Sending someone an email greeting vs walking to the postbox to mail a card
• Vaccuming up leaves in the garden with a blower-vac vs raking, sweeping and bagging the leaves
• Playing a computer game with the kids vs playing backyard cricket
• Putting a load of washing in the dryer vs hanging it out on the line, or on racks

Technology. How convenient is it really, if it's helping to make us fat? Are we saving a few minutes and some effort now, only to spend that time on a dialysis machine or in a cardiac ward later when we suffer complications from being overweight?

What opportunities for incidental exercise are you missing?