Posts Tagged ‘Croatia’

The haircut.

January 8, 2019

images Loving Couple

Etched into  my mind.

Yesterday we both decided to get our hair cut. I have been going for some years now to the same barber. It is a franchised business by the name of Rojo-Pelli. I have seen them in other suburbs as well. They are computerized that gives you a ticket with an estimated waiting time. They are always very busy with customers that are mainly elderly men with some that don’t have any or very little hair.  You wonder why they go there? I suppose clinging onto what has been. I reckon men find getting older more of a hard journey than women. My answer for that dilemma is for men to become involved into domesticity together with some light indoor bowling.

Anyway, even men without hair on top, can at least get their eye brows trimmed and ear and nose bristles cutback. Odd that men get hairs out of their nostrils and ears. Mind you, some women get hair too in strange places. I had an aunt who had prickly hairs on her chin and that really put me off as a small boy having to kiss her. She was always very generous and that made putting up with kissing her bearable. Hirsutism was popular at the time Sophia Loren reached her fame. I still like well endowed women’s armpits. I think it was the UK or US who started all that fake-feminism with fanatic showering and dehairing. I am just mentioning it because one of the medications I am taking; Spiractin 25, helps with female hirsutism.

A few times Helvi too braved to get her haircut by this mainly male barber. Each time she was very happy with the result. I had already noticed a few women getting their haircut at the same place. They are a no nonsense business and one gets a discount for being loyal. Yet, they are well trained cutters. One cutter is a dark men who told me he is from the Philippines. He is a joy to behold when watching him cut. At first he looks at the head to be shorn from some distance and studies the cranial part to be tackled. He cups his chin in contemplation. Once he gets underway, there is no stopping. He twists and dances about as a Nureyev at The Bolshoy, but all the time those scissors keeps clattering even when away from hair and in midair. He obviously takes pride in doing his job. All- in- all, this business is flourishing with now 4 cutters doing their job. We both got our tickets from the computer and were told to wait 61 minutes. This then gives time to do something else. We had our grandson coming so we went to the shop to buy some crusty bread-rolls and Cevapis which are a Croatian/Serbian skinless sausage. Our grandson loves those which is not surprising as his dad is Croatian.We had a coffee and watched the holiday crowds go by. Lots of mothers with children. School holidays used to be the bane in my mother’s life. Six kids in an upstairs apartment for bloody six weeks! I suppose school holidays get mixed blessing from Mums. Some mothers looked fed-up. Whining kids when walking past the lolly-shop! No doubt some would get a smack when getting home.

Most mums did, and look at us now.

We had our haircuts and both looked wonderful.

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Cevaps and pancakes.

April 16, 2015
The Cevaps and grandsons with Milo

The Cevaps and grandsons with Milo

This last week has been spent nursing a well earned cold. My dad used to shout, “close the door”, over and over again, often to no avail. As kids we never did, as cold wasn’t something we felt. In fact we were always warm and running. Dad was the keeper of our warmth in winter and felt it his duty to keep living areas warm. He was the stoker of fires. It is strange how men are drawn to fire much more than women. In the period between post WW2 and pre our migration period, heating by dad was done with the help of coal in ornately decorated cast iron combustion heaters. The coal was taken up two flights of stairs in jute bags carried on the back of strong Dutch coal carriers. Mum used to put drop- sheets down from the bottom of the stairs all the way to the top and leading through a corridor to the back balcony were the coal was dumped in a small coal shed. The jute bags would be  taken back empty. It was one of those yearly events in early autumn for the coming winter. My mother’s job would be to make the amount of coal last as heating was expensive. A severe winter was never welcome.

These were some of my limpid flu inspired  thoughts trying to make the best of the situation as well as having two of our grandchildren for a couple of days giving their mum a break. She had to work and school holidays are not easy on working mums. Both grandsons have a father born in Australia but from Croatian background. No need to dwell on its history but most will agree that the eating of chevatis always played a big role not just with Croatia but also Serbia and surrounding States, that vacillated between bloody endless wars with each other, yet never forgetting that sharing the cevaps also held promise of peace between neighbours. With that in mind and a promised barbeque made inescapable by gloriously warm weather I made my way to Woollies with grandsons hopping behind and around me,  busy on IPhonic mania of which I have long given into and surrendered.

I love the Super market’s somewhat hidden  counter proudly displaying the items ‘close to out of date’ and spotted a packet of twelve cevaps for just $ 5.75 reduced from $7.85 and still two days left till being be a bit off or rotten. I bought them quickly and after buying a loaf of white sandwich bread rushed home. The kids were ravenous and probably ready to eat anything irrespective of any dates. The rugged Croatian blood line and the frugal Dutch a perfect combination. I pointed out to grandsons that we should be so happy to have rescued those almost out of date cevaps from getting thrown out. Many in this world go hungry, why waste food at all?

pancakes

Thomas looked a bit serious after that little sermon. He could well end up telling his mum to go and loiter around the ‘out of date’ food items, which might be a good thing apart from saving money. I lit the barbeque and all twelve but one of the cevaps were packet between the white bread and eaten quickly. My flu symptoms were pushed  in the background by the show of grandsons concentrated enthusiasm for their, no doubt inherited love, for the Croatian  cevaps. It was a joy to watch. Next morning it was always going to be pancakes. I mentioned many posts ago about having an inscription;  ‘Here rests a good Opa, he made very fine pan-cakes and loved bargains.’ For those that wondered about the twelfth cevaps, that was given to Milo.