Waiting for Max to Die...

We sit, and watch, and we wait.   I'm reminded of that Sylvia Plath poem "Morning Song":
"Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls"
What would she write in this circumstance? What I write is this...

We wait for you to die in a house of human museums. We sit, we stand, we stare, we ignore.
Discretely remove ourselves for the routine of feeding, cleaning and medicating. Or stay, forcing observation; fascinated by the crushed tablets in chocolate mousse spooned into an eager mouth, toothless as a baby birds and just as insistent.

We listen to the dozen familiar stories on high rotation. The dogs that died, the time that Adam was flying to Adelaide and Susie demanded to go too. And she did. The time Nan stood in front of Jeff and demanded that he thump her instead of her grandchildren. And how Greggy used to come home after a night at the pub and devour the stew his mother had left on the stove. And the questions about the sociopathic son and the 'where did we go wrongs'. And the songs of praise about how lucky he is to have such a family around him. And the courting days down at Brighton Beach where he and Dotty first made love and where the ashes are to be scattered.

I ask if he's afraid to die. "No, I can't wait" he says.
But according to the British clairvoyant that Number 3 son consulted earlier this year, his wife isn't quite ready yet for him to join her.
So, we wait.
We've fallen into a routine and there's less urgency now.
We get impatient with the 'carers' who won't move him out of his bed and into a chair because he's on palliative care, and we express outrage about quality of life.
He capitulates. Waiting for death makes him more passive. So he sits in his bed with his clogged lungs and his sore arse, hovering between sleep and anxiety, anticipating the next liquidised meal. He drinks thickened orange cordial, pronouncing each spoonful delicious. "One more, one more".

We watch the footy and we read stories, we take photos and post them on Facebook with captions.
We listen. We wait. The oxygen hisses rhythmically in the corner behind the bed. We show him pictures from our recent trip and he says "bugger me, who'd a thought you'd go all the way to Canada!"

"You two better stick together like shit on a blanket!"

He tells a story. There's one about how Alf Mooney taught him to drive in a Ford car with a dicky seat and we google some pictures to show him. He says the car we found is a bit too flash and "Alf Mooney was just a working man you know". He reminisces about blokes who were as low as a snake's belly, and winters that were colder than a witch's tit. He wishes he could think clearly and give us business advice. "Girls, you gotta tell 'em. In God we trust, all others pay cash"".

The sun's blazing down outside and it's only 5pm, but it's dinner time and the trolleys of mush come round. The day draws to an end and by half past 6 the medication takes effect and the visitors leave; the lights get dim.

We take great gulps of air. We survived another day to wait until Max dies.

Promised Paleo Recipes!

P-p-p-poker Face Pumpkin Soup

OK, so it's winter...and here in the 'Berra, as many of us call the national capital, it is, well...not to put too fine a point on it, it's cold!!  And cold means soups and stews and comfort foods. You can do comfort foods paleo style - all those good fats, good protein and tonnes of veges.  I love soup. I have been trying to refine my cauliflower and leek soup these last few weeks. I got a bit sick of it and so I turned to pumpkin. I love pumpkin, especially sweet, in-season butternut pumpkin. It's enough to make you go Ga-ga!!
So here's one for the winter warmer file. Roasted Pumpkin Soup. Use sweet-as in-season butternut pumpkin and you will be rewarded with the divine blend of silky sweet pumpkin and the spice that is cumin...delicious, and Paleo-approved for sure. Enjoy!

Roast (Paleo-approved) Pumpkin Soup  

Here’s what you need:

1.5kg butternut pumpkin, cut into chunks (leave the skin on)

2 tbs coconut oil

1 large onion, chopped

2tsp ground cumin

1 large carrot, chopped

1 celery stalk, chopped

1 litre (4 cups) vegetable stock

Whipped coconut cream*

½cup  each of Italian parsley and coriander, finely chopped

Nutmeg, freshly grated

Here’s what you do:

Preheat oven to 180C 

Leave the skin on!

Mmmm...caramelised and luscious

Melt 1Tbs coconut oil in a small saucepan or in a small microwave proof bowl. Place the pumpkin pieces onto a baking tray and pour the melted coconut oil over them. Toss to coat.

Bake the pumpkin for 25-30 minutes, or until the pumpkin starts to go brown and the edges caramelise.  You do not need to turn or disturb the pumpkin at all. When it’s ready, remove from the oven and scrape the flesh of the pumpkin from the skins. Put this in a bowl and set aside. Nibble the caramelised pumpkin skins and savour the sweetness.

Carrot, onion, celery & cumin

While the pumpkin is roasting… heat the rest of the oil, on medium heat, in a large saucepan. Add the onion and stir until soft, but not brown, about 3-5 minutes. Add the cumin and stir until fragrant – about 30 seconds. Add carrot and celery and cook for another few minutes, stirring frequently.  Add the roasted pumpkin and stock. Give it all a stir and bring to the boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes or so until the carrots and celery are tender.

Remove the saucepan from the heat and allow it to cool. Don’t be tempted to blend the soup while it is hot – you will be sorry if you do! The heat from the mixture will cause the lid to blow off and you will have orange spatters all over your kitchen wall!!  Trust me on this - it’s not a pretty sight!

Scoop the mixture into a blender, in batches, and blitz until smooth. Return the soup to the saucepan and gently reheat without boiling. Season soup with some sea salt and cracked pepper. Stir – it’s all about gentleness at this point.

 To serve, pour the soup into bowls. Top with a dollop of whipped coconut cream, a scattering of parsley & coriander, and a grating of nutmeg.

 

Bon appetit!  Serves 4

*Whipped coconut cream:

Always keep a can of coconut cream in the fridge. Prior to whipping, refrigerate your mixing bowl and the beaters for 15-20 minutes.To whip: open the can. Give the coconut cream a little shake and stab it with a spoon or knife and pour off any liquid. Scoop out the cream into the chilled bowl. Beat as you would for “ordinary” cream – for about 4-5 minutes. 

 

 

 

 

 

All we need is Paleo Gaga!

So 31 days or so on a whole food, Paleo-esque, no sugar, no-grains, no-alcohol, no-starch and no-dairy nutrition plan and 5.5 kilograms lighter than when I started…I am feeling pretty damn good. I have been exemplary.  I managed 5 weeks without craving bread, chips and milky coffees. I had the odd twinge on a Sunday afternoon when I was being an Italian Mama in the kitchen and I thought that a glass of vino would be a pretty good idea right now. But such yearnings were few and far between and I really didn’t miss wine, bread and sweets at all.

I set out to walk much more as I found exercising in the gym, while we were having such gorgeous autumn weather, to be quite depressing. So in a quest to increase my Vitamin D levels, get some fresh air, and thus avoid Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) I made better friends with Mount Ainslie and Lady Gaga. Let me explain….

“I’m gonna marry the night…I won’t give up on my life…I’m a warrior queen…”

When I first started walking up the mountain (OK, it's a steep hill!) and back down again, I would walk slowly, head down, sunglasses on, headphones and iPod in. I would plod. Gritted teeth. Heavy breathing. The bush was a blur. I stopped every now and then on the pretence of tying my shoe, but really to try and breathe so my heart would stop pounding so hard. I stopped once or twice to look at the glorious autumn hues of Canberra. Hands on hips, frowning in pain.  I held my breath as I passed people on the path so they wouldn’t hear me heaving. I grimaced at their cheery waves, hoping it would pass for a smile.

In the interests of tracking progress I started my trusty pedometer and clicked on Gaga’s “Born this way” album. The first time up and down I clocked in at 1 hour 15 mins. Heaving myself up that hill, feeling only slightly more able to grin at people on the way down.   Not so shabby I thought, and I got to listen to all of the album too.  Red faced. Yes. Sweating profusely despite the cooling weather? Definitely. Sweat is fat crying, remember? I had resolve. I planned thrice weekly treks up the hill.

“Baby I was born this way…”

By the second week, I only stopped once and that was really to look at the view. It was freakingly awesomely gorgeously autumnal.  The scribbly gums starkly white against that big sky. Down near the War Memorial and beyond, the oranges and reds of the ashes and oaks. Further on, the hazy dark green of the Brindabellas. Still plodding but able to see a bit more. Admired people twice my age who practically galloped up that damn hill. Even waved a few times. 58 minutes. Cracked the hour. Not bad, I thought.

 “Black Jesus, Amen Fashion”

Week three and I only got about half way through the album. “Jesus is the new black”.  I’m doing ok. I am walking quicker and no stopping.  I embrace my scarlet hued face (it goes with autumn) and I appreciate the sweat trickles cooling me down.  I silently cheer people on as they trudge up the hill as I jog (yes JOG!) back down – in the flatter bits -  48 mins all up and I got to the top before I hear the end of “Scheisse” (I don’t speak German but I can if you like”.)

“… don’t feel insecure, if your heart is pure”

Week four and I feel myself fairly pelting up there. I can’t wait to get out of the car and on the trail. This walk has become meditative (yes, one can be meditative listening to Gaga) and it’s wonderful to have time to myself. And it’s exercise, and I love it. I love the feeling of achievement and the feeling that I am fitter, and lighter, than I was a few short weeks ago. I get to the top and I am having a quick drink at the bubbler as the strains of “Hair” fade.

“… If I'm hot-shot Mom will cut my hair at night…uh huh, uh huh, In the morning I’m short of my identity…”

Hooley-dooley, I think to myself…I did a good job today, metaphorically patting myself on the back. And then jogged all the way back down (except for the steps – one must be a little more careful on the steps). 41 minutes. Up and back. For me that is a massive achievement. I know that my fitter, (younger), more fleet footed friends can do it much quicker than that. I’m not competing with them. I just wanted to track some progress, see what a difference a bit of regularity makes. And make a difference it does.

Paleo Gaga: "You're on the right track baby!"

 

"If at first you don't succeed, try Paleo"...cure-all or new diet fad?

I've always agreed with this quote about food, yet for I-don't-know-how-long, I certainly haven't used it to cure myself. Instead I've been poisoning myself - wilfully, knowingly and maliciously. Why? To combat pain - emotional and physical; and because it's become habit; because I didn't care enough about myself; because I've been "trying" for too long to make changes. "I'll try to get to the gym"; "I'll try to eat better"; "I'll try not to drink on a school night"; "I'll try to do my meditation exercise" or worse "I want to try to...(insert more life-affirming behaviour)". All this trying produced absolutely no health benefits at all and I ended up feeling far worse and spent my days and early morning insomnia time beating myself up for not trying. And then I'd promise myself I'd try again tomorrow. All this pretend concern and 3am planning for my health didn't actually eventuate of course. I was always trying and that made me feel a little bit noble, but I didn't have to stop doing any of the destructive things I was doing while I was so busy trying to.

I was trying so hard and nothing changed, and then I recalled the words of that great 20th century philosopher:

*

I got so very tired of "trying" because there were no visible results - I had somehow fooled myself into believing that while I was trying I didn't actually have to do anything. So, instead of moaning about my ill-health  my body shape, my size and my weight, oh... and that pesky stress and distress I have been feeling for...oh, forever,, I made a decision. With some goals in mind, I began to research. (Starting with the workability of "trying" for the last three years which I quickly concluded was a surefire way to FAIL!)

So, here I am - I have stopped TRYING and actually made a decision to DO instead. (I feel the urge to put another quote in here that we normally associate with a well-known sports clothing brand, but I shall refrain).

I'd had great results with a program my partner and I developed a few years back and had trialled pretty successfully with us and a group of willing clients, and I looked at why that was successful at weight loss - it was balanced, it was sensible, based on a hormonal approach to eating, with psychology (of course) thrown in to the mix. It lost us the weight...but unfortunately didn't stop stressful things happening and I succumbed this last year to my old coping habits (see previous posts for descriptors of those bad kids!). So I revisited our program and also started reading and researching the whole food/Paleo concept as a way to combat my health issues and the (over)weight.

In my quest to discover new things I read all about the Paleo "diet", sometimes called "Caveman eating" (Paleo: as in those homo sapiens who lived in the Paleolithic Age. Creationists: stop reading here). As well as the promise of weight loss, this way of eating aims to eliminate our bodies of toxins introduced by sugars, processed food, legumes, additives, grains, wheat  and alcohol to name but a few. All of which produce dis-ease in the form of inflammation (of muscles, joints, bowel, vital organs and so on),as well as headaches, gut problems, and food allergies and intolerances. And this is only a brief summary of my research!


If "Paleo" brings to mind eating raw meat, the Flinstones and cries of "Ugg! I'm going hunting and gathering now; where's my spear?", then stay tuned...

 

"Yabba-dabba-doo! What animal is that?

 

*to Yoda thanks

Er...hello...it's been a while

I just read my last blog post, and like many others in the Blogisphere, cannot believe how long it's been since my last musings.  How full of hope was the note the last post ended on - a holiday, a writer's retreat, sunshine, exercise.  How it all went awry....

Let's see...I was living in a house I didn't want to be in, it was cold, uncomfortable, there were dramas galore, family feuds and upsets and my best friend was terminally ill. What was a girl with my propensities to do? Well among other things I continued to comfort eat, I upped my alcohol intake as a way of medicating away my sadness and stress (yeah, I know, NOT smart), I hibernated, I got sicker, I became even more inert, I fought with my partner, I worked til stupid o'clock every night, I got addicted to several TV series (more medication), Actually I blame the series Mad Men for my increased tolerance to massive amounts of alcohol. Every time Don Draper or Roger Stirling had a drink, so did I (though they usually had a tipple at about 10 in the morning, just after they got in to work, I reserved my imbibing ways til dark) . Those Madmen aficionados out there will wonder why I am not blogging about joining AA...

Hey there Julia, care for a refill?

Anyway, here I am many moons later, many kilos heavier, a dress size up, and feeling rather sluggish. I have headaches that make me want to get migraine treatment, aches and pains all over my body, inflammation, a creaky neck that makes parallel parking and lane changing  difficult, not to mention downright dangerous! I'm keeping the physio, the chiropractor and the makers of Panadol Osteo in business.  I feel emotionally bereft. Oh, and I have very little energy either. All of the above has made keeping in touch with people extremely rare and like changing lanes in traffic, very difficult. My resilience is low and I have been at my wit's end, unable to make the changes that I know I need to make to get back to a semblance of health and sanity.

So begins the journey I started a long time ago now...Here I go - from Round and Rubenesque to Lean and Luscious. This time I will need all the help I can get.

"Great biceps girlfriend!"