Use it or lose it

 

There comes a point in life when you realise that if you don’t do something about your physical fitness then it will be only a few short years before you are officially frail, prone to having a fall as opposed to falling over. Falling over is something we all do occasionally throughout our lives but there comes a time when it mysteriously becomes having a fall, which is, apparently, quite a different thing.

It’s surprising how much muscle mass you can lose over the years if you become less active. It’s also surprising how less active you have become when you still feel like you are on the go all the time. You may not be aware of how much extra padding you have acquired while you were distracted with the pressing issues of midlife or, more likely, you have blanked out the thought of it. So it was a moment of shocked realisation for me when, one day at a family gathering, I went to pour the tea and found I couldn’t lift the teapot!

To be honest, this wasn’t my first moment of shocked realisation. That had hit me a year earlier at another family gathering. I got down on the floor to get a rather clever photo of one of the grandchildren and found I couldn’t get up. I had to be helped up by my son [and it wasn’t easy], very embarrassing and probably why I didn’t want to face up to reality. I was on the way to frailty…

Then I found out that frailty is not inevitable just because of getting older. Well, who knew that? Of course you do hear about those amazing people in their nineties who run marathons and swim the channel [OK, I’m exaggerating, but you know what I mean]. I thought it was down to luck or good genes or something, but apparently it isn’t, at least not as much as you’d think.

I found out it was no use thinking that various physical issues like arthritis lets you off the hook. ‘What you need is exercise’ say the implacable physios. But it hurts, you think. They are right though, of course, at least in my case. So anyway, long story short, I decided that something had to be done. Not for me the gym membership for several reasons which I won’t list here. Walking was a good start, but not enough on its own. It doesn’t do anything for your upper body strength and won’t help you to lift teapots or grandchildren.

While I was still wondering what to do for the best [read that as burying my head in the sand], I found out I’m pre diabetic. Clearly it was time for some sort of decisive action. After a comprehensive overhaul of diet, I decided to comprehensively overhaul my exercise regime, which was easily done as it was non-existent. I thought that if I paid for an exercise program  it would give me a structure, be tailored to my age group and I’d be more likely to stick to it. So that’s what I did. After a nine week program of exercises and workouts, all carefully designed to gradually build fitness, I’m feeling much better already and can lift teapots and get up off the floor with the best of them. My energy levels have gone up, I can get more done in a day, my balance is much better and I’ve lost 8 pounds [3.6kg]. And, much to my surprise, I’ve really enjoyed it.

The only thing is, you can’t just stop at the end of the program because if you don’t keep on ‘using it’ you will lose it again. So I intend to keep moving one way or another, and if I stumble and end up on the ground it will be because I’ve fallen over, not because I’ve had a fall.

I am staying calm...

I am seriously behind.

I know that this is true because I have been looking through Instagram posts at everybody else and they are ready for Christmas. My tree is as big as an entire forest, and that is after it had been pruned back while it was still in the living room, and bits of the twigs are still on the carpet. It is not decorated; though the ladder needed to erect it has been left handily between the armchairs for the last 2 days so that somebody [anybody?] can start to put up the fairy lights. So far there have been no takers.

The gammon joint I bought to boil is too big for the pan and is not cooking properly.

 All the flowers I had gaily dotted about the house to welcome our visitors have died...

 

Flower Morgue

Added to all this is the fact that I ate nine chocolates yesterday because one of my children left a giant box of dairy milk lying around and I was hungry. That is not bad in itself because I like chocolate, but I am trying to lose weight and that was pure gluttony. And that makes me feel bad.

However.

I reckon that the visitors that I am having don’t care too much about the fairy lights on the tree. OK, they do, but they won’t stress if I ask them for help to put them up. They won’t notice if there are no flowers if I greet them with a cup of tea and some bourbon biscuits.

 And I will just roll the gammon over and cook it twice as long.

What I have learned from my worst-organised-Christmas-ever, is that it isn’t the disaster that I thought it would be because I am staying calm. And that is my Christmas gift to you, my friends. Stay calm and let the situations just flow on by without getting upset. 

We can always decorate the tree tomorrow….

I’m burning my boats!

 

Not literally, obviously.

For so many months or years I have been dipping my toe into various diets and ways of eating, but now my husband has Parkinson’s disease my main focus is to feed him nutritious food, cutting out the crisps he so loves and the chocolate and the cider.

And I've made a decision...

Of all the diets that I have researched, I am leaning towards a high fat/ low carbohydrate diet. Not keto, where you eliminate all carbs, but almost paleo, where you eat starchy root veg and fatty meat. The brain likes fat, apparently. And all the membranes of every cell in your body contains fat, and many hormones need some sort of fat contribution to be produced.

One of the mainstays of this way of eating is bone broths. These are described by the Wahls Protocol, by Dr Sarah Myhill in any of her books or Youtube clips, and by Dr Chris Masterjohn on his Youtube channel. You boil up the bones in hot water we will get a gelatin-rich liquid from the breakdown of the cartilage, tendons and ligaments and this will provide what the body needs to form new connective tissue. Connective tissue supports skin and internal organs, and in the form of twisted cables helps to cushion joints, strengthens tendons and ligament; collagen may also play a role in preventing and treating auto-immune diseases.

Bone broth is also said to build healthy teeth, hair and nails and keep some elasticity in the skin. We get the marrow too, and that should contain phospholipids, choline and lecithin, phosphatidyl-ethanolamine [PE] and phosphatidylserine [PS]. PE and PS are vital to nervous system function and are found in the white matter of the brain, nerves and neural tissue. PS is known to improve brain function and mental acuity, so you can see why I want to get it down my husband.

Of course, you can get all this from supplements, and people avoid fatty meats now because they are scared of cholesterol. But supplements only provide glucosamine and chondroitin which are just two of the many raw ingredients the body needs for collagen repair and production. And cholesterol is part of every cell in your body too – part of the lipid bi-layer of the membranes. It should only be those who have familial hypercholesteraemia that need to avoid fat.

So here we go. My bones are in hot water on the Aga and I aim to have a bone broth bubbling away most of the time to make nourishing soups and stocks. 

Christmas comes full circle

Do you ever wonder why it is that childhood Christmases seem so idyllic when we look back at them?

I’ll tell you why:

1.      We were the children and not the ones who had responsibility for creating the perfect experience.
2.       We didn’t have to do the shopping or the cooking.
3.       We didn’t have to deal with family politics.
4.       We were the ones who got sackfuls of presents.
5.       We didn’t have to do the washing up.
6.       Although we might have been aware things didn’t always run smoothly, it wasn’t our problem.

The only negative thing about Christmas I can remember is wanting to be an angel in the school nativity play at the age of about five, and being told I wasn’t blonde enough. However, if one of the blonder angels should drop out I could take her place. Of course, nobody dropped out of the angel line up so I never got to put on the wings and tinsel and join the heavenly host.

Christmas was a time set apart, a time to play games together as a family, a time for the sort of treats we didn't see the rest of the year. Really special. 

The years rolled by, and the age of partying came and went. Eventually parenthood arrived and the Christmas responsibilities increased at the same rate as the family did. It was great to make a good time for the children. We had some lovely times as a family. Things weren’t too complicated, there wasn’t enough money to go mad. It never occurred to me to get into debt to buy the kids fancy presents, but they didn’t mind (at least they tell me they didn’t). I wasn’t pressured by ads on TV because we didn’t have one. We made our own family traditions, kept things reasonably simple and enjoyed ourselves, even though it was hard work.

Then somehow things got more complicated or maybe I was just getting older. My parents and parents in law started to give me money to buy presents for the family. I completely understand that and I now do the same for my grandchildren – much better than wasting money on something they might not like. Grandparents are notoriously bad at gauging what young people want. It also puts a stop to grandparents buying stuff that annoys the parents, like drums and whistles and toys that play irritating tunes and drive you up the wall. However, it did mean that I had to find three sets of presents for each child plus stocking fillers. This was before internet shopping too, so lots of trawling the shops.

Anyway, long story short, one year I started to realise I was dreading Christmas and I had to admit it.

 I’m not one of those amazing hostesses who are organised and efficient. No way could I live up to the image in my head of how I ought to be. So, sadly there came a time when I just didn’t like Christmas at all. Too much scope for getting everything wrong. Too much stress. Not enough time and energy.

But with age comes a measure of wisdom. You get to see the bigger picture and you no longer care about getting everything just perfect. So now I refuse to get in a tizzy about anything. I will get to see all the family in one go, at least all the ones who live in the UK, at the annual Family Knees-up. I’ll have another Christmas Day with my precious parents who never criticise my cooking or anything else. No weary shopping trips, it’s all done online.  No worrying if the presents I’ve given are ok. I’m warm and cosy among the twinkling lights here; the cupboards are full of treats. Basically, it’s almost like a second childhood only with alcohol, and I’m free to enjoy it all again.

What would we do without Pinterest?

Dark days, I haven’t been out with my camera for a week so I was climbing the walls with frustration. The weather has just been too bad, and the days so short.

So, I decided to make the best of things and find other – indoor – creative outlets.

This week I’ve been attempting to paint on glass, inspired by Pinterest posts. I went to town to see if I could find any suitable glass jars in charity shops to practice on, but no. So I bought a cheap jar in Wilko’s and also found a source of chalk paint there.

I thought I’d better have a practice go with the cheap jar before I risk investing in the Ball and Mason jars which I admire so much. They don’t seem to be as common here as in USA.

So this is my version. Add a few silk flowers and I’m fairly pleased with it. I’m prepared to invest in the fancy jars now but would really prefer to upcycle some used ones. Maybe Kilner jars would do…

I’ve also done a bit of festive cooking inspired by Pinterest, namely a Christmas tree breadstick creation. Like many others who had a go at this one, I shared my effort on Pinterest and was heartened to see what a mess some people made of it. Mine wasn’t too bad if I do say so myself.

I also had a bash at Brie and Cranberry bites. As I’m the only one here, including the dog, who likes like Brie or cranberries I had to eat them all myself. Shame, wasn’t it. They weren’t as photogenic as the ones on Pinterest that inspired me, but they tasted fine. Anything with Brie in it tastes fine to me. I was too proud to take a picture of them because they looked a bit sad. Besides, I’d eaten them before I thought of it.

I did attempt to make sweet potato crisps, but that was such a fiasco that I can’t bear to talk about it. However, there is plenty more inspiration on Pinterest. 

Anyone got any Ball and Mason jars they don't want? 

I'll settle for Kilner.

Anyone?...

Hände hoch!

 

I was going to call this blog post 'Fraternising with the Enemy' on a whim. But that isn't fair, nor is it true. But still, if my grandparents could have seen me this week they would have been surprised. For someone born in the '50s, and brought up on post-war videos I have experienced my first holiday in the country that bombed us, so we bombed them... you know how it goes.

In one street we passed a young father strapping a toddler into his car seat. He said 'Hände hoch!' and we had to smile. Those words are imprinted on our minds as a phrase shouted repeatedly by young German soldiers rounding up prisoners and pointing their rifles at them, in war film after war film. Hands up!

But. I must say. I like the Germans; I can hardly believe that the landlord of our B&B had grandparents that probably fought our grandparents. It was a bit surreal...

Now that we have a son who lives and works in Germany we had a good opportunity to visit.  We landed at Frankfurt and dropped into a loud and trendy restaurant with a Disney buffalo theme [see above]. It was an eyeopener for parents in their 60's, but such fun. 

Our son lives about an hour from Frankfurt in a quaint village where everything is in walking distance. We were most interested in the cafe which opened at 6.00am, and we strolled over for breakfast and feasted on hot coffee and rolls. And later in the evening, we drove to the next town to sample authentic German schnitzel;  Schweineschnitzel. We visited his friends and families in their homes, which were mostly quaint and old-fashioned but imbued with a definite sense of homeliness and warmth. 

The village that we stayed in had a giant tower that is encased in a red cover topped with an electric candle which lights up during the Christmas period. We were a bit too early to experience their Christmas Market, but stalls had begun to be set up in the cobbled market square. I am sure the area must be bustling when the market starts but honest to goodness, we hardly ever saw a soul. The odd passerby was glimpsed through our windows, but where was everybody? It appears they all get up earlier than us and are at work by the time we are having breakfast.

My misconceived impression of Germans as stiff and stoic, joyless and authoritarian was completely overturned, I mean - just think of that candle. When we were with his friends we had a hilarious evening or two; they laugh loud. They did like to goad us about Brexit, but I refused to go there. I withstood teasing about my Tetley tea bags that I had fortunately brought with me; they called it Brexit Tea. 

About tea. Proper tea - it needs looking for. I mostly got offered Earl Grey, which is nice in its own way, but not acceptable when you are needing a big mug of builder's. Or they had Rooibus, which was, quite frankly, disgusting. That is not their fault. I would find it disgusting in any country. Anyway, here are some pics...

Look what I have got!

After waiting patiently for over 7 years, I have got one!

I started off with a 4-oven, white, gas-fired beauty many years ago, then swapped for an elderly cream 2-oven after moving house some years later, then to nothing after moving again.

Now finally, after I have been quietly pining away, we have a shiny, navy blue, second-hand gas friendly, warm, cosy Aga. It is sitting there in my kitchen, with a large kettle on the top waiting to make tea.

Why did I want one? I can’t tell you. But when we brought home the first one, a snip at £500, I ran my hands along the solid iron top and felt like I had come home. All other cookers were mere toys to me; I know I had many people to cook for, so this may have had something to do with it.

I don’t have that excuse now, a mere 4 people live in this house. I can cope with my electric hob and my electric oven half way up the wall in a box. But I don’t like them, I never warmed to them.

When the children were little, and we had that 4 oven Aga, the baking and roasting was done using the instructions as follows:

Hot stuff like roasting – top right

Medium temp stuff like baking cakes – bottom right

Warming plates, keeping food hot and overnight slow cooking – top left

Keeping kids feet warm – bottom left.

All my recipes had cooking instructions written with ‘cook 40 minutes top right’, or ‘bake 20 mins bottom right’, or ‘leave overnight top left’, which meant they were difficult to share with friends who had no Aga.

In the Autumn and Winter the kids would come in cold and damp after school, kick their shoes off, and lay on the rug on the kitchen floor in a perfect semi-circle with their chilly feet warming slowly in the bottom left. This was the ‘cold feet’ oven, and no food was ever cooked in it.

When I was pregnant and I couldn’t sleep, I would creep downstairs for a quiet cuppa. As I was up and in the kitchen I thought I might as well use the heat of the oven and knock up some chocolate flapjack ready for the next day. Have you ever smelt chocolate flapjack as it comes out of a hot oven? The melted chocolate and syrupy sweet aroma is very pungent, and the smell wafted up the two and a half flights of stairs to the top floor, and slowly, one by one, the children would drift sleepily down, rubbing their eyes, asking where that lovely smell was coming from and could they eat it.

And after I’d had the baby, the grab rail that runs along the entire length of the cooker was an ideal aid to enable me to do exercises, rather like the bars ballerinas have while making me a cup of tea or roast dinner at the same time. Wet clothes will dry hanging above it. Cold pyjamas will warm on the rail ready to slip children into before they go to bed. Cups of tea will stay warm if left on the top, while you go and sort something out. Dinners can be put in the warming oven for late-comers, with no need for a microwave.

Come and have a cuppa by my Aga. I think you might like it…

The arrival...