cerealously

I've always been rather dubious about the health benefits of breakfast cereals, a state of mind brought about by high school home science classes I'm sure. (do you know how much salt is hidden away in a packet of cornflakes?)

As a rule I stick with Weet-Bix - low fat, low sugar, high fibre and all those other good things. That is, I stick with Weet-Bix when I'm not having a toast mood, and then I munch on soy and linseed bread spread with yummy Vegemite.

There is one other breakfast cereal that makes it past my 'health radar', and that's Special K. (Allbran kind of does too, but that's not part of today's story!) Each time a healthy, glowing, slim woman graces my television in a Special K ad, I can't help sitting up and listening. I know it's all pretty much a load of rot designed to make me buy, but I love being sucked in by it all and before I know it I'm hankering for a box of the good stuff.

So my defenses were down when I went to the supermarket today... and I was hungry. You'd think I would have learned from my previous hungry supermarket excursion, but no, I spied Special K Forest Berries variety and popped it in the trolley.

Immediately upon arriving home I ripped open the packet and started munching. I forgot to mention that I don't really care if Special K is healthy or not, I just love the taste. Because I think it is outrageously expensive I rarely buy it, so I go slightly crazy when a box is in the house.

OK, so it's advertised by beautiful women, it claims to be healthy, and I love the taste... but does Special K pass the test? Is it a healthy breakfast cereal?

I have my doubts!

First, you are only allowed the tiniest serve if you hope to look as good as the woman who graces the box... come on... 3/4 cup of cereal would fill me for an hour! Let's be realistic here.

Then there was this excellent advice on the box:

Being more active is essential to help you look and feel good. You should do at least 30 minutes of moderate activity, everyday. Activities needn't be strenuous or difficult. Keep it simple - walking, dancing, gardening or even shopping can help make a difference.

Turn the box around and there's further excellent advice:

See if you feel a difference... a few hours shopping in the New Year sales can be a fun way to increase your daily activity without even realising it.

Putting aside the fact that the New Year sales are long past... shopping for weightloss? Please! I know I have occasionally included shopping in my exercise quota, but only because I was desperate for exercise hours! I don't remember ever shopping to the point of developing a light sweat while still able to hold a conversation. Unless it was the time I squeezed into a girls size 10 swimmers - the sweat was dripping off after that struggle!

Bah... any breakfast cereal that has to recommend going shopping to lose weight doesn't deserve to be called healthy in my books!

Special K is officially off my healthy cereal list!

Not that that will stop me eating the rest of the yummy packet... I'll just be under no healthy illusions!

update

Life has been just a little busy!

Apart from the dangling caterpillar that I walked hideously close to, I have not had time to savour the beauty this week. It's all been a mad rush to finish an assignment before the end of the due date that wasn't really the due date. (If you study off campus, my university allows a two week grace period for assignments. So it was really due two weeks ago...)

So if you'd like to know anything about the three main theories of counselling, I can now most happily oblige!

I've given myself the luxury of a weekend free of study as recompense for two weeks of frantic work, and then it's back to the books on Monday. Sigh.

another ugly betty moment

I was starting to get a bit tired of Ugly Betty. It filled in a pleasant enough hour but it was predictable. It stopped touching my heart and I began to contemplate giving it up - of what benefit was watching it?

And then I cried. Again.
Caught unawares. Again.

It all started when Nico stood in the cavernous foyer of the Mode building, protesting against fur in fashion. Enter Wilhelmine wearing nothing but a fur coat, her winning words leaving Nico deflated and humiliated. It was a classic case of dysfunction - two people loving each other but with no clue as to how to express their love.

It struck too close to home, and the tears trickled freely down my face. Again. Frank did his best to cheer me in the ad (I'm sworn to secrecy on his methods - it included singing) but I couldn't brush off the spectre of the past hovering over me.

I liken my family to a giant onion - in the very centre is the love we hold for each other. The love is real, but it's buried beneath multiple layers of faulty communication - terse words, denigration, argument, manipulation. We don't know how to express our love because if we ever knew how to communicate in a healthy way, we've certainly forgotten now. I stumble and trip over the words "I love you", instead resorting to time worn patterns of blame and resignation.

So when Wilhelmine and Nico collapsed into a heap of recriminations and anger, I understood exactly where they were coming from, and their pain was my pain.

One day I hope to peel back the layers of the onion and find the love we hold in our hearts for each other. One day I hope to say "I love you" to each member of my family without feeling self-conscious and false. One conversation at a time. One layer at a time. I will get there.

marvel at the beauty

We turned the clocks back last night.

Goodbye daylight saving.
Goodbye summer.

As if nature knew summer was truly dead, the cold wind swept in and the temperature sank so low the windows fogged over. Dark and cold in one fell swoop!

Technically we gained an hour, sleeping peacefully through 0200 hrs twice in one night, but one short hour seems small recompense for what has been lost, especially when cooking tea in the dark reduces the evening to a moment.

Time is a mysterious thing. There were exactly the same number of hours in today as there were yesterday, yet I felt mild panic when the dark closed in on me at 6pm tonight, as if my evening had dried up like a plump, juicy grape turning into a shrivelled sultana.

How will I get everything done now? As it is, I seem to pour all my spare time into study with minimal output - and now the evening is shrunken.

I'm tired, busy and a just little stressed by all that I need to achieve. When I'm not at work, house cleaning, preparing for church or cooking, my nose is buried in a book (thankfully it's interesting!)... I'm consumed by all that needs to be done.

And then this little insect lit upon my doorstep. All day it sat there just resting in the sun as I went in and out.

Incredible! Wings of delicate thread, intricately woven together.

I managed to trace down a name for the little critter - it's a green lacewing insect. The larvae eat aphids (explaining the aphid-free rose bush) and the adults suck on nectar and honeydew.

The green lacewing insect did more than pique my interest in its bio. Its fragile, lacy wings wove a pattern around my heart and lifted the weight of burdens.

Here I am bogged down by duty... work, study, life. I've become so busy that (once again) I've forgotten to notice the incredible beauty all around me. Birdsong, flowers, rays of sunlight, clouds tinged with gold - all around me is wonder and delight, but instead of drinking it in I look at the ground, the tasks, the burdens of life.

Oh Cecily - wake up, look up, soak up the beauty that is creation. Let yourself be touched with the splendour of it all. Marvel at the gift. Treasure the earth and its store. Revel in the glory. Commune with God. Don't let anything stop you.

when you were young... now you are old

I pride myself on appearing young. Most of the time I pride myself on appearing young for my age, but more and more frequently I notice that I'm starting to look older. I have blogged about this before, but obviously it was not sufficient to reduce my sensitivities to the aging process.

Tonight, because the world is getting hotter, I decided to duck into the supermarket after aqua aerobics. They're right next to each other and I figured it would save the planet if I took in the two tasks on the one journey instead of going back tomorrow evening.

It was after 9pm, so I whizzed around without the usual children darting around my trolley or old people limping along just in front of me. Before I knew it I was waiting in line at the checkout behind a glamorous young woman. She was dolled up in a purple coat with circular patterned white lining, fishnet stockings and wrinkled, black, pointy boots. The whole ensemble was finished off with a pair of extremely dangly silver earrings and a pastel pink purse. Between wondering why on earth the young woman was wearing a coat in such unseasonably warm weather, I admired said coat and pondered whether I should buy one for myself this autumn. I also admired her courage for wearing such an outfit, and (after spying a photo in her purse) wondered how the man in her life felt about her sense of style.

Purchase complete, she paid the bill and moved off. I distractedly moved forward in the checkout, my mind in another world. I must have looked quite a sight I suppose - lank, wet hair straight from the pool; wrinkled, soiled clothes hurriedly pulled from a bag; bleary chlorine eyes. Any visions of a fit, healthy loveliness featured only in my mind. Or so it seemed from the words spoken to me by the checkout bloke:

"Did you ever dress like that when you were young?"

I laughed and sagely advised him that back then I had been far too boring for bright purple coats. He proceeded to fumble and drop my groceries into my environmentally friendly green bags, crushing my rice crackers. Could it be that I really was a vision of fit, healthy loveliness after all, completely putting him off his game?

Only when I reached the car did I realise what he had said: "when you were young..."

Crushing! Did I look that old? What about the fit, healthy loveliness? What about the patients who ask if I've just finished my training? What about the lack of respect I receive because I look naive and innocent?

When you were young??!??!?

Oh, what a terrible blow.

Forget the world heating up... what about me getting old? I could weep.

proof the earth is heating up

Al Gore has been trumpeting it from the big screen; scientists have been declaring it in scientific journals for decades; the weather bureau is reporting it, and now I have undeniable proof that the earth is warming up!

It's the 22nd March in Tasmania, and I am sitting with the back door open, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, scuffing around in bare feet.

Unheard of!

In previous years one of my colleagues proudly declared that she never turns her heater on before April, choosing to huddle under a blanket instead. Every time March rolls in, I guiltily turn on my heater, wishing I could be so stoic. Three years ago I distinctly remember being freezing cold in March.

Or was it April? Maybe my friend holds off on the heater until May while I cave in April... hmmm, this is obviously valid and reliable evidence I am presenting to you here.

No matter. The globe is hotting up. March is the month of crisp, cool autumn weather in this corner of the world, and right now it is sunny and warm day after day.

I love summer, but it scares me that summer is lasting longer and longer every year. Please, can't I turn my heater on right now? I really want to.

how many housewives to change a lightbulb?

Two days ago I changed a light bulb.

[Five days of silence, and that's all you've got to say... you changed a light bulb?]

Ordinarily I wouldn't consider this a big deal, but it's the first one I've changed since I got married. I wasn't even sure I could remember how to do it. I was just a little concerned I might fall off the bed as I balanced and stretched towards the dangling socket.

It had to be changed. Prolonged summer evenings stretching through until bedtime are gone, and where last month I hardly needed a light, now I stumble in the dark, muttering 'drat' every time I flick the switch with no result.

I kept hoping Frank would do the deed... our division of labour falls mostly along gender lines and it seemed a manly thing to do, changing the light bulb.

And then I caught myself.

Changing the light bulb is a manly thing to do?
What... women don't change light bulbs?
You've travelled the world alone, lugging heavy bags from one side of the globe to the other. You've looked after yourself for 31 years, but now you won't change a light bulb?

What has happened to you Cecily? What have you become? A housewife?!?

Somewhere along the way my independent singleness has slipped off my shoulders, shed like an old reptilian skin, discarded on the ground, stepped over, moved away from.

When did this happen?

I don't know. It snuck up on me, little bit by little bit. Slowly, slowly I've given up independence and discovered the art of interdependence. I'm not standing alone, I'm standing with someone. Walking together. Sharing the load. Supporting another. Being supported.

[Forget the art of independence... refusing to change a light bulb is dependency through and through!]

It was only a light bulb, but that little bulb turned a light on for me! I'm making progress in the art of weaving my life with another's. Not consumed, but strengthened by the oneness. I don't have to fight fiercely for my survival.

It's OK to need my husband. A little. (Just not so much I can't change a light bulb!)

the small, small world of cecily

My world has shrunk to the size of a blood pressure reading, which is a very small world indeed!

The other day I measured 160/100, which was rather freaky. If I was one of my patients I would have hit panic stations and called the doctors for a speedy review. As it is, I'm not one of my patients, so I kept on doing what I was doing. (It would seem that I would be better off if I was one of my patients!)

Where has this come from? What have I done to evoke such pressures? (Robyn, please don't answer that question!)

The more I think about it, the more my head spins; the more my head spins, the more I think about it. A vicious cycle if ever there was one.

So piece by piece I am deconstructing my life to identify any incriminating cause of high blood pressure.

• Ditch the pill. 5% of women develop serious hypertension from the humble, freeing oral contraceptive pill, and this is more likely if other female family members also suffer from hypertension. Unfortunately it takes six months for blood pressure to return to normal!

• Water, water, water. Chronic dehydration can cause compensatory hypertension. I rarely drink enough and every morning wake with a gravelly mouth. I am now guzzling gallons.

• Celery. As little as four sticks of celery can reduce blood pressure by 10mmHg. I've eaten six so far.

• Sugar must go. Apparently, through a complicated hormonal cascade, sugar can cause hypertension. I'm totally addicted to the stuff. Totally. I try to kick it, but can't. So I'm cutting back slowly... and while we're thinking about sugar, does chocolate fall into the sugar category? I think it has more fat than sugar, so can I keep eating a little bit please?

• Relaxation, relaxation, relaxation. Usually when I get up in the morning I check everyone's blogs... most of you write while I'm sleeping, so there's lots to catch up on! No more. This morning I engaged in meditation and a relaxation exercise. The computer screen remained completely blank and my day got off to a better start. Not that your blogs are bad or anything...

• Quit the 'shoulds'. I'm driven by all the things I should be doing. Not only should I be doing them, but I should be doing them perfectly. I know it is ridiculous to demand this of myself, but I demand it anyway. I think somewhere along the way I read the little piece of information pictured below and swallowed it whole. Now I try and live up to some outrageous, unattainable standard in every arena of my life. Get over it Cecily. Let it go darlin'!
  

• STOP! Mostly I think I just need to forget about it all! I'm practicing thought stopping every time my mind spins off on another blood pressure cycle and I'm working on talking about it less. (That's a tough one - I love a good story, and this is a good one!) To that end, I will not write anymore blogs about high blood pressure - at least not until I think of something else to say about it!

OK, I'll leave it there. More good things to work on. Mostly I'm going to work on enjoying life. (Easier said than done - even coffee with friends is added to the 'to-do' list because I'm so busy!)

Relish the beauty. Treasure the richness. Love wildly. Live gladly. Rejoice freely. Cherish dearly. Delight in all that is me and the one who made me!

10 ways to reduce high blood pressure

I'm still alive.

My head is not quite as dizzy today. It helps to have finished my first Uni assignment.

I am adjusting to the label 'hypertension sufferer' - but I'm determined to dump it ASAP.

Here's a potential plan:

1. Quit study.
2. Quit work.
3. Quit church.
4. Quit the pill.
   
5. Exercise for 30 minutes five times three times a week. If I have time. After working through plans 1 to 4 my blood pressure should be below normal anyway.
   
6. Eat four sticks of celery a day. And one clove of garlic. And half an onion.
7. Eat not just 2, not just 5, but 10 serves of fruit and vegetables each day. Is this on top of all the celery, garlic and onion? Because I haven't got past the chocolate yet today. It stimulates the release of relaxing endorphins and that's got to be good for reducing high blood pressure...
   
8. Identify and change the way I respond to stressful situations... slow down, relax and take life with gentleness and humour in order to reduce stress hormone levels.
9. Drink Hawthorn tea. Interestingly, I have a hawthorn bar from China in the cupboard... I might start munching on that.
10. Quit blogging. NO! I can't do it! Scratch that one out!! I'll do all the others, but not that one!

Hang on... I don't want to eat half an onion a day... and Hawthorn tea? What is this? A conspiracy?

I think I need to come up with another plan...

the body speaks

I have had quite a dizzy head for the last few days.

This isn't particularly unusual - it's been happening for a couple of years now, maybe even longer. Mostly I've put it down to low blood sugar levels. I tend to get the shakes if I drink coffee or eat too much sugar, and the two together reduce me to jelly-like mush!

I've become so accustomed to episodes of dizziness that mostly I don't think anything of it. I cut down on sugar, avoid coffee and get on with life. Occasionally I wonder if there is something seriously wrong with me, but I'm loathe to harass a GP about a symptom so vague as dizziness. And everyone knows nurses are hypochondriacs: got a headache? Could be a stroke about to happen! Heart burn? Careful, might be a heart attack, not just indigestion. And that pain in the knee? Hmmm, sounds like a tumour... I have to remind myself that I probably don't have every disease known to humankind, despite nursing nearly all of them at some point or other!

So there I was at work on Wednesday when I felt like I was going to fall over. I grabbed hold of a railing to steady myself, breathed deeply and then kept walking. Despite eating good food the dizzy head remained, so I took my blood pressure.

It was 140/90.

140/90? Me? High blood pressure?

I shouldn't be too surprised, it runs in the females of my family - but me with high blood pressure? I'm a healthy person. Really. I am!

The next morning my BP was even higher - and I'm sure a good dose of anxiety pushed it up even further after that discovery. No amount of deep breathing or relaxing did anything to calm my heart!

Time to harass the GP. High BP is not a vague symptom!

Of course my BP was lower when she took it - still high, but not as bad! I then sat and paid for 25 minutes of being informed that young people with high BP are not treated unless they have kidney failure. (We checked my urine - I do not have kidney failure) On and on she went, telling me everything I already knew, advising me to exercise more, suggesting I get a cleaner to reduce my stress levels (I admit my ears pricked up then), and generally making me feel like an idiot for being concerned that my BP has jumped enormously.

I came home with mixed feelings - she was so patronising and dismissive of my concerns that I couldn't help being annoyed. At the same time I figured I may as well stop worrying - high BP only becomes an issue when it is ridiculously high or goes on too long, neither of which is my problem.

But today my head has been dizzy since lunch time. I walked for 4o minutes and felt like I was going to pass out most of that time. I keep getting anxious chills running through me. I'm wound up like a top. I might need a second opinion!

Sigh... I think my body is telling me to slow down and relax more. I might have to stop blogging and striving for more readers... now there's a scary thought!

a tale of the two target magazines

Two Target magazines plopped into my letterbox yesterday.

(Actually they didn't plop into the letterbox at all. We have a small, decrepit metal box perched atop a post and, so, squashed in half, each item scraped through the narrow orifice before getting stuck, and there it stayed until I came home and I levered it gently free)

So two Target magazines arrived in my letterbox, nestled together in stark contrast to one another until I came and sorted the mail.

"Great," I thought, "a Target catalogue. I love a good Target catalogue!"

Sorting further I found the Target magazine.

"Hmmm," I mumbled,"this magazine is quality info. I look forward to reading this over a good cup of coffee."

(Actually I don't drink coffee. Two hours after the inspiring liquid slides past my tastebuds I am overcome by tremors and faintness. Every once in a while I cannot resist the deliciousness of the taste, but mostly the aftereffects are not worth the small pleasure! But I still love the visual image of savouring a cup of the good stuff)

..."Hmmm," I mumbled, "this magazine is quality info. I look forward to reading this with a glass of water," and off I toddled inside.

It was only later that I realised the significance of two Target magazines arriving at the same time, one shamelessly promoting superfluous products such as toys, DVDs, and computer games, the other promoting the work of community development amongst the world's poor.

To me they represent two very different ideologies - in fact the values each promotes stand in diametric opposition to one another.

Flick through the pages and observe what I mean:

The Target catalogue parades the 'Dancing Princesses Genevieve Doll', storybook pillows, a Shrek pinball machine, and a Garfield Nintendo game. Then there's the Barbie shoes, Spiderman boots and Ninja Turtle backpack, all set off beautifully by the Bratz licensed lamp. Page after page is filled with potentially useful but ultimately nonessential items.

Turn to the Target Magazine and the content is nothing short of inspiring. There is detailed the story of five-year-olds who squeeze into a sixteen year old girl's bedroom in Bangladesh. They come for literacy and numeracy lessons, health education, and songs. While they are learning, most teenagers are at work in the local factory producing clothes... perhaps the very clothes that the Target catalogue advertises.

Could it be any more clear, the contrast between my rich, comfortable world and the world of the majority of Earth's population?

I detest the consumerism of the West. We are so caught up in materialism we've forgotten that we already have everything we could possibly need. Instead we pour over catalogues, which (to my shame) I asked to receive, looking for the extra possession that will bring us happiness.

Not that I want to go and live in the developing world! I'm thankful for the creature comforts I have - I just long for the day when I stop pining for more and more and more! I want to be content with what I have so that I can share my wealth with those who do not have.

Thankyou TEAR and your Target Magazine for reminding me of the billions who live with less than I have. Thankyou postie for plonking two magazines in my letterbox at exactly the same time, prompting me to ponder my wealth compared to the poverty of others in this world.

May I become less enchanted with consumerism, having the courage to stand for justice and freedom for all, resisting the temptation to purchase items I don't really need, sharing out of my richness with those who have nothing.

'ugly betty' and the moment of truth

Naturally enough, I've been doing a lot of reading about counselling lately.

The more I read, the more I question if I'm really cut out to be a counsellor! There's a wealth of difference between nodding sagely with the appropriate sprinkling of 'a-huh's, and having the skills to help someone find their way through a difficult period of their life. With each turn of the page I can't help wondering if I'm too screwed up myself to offer anyone else assistance.

Tonight 'Ugly Betty' revealed how true this fear might be.

I cried again.

Not the big bawl of a fortnight ago, just teary eyes and halting breaths to stem the flow. Frank was with me after all, and it wouldn't do to cry over a shallow TV show in his presence.

It was the episode in which Betty undergoes a Queen's style makeover. There she is, all glammed up with her false nails, bouffant hair and off-shoulder top, coyly hoping people will notice her efforts to be beautiful, when Wilhelmina systematically reduces her to nothing in front of the whole editorial team. Soul destroying! Betty tried so hard to be darling - and nobody cared. Nobody valued her attempt or complimented her or embraced her efforts. They scorned her and I wept almost wept.

I used to think this crying in every news report, movie and serial TV program displayed empathy. I was so in tune with the feelings of the maligned that I could weep for their pain. My tears demonstrated the most caring identification imaginable.

And then I started studying counselling.

Brems (2001:183) writes that "the co-experiencer becomes so involved in the other person's experience that she or he begins to have the same feelings and gets caught up in the other person's experience. The personal boundaries break down and the two people respond as one.

"Unlike the co-experiencer, the empathic person, while accurately understanding the other person's feelings, does not get caught up in them. The empathic person accurately perceives the other's reactions and feelings and cares for the person (expressing warmth) but remains clear about personal boundaries and does not get caught up in the emotion or experience."

Could it be that my weeping does not demonstrate empathy after all - that I am simply a co-experiencer with leaky boundaries? Someone who over identifies, unable to remain emotionally present and available because I am lost in my own emotions? Do I resort to 'warm fuzzies' in the hope that we will all feel better (Brems 2001)?

I'm still figuring it all out - for now I'm sticking with it. I'm optimistic enough to believe I can make a good counsellor. I'll just keep watching 'Ugly Betty' in order to gauge my progress towards helpful empathy!

thankyou for the bonus...

Dear Cadbury,

We love chocolate! In fact we could be counted amongst your most avid fans, eating at least four large blocks between us every week.

While we understand that this degree of chocaholism devotion to your company does not qualify us to become shareholders, we do appreciate your recent efforts to give us a little extra in return for our contribution to your steadily increasing profits.

We did have just a slight problem with the 'more than a glass-and-a-half' form this reward took - the cobweb, cocoon and accompanying live moth nestled on the surface of the chocolate were not exactly what we had anticipated. While we appreciate your efforts to take our Cadbury experience to another level, in the future we would simply prefer a bonus block of our favourite variety.

Thankyou for choosing our humble home as the focus of your generosity. We look forward to a more pleasant reward at some point in the future.

Until then, we remain chocolately yours,

Cecily and Frank

progress?

Yesterday I found out about a new development that left me feeling quite disturbed.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not against change and development. In fact I see them as essential to being human. To exist is to develop, whether it be personally or as a society. So while I might not be the biggest fan of contemporary classical music, and I have mixed feelings on modern art, I'm philosophical enough to believe that both make important contributions to our culture and development. We would cease to exist if we weren't progressing, or changing, or growing.

So what's so disturbing about the new development I heard of yesterday? Its crassness and invasiveness. In-your-face advertising is taken to a whole new level with this little piece of technology.

It's hard not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer weight of advertisements that beam in my direction. A steady stream of junk mail, never ending breaks on television, billboards, buses, taxi boots, rolling digital posters in the shopping mall... everywhere I look I am bombarded by images enticing me to live in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction. The last time Frank and I flew to Melbourne, Virgin Blue assailed us with nonstop advertisements - the back of the seat in front had been converted into a TV screen. If you chose not to pay for cable, you were regaled with ads. If you turned them off... they reappeared thirty seconds later. I found it quite affronting.

So when I read yesterday about TABANAR (Targeted Advertising Based on Audience Natural Response) I was concerned. This new advertising concept involves the placement of a small LCD screen and camera on supermarket shelves. As you approach, an advertisement begins to role. If you look away, the system 'senses' that you are not interested and immediately switches to an advertisement from a different brand. The cycle continues until you indicate your interest in a product by looking at the screen for an extended period of time. The system then assumes you are interested and keeps playing the same ad.

I'm sure it's ingenious, I'm sure it utilises incredible technology, it might even be a boon for the advertiser... but please! Allow me some peace. Allow me the dignity of making my own choices. Have some respect!

another boring vegetable post...

I'm sick, OK.

I had to leave work at lunch time due to an aching face, throbbing head, scratchy throat. (OK, I didn't have to leave work, I just did. Sometimes I wonder how people who are really, really sick manage, since it only takes a cold to send me into the land of the miseries)

I didn't even cook tea. (Thanks Frank for honey on toast)

So please appreciate my valiant efforts to bring you this post. I don't personally find my vegie posts boring, but I realise some people do, but it's my best efforts for the night.

I didn't check the garden for two days and this is what I found this morning (before I decided I was too sick to work)...

... an incredible wealth of healthy food.

And we've had maybe 5kg of tomatoes (Mr Stripey or Tigerella) so far! Plus there have been more beetroot, and the cucumbers have been producing nicely.

I still get a thrill when I pick the produce off the plants...