15th Feb
Carrots
Carrots
Today I want to talk about carrots.
In our house it's a veg that has many things going for it:
The humble carrot.
Cheap, so we can have them often.
Healthy - adding colour to any dish,
one of our magical five a day.
I have a huge amount in my casserole for dinner today
Carrots can be disguised in lots of meals.
For instance, grate them into shepherds pie, bolognese,
stew, soups, salads and anything really.
Buying carrots won't break the bank but I do want
to get value for money, the same as I do with any purchase I make.
So, here is the thing.
1 kg "wonkey" carrots cost 35p
1 kg of supermarket own carrots 89p
330 gr ready peeled and sliced carrots 86p or £2.58
Now, there's nothing at all wrong with the wonkey carrots and they are probably and ironically the very same ones they cut and slice ready for us to use without getting our knives out.
For me it's not rocket science and I'm sure the same comment could be made on other products , it just seems to me that sometimes we waste money without thinking about it .
The ready to go carrots cost seven times more than the attractive wonkey variety. For me that is a significant saving.
Do you have any similar stories? or are you a champion of the ready to go lobby?
Do have your say...
27th September
A little story for writing group today:
Broken Glass
I slump
before the altar, tears wetting the stone floor at my knees. Well, I made it! Slowly I ease my backpack from my sore
shoulders and sit there for a few minutes, while others wander round the Cathedral. This moment marks the end of my ten day
thanksgiving pilgrimage. At least that’s what I thought it would do. But as I
reflect, I realise that this is just the beginning.
This journey
has been, not ten days but more than five years. Back then, in another life, I
was lost. An alcoholic, who drank away everything she had - husband, children, house - I found myself in
the company of other desperates sleeping in doorways in the city. Every morning
I would place a paper cup on my scarf in front of me hoping to get enough
change to help me through the day. People would pass by quickly, sometimes
crossing the street, avoiding me, as if I were contagious. Occasionally, some, while carefully averting
their eyes, would drop in a coin.
However, one
morning a man’s glance held mine and lingered for a second. No words were spoken, but that look bedded
deep in my soul, asking me why I was there, willing me to get up, to get better. He put no money in my cup and was off down
the road without so much as a turn of his head. I will never forget that look.
And he will never know what he did for me.
That
afternoon I went home to my husband, who, overjoyed to be able to help me get
better, arranged doctor’s appointments and eventually left me in a rehab centre
for six months. Healing took time both
for myself and my family, with lots of making amends. It wasn’t easy and I
doubted they’d ever be able to forgive me or trust me again. Together we came through and I am now five
years sober. My family are always my first priority. I also help others who are in the same place
that I was. My life has a purpose again and I am so grateful.
I decided to
do the Pilgrim’s Way in thanksgiving for getting my life back. I got a fresh start,
something I didn’t even dare hope for. With my one man tent I walked from
Winchester to Canterbury, taking in many things as if for the first time – a
leaf fluttering in the sun, the morning dew with its fleeting presence, taking in the view from a hill as I stand breathless and
much more.
Patches of colour
dance on the floor around me. I follow
the shafts of light to the source, a stained glass window depicting some
biblical scenes, made from many broken pieces of glass, now an inspiring
picture. Much like my own story, my heart shattered, fragments of my past brought
together finally, made into something
beautiful.
Below is a post that I wrote in September two years ago, called "I Love Living By The Sea" I thought I would write in response to it.
The large white house stood looking out to the sea.
It was a bit of an oddity, nestled as it was between
a block of flats seven storeys high and a care home home,
both built at the turn of the century whereas with its slats
and flat windows it was a more modern
build dating from the sixties.
I would look out from the hall window, which was at least fourteen feet high
and eight feet wide, and both to
left and right as far as I could see the ocean spread before me.
It would beckon us to come meet it . I miss that house,
but only for the nearness to the sea.
On many a morning, like the one I recount below
we would walk the few feet down to the beach,
sometimes with garden chair and cup of tea and maybe a book or two,
to spend an hour in the quiet - well except for the varying sounds
of the sea lapping the shore.
On some mornings we would get up extra early and
walk the three and a half miles to Reculver and back.
It would take the whole morning and sometimes the best part
of the day if we stopped at all on the way or at Reculver for a break.
On other , warmer days ,we would swim in the
glass smooth water and pretend we were on holiday.
Sunrise
A post that should of gone out in July:
A nice memory, especially as the summer is ending.
There are so many good things about living where we do.
So we were up early this morning and out for a walk at 7.00am.
there is the possibility of going for miles along the coast
with the view constantly changing , giving new delights.
The warm sea breeze brings many moments to mind
With each breath a memory captured , lived again.
But time has aged this old body and the legs aren't working so well.
So we curtail the long walk and turn for home.
Decide to sit on the beach with cup of tea
and enjoy the rest of the hour we've allotted ourselves .
The waves bring in the tide and plenty of seaweed.
the vast expanse calms our spirits,
energises, refreshes.
Then he goes for a swim, while I look on
And think I should have worn my costume
and joined him.
Back for breakfast.
