I have wandered about some of the dieting sites a little more and oh dear some of them are grim. Dieters trying to yank and beat their bodies into weird shapes. And getting angry and miserable about it. All those beautiful bodies. Remember there is no failure in the Celi Diet. Because you are designing your own Food Program. There are a few more of you who have joined me on the Celi Diet which is great because the Celi Diet is all about Loving the Body remember. Watching the Body not the weight. Cutting out processed foods. Allowing your body to achieve its natural weight. And eating well.
AS you know there are a few rules for the first few weeks. No processed foods. Eat fresh.
Celia over on her lovely blog has this very sweet idea. She suggests that we post shots of our favourite things in our kitchens. I am going to do this again next month after I have had the autumn tidy up. But today I thought I would send a tiny challenge out to you all to show us one or two favourite things in your writing spaces. Maybe your writing space is the kitchen, or a corner, or in the sun on the verandah, the couch. Where do you sit when you write that blog we love to read?
Here are my writing spaces.
The Summer Study. This is a small shady cool room with only one little window. You will remember that I do not have air conditioning and the summer study is cool and dark. I can only show you a few corners as I have abandoned my summer space now that winter is coming.
Now I know you guys! You are all readers and you are all craning to see what books are in there – so let me tell you another terrible secret. I have only been living with John for a little over four years and now the house has books stacked in corners, falling off shelves, tripping over each other beside the bed, jammed into unlikely spaces like commuters in a cheap jet. And yes I DO often buy a book because I like its cover and it is on the sale table. I read them all. But I have a special bookshelf for the good books. The Twicers. The ones I will and do read more than once. So this dusty bookshelf is a mere glimpse.
And yes I deliberately took that shot in low light so it would be blurry!! I always look especially good when blurry. OK. You have had your laugh. Now let us go up the ladder to the Loft.
Here is a corner of my Winter Studio in the Loft. It is big, light and airy. And yes that phone is in working order. We don’t have electric phones. Too many lightening strikes. Weirder and weirder.
When I came back from Europe to live out here on the Plains, the first change that I made to the house was to add the big verandah where we eat all summer. This changed the entrances and exits and turned the kitchen around. After we had finished the kitchen ( mostly), I asked a very nice builder man to take out the ceiling in the big room and turn the attic into a loft. I had to draw pictures because he just looked at me as though I had offered him his own red work truck in a soup. Evidently this was one of those things that triggers the ‘You can’t do that!’ response.
One of the spaces this created was my Winter Studio. With three big skylights and huge windows to the North and the South this is a perfect warm, light, writing space for the winter. We used recycled timber for the floors and it is finished with copper from the gutters of an old roof and all the trim and shelves are either old barn timber or lovely maple that Johns brother milled. These book shelves are on wheels so when it all gets terrible I can pull the entire box of shelves out from the wall and go hide in behind them. Or use them as high benches.
We do not have central heating either so the house is heated with a big cast iron fire. We gather fallen trees all summer and heat ourselves with them all winter. We don’t cut down trees. You know those ambulance chasers? Well, we are tornado chasers. We take two trucks and the chainsaws and offer to help people clean up their fallen trees! We once had a guy drive up in his golf cart over to where we were working and call out ‘If you can find my cherry tree you can have it, I don’t know where that dang thing got blowed to.’ Later he came back and said he had found his tree behind the tavern.! Off we toddled.
Also in Johns work there is a lot of construction timber wasted, if it is chemical free he brings that home and into the fire it goes. So the fire makes lots of heat, and the heat rises straight into my Loft.
How do I get up into my loft, I hear you ask. Well I took the old attic ladder which is on an intensely gorgeous old pulley system and I had my guy fit it into the ceiling of an empty wardrobe. So it is hidden. I climb up the ladder to get up here. Which I need to tell you is quite a feat with a bowl of salad and a cup of coffee.I am on the look out for a real fire pole, which I will find, as they are closing fire stations as well as Post Offices. No, not for pole dancing! So I can slide down if I am in a hurry. Pick your mind up out of the gutter!!
Now imagine that you are sitting at my desk. Look to your left. You will be looking across a completely open space, you can look down into the lounge and the dining room (you won’t though because I would have to tidy up and I haven’t) and across the great divide to Esmeralda. She is a very old dressmakers dummy that I found when I was shopping in my MotherInLaw’s attic. (The attic and her barn are my favourite places to shop!) On the right you will see two of the three skylights I had the little man put in before he took the floor out. These light the big room below. Light and Space are important to me.
Now, if you feel like it and no pressure you understand. But. Do you have a shot of your space? Add a wee link to mine if you do, so that I can zoom over. Where do you write?
This is what I saw when I began the chores this morning. A cat sleeping in my shopping bags. You know the bags that you pause on the verandah. The plan being to stow them back in the car later. Then they never make it to the car, and you end up at the supermarket without your bags, wondering what happened to The Plan!
The leaves have begun to turn and fall here, we had a frost this morning. I am starting the search for the gloves put away last spring. The bird houses have been vacated. I have decided that I will not mow the lawn again THIS YEAR! What a joyful decision.
I know that autumn is a beautiful time, we store all our food for the winter, and this means the meat too. To carry extra animals through the winter creates overcrowding in the barn and makes no sense economically. This is a rather somber reminder of what we are all about. Growing our own food is not only about the freshest hand picked salads and glorious tomatoes, and satiny silverbeet. It is also about growing our own meat in a respectful, sustainable, old fashioned way.
The first reason we started to grow our own meat and vegetables was that we wanted to have control over our own food. The second reason is we are appalled by the cruel and heartless way animals were grown for the mass production of dubious protein. We want no part of that. We could not rail against it unless we did something about it. So we decided to grow our own fresh clean meat. Using sustainable methods and organic natural feeds. i.e. grass. Tomorrow morning the Murphys (we call all the sheep for the freezer Murphys) – the two wethers are leaving. And this is why the Paddy Wagon is parked right up against the barn doors. Tonight I will shoo them through the barn, (a feat in itself I think) and up into the stock trailer.
Tomorrow morning when we drive them away it will be tougher. But if I am going to feed my family, friends and extended family members good food, then I need to man up and get the job done. They have been well treated, well fed, and have spent their lives outside in the fresh country air with a pure green diet and plenty of room to run. We will take them to a small abbatoir that is clean and calm and well managed. Enough said.
All our lives we collect all these experiences and put them in our pockets. We polish them as we walk along, take them out and look at them, drop them back in our pockets and one day find another use for them. Every experience good or bad is useful.
Speaking of experiences: above is a shot of my book planning. In writers jargon (most of which is gibberish to me) this is now officially a Work In Progress (WIP). Writing a play is about a million times easier, my written language from years in film and stage is pared right down to dialogue and stage directions. I have to get used to having all this space to write in. And being able to let my characters fly. I have over 60 little scenes jotted down and arranged into Acts (can’t help myself) and then Chapters. I am designing the recipe for our book.
Soon I will begin cooking. Just too exciting.
The basketball hit the fluourescent light bulb the very moment I stepped through the classroom door, as the new drama teacher. Glass confetti tinkling to my feet. Slightly alarmed I stood my ground as two tall teenage rugby players rushed me, dodging at the very last minute to either side and blew straight past. They ran high, arms high, heads high, steps exaggeratedly huge, past and gone, out the door. I turned and watched them disappear then shut the door and turned back to the rest of the class.
I was a director in a little theatre, writing scripts in my spare time and running my own drama classes in an abandoned warehouse, when I was not working in the old folks home down the road. I had been asked to teach a few classes of drama at a local high school. The hours matched the hours my own children went to school so it was a good offer. I was a young thin tired solo mum. I had my head held just above the cold waters. I always wore black because it was easy to match when you got dressed in the dark and the thrift shops have lots of black.
This school would be known nowadays as a troubled school. These students were a trifle undisciplined. Well more than a trifle. Some kids slept in garages and cars or sold drugs for their Dads on the way to school because their Dads were in jail. They got drunk or watched dubious videos and TV or partied and roamed half the night, catching up on their sleep in class. Some kids had kind, desperately poor Mums. Or Dads without jobs who met them at the gate every day and walked them home in the rain. Some kids had no parent evident at all, sometimes they had aunts or grannies struggling to keep up. Sleeping here and sleeping there, mainly on couches or mattresses on the floor. Some seldom ate a cooked dinner. Some always did. Some bought lunch to school but ate it fast and privately before someone stole it off them. Some kids got beaten by their parents and some beat them straight back. I often had girls bring their babies to class, or leave entirely, unable to come to school because of the bruises they could never speak of. Some of the stories from this school would break your heart. But I shall not tell those stories. Walking into that room was like crossing a divide into another world.
From behind me I heard a scuffle and then both of the boys erupted back around a corner. I reopened the door and they hurled themselves back into the classroom. One dragging a vacuum cleaner with its wagging tail bouncing up the steps behind him. The other boy had a stolen fluorescent light bulb from an empty classroom. He was brandishing it above his head like an olympic flame, ducking to get through the door. And so we began. This particular class was a senior class so these boys and girls were between 17 and 19 years old. They were all sizes but all taller than I was. And very tough. Most of the boys were in the First 15 (rugby) that year. The girls were not to be trifled with. Altogether, there were about 30 of them. And this was just one class.
The other teachers took bets on how long I would last. This was told to me years later when I became a Dean. When I was offered the position of Head of the Faculty of the Arts a few years after that, they told me no-one bet on me lasting past 14 days. They were convinced that the kids would slay me. But I put on my highest heels every morning so I could look these kids and the teachers straight in the eye, and we worked hard. I threw out all the desks and lined the room with couches and comfy old chairs. And photographs of what they were doing. And bribed them with food. We did not sit down for long in drama. We needed space.
I got a reputation for being fearless, strict but fair, but that first year I was making it up as I went along. My classes were loud and organised. If you were late to class you had to sing a nursery rhyme. No-one got to fight when I was on duty during lunchtimes. I would march straight up to the boys or girls and scream as loudly as I could- NOT NOW. It was all about timing. I remember once walking straight into a fight that hadn’t really got underway, they were at the stage of feathering up and rising on their toes, eyeballing each other, chins pointing up, still fooling around. One of the boys stepped back and his elbow hit me in the face right below the eye. Now remember every fight has a ring of kids around it, and here I am in the middle of a circle of heaving, expectant students, in my heels, dressed in black, with wild hair, and this kid wacks me in the eye. I stumble and he turns ready to smack me again. Saw that it was me and was appalled. The look on his face. I will never forget it. He almost cried. The whole scene froze, both boys put their fists down and rushed to me. The fight instantly forgotton. One boy caught me as I reeled and everyone was like Oh Miss, oh Miss, we are sorry Miss , come here Miss, sit down. The girls taking over. Are you alright? Don’t tell, will you miss?! Don’t tell, he didn’t mean it!
Who was I going to tell? Myself? See they weren’t so bad.
The first year I decided to stage Antigone with the Seniors. It is a Greek Tragedy. I was never one for Greek Tragedies really, too many words, so I cut half the words out, (Sophocles would have understood) and wrote concise poetic bridging sections. The costuming would be cheap. Greeks just wore sheets didn’t they (did I mention that I had no budget during those first years) and I love the swirl of cloaks under lights on a stage. The rap that the kids listened to all day lent itself to the Ancient Rhythms and my students empathised with the glorious Greek madness. They completely understood people tipping off the edge, the swirl of fear and blood. Family, suicide, death, bodies and burials. Lost Mothers and murdered sisters. Everyone wanted a part. I loved that. I think everyone should take at least one turn across the stage. Applause is good for the soul. And applause was mandatory in my class. I would clap loudly -Woo hoo. Great fall. Clap, clap, clap! Are you alright?
I wrote a ton of extra parts, gave the speaking parts to the kids who would read, made the thugs spear carriers, some were very good spear carriers. Frightening actually. I roped in some younger students for some of the more physical parts, we erected two massive scaffolds on either side of the hall to delineate a stage space. And these kids were honestly magnificent. They poured through the doors. A rabble. A delicious hungry rabble.
There were rules. You cannot miss a rehearsal unless you are DEAD. If you have to babysit your sisters or brothers bring them AND their homework. If you are sick bring your blanket and tissues and STOP your moaning. If you are in hospital we will come and rehearse up there (and we did). If you have a problem with someone in this room you leave it outside the door. In fact any agro and the kid was instructed to pick the aggression up off the floor, lug it to the door and throw it out. All bad feeling – straight out the door and SLAM. If you miss rehearsals with no reason and no notice you lose your part. And anyway you can only miss a rehearsal if you are DEAD. Period.
Some of my old students will be reading this and having a chuckle about that! Here is my number call me, I said, if you do not have a ride I will pick you up. My own children had to come to the rehearsals as well, with their homework and sleeping bags, so I also bought the food. Food was very important. We were always hungry. And they worked. They worked very hard.
There were two boys who just could not get into the rhythm, they became a problem. They incited trouble and things went missing. One was quite a Big Boy, muscly, tall, he had a real presence and not in a good way. He was afraid, afraid to stand up, his fear made him dangerous. I went through each stage with them, trying to motivate them. But they lost interest and did not come back. Occasionally on the weekend they would sneak into the back of the hall if I forgot to lock the door, reeking of dope and beer, and watch. I let them sit. This was my mistake. I got so busy and being new to teaching I made an error and took my hand off them. My metaphorical hand. I should have kept them close and busy. But I had a huge cast who were working so hard and my own kids with their little white faces in that dark brown crowd. And I just took my hand off these two big boys. They stopped coming to class, then dropped out of school. They became night rumours.
Opening night came. I cannot tell you the energy in that room. We were all in the classroom getting ready. The noise was at fever pitch. I tatooed the spear carriers arms with a black vivid creating great swirling celtic sweeps. They had made their own spears in woodwork, some were beautifully carved. They wrapped themselves in the Pacific version of a toga that I had designed and painted. The cloaks, the sewing class had made, were twirled in the air. I had found a job-lot of black cotton and used it for most everything, we had painted the designs on the hems in gold and silver. Their waists were wrapped with borrowed golden ropes from the staff room curtains. Antigone and her sister in their white were startling. Antigones chains of familial loyalty on her wrists. Everyone had been draped with shiny new dog chain as bulky solid necklaces. The masks for the chorus ,the art students had made, were a triumph. I dumped out my make up bag and the girls drew big Cleopatra eyes. They were gorgeous.
New Zealand schools have classrooms dotted around gardens connected with outside corridors and verandahs. Even this poor school. So when we were ready and we had breathed and centred and hummed, and the word came that our audience was seated and overflowing, we silently streamed, giddy with excitement, down the darkened paths and dim outside corridors of the nighttime schoolgrounds. Without being seen our silent silhouettes paraded to the back of the hall, and funneled into a backstage created using black cotton curtains that lined the scaffold. I had taught them a kind of backstage sign language because we had no green room. They were completely silent. Everyone was within feet of the stage the whole performance. No room to move and no-one wanted to. Their eyes had the white of terrified horses, their faces glowing in the dark. Their teeth grinning. Remember, I had said: Have Fun. If you love what you do your audience will love you too. Be the best that you can be. Opening positions please, I signed. Counting them in with my fingers raised.
And as the music teacher began to draw song up from her students, quietening the audience. The lights came up, turning our little hall into a golden palace, lighting our opening players frozen in place, their costumes no longer black cotton but gleaming cloaks of quality. A sound behind me where there should have been no sound. The back stage door opened and two large dark shapes shoved in. They pushed straight through to the stage entrance and sat down on two of the back stage chairs. It was pitch black but I knew who they were and I felt the shuffle and fear of my other students as the Big Boy and his cohort sprawled out into the carefully choreographed darkness.
I waved my next players to me and we breathed together, focus I signed and with a touch – onto the stage they went. I had to put my face really close to the ears of the Big Boy. You cannot sit here, you are blocking my exits and entrances. They glared at me. Another student came up and whispered that they had all been ejected from the audience by another teacher. All? Where are the others. I whispered- His boys. I had heard about them. I swallowed. He motioned with his head, deadpan, lightening flashed on the stage. Low drums began. The rest of them were outside the door.
I stood back up, watching him and he sat and watched me back. Menace rolled off him. He tipped his head at his mate and the boy got up, pushing through the kids, leaving the back door to slam into the performance. I watched the Big Boy. I want to stay Miss, he said. He opened his hands on his knees. His eyes never left mine. He was out on a limb. He was vulnerable. We paused just the two of us. As I moved players onto and off the stage, adjusting costumes and retying hair, I tried to untangle the knot of this Big Boy. He waited. I nodded and bent close again. I want you to keep them out of here. I said. Can you do that? Will you do that for me? I pointed to the door, not a sound I signed. We watched each other a moment longer. He stood and went to the door. I raised my eyes at the light he was carelessly letting in. The door shut. Softly. Back he came. Sit there. I said to him. We have made a hole in the curtain. You can watch. I offered my hand, waiting. He took it, my small white hand, broken marriage rings flashing, enfolded completely into the shadow of his palm. Hot. He nodded. He sat at his peephole, quite still and watched the entire show, with my daughter laid under the scaffold beside him watching from her own peephole. He only watched one night then we did not see him again.
The play was a triumph. We played four nights. They bought the house down. The audience loved it. The heads of my students rose up to magnificent healing applause. My kids laughed and gave me flowers out on the stage on the last night. They threw a cloak over my black second hand wool dress and a special necklace of dog chains around my neck. Now we all matched. They were gleeful.
As we were walking back to the music room to change back into ordinary people, they were flying about in their cloaks, birds, sucking in the night and success . I heard a scuffle in the car park. Shouts and bangs, glass smashing. Grunts. Through the trees I saw the police were restraining a boy. They were being rough with him. He was trying to smash another car window as he screamed at them. They would hurt him. I called out. Hey, he is one of mine! What are you doing? Storming out of the dark I went running straight at the cops into the fight. I knew I could stop the kid my way. The cops were turning fast to meet me. Crouched. Not sure where I was.
My Big Boy came out of nowhere, reached out and caught me, his long arm around my waist, lifting my feet off the ground and pulling me back to the group. I was angry. He would not release me. They had all surrounded me. Don’t mess with the police Miss, he said. Face close. Sober. Watching me, his fury becoming worry. Waiting until I was still. They will hurt you too, Miss. Always run away when you see the police, Miss C. He said. I glared at him. We all stood. In tableaux. Waiting. We heard the doors slam on the police car and they pulled through the school parking lot. I turned to the Big Boy. Was that the one who came in with you the other night? He took a step back. Head down. Ae Miss. He stood in the dark, slightly apart from the others now, watching the police hit the tarmac and race off.
I want to see you at 8 in my classroom, Monday morning. In uniform. He turned back. Thought about it. Ae Miss. A small smile.
Now everyone there is cake in the drama room. Come. Change, and tidy everything away. I want 26 dog chain necklaces in my hands before we eat!
I will collect them for you? The Big Boy said. I tipped my head then nodded. Oh wait I called. They all froze, and turned, a giggle.
You, I said. Pointing my pen at him. The Big Boy, drew in his breath. No more picking up the teacher and carrying her around! They all shrieked. They became ravens and raced together through the darkness towards the pools of light at the door of the classroom.
I was engaged to work for three weeks and ended up staying 11 years. I founded and ran a hugely successful drama unit in that school. We continued to butcher and rewrite the Great Works then wrote, butchered and rewrote our own. We toured, won awards, became nationally recognised. My students were so good and so naughty. All grown now. In London, Sydney, Perth, Germany. All over. Some are reading bedtime Shakespeare to their babies and some working two jobs to make ends meet. Some are still living there in that dangerous suburb and studying when they can. Some are beauticians, some are designers, some write and some are in jail. You may have even seen a few of them in the movies and TV. I am very very proud of them.
Yes, yes I know what you are about to say. Just last week I would not even admit that autumn/fall was on its way, let alone begin to talk about winter. Now I am heralding the plummet, discussing sub zero temperatures, when only yesterday I was talking about a gypsy summer. What is she like. I can hear you say. Yes I heard that too!
Well, I am distracted. I am writing you a wee story and it is not ready. So I am popping this wee very important post in between. I will send your story into your little boxes tomorrow. It is another one of those little memories. It has been shuffling about in the front of my brain, peering down into my eyes, lifting my eyelids with its naughty little fingers and getting in the way of my REAL writing: that embryo Book. So out it must come. You may all thank yourselves that I have begun my true writing of The Book, at last. It is because of the constant washing in encouragement from my blog family that I have taken that shuddery breath and finally started the Real Work.
So today we are going to look at one of the best winter vegetables that you can grow at home when it is howling with winter outside. Winter makes me shudder. I am not built for the cold. Not the cold that we face out here on the plains anyway. In the winter I will be sending you photographs of Daisy with her eyelashes covered in sparkling ice. Blinking and clinking.
So to Beansprouts. We can all grow them. Just get a lid with holes in it. And a nice clean jar. Pour some organic dry sprouting beans into the bottom of the jar, usually I use the blue Ball Jars but the beans do not photograph as well through the blue! I love to eat Mung Beans but almost any seed will sprout, just ensure that they are specifically packaged as food. Cover with water and leave overnight. Drain.
I sit my jar on the kitchen bench with a TeaTowel draped over it. Rinse the beans two or three times a day, leaving them to drain upside down in between. No sitting them in standing water except for the first night.
You can start munching on them once they sprout. You choose how long you will let them grow. Then into the fridge. Beansprouts are live food so eat them soonest rather than latest. I usually have two jars going in succession. Once they have sprouted they really need to be consumed or refrigerated soon after.
Quite possibly the cleanest and best food you can eat. They go with everything. Massively better for you than dried seeds. High in Vitamins C, K and Folate. Plus Protein and of course fiber. On a personal note I would not buy sprouts in a supermarket. I grow them myself and store them in the refrigerator for up to three days. It is safer.
See you tomorrow!
My other favourite snacky food to keep in the fridge, when I am on my self imposed “Watch the Body”(as opposed to watch your weight) Celi Diet, is the coleslaw. Little bowls of this is so good to snack on and sometimes I think that I could live on muesli and coleslaw quite comfortably if other members of the household did not desperately need variety.
Coleslaw by its very nature is made from calm cool CLEAN food. All fresh and clean. And sits comfortably with the mantra:
We have lots of cabbages in the garden, lovely crinkly green ones and the king of cabbages: the Mighty Red Cabbage. You all know that cabbage is a super food. It is high in Vitamin C and Vitamin K which is the blood and bone vitamin. Cabbage is loaded with antioxidants (more than double in the red cabbage) and has fantastic detox properties. And there are these lovely rumours that it has fat burning abilities, probably all the .. um.. flatulence.
The bees are having the best time. Though there has been some robbing, I witnessed a grueling bee fight yesterday evening, as one hive of bees attempted to eject the thieves and vagabonds who were out on a pillaging mission from a neighbouring hive. I guess their honey is better!
Now you all have your own favourite coleslaw, I am sure. So I shall merely list the ingredients in todays. You will all know how much of what to put where. No carrots in this one this is the Celi Diet Version.
The dressing has been adapted from my mothers recipe. (I am thinking of calling Mums recipes The Retro Recipes, as they are all steeped in the sugary 70’s.)
Whisk cool oil into hot vinegar and pour over coleslaw while still warm, toss and serve when chilled.
We are still having the most gorgeous evenings and as the light is fading I have brought the candles out.
I took this shot yesterday because that Borage is such a good Do-er. It flowers early and just keeps on going. The lavender is starting to flower again too. The bees are having a blast with all of these flowers.
I am very lucky to have grass fed, grain free beef from my own paddocks in my own freezer. Grass fed beef is naturally lower in fat. GE/GM free. Carries up to 400 times more Vitamin A and E. It has two to four times more of that heart healthy Omega 3. It is disease and chemical free. What more could you ask for?
Today I made meatballs with a fresh tomato sauce, served on a bed of sauteed silverbeet. This entire meal is from the kitchensgarden and fields. So it is very fresh and the nutrients and especially Vitamin C are at their peak. To absorb the iron from the silverbeet and the beef you need to have some Vitamin C in your meal as well.
Chop finely in food processer
Meanwhile cut up and cook together with a little olive oil
One of the most important ingredients of the Celi Diet are the healthy nutrients. ‘Watching the Body’ food must be good happy food. A depressing food program will not help me fit my jeans. So firstly I take particular note of Omega 3. In many scientific studies Omega 3’s have been linked to a rise in the feel good factor. Pasture raised organic eggs are significantly higher in omega 3. I fried them in pure butter this morning. Two clean ingredients. In fact some radicals in the medical profession have gone so far as to say that instead of giving people drugs to stabilise their moods, maybe it would be better to feed the person in question good food that is high in Omega 3. Who knew!! So as well as being alarmingly good for you this muesli will make you smile too.
I have noted just a few of the vitamins and minerals in some of these nuts, seeds and fruits, just to remind myself how important this muesli is to my health. There are many more health benefits in these ingredients, the comprehensive lists are long. Also nuts have been indicated as a weight loss associate, so if you are caught short, a teaspoon of peanut butter will do just nicely as a snack. (John has it on a slice of apple, I eat it straight off the small spoon). Check your label though. Just Peanuts in the ingredient list. Pure peanut butter supplies a reasonable amount of folate and Vitamin E plus fibre.
When you are shopping for your fruits and nuts buy organic if at all possible and also check your label for added sugars and salts! These processed hidden sugars, sugar substitutes and salts are bad, bad. bad. This diet will not tolerate high fructose corn syrup.
Celi Diet: Muesli
In a large roasting pan sprinkle about 2 tablespoons olive oil then ADD
Then add 6 cups of nuts and seeds. Today I added:
Toss lightly in the oil.
Place in oven set at 250 degrees. Set your timer and stir it every ten minutes for about 40 minutes or until your mixture is lightly toasted. This is a slow process so use your timer.
When toasted raise temperature to 300 and add 5 cups of dried fruit and the honey. Today I added:
Stir and return to the oven, stir every 5 minutes from now on as the honey may make things stick. The mixture should get a bit clumpy. In fact sometimes I add more honey to encourage clumps. When the raisins are puffed and hot and happy looking you are done. (10 – 15 minutes) Don’t let those raisins burn. Take out of the oven and cool in the pan. Store in large jar.
Now, I am going to introduce you to the next important two components of the Celi Diet 1. Mini vessels. Eat this muesli in little ramekins. Chew slowly and thoroughly. Sometimes your tummy needs time to tell you it is done. This is very filling. You will only need a tiny serving.
2. Always have a glass of water before you start your meal. If I am hungry between my little meals I drink bubbly water. Seventy-five percent of Americans are chronically dehydrated and this often feels like hunger. Also dehydration creates apathy and leads to depression. Too many people get miserable while adjusting their body-weight. So use water as a dieting and feel-good tool. And if you get desperate for something sweet, brush your teeth.
I eat the muesli twice a day in a beautiful tiny bowl with unsweetened greek yoghurt, or pure milk. I eat using a tiny spoon. I do not serve with processed milks at this point. (Remember those hidden sugars and salts). For the people who do not drink cows milk I give them a spoon and tell them to eat it as a dry snack. It is just as good that way too! Remember eat slowly!
I know dieting is a bad word. I know that we say to ourselves- I should be able to eat what I like. I am allowed to enjoy myself. Being overweight is not a bad thing. But you have to qualify what is overweight. You see I believe in being my natural weight. And my natural weight does not do well without attention. We need to tend to our bodies. Maintain our health. And this should NOT be a dirty word. We look after our dogs and make sure they have plenty of exercise and do not get too fat!
I know this is a taboo subject. I have an inner battle over this page and it sounds a bit like this. (Hey did you check out my breakfast.. sshh)
-She said the fat word she said the fat word!
-I am your conscience I can say whatever i like.
-Really? Is that in the rules I can’t remember reading that.
-And you are always going on about living a sustainable lifestyle. And just going out and buying another pair of cheap jeans that are made offshore just because you are too fat to fit your good ones is not responsible living! A responsible sustainable lifestyle means wearing your clothes until they wear out then repurposing them. Turn them into rags or ties for apple trees. Instead of leaving them to clutter up the trouser shelves and running out to buy another pair, not to mention supporting the off shore sweat shops. You have to wear that pair of jeans until it is ready for the rag bag. No throwing them away because you are too fat to wear them.
-I know but…
-Well, what if..
-No ifs and buts (i don’ t believe you made me say that!)
-I just want to be able to fit my favourite clothes.
-Well you need to get back to your natural weight.
-What if this is my natural weight.
-You have been having too many cold beers after work on the verandah and eating crostini or toast at practically every meal and what about those fried breakfasts. And your portions are bigger than ever. No more seconds. And I shudder to think of it – The fried chicken from the little place down the road. What about some fruit for goodness sake. Your jeans are so tight you have to lie on the floor to zip them up!
-I like fruit
-But you don’t eat it unless it is in pastry!
-Don’t tell people that. They think I am a healthy eater. I eat organic stuff, I grow my own veges. I grow my own grass fed meat. Anyway there is fruit in my wine.
-And then you fry them
-You can fry wine?
-No, the vegetables, you fry them.
-Well technically potatoes are not a vegetable.
-I rest my case. So are you going to that wedding or not?
-You know perfectly well what wedding, your brother in laws wedding. Do you want to be the fattie at their wedding?
-Well there might be other fatties at the wedding, we could start a club.
-Are you paying attention? You are going on the Celi Diet.
-Can I whine?
-No you can’t.
-Oh, well OK then.
– And no more just sauntering around the fences with the dogs and calling it a walk ! From now On walk a MILES, twice a day, fast.
-But what about my writing? I am writing a book. I don’t have time.
-Get up earlier.
-But it might be cold.
-And get those weights out from under the desk.
-There are weights under my desk?
-While you are waiting for the computer to load, instead of staring dumbly at a blank screen you can do some weight work. Make your muscles work with low impact reps.
-What do you know about reps?
-Do I have to repeat myself?
-I thought you were leaving.
SO apparently I need to have a wee tone up of the body. SO go back on the Celi Diet for a little while. But you know there is NO POINT in dieting. For your body to reach its natural weight and stay there we must tweak my eating and my exercise, and then create a life style that works for me and stick with it. (sigh) If I cannot control my own body what can I control? (such a bore)
I will tell you about the Celi Diet.
No processed food ever. If I cannot recognise it, I should not eat it. And reduce my portions to the size my fist. Eat little bits often. Drink PILES of water. Brush teeth three times a day. (No-one likes to eat with clean toothpasty teeth)
For the first 14 days I will do the Celi Diet. It is hard but after the first 14 days we go onto the Celi Body Maintenance Program (CBMP). But first The Celi Diet:
See, I told you that you would hate it but it does work. I have helped many people do it and it does work. So in preparation gather all the Dirty Temptation Food, like crisps, nachos, and crackers, cheetos, store bought cookies, frozen pizzas – throw them out! Get them out of your kitchen. Purge the Pantry. Only Clean Food may remain. This is only for 14 days, the body maintenance program is much more fun but I need to get a head start using the Celi Diet. And if the bad stuff is in there I will smell it out! So hide it from me.
Temptation is a terrible thing and I am addicted to bacon butties. The only way to overcome the addiction is to remove the bread from the house. Feed it all to the chickens. And the toaster. Out with the toaster! Flour is glue. It must be used sparingly. Given half a chance I will eat bread for every snack and at mealtimes. Fine if it is only a slice but not me. I eat until I cannot eat anymore.
-I am afraid potatoes are the same. They aren’t even a vegetable. Off with their heads!
-I heard that!
So I will eat little bits, often. This works for me. I remind myself that hunger is sometimes plain old greed and lack of discipline. Off with its head.
Snacks: seeds, nuts, cheeses, fresh fruit, dried fruit, cold meats, parmesan crackers.
Drinks: water, tea, coffee, dry champagne, or wine (well it is the Celi Diet!) but only 2 glasses! No diet drinks I am afraid that fake sugar is worse than real sugar. No diet products at all, they are all processed. No processed food!
All Celi Diet Food is very simple. So for the next fourteen days all the food you will see on my pages will be Celi Diet food. And plenty of what you all cook fits so nicely into my Diet that I will be trolling your pages for ideas too.
If you want to join me, do the doc check, and jump in. Don’t say I am watching my weight say I’m watching my Body! Remember it is OK to be responsible about our bodies. Don’t let people get you down.
OK I am off to stock the cupboard with Celi Diet food. Actually it is quite a tasty diet. Tomorrow we will make the muesli.
No weighing. It is all about wearing the favourite jeans remember. Once my clothes fit comfortably and I have the body size that i am happy with, then onto maintenance. But in the meantime!
Look I am getting smaller already
DAISY IS PREGNANT
If all goes well, fingers crossed, touch wood and without walking under any ladders or having any black cats walk in front of anything and with some luck and good management she will be having her calf late May.
May is a super time to have a calf as it will be warm, not too many nasty bugs, she can calve on the grass which is so much more hygenic than being huddled in a dark barn with storms raging outside and the mess of birth just everywhere. And if assisting Mama sheep have her quads last March is anything to go by, it is a messy business indeed. Plus she will be eating good grass and good grass makes the best healthiest creamiest milk.
So in May 2012 I will start milking. Then we will have our own raw milk and make all those lovely milky products. Now I know you are all going to be looking forward to that performance because I have NEVER MILKED a cow by myself before. But getting a house cow is central to my plan for feeding the sustainable crew. Milk will tie our cycle of food in a little tighter. The milk will be a good food for the pigs, cats and dogs will drink it, it will feed calves and baby animals, the chickens have the yoghurt and custard and the milk will supply all the butter and soft or hard cheeses for the homes. Plus raw milk sprayed onto pasture is another super fertiliser as it wakes up all those microorganisms that have been laid to waste with industrial farming. And did you know you can make vodka from whey, John is investigating. Here is the new wine working merrily in the snug.
If they don’t close my post office then more chickens will be delivered soon. They come in the mail you know. Oh, and they deliver bees in the mail too. John once came home from work and found a tiny box with a very bossy queen bee and her five attendants sitting waiting patiently in the mail box at the end of the drive. I know that the Post Office closures will affect us out here in the country but I have my fingers crossed that our Post Office stays open. It is so short sighted to let any of them close.
When I first started raising bees I ordered three pounds of bees from an apiary about 100 miles from here and for some reason the Mail God sent them to a big Post Office in a big city. A man called me and said he had the bees. As it was a Saturday, did I want to come and get them myself so that they did end up sitting in a little Post Office all weekend.
When it was our turn at the counter, I said to the little man. Hi, I have come to pick up some bees.
Bees, said the little man.
Yes, I looked at his name badge, um Warren. Evidently you have a package of live bees here for me. I put on my most dazzling smile, that usually speeds things up.
He gaped at me as though a cat had walked into his Post office and begun to speak in Greek. A pause. Name? He said, returning to the safety of his keyboard. I told him, making sure to speak loudly and clearly. Maybe he was a little deaf.
He misunderstood me, as they all do (you will remember that I am a foreigner out here, in fact I think I am the only foreigner out here), so I gently corrected him, and told him my name again. Then with my smile still brightly attached to my face, I carefully spelt it for him.
And you are collecting bees? He said.
Yes, a package of live bees. I got a call that they were here.
You got a call? They said that the bees were here?
My fixed smile slipped into a grimace trying to be a fixed smile. He squinted at his screen. Tapping at keys. At this point Our John began to Loom over my shoulder. People began to shuffle in the line behind me.
So what are you going to be doing with these bees? He said.
Make honey I hope, I said. I’m sorry, but am I confusing you? Am I in the right place?
Oh No. He said. I mean Yes. With a sheepish smile. I just love your accent and wanted to keep you talking. My smile closed then moved to my eyes, I cocked my head slightly. How annoying but sweet.
At this point Our John did that shoulder and neck stretch that men do and the Little Warren realised that there was a really big bloke in Full Loom right at my shoulder. John grunted. The man rose onto the balls of his feet, opened his mouth, thought better of it and turned and raced out and into the mysterious regions of The Back.
The people in the rapidly growing queue went into mutter and extended shuffle mode.
Warren returned quite smartly with a wooden box held at the end of his fully extended arms. A little bit of theatre. He placed it very carefully on the counter. We all looked at it. It was about as big as a shoe box for work boots, up on its side and had netting on both sides. Inside was a swarm. A very annoyed swarm of bees. Hungry bees. Three pounds of bees. They were tightly bunched into a large ball inside the box, every leg and wired head moving and wriggling. The box was alive with movement and sound. The entire post office went very quiet.
I lifted the box and turned from the counter to find the entire queue had silently dispersed into groups and flattened themselves against the walls. Mothers holding their children. Ladies clutching their purses. Men attempting to appear nonchalant while pulling down their sleeves and checking out the exits. That lid looks loose John said, careful they don’t get out. Our audience attempted to step further back into the wall. John leaned over and tapped innocently on the box, how ya doin in there? About nine thousand bees turned and glared at him then raised their buzz a decibel. Two men broke ranks and swooped for the doors so we could see our unimpeded exit. You would think that I had a wild rattle snake on the end of a shovel. I turned and thanked the man in my sweetest NZ accent, and serenely, in full procession, we walked between the shrinking people. I smiled and nodded like the queen mother and exited through the two sets of double doors held open by our friendly doormen.
Oh and my good camera is back in action. This is the sunrise this morning. So it is time to go and feed the animals. I shall pass on your regards to the naughtiest Pregnant Cow in the world.