We used to measure it in minutes and then hours.
We counted the days, the weeks and then the months since you’ve been gone.
Now we count the years.
Two years to be exact.
They say that the passing of time gives you distance, but thoughts of you are never far away.
Time may heal, but we’ll never forget.
Never forget those few precious moments we had with you, and they are just moments.
Too brief, the time we got to share with you.
The days seem long now, although they are still the same amount of time.
Those brief minutes when we thought you’d be with us forever seem so much shorter now, compared to the time without you in it.
Now you are in eternity, but you are never far from our hearts.
Time does not equal distance.
You will always be with us, no matter how much time passes.
Hearts and minds, thoughts and love.
You still reside with us and always will.
It doesn’t stop us missing you.
Time does not equal distance.
It’s been a while since I blogged a new recipe…what can I say? Life’s been busy, I’ve barely been cooking for my own family let alone for a blog 😃 But my life has changed dramatically in the past month and I’m finding a whole lot more spare time which means I’ve been able to get reacquainted with my love of cooking.
I’ve been craving fish cakes…strange I know, but it’s true. So I went looking for a decent recipe to jump off from. All of the recipes I found contained potato and being a Type II diabetic means that I tend to avoid potatoes due to their high GI factor. I considered trying to modify a recipe so that it didn’t have potato in it, but then I remembered reading about a low GI potato.
The Carisma Potato is available from Coles Supermarkets in Australia and has a glycemic index of 53 which is similar to pasta, quinoa and porridge and is a much better choice than a regular potato (which has a glycemic index of 77). So I decided to give them a go.
If you don’t have access to Carisma potatoes, you can substitute for regular potatoes.
415g canned salmon
500gm potato, peeled and quartered
50gm Danish feta
1 cup frozen peas
2 tbls chopped fresh chives
2 tbls chopped fresh parsley
1 tbls chopped fresh dill
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
Salt & pepper
2 eggs, beaten
Panko bread crumbs
Sunflower Oil for frying
1/2 cup sour cream
2 tbls Aioli
1 tbls chopped fresh chives
1 tbls chopped fresh parsley
1/2 tbls chopped fresh dill
1. Boil potatoes in salted water until tender. Drain and allow to cool.
2. Drain salmon and pour into a large bowl. Using a fork, flake salmon to remove lumps.
3. Add herbs, zest, juice, peas and feta. Season with salt and pepper and stir well to combine, ensuring feta is distributed evenly.
4. Mash cooled potatoes and add to salmon mix, combining well.
5. Form handfuls of mixture into patties and place on a tray. Cover and refrigerate 15 mins.
6. Dip patties in beaten egg and then coat with breadcrumbs. Refrigerate 15 mins or until ready to cook.
7. Heat oil in a frypan and cook patties until golden brown, turning once.
8. Serve with fresh salad and herbed cream.
1. Combine all ingredients and refrigerate until required.
*Also posted on Freshbaked
This week marks the end of a seven year journey that my husband and I have been on. On Friday of this week, we will be closing down our business, a business that we have poured our blood, sweat and tears into. We didn’t come to this decision lightly. Closing our business effects more than just us, it effects our kids, our staff, our suppliers and our customers. We held on for as long as we could, but the fact is, we just couldn’t do it anymore.
The last two years of our lives has been harrowing. If you’ve been reading my blog, then you know that I have been suffering from anxiety, depression and grief. These take a toll on a person, physically and mentally. I had a breakdown a few weeks ago and was housebound for two weeks and I walked a very fine line between giving in to it and fighting back.
Fighting is hard and I’m tired. There were only three things that kept me from giving up; my husband and my two children. They kept me tethered to this world when all I wanted to do was disappear into the ether. I can’t see beyond the bleakness that consumes me, but they can, and I hold onto them in the hopes that their belief in a brighter future is what will get me through.
There are so many negative emotions associated with closing a business and for someone like me, who has way too many negative emotions to start with, dealing with this failure is like stepping on a landmine. My whole world is about to explode and I don’t know what will be left in the aftermath.
One of the hardest things to cope with is the fact that I know that I am about to become fodder for gossip. I have lived my entire life feeling the judgement of others, never measuring up to what those around me thought I should be and now I am proving them all right. The fact that these people, so-called friends and family, will look at us and judge us and then use our story to titillate the ears of others, hurts, but what can you do? People love a tragedy and my life has become very like a Shakespearean tragedy.
Nobody ever goes into business thinking they will fail. This was not our first business, not the first time we failed, but this is probably the hardest. We survived for seven years, sure we made some mistakes along the way, but seven years is a pretty good batting average for a small business. I know that we’ve done everything we can and now it is time to let go. It’s the letting go that is the hardest.
How do you let go of something that you have lived and breathed for seven years? How do you get up in the morning knowing that there is nowhere to go, not even a reason to wake up? They tell me that my stress levels will go down and my health will improve. They give me reasons why this is a good thing, why this is a positive move, why I will be better off when everything is finalised. I want to believe them, but right now, I can barely see the world beyond Friday.
I don’t want this to be the end of my story, and I suppose that is a good thing. It means that I, at least, have a tiny ray of hope that I can go on. I want to rise from the ashes, like a phoenix. The legend of the phoenix states that the bird that rises from the ashes is more beautiful than the one before. I want that. I want to be able to rise out of this mess and be better, stronger, happier, healthier. Isn’t that what is meant by failing forward?
Maybe in a month’s time I will look back and know that, although it was hard, we did the absolute right thing. Maybe I won’t even recognise myself as the same woman who sat here and penned these words. Maybe I will have found a new dream.
Or maybe it will take longer than a month. The point is that it is in the rising after a fall that determines the future. I may not feel the strength to rise right now, but I know I will. One day. One day in the future I will feel strong enough to lift my head and look to the horizon and dream of what the future holds.
I look forward to that day.
I’ve been learning a lot about success and failure over the last few months. It hasn’t been an easy journey and it has revealed a lot about myself.
One of the most important things I’ve learned is that success and failure have no bearing on MY value.
Success doesn’t add to my value. It doesn’t make me a better person, it doesn’t make me a good person.
Failure doesn’t DE-VALUE me either. Failing doesn’t mean I’m a bad person, it doesn’t mean I am worth less than another person.
It is okay to fail.
Let me say that again.
IT IS OKAY TO FAIL
When we realise it is okay to fail, it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. I’m not saying it makes it easy, I’m just saying that maybe it makes it more bearable.
And when you give yourself permission to fail, you give yourself permission to get up and try again.
Ever have one of those days when everything seems to be slipping out of your fingertips?
Ever looked in the mirror and not recognised the person looking back at you?
Sometimes that can be a good thing. If you’ve been dieting or exercising and then one day you look at yourself and you see those changes that you’ve been striving for.
But sometimes it’s as scary as hell.
In the last twelve days I’ve only left my house four times. I haven’t been able to work, I can’t go to the shops, I can’t drive or go to the gym. I can barely get out of bed.
Am I sick? No, I’m fine.
Okay, not so fine. But I’m not sick, I don’t have an injury or an ailment. Twelve days ago I had one of the worst anxiety attacks that I’ve had in two years, and now everything has changed.
I’m not a stranger to anxiety or depression, I’ve lived with it most of my life, but two years ago something happened to exacerbate it to the point that I could no longer ignore it, could no longer sweep it under the rug and pretend it wasn’t there. So I started seeing a psychologist and things were getting better…good even.
And then twelve days ago happened.
Just thinking about it brings the symptoms back. Since that day I’ve had numerous smaller attacks and just the thought of leaving my house is enough to bring one on.
I used to joke that I could quite happily become a hermit, now that it’s a possibility, it’s not so funny anymore. The fact that I welcome it is even more of a worry.
Being a shut-in is appealing. Never having to leave my house, not having to face the world outside, it sounds like paradise. Maybe that’s just the anxiety talking, or the introvert, either way, I like the sound of it.
I’m not saying I want to be that way forever…just for, you know, a while…just until I feel better…just until the anxiety isn’t so bad…just until…
That’s how it starts. Little by little it creeps into your life and before you know it, even if you want to go outside, you can’t. I can see the future of my life if I give in to this need to withdraw from my life. But it doesn’t make it any easier to face it. And forcing me to go outside brings on an attack that is likely to set me back yet again.
When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognise this person I’ve become. I always thought of myself as someone who was strong on the inside. Now the woman I see in the mirror is weak and I don’t like her, I don’t want to be her.
When did this happen? Surely I haven’t become this person in just twelve days? No. This has been a long time coming. Every time I told myself I was fine when I wasn’t. Every time I told someone else I was fine when I wasn’t. Every time I gave in to the fear and the anxiety, every time I withdrew, every time I kept silent. Little by little those small, seemingly inconsequential compromises changed me, changed who I thought I was.
Now I’m someone who can’t leave my house.
But I’m fine, really.