Slow Sunday letter, fall asleep story & a recipe

Purple potato fish cakes with lemony fennel purée

This was the early morning sunrise on the little piece of the planet where I live when I got up, nature is amazing. You can see the firework trees.

Yesterday I woke to bin lids sparkling white, and slippery roof slopes glistening in early morning Saturday sunshine.

I saw two foxes this week, scuttling into the pavement and merging into the darkness on wet nights, when the air was crisp and cold, but lights in neighbours windows shared cosiness and snug times. The tree out front stood tall, full of branches swaying in the air. Lights in the distance twinkled through, from distant windows warmly lit up; pots of gold, rich and beautiful.

I have come to love this time of year, now that I focus on the beauty and acknowledge my body wants to hibernate or, ever so slowly, saunter round to a friends for warm food and cheer. Other times it’s nice to be at home with lots of warm mugs of something nice, curled up on the sofa with a book. And in those precious moments, I refuse to dwell on worries. Instead I coax my mind to be, still. Recognise what is good. Drink in the things that nourish my senses.

And, I settle like that, just letting a deep silence enter my bones. I hope, if this is what your tired being needs, that you have some moments like that too. I’d love to hear about them, perhaps you will write them in the comments and we can create a Mexican wave for everyone, with joy dots that light up our positive neural networks, helping brains to manage stress.

Right now, the sky has changed to deep silver and white, those firework trees are blowing as the wind gets up; a storm beckons. It’s cosy inside looking out and, also when you’re in it but know you can get warm and dry later.

When my kids were young I would wrap us all up, pick up the football and take us out to any green space. We’d get soaked and soggy, tired and muddy then come home to, sometimes, a warm flat. Once when it was a cold winter and snowing, when Harvey and Rowan were really tiny, we woke up in bed with snow coming in through one of the top windows that didn’t shut properly. I remember thinking how funny it was, to feel snow falling on my face while I lay in a warm bed with two human hot water bottles. It didn’t bother me at all because it was never in my mind that it would always be like that. And, it wasn’t.

And, those windows were fantastic, huge, with incredible sky scenes on the other side. Now, I have windows that are also big, and also with incredible sky scenes on the other side. The good things followed me. And, those human hot water bottles, they turned into grown men, still full of warmth.

Joy dots

Snowy scenes

Scrunching in the snow

Clouds moving in the sky

Firework trees blowing

One bird swooping

Music

Mugs of something warm

Warm hearts

Purple potatoes

Here’s a picture of my homegrown purple potatoes. I invested in some Purple Rain seed potatoes last year, and now I have got them to enjoy forever. I used them in the following recipe.

Recipe

Purple potato fish cakes with lemony puréed fennel

This was a really lovely combination. I made mash with the potatoes, lots of cream and butter. While the potatoes were cooking I popped a wild salmon fillet in the oven in parchment paper, and chopped up half a fennel bulb, cooking this with butter, and little water. When soft I puréed with lemon zest and seasoned with salt. The salmon I flaked and mixed with the mash, some chilli, salt, lime and freshly chopped herbs, then shaped Into fish cakes, coated with flour and sautéd in butter. Simple but very lovely mix of textures and tasty.

Catch up

In the background I am creating a website for my work, planning out the 21-Day Ayurvedic Challenge book that I will be sharing as I write it for my paying subscribers, piloting the 21-Day Ayurvedic Challenge programme and, I have met someone who is going to show me how to record using my software. And so come March, lots should be happening. As for the 21-Day pilot, a few of you got in touch with me to say you would like to take part, but one of you—a friend—said the substack email didn’t work for her. So, if you wanted to take part, and haven’t heard from me, you can email me at peacefulbelly@icloud.com

Fall asleep story

Here is the beginning of another episode of a fall asleep story I’ve been writing. The first instalment of the first episode is here. This one is for kids but any adult with a stressed brain will benefit once I’ve recorded them. I’m writing these as little snippets, eventually to be recorded to help stressed minds unravel and slip into a lovely sleep—that shouldn’t be so far away now. At the moment I only have a day a week for my health coaching work and writing. I deliver trainings the rest of the week, but in five years I retire and so I am, ever so slowly, creating the next step—this substack and my health coaching work.

Snowy times

As the snow started to fall, Sam watched from his window as huge soft flakes fell, ever so slowly and ever so gently, until the ground was covered in white. He padded his little feet across the floor of the kitchen where his mum was making something, pulled on his coat, popped on his boots and slipped his hands into gloves, then stepped out into the garden of white.

Those little booted feet were the first to meet the gardens snow, and he scrunched them all the way over to the wall. Little gloved hands reached up and found the top of the wall, with one big heave he was sitting on top of it. There he sat watching next doors pond, covered in ice. High above in the sky snow clouds flurried, emptying their contents in great gusts, and the wind blew them everywhere. The whole world seemed blanketed, cocooned, in silent, soft, smudges of white. And, on the tip of Sam’s nose, was one single snowflake.

Sam got back down from the wall and scrunched his booted feet some more across the untrodden white banks of snow, that were building around the garden. His mum was calling him in, saying it was time for bed, and so he threw himself into one of the banks of snow, lay on his back and stared at the sky.

He could see a clearing in the clouds, with a half moon shining through, and one star. It was lovely lying there. Sam could feel the whole world had stopped being busy, and he didn’t mind that it was bedtime. Sam got up and walked towards the back door where his mum stood calling.

Soon he was inside, boots off, coat hung up, and a warm mug of milk in his hand, as he looked out of the kitchen window cosy and warm inside, as huge, soft snowflakes fell, ever so gently, onto the wall he had climbed. Sam new that it wouldn’t be long until he would be fast asleep in bed, but perhaps, just before, he will lookout of his bedroom window at all the little windows across the town where he lived, where other people were also making there way to bed, ever so slowly.

Photo by Hschmider—pixabay

Wishing you the warmest,

Lucy x