Food

Harvesting Wild Blackberries

One of the better things about returning to the countryside, as the Ninja Turtle has found, is that time slows down enough for one to think differently. Sure, the city life in Lyon offered the duo plenty of exciting activities year-round, and one is constantly engaged, amused, stimulated… but perhaps that was the problem. It was very hard to disconnect, pull back and simply have some time for oneself.

In the quiet and calm of the campagne, far away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds and the commerce, the Ninja Turtle becomes much more pensive. And in her reflections, she begins to feel an immense sense of gratitude, despite her malady. There is, after all, a lot to be grateful for, despite everything.

Grateful for each moment she is alive.
Grateful for each person who’s come into her life.
Grateful for each experience that brings joy, or a lesson.
Grateful for each emotion and every new sensation.
Grateful for the hurt, the sorrow and the pain
Grateful that despite that, she still has much to gain.
Grateful for the kindness from strangers she receives
Grateful for the love friends and family give.
Grateful for existing in this messy world
Where life can sometimes be incomprehensible
Grateful for just being here today
Grateful for tomorrow, come what may.

There is so much richness in life, when one chooses to receive. The Ninja Turtle, in her leisurely strolls along the country road, recently chanced across wild blackberries growing in abundance, free for the picking and ripening at a deliciously alarming pace.

When GodzillaPin returned from his cycling trip a couple of days ago, the Ninja Turtle could not wait to bring him blackberry harvesting. OK, fine, she’ll admit it. After spending 2 hours harvesting blackberries alone the first time, and having the unfortunate experience of falling into the blackberry bramble (an experience which she will never wish upon anyone) when trying to reach for the higher branches, she knew she needed a helping hand from someone less vertically-challenged than herself.

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Enter GodzillaPin, 6’1.

Of course when the Ninja Turtle first proposed blackberry harvesting, GodzillaPin thought it was going to be a breeze. Little did he realise that battling the blackberry bush thorns and the stinging nettles that grow alongside, this was less of a leisurely pastime, and more of an extreme sport.

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After about an hour, the duo decided that they’d had enough (enough of being pricked, and enough blackberries to last a few days), so they hurried home excitedly to taste the fruits of their labour.

The Ninja Turtle had recently made a rich chocolate and beer streusel cake, and the acidity of the blackberries married well with the sweet dessert. They also tried the blackberries in a soy yogurt and fruit salad parfait.

They say that on the road to recovery from eating disorders, there are good days and bad days. That was a good day for the Ninja Turtle, and for that, she is grateful.

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Arts and Culture, Travel

The Search

O lonesome voyager, you are so very far from home
You’ve seen many faces, but still you walk alone
Each day your path unfolds in directions quite unknown
Leading you to everywhere, it seems, except back home

Your rucksack carries little yet your weary shoulders sag
Forever burdened by your thoughts, from all that you’ve seen
Or worse! thing that you’ve heard, of places you’ve not yet been
The weight of faint hope and dashed dreams can’t fit in your bag

Know what it is you truly seek? O lonesome voyager
Some vague definition – a roughly-shaped idea
A glimmer of an outline to your indescribable desire
Without a clue to what drives you, you’re condemned to aimless wander

Pose your belongings for a while, sit and have a rest
Let the stillness engulf you, as time melts and slips by
In this silence your heart speaks – to you it will not lie
So trust the little voice inside, for it truly knows what’s best

O lonesome voyager, though you be far from home
As you journey onward, know that you’re not alone
Your guardian angels keep watch and the North Star it has shone
And when you’ve found that which you seek, the winds shall blow you home.

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Arts and Culture, Running

A Tribute to Vaco

When I first arrived, you jumped upon me
Knocked me over, and licked me with glee
Back then, the French tongue, I could not comprehend
But you showed me with no words that we’re to be friends

Your eyes were huge, your heart was bigger
You always wanted to share my dinner
But never mind if I gave you no food
It never destroyed your joyful mood

You taught yourself to open doors
Despite your only having paws
And knew when bedtime rolled around
You’d nuzzle us, then head underground*

When I first started running years ago
Unfit as I was, the going was slow
As I slogged through valleys resembling canyons
You came along as a faithful companion

Until your joints gave out one fine day
No more runs, but you still loved to play
Sure, age was slowing catching up
But deep down inside, you were still a pup

Who roamed the street we lived on, free
Strutting between number 2 and 3
To check on Grandpa and Grandma Rabbit
Your loyalty was a daily habit^

You were doing fine, but all of a sudden,
We got the news: you went to doggie heaven
I didn’t even get to say “Farewell,
I love you, good doggie, you were swell”

Goodbye dear Vaco, you’re one of a kind
You’re loved by those you’ve left behind
Though you most sadly did depart
You’ll forever live on in our hearts.

*For many years the dog’s bed was in the basement, where it was cooler and more comfortable. He’d jump up on his hind legs, open the door and descend the flight of stairs when he decided it was bedtime, but never before wishing us goodnight by licking a hand or nuzzling against us.

^Grandpa and Grandma Rabbit live about 100m down the road from GodzillaPin’s parents’. The dog would once again, open the front door and let himself out, cross the road carefully and trot down the pavement to make sure the old folks are OK. Every single day. That dog had more filial piety than most human beings.

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Arts and Culture, Running, Travel

Running Along the Thread of Time

My shadow and I went for a run today
I said “Christopher, come out, let’s play!
It’s been too long since you last ran
You look quite tubby in fact, my man!”
Christopher nodded, so off we went
To tackle the first of many ascents
He broke no sweat, and kept up with ease
While my breath was visible as I wheezed

A silent world on a Saturday dawn
The sun kissed us as a new day is born
While the earth lay dormant, gefroren und weiß^
Encrusted in a shell of sparkling ice
Lone witnesses to such glorious beauty
Our hearts sang in silent harmony
Our feet shuffling to a joyful dance
Through a lost village in a corner of France

The winding road rose up to meet us
We tackled each hill with minimal fuss
Passing the ghosts of Quatorze-Dix-Huit*
Des cimetières, monuments et villages détruits **
How much of our lives we owe to the fallen
In this hour of peace, may they not be forgotten
We bowed our heads in respect as we passed
These little reminders – dead hands of the past

Four hours and forty minutes later
26 miles, we’d also run out of water
I was cramping badly in both my thighs
While the sun had vanished in the skies
The headwinds reached 50kph
A windstorm was slowly starting to rage
Christopher’d vanished, I was now alone
To make the final stretch back home

So I did the sane and responsible thing
I gave my better half a ring
“Come pick me up!” I shouted into the phone
While all around, the angry wind moaned
That night in bed, all stiff and sore
I thought of my shadow, I thought of war
I thought how I’m so undeservingly lucky
To have been born in the 21st century.

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Montfaucon d’Argonne, in the footsteps of the fallen of 1914.

^ frozen and white
* WWI (also known as The Great War, or 1914-1918)
** the cemeteries, monuments, and destroyed villages

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Arts and Culture, Running

Why Do You Run?

When the thermostat falls below zero,

And the world is blanketed in ice and snow

What reasons do you have to lace up for a run?

I run to embrace the hardships and the beauty of Life

The fresh air that both stings and elicits tears of joy

The movement that jars the joints but loosens the spirit.

I run to marvel a world so vast, so different, so wild

I, who was born in a warm cradle of the tropics

I now flow through a landscape locked in ice.

I run to see the world, and to look inwards

To tackle a daunting distance, I still the mind –

The road. The cold. The pain. Me. We co-exist.

I run to seek the Truth, whatever it may be

Today I uncovered the ugliness of my soul

The excuses I too quickly and willingly make

So I ran to surmount my fear of discomfort

I  surrender myself, vulnerable, to the harsh exposure

And survived. Today, I learnt how strong my mind is.

I run for I no longer fear the darkness or the sun

Neither the humid heat nor the February frost

I am a child of the elements

The wind, the snow, and the cold

Whispered in silvery voices, calling me

To return home, to return to the Truth.

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Arts and Culture, Running

Ode to Running

Feet and metres, laps and miles
A weary shuffle but a happy smile
It matters not how fast or slow
So long as I just GO! GO! GO!
The others may be bullet trains
Shooting past me at speeds insane
Yet some others, cargo freights
Who may be envying my own gait
Cheetahs, gazelles, sloths or snails
Small as mites or big as whales
If you run, you can relate
A mile’s a mile, there’s no debate
Each step we take’s a victory
Of the mind over the body
For nothing in this world shall last
Not even the pain of going fast
So each day brings another chance
To execute our peculiar dance
My friends, today, let us go farther
Just put one foot in front of the other.

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Arts and Culture

Autumn

Autumn, you treacherous beauty
You murmur sweet promises
Of piercing sunlight and gentle drizzles
In an eternity of late afternoons
Of bountiful harvests and family feasts
With honey and sweetmeats and wine and spice
Of a masterpiece, a colour explosion
As flowers fade, the silent leaves bloom

Rich. And deep. And luscious.
Seductive.
Deceptive.

Summer’s not left and you’ve stolen her spotlight
The monsoons arrive while the leaves are yet green
Daylight truncated by cloud-covered evenings
By night, your fangs of ice sink into sunburnt skin
No scenes of lovers strolling through leaf-strewn paths
No comfort shared by the hearth over brandy and fire
No smoke from the chimneys but our skies are now grey
No, Autumn, begone. You owe us one last summer day.

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