Achilles

Months of pain and difficulty walking have finally been diagnosed. An old Achilles injury has weakened my leg, scoliosis has shortened it and rickets as a baby due to an inability to absorb calcium has bowed my leg to such an extent I have one flat foot and one reasonably normal. This is an expensive journey, one which I have explored with a variety of people none of whom has come up with a valid diagnosis. New orthotics should provide some relief, hopefully.

Much of the rest of the afternoon and evening was spent absorbed in Elizabeth Gilbert's Committed, an absolutely fascinating unpicking of the history and social expectations of marriage. Interspersed with snippets of her journey with Felipe towards their inevitable marriage it is a difficult book to put down. 

I am still struggling with The Lollipop Shoes, I understand each character in the book is marked with tarot symbols so one knows who is speaking. I find the time spent trying to sort out which character is talking wasted time and I lose the plot. I must check and see if the narration is by a New Zealander, I doubt it as our narrators are regarded as among some of the best in the world. 

I picked up The French Market  by Joanne Harris yesterday, at the library, it seems to be a wonderful collection of family recipes made from the fresh produce available in even the smallest of French farm markets. Good reading for a quiet moment unhindered by the mores of daily living.
   



Fromage au pain, the French staple diet, so much nicer than what we have here in New Zealand. One does not know what bread is until having tasted bread in France. I wonder why?