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I’m back at work today (pretty sure you can feel my delight in just those five little words). I know I am back at work because I am wearing a pencil skirt, tights and black high-heeled pumps instead of jeans, boots, a scarf, a hat, gloves and a puffer jacket with some sort of fur lining. Today I look like I am ready for work rather than ready for a day of wandering around New York.
But all is not lost. It’s been six weeks and I have a wonderful holiday of nothing but great memories and a photo album of nothing but gorgeous photos. So, onwards and upwards and all that.
Yesterday, as I sped around the supermarket, the onslaught of the next commercial opportunity hit me fair and square in the face. No, I’m not talking about Easter (I could act all outraged that there are Hot Cross Buns in Woolies, but we bought some and have been eating them, so that would be kind of hypocritical). I am talking about the festival of love – Valentine’s Day.
Valentine’s Day can go one of three ways for people. It can be a day of overt love declarations involving flowers, cards, poems, sky writing, gorilla-grams, stripper-grams (don’t judge), candle light, champagne, walks on the beach; it can be a day of sadness and misery and feeling left out; or it can be a day of complete oblivion where one is confused why there are so many people carrying bunches of balloons with ‘I wuv you, Shnookums’ written on them in glitter.
This year, I say screw that. This year, I say how about you do something that is meaningful that will not only help others, but also make you feel great. This year, it doesn’t matter if you have a Valentine or not. Everyone can play.
I am, of course, speaking of the Spare a Rose Save a Child campaign.
Now, if you have diabetes and/or any links to the diabetes word, you have probably seen and heard about this campaign before. I’ve even written about it here. The general gist is that instead of sending a dozen roses to your Valentine, send eleven instead and with the money that would have bought the extra one (about $6 in Aussie money) make a donation to Life for a Child. Those five bucks will provide insulin to a kid in a developing country for a whole month. Or, give your Valentine ten roses and donate $12.
All good, right?
But I have a little challenge for you.
This is a brilliant campaign because it is so simple. It’s easy to explain and it’s really easy to get involved. So my challenge is this. Let’s get this moving way out of the diabetes world. Let’s get this into the hands and hearts of our friends and family who may not really consider this as an idea for Valentine’s Day. Let’s tell our workplace HR teams and see if they can encourage it as a work-place wide giving program (there’s even a tool kit to get you started!). Pop in to visit your neighbours and ask them to get involved. Next time you are going for a walk in your local shopping centre, drop in to some of the small businesses and ask them to get involved. Ask your kids if they would like to donate some of their pocket money.
Roses and diamonds and jewellery and books and CDs and vouchers for massages and guitars and DVDs of favourite movies are all lovely and fun for Valentine’s Day and I am not suggesting you complete give up on the idea of sharing gifts. But how about sharing the love a little this year? I know that I certainly will be making a donation and have already strongly suggested to my Valentine that he do the same. (And check out this and this cute card to attach to your gift, telling your Valentine how you’ve shared the love this year.)
So, how about making sure a child has life-saving insulin available to them by donating just a few dollars in your loved one’s – or your – name. Because THAT is a gift of love and I honestly can’t think of anything I would like more this Valentine’s Day.
I love food. Yesterday’s post which outlined all the eating we’ve been enjoying while in New York probably points to that. As would many other posts.
And it is the truth. I love food. I enjoy it. I celebrate it. I cook it. I read about it. I share it.
Food is a joy. When I think about different periods in my life, there is always a soundtrack of the music I was listening to, and the meals I’d cooked with love, or shared with family and friends.
There are meals that I have had that are still spoken about – years later. ‘Hey, remember that first meal we had at that gorgeous little place in Venice? I had incredibly gnocchetti with seafood?‘ I might say, to which Aaron would reply ‘Yes! And I had the four cheese gnocchi. God that was good. So good.’ That meal was consumed in 2001.
And our daughter recalls fondly the taste of the plums that would fall from the tree in the back garden of our old house, and how we would sit out there in summer and gorge on the fruit, the juice dripping down our chins.
This is the language of food.
So when I read this the other day in my Facebook feed, I was just shocked. I read it with complete and utter disbelief.
Why, why, why would anyone deliberately make food taste terrible, bland or boring?
There is nothing – NOTHING – in this piece of so-called advice that is useful. There is nothing that provides smart advice for how to eat healthfully or listen to your body for hunger cues. There is nothing that says food can be a part of life that is enjoyable, fun, non-threatening and delicious.
This advice makes food sound like it is something to be feared. It makes food sound like the enemy. But worse, it does not explain how food can be part of a healthy way of life. It does not talk about portion sizes, or balanced eating, or how to incorporate a little of everything into an eating plan.
It is restrictive. It is scary and it makes me feel so sad.
When I was first diagnosed with diabetes, I had no idea what it would mean to my diet. Would I suddenly have a list of restricted or banned foods that I could never enjoy again? Would I need to completely change the way I ate? Would food become a source of stress rather joy?
I have learnt that the joy of food is not lessened at all because of diabetes. I still can eat whatever I want. And I do. My diet is healthy, balanced, full of fresh foods, fun, enjoyable and never, ever boring. And there is no such thing as a taboo food.
I am just so glad that the advice I have taken – as a person with diabetes, but even more so, as a person who loves food – is that there is no need to fear food. I am so glad that what I eat – and what my family eats – is based on what we like to eat, what we want to eat and what works for us. It may not work for you, but it works for us. (The kidlet could probably do without Brussels sprouts, but I am convinced that I will win her over on this one!)
This blog is NOT about advice. Nothing that I write should be considered as something to follow or as advice. So I am going to give you some. Don’t take the dietary advice of a celebrity personal trainer. If you need some help working out what to eat that makes you feel happy and content, see an accredited practising dietitian. If you have problems with your relationship with food, speak with your GP, and ask for a referral to a psychologist.
But whatever you do, enjoy what you eat. Life is too short to eat over-cooked chook.
By the way, here is an awesome way to cook Brussels sprouts: finely slice them, then sauté in a fry pan with a little olive oil and garlic. After about 1 minute (absolutely no longer), toss in some toasted pine nuts (or walnuts, almonds, whatever you have handy). To be fancy, add some bacon cut into thin strips. (To be EXTRA fancy, make it candied bacon by crisping up the bacon in a little maple syrup first.)
Breakfast in bed.
Food is one of the most wonderful things in my life. I’ve always felt this way. Julia Child once said ‘People who love to eat are always the best people’, and I think there may be some truth to that! Food is an integral – and central – part of my and my family’s life.
So when we’re away, what and where we eat is of great significance. Before I travel anywhere, I have a list of cafes, restaurants, food trucks, delis etc. to visit. Our days are often planned around where we’ll be eating. (Just the other morning, for example, we started with a visit to a favourite haunt when visiting NYC and the spent the remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon wandering around SoHo, stopping in little boutiques and visiting guitar stores before heading back to our neighbourhood late in the day.)
What is different when we travel is that the balanced, home-cooked meals that are the norm at home are replaced with a far more ad hoc, mixed up meal schedule. This doesn’t mean that nutritious food is ignored completely. It’s just that I’m more open to starting the day with doughnuts. In bed.
And that’s just the beginning….
We’ve recharged our batteries with a snack on the run, downing hot dogs from street vendors. (I do keep thinking that I should prepare myself for some sort of horrendous food poisoning, but it’s not happened. Yet.)
You’ll have to take my word for it; it was delicious!
We’ve whiled aways hours and hours on the rooftop of Eataly with friends sharing antipasto platters, the most amazing porcini fritters, and salumi plates while drinking beer brewed on that very rooftop.
Also at Eataly, we’ve munched pastries slathered with Nutella accompanied by steaming Italian espresso to kick off the day.
We’ve eaten pancakes in diners, hamburgers at burger joints, waffles for breakfast and bagels from…well…anywhere.
And soup – warming, sustaining and full of vegetables and restorative chicken broth – has satisfied my ‘mummy moments’ where I’ve thought we needed a hit of something a little healthy.
We’ve taken shelter from cold, wind, rain and snow in coffee shops, hugging bowls of coffee and hot chocolate to warm our frozen fingers.
We’ve eaten at all hours, walking to Shake Shack for dinner one night just before 11pm, or sneaking into a bar after seeing a Broadway show at nearly midnight for fries with our drinks.
Walking out of MoMA yesterday, we made a beeline to the bright red food truck across the road. Ordering lobster rolls for the three of us, I said to the vendor ‘I’m not even hungry – I just love lobster rolls!’
Anytime we’ve been near 23rd Street, we’ve detoured to Doughnut Plant.
Melbourne latte in Midtown.
We located coffee shops run by Melbourne people and sat in the window drinking lattes tasting like they were made by the barista at our local in Brunswick and munching on perfect ANZAC cookies.
Mimosas are the drink of choice at brunch. So there have been mimosas. With brunch.
We ate zipolli at an Italian restaurant on Mulberry Street after being sent there by Rudy’s from Rudy’s Guitars in SoHo after I told him how sorry I was to have missed my mum’s zipolli this Christmas.
And I have poured Half and Half over and in everything and anything that I could!
Changes in diet always pose challenges when it comes to insulin dosing. Just being somewhere different often means that different ingredients are used for dishes that I am pretty good at guesstimating insulin doses for when home. And it also often plays out that the food we’re eating is more carb heavy than usual.
However, despite the oft-carb-laden food, I’ve managed to work out insulin doses. I’ve worked out when to reduce basal doses if it looks like we are going to spend the day on the run, or increase them if the day is looking to be particularly cruise-y and spent indoors doing not much at all.
Quite often the extra carb intake is offset by the extra exercise. We walk a lot when we’re holidaying. New York is a walking city – even in the cold. The other evening, as the temperature sat near freezing, I walked over 40 blocks from where I’d spent the afternoon catching up with my beautiful DOC friend, Alecia, back to our apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. I didn’t do it because I thought I should walk off the food. I just did it because I like walking around here. Plus I was looking for a new pair of boots.
I would be lying if I told you that there have not been some mishaps. Like the night I over-bolused for my burger and had a horrid hypo that saw me wandering into our daughter’s room before Aaron led me back to bed, pouring orange juice down my throat, following it up with toast and jam.
But for the most part, I’ve simply eaten whatever and dealt with it accordingly.
Have I eaten healthfully the whole time? Hell no!
Have I enjoyed food and eating and sharing meals with friends and family? Yes. Absolutely.
Have I felt guilty for any of my food choices? Not. One. Bit.
Before even opening my eyes, I could feel it. It started in the pit of my stomach – a kind of fluttering – and rose to my chest, where my heartbeat started to quicken.
I was low. Not horribly so – I could comprehend where I was and what was going on. But nonetheless, I knew that I would need to act soon. Well…soon-ish. I snuggled under the doona focusing on my heartbeat; willing it to slow down a little.
Even though our apartment is warm – beautifully so – I didn’t want to have to remove myself from the warm bedding, put my feet on the cool parquetry and pad to the kitchen.
My eyes were still shut and I wished that I had a jar by my bedside full of jelly snakes – like I do at home – so I could just reach my arm out.
But I’ve not found any sweets here that I like to use to treat lows. Jelly Belly jelly beans take too long to chew, and often I find myself gagging as I chew, chew, chew before swallowing. Gummy bears are pure evil and leave the most horrendous after taste. And I don’t like over-the-counter glucose tabs. (This is where I remind myself that I should organise a Gluco Lift order before heading home…..)
No. I would need to get up, go to the kitchen and find something there.
I opened my eyes and turned to the bedside table to check the time. And there, right in my line of vision was a tall glass of orange juice. I sat upright, very quickly.
‘How did that get there?‘ I asked
‘I put it there,’ said Aaron, who was awake and reading a magazine. ‘You’ve been low a couple of times in the mornings, so when I got up to get myself something, I brought it in for you.’
I looked at him gratefully.
It takes a village – I’ve said it before. Diabetes is constant, it doesn’t end, and each and every day there are dozens of things I do to stay healthy and try to be on top of things. Most of the time, I just do them – on my own, without fanfare or even comment.
So, it’s little actions like this make me truly appreciative. It’s not ‘just a glass of juice’; it’s someone noticing something about my diabetes and doing something to help. Not because they were asked to – I am pretty sure that I had not even mentioned that I’d woken low a couple of mornings – but just because they thought it would help.
I guzzled the juice – downing it in just a couple of gulps – and cuddled back down into the warm bed. Within a short time, I could feel my heart rate had returned to normal and the fluttering feeling in my stomach had disappeared.
‘Thank you, hon,’ I said. I knew that he wouldn’t want me making a big deal of it (he would be the one saying it’s ‘just a glass of juice‘). But it made one diabetes thing for the day less of a pain to deal with.
Four weeks into a family holiday, away from the mundanity of every day, away from schedules, away from stresses, and I can see just how much better I feel – emotionally as well as diabetes-wise.
After writing an extremely raw account of the diabetes burnout I have been experiencing for some time, I have spent time wondering just how I was going to get diabetes back to a place that would stop causing me so much concern and guilt and stress and anxiety. Because that’s the thing with the way I do diabetes burnout – I don’t just burnout, I then focus on the burnout. Which makes me more burnt out. And then I focus on how much bigger the burnout is getting. You get the picture.
But here, in New York, surrounded by my family and visits from friends, I am feeling that things are slowly, but surely, balancing out again.
Diabetes management has gently snaked it’s way back into my life – just as a regular part of my routine. I’ve found myself checking my BGLs with more frequency – and less frustration – than had been the norm at the end of recent times.
I don’t get to the end of the day and find a pressing feeling on my chest because I have been suppressing the guilt of not checking my BGLs. I don’t ignore high BGLs that I know to be the result of a pump line that really needs to be changed. Diabetes tasks like these just happen; far more effortlessly.
But I am taking things slowly and easily. Baby steps.
I decided not to reconnect my CGM after the sensor fell out during the first week here. I’m spending most of the time with my family, so not feeling I need it as my safety net as I do when either travelling alone or at home at night while Aaron is out doing gigs.
I know that this isn’t reality – as much as I wish it really were – but I am absolutely savouring this time. This somewhat alternate existence is such a privilege – I feel lucky. I feel happy, actually. For the first time in a very, very long time, I feel truly content.
And of course, that makes the overall shitty-ness of diabetes a little easier to manage. But (make no mistake) it doesn’t make it less shitty overall…
I came to this realisation the other day as I was pushing in a new infusion set. I packed away the waste and tucked the freshly-primed pump into my bra, thinking about how much I really dislike diabetes tasks. Because I do. I don’t want to check my BGL or shove a sharp introducer needle into my side to re-site my cannula. But I just do it.
When I am burnt out, one of the reasons I don’t want to do these things is because I hate them. But even when I am just getting on with things and all is ticking along okay, I still don’t enjoy these tasks.
And you know what – that’s perfectly okay!
Perhaps for me what comes after burnout isn’t just getting back on track. Perhaps every episode of burnout – however long or debilitating – ends with a realisation that diabetes is still a shit. There’s just a little more acceptance.
And a tangible sigh of relief to find myself seeing some light for the first time in a very, very long time.
The bathrooms at Madison Square Garden would have to be the cleanest public toilets I’ve ever seen. It was tough to get up and take a break from what was turning into one of the best gigs I’d ever been to, but when nature calls, you answer – even if Billy Joel is on stage!
I found an empty cubicle, quickly peed (TMI) and went to wash my hands. At the basin, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a women rummaging in her bag. I was about to look away, when, in the reflection of the mirror, I saw her pull out some thing familiar. It was an insulin pen. She bent over ever so slightly and jabbed the needle into her thigh, right through her jeans.
Our eyes met. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. I could tell it was a reflex – said in the same tone as if she had accidentally knocked elbows with me.
‘Don’t be,‘ I said. ‘I have diabetes too.’
She smiled at me and looked relieved. ‘My blood glucose is high. I needed some insulin…’Suddenly she looked a little sheepish. ‘I shouldn’t inject through my clothes though. Right?’
‘Ah – shoulda coulda woulda!‘ I said to her. ‘Whatever works for you! I was high at the beginning of the night. It’s coming back down though, but now I’m paying for the water I was guzzling earlier! If you don’t mind me asking, why are you injecting in the loo?’
She looked confused.
‘Ah…bathroom.’ I corrected myself. I keep forgetting that even though we allegedly speak the same language, I spend a lot of time rephrasing what I say here in the US to make myself understood.
‘I always do,‘ she said. ‘Some of my friends and family get uncomfortable around needles,‘ she said. ‘So I use the restrooms. I don’t want to upset them. Where do you inject?’
I finished washing my hands. ‘I use a pump,’ I said. ‘But I always would just inject wherever I was – I never used the bathroom. But that was my choice. My attitude has always been that if someone has a problem with seeing me do my diabetes stuff, look away. And grotty…um…dirty bathrooms are not the place to manage my diabetes. Not that these bathrooms are dirty – they’re spotless!’
‘Do you like the pump? I’ve read a lot about them. I’ve only had diabetes for a year.’
I could see in her face that she really wanted to talk. And I really wanted to talk to her.
But I was at Madison Square Garden, and Billy Joel was playing. And I wanted to get back out there and keep dancing and singing and enjoying the gig too.
‘I do,’ I said. ‘I’ve been using a pump for almost 14 years now and a CGM for about 5. For me, it’s the right choice for managing my diabetes as best I can. If you are interested in hearing what people think, maybe have a read of some diabetes blogs. I find that they give the best – and usually most unbiased – views of diabetes technology and treatments.‘
‘Yes, I have started to read some really great blogs that have helped me. It’s so great to find people who are going through the same things. It makes me feel like I am gong to be okay.’
‘You are,‘ I told her. ‘Really; you are.’ I looked at her square in the eye, hoping to help her understand.
‘Right. I’m going to head back out there. But it’s been lovely meeting you. Good luck with everything. And enjoy the rest of the gig. Hope your sugars come back down soon.’
As I walked out of the bathroom, the cleaners continued to wipe up the basins and clean out the cubicles.
I ran down the stairs and took my seat just as the piano intro to ‘And So It Goes‘ was being played, and squeezed my husband’s hand.
‘You good?’
I looked around the stadium, at the thousands of people in the room and wondered what the odds were of me and another PWD bumping into each other. I shook my head a little and smiled.
‘Yes, babe.’ I replied. ‘I’m so good.’
‘Do you want basal with that pizza?’ We were in Little Italy at a restaurant we’d been sent to by the owner of a local guitar store.
I stared blankly at the waiter. What was he asking me? Of course I’ll need basal with that pizza – it’s freaking pizza. And I’ll need a shed-load of dual wave bolus too. Why were we even having this conversation?
‘Basil’ my husband whispered to me.
‘Oh, BASIL! Basil! Yes. Yes please.’
In Barnes and Noble the other day, loitering in the kids’ section with the kidlet, I saw this book:
The other night, wandering around a holiday market, we warmed our freezing fingers in a chocolate shop and I saw these – the perfect antidote to a syringe of insulin!
As we made our way to a guitar shop in the East Village, we walked by this diner – surely the perfect place to treat a low.
Just a couple of blocks from our apartment is this sculpture. And even though I know it’s not about diabetes, it is to me.
And every time I look up, I see skyscrapers that are shiny and edgy and beautiful. And they remind me of sharp, pointy needles.
Diabetes – if you look, you can find it everywhere…
I was more than a little honoured to see that three Diabetogenic posts from last year had been voted Best of the Betes Blogs. Thanks to Sara from Moments of Wonderful for running this – and acknowledging diabetes blogs and bloggers. And thanks to those who voted for me.
In New York City, the streets are full of people. With only hours until the ball drops, there are people everywhere and more police than I have ever seen trying to control the flow of people and traffic. We just fought the crowds to get back to our apartment where we plan to spend a couple of hours before braving the cold and heading out again to catch some fireworks and see in 2015.
Never one for resolutions, I don’t have a list of things I plan to achieve. As tough as 2014 was, I’m not swearing to leave it behind with promises of new starts. I’ve tried that the last couple of years only to find more difficult times ahead. I have learnt that a clock ticking over to 1 January does not promise anything new. It really doesn’t.
But that doesn’t mean I am not hopeful.
Today, as we spent a most wonderful afternoon in what could be the most beautiful place in NYC, I saw this card:
And then I realised that as much as I don’t care for resolutions, I do care for these things. And it is with pleasure, and a hopeful heart, that I can say that right here, right now, I have all these things. I am healthy – despite diabetes; and I am happy and at peace with who I am.
And in all honesty, that is a really good way to see in the New Year.
Dear Diabetes
This afternoon, I am putting on my ‘out of office’ message which means that anytime someone emails me, they will be told to go away and leave me alone that I am on leave for six weeks and I won’t be answering their message. There is no other admin task I enjoy more than clicking the ‘save’ button on this message.
I was hoping that in the spirit of the season and because I am more than just a little tired at the moment, that you might be a pal, and perhaps put YOUR ‘out of office’ message on too. For the next six weeks, how about you take a little holiday from me? You don’t need to go far, in fact, you can even come with me on our family holiday, but only if you promise to behave yourself and not get in the way.
I know you’ve been busy this year with…well…messing with my mind and blood sugars and sending me into the depths of burnout, so maybe having a few weeks of quiet time will be good for you.
If you are looking for some ideas of how to keep yourself busy, I have a few for you:
- Instead of spending days at a time on rollercoasters, how about you just stay still and quit the highs and lows for a week?
- Sleep through the night. No waking at 3am after having plummeted to ridiculous lows, or nose-bleed-enducing highs.
- Be nice and kind to me, remembering that even though I haven’t been looking after you as much as I would like to, I’m doing my best. And I promise that I will do more if you give me just a little breathing space.
- Read the rule book. Learn the rules. Teach them to me. Stick to them. For ever and ever amen.
Having time off is a really great way to recharge your batteries and get ready for the New Year. After your holiday, you can come back and we can work together again.
Your ‘out of office’ message is a little different to mine. All it has to do is deliver a beautiful number between 4 and 8 on my BGL meter and a CGM line that is straight and in target. Nice and smooth does it. All the time. Even when I spend the day eating nothing but doughnuts from Doughnut Plant. Which I will be doing. A lot.
My ‘out of office’ message will tell people that I will be checking email infrequently. How about you do the same, take a break and only pop in occasionally too? I promise to be nice to you when you do. I promise to pay attention to you if it’s just a short visit.
I would really like a holiday, some time away with my family to explore New York and spend time with friends. It would be lovely if you let me do that.
What do you say?
Here’s hoping!
With affection from the bottom of my pancreas,
Last night, my husband and I saw a documentary about jazz great, Clark Terry. The fim is called Keep on Keepin’ On and I would urge you to see it if you can. Terry, a trumpeter from Arkansas, played with jazz legends including Dizzy Gillespie and Count Basie and influenced other jazz greats such as Miles Davis and Quincy Jones. He has been a prominent educator and a presence in the jazz scene since the 1930s. Just this week, Wynton Marsalis paid tribute to Terry in this beautiful post on his Facebook page.
I knew very little about Terry before going in to see the movie, but I was briefed on a few key highlights of his career and some detailed anecdotes as well. (This is what happens when married to a musician with an encyclopaedic memory.)
What I didn’t know going into the movie that Clark Terry has diabetes. I am not sure what type – no specific mention was made in the movie – however his wife Gwen said that he had lived with diabetes for over 60 years. I wanted to stand and applaud at that point, but figured the Cinema Nova movie-going crowd would not appreciate, nor understand, the ovation.
The documentary was gorgeous and showed Terry’s talent and generous spirit. A significant part of the film followed one of Terry’ students, a young pianist, Justin Kauflin. Kauflin obviously has a great deal of admiration and respect for Terry, but that was returned in spades by Terry himself. And one of the things that connected the two – apart from the music – was they are both vision impaired – Kauflin is blind due to a rare eye disease and Terry has significant vision loss due to his diabetes.
The film was mostly focused on the last four years, although there were lots of incredibly flashbacks of Terry’s impressive career (including this – you have to watch this!). In recent years, Terry’s health has declined and recently, he had both legs amputated below the knee due to wounds in his feet that would not heal – of course, this is a complication of diabetes.
I thoroughly enjoyed the documentary, but there were times I was in tears and found it really difficult to watch. I love the way that diabetes was portrayed in the film – it was not sensationalised at all. But it was still tough to watch.
Seeing diabetes complications playing out in someone’s life is a difficult thing. I cried when he was given the news that the treatment he had been undergoing to treat the wound in his foot had not worked and the only option remaining was amputation. The same thing happened with his other foot. I cried harder when he was telling his wife just how much pain he was in. But mostly, I cried when he said he wanted the surgery to work. His determination was startling to me – he just refused to give up because he feels he still has so much to give – so much to offer young musicians.
When we left the movie, I said to my husband that there were parts that were really tough for me. But he reminded me that Terry has lived with diabetes for 60 years. That’s a long time. A long, long time.
Clark Terry turns 94 on Sunday. His contribution to jazz music is clearly significant. He is recognised as a pioneer and has appeared on over 900 recordings. He did this all with diabetes. And although he no longer performs, clearly he is continuing to make a difference in his chosen field. Diabetes hasn’t stopped him.
Pretty much anytime I see a movie at Nova, I head across the road to Readings – often to buy the movie’s soundtrack! But last night I was looking at their Christmas music CDs. I really wanted the Neil Diamond album (most obviously called ‘A Cherry Cherry Christmas’) but was outvoted by those with taste. Vince Guaraldi’s ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ won out. My favourite tune on the album is not a Christmas song at all, but it is fun and joyful and I love it! Here’s Linus and Lucy.
Diabetogenic 