Liosach's Lines

Around 4pm every Monday evening, my thoughts always turn to the same subject:   food.   It’s not that we don’t eat on other nights, just that Monday is one night when we have to be really organised, as hubby has to be out before 6pm – he’s a volunteer fire fighter   and Monday night is training night.   As this can mean quite a bit of physical exercise, outdoor work, often with vast quantities of freezing cold water involved, come Monday night I’m looking for a meal that ticks several boxes.   It has to be relatively straightforward and preferably child friendly, to save having to make something different for the kids.   It has to provide lots of energy for Mr. Fireman, without sitting too heavily in his stomach during training and, perhaps most significantly, it has to be really warming, to help him withstand the cold while he’s out training on a cold, winter’s night.   If he’s lucky and there are some leftovers, it might even make a useful supper ...

It was a beautiful November day in 2013 when I sat waiting for my “Moment that Mattered”.   I knew it was coming, but I just didn’t know what kind of moment it was going to be.   Glorious sunshine streamed through the windows, horses and sheep, along with the odd chicken, wandered by outside, revelling in the unexpected winter warmth.   I, however, while I was aware of all of it, wasn’t really seeing any of it.   All I could see was this unexploded bomb sitting right in the middle of my family.   And that November day was the day I was going to find out if the bomb was about to destroy us or if it could somehow be disarmed.     For months now, my Dad had been losing weight with a frightening rapidity.   Everyone he met would comment on how slim and svelte he was looking…and every comment was like a knife going through us, because we all knew he was eating just as much as ever.   It’s easy to imagine the one thing that was on eve...