Some announcements

Good evening! I'm in bed with cold toes and a stomach ache.

1 - I tried drinking some tea to help with how gnarly I feel this evening. It did not help. I must be terminally ill.

2 - I met roughly three thousand new people today here in Cowboy's small home town in Montana. All were very lovely. I remember no names.

3 - I was expecting turkey and roast potatoes for Christmas lunch. I got prime rib and pasta salad. America is so strange.

4 - Cowboy is disappointed that there isn't more snow. He wanted me to be as cold as possible while I was here. I'm just pleased I brought my long johns. It is quite cold enough, thanks.

5 - I'm in the process of moving my blog from Blogger to its own domain name. This is more complicated than I first thought, but I'm nothing if not stubborn, and I'll get it done, by George.

6 - Who is George??

7 - Nothing like a bit of Bach Cello Concerto to soothe the brain after a busy day meeting people, but it's a little odd to be able to hear Yo Yo Ma breathing in my bedroom.

8 - I miss the heck out of Richard. I imagine he is spending most of his time like this:

9 - It seems Cowboy and I are the only people in the world who like a good firm mattress on a bed. I have struggled to sleep since we left our home in Washington, as every bed we've been put up in has been about as firm as a wet sponge. I'm developing kyphosis.

10 - I love the word kyphosis. It makes me feel clever.

11 - I'm going to bed now. The end.

A very non-British thing to say

Today, we were out and about in the car, getting errands done before Christmas sets in, and we stopped to at the petrol station (the gas station) to fuel up the car.

It was pouring with rain, and the windows were still a little misted up from the cold. Cowboy got out to do the honours at the pump.

I sat and waited in the driver's seat, pondering dull things like how best to dispose of the broccoli that was fading in the fridge - maybe soup? Or just compost?

Then I glanced in my rear view mirror and caught him drawing this...

... and I got all warm and fuzzy inside. I love him.

Self-care and starting again. Again.

Self-care is a big thing in the trade that I've been learning over the last few years. If you spend your working life using your own body to assist other people to feel better in their bodies, it can be wearing - on the joints, on the fingers and thumbs, on the muscles, and on the soul.

Tonight, slouched on the sofa in my most disgusting clothes, having scarfed down an entire packet of Jaffa Cakes in a bid to feel good about where I am in life, I realised I'm not being good at self-care. Again.

I haven't eaten the five-a-day in months (the orange in the Jaffa Cakes sadly does not count). There have been days where it hasn't even been one-a-day. I've let these days slip by and accumulate. Oh, tomorrow will be different.

We've all made the resolution that starts right after we jump gleefully off the wagon. Right now I'm watching the wagon leave without me, telling myself I'll take up running again to catch up with it, while I plan more ways to make myself sick enough that I can't get out of bed tomorrow.

It's not the food that's making my body sick. I can only blame the nation I live in for so many things. The supermarkets in this part of the country are stacked with goodness that I could sink my teeth into, but instead I end up reaching for the boxed mac and cheese, telling myself I won't really eat it.

It was delicious, by the way, with a good lashing of black pepper.

I could eat the good food. I could tell Cowboy that beef is off the menu, he can just suck it up, it's steamed fish and vegetables from now on - although I'm not sure how long our relationship would last if I cut him off that abruptly.

I cleaned the stalls in the barn today while he was out, because it was physical activity that would get me warm and breathing a little harder, and it felt lovely. Later, in my Jaffa stupor on the sofa, the thought suddenly hit me in the face like a wet sponge.

You are really quite depressed, Bee. You need to do more exercise, and eat better, and you'll feel happier again. You always do! It's ok. You can fix this.

So I did the sensible thing and went to get into my pyjamas and go to bed in a funk. Here I am.

The first step to self-care has been to put on Beyonce in my outrageously loud headphones and blast some empowerment into my eardrums. The second step was to google counselling in this neck of the woods and discover that the gym is so very much cheaper, gracious me. So, my therapist will probably be telling me to squat and push rather than asking me how my week has been. But that's ok, I get the same end result of being a more normal human being.

Added bonus: revitalised buns, abs and guns of steel.

Here's the kicker: this whole thing is a cycle. Every few months, I get into this dark, deep place, and I have to haul myself out by my arse again. This blog will become a catalogue of pledges to start again, to change again, because I get happy and I get complacent, and then I get not happy again.

It's ok to keep starting again. As long as I keep checking in and noticing that it's bad, it's ok to have to keep restarting. Ignore all those snappy Pinterest posts about how if you're sick of starting over, stop giving up. Bullshit. Start over as many times as you need. Good for you!

I'm going to go and eat cereal for dinner. I'll start over in the morning.

Cowboy dating guidance: the Montana Wife Tests

These are little tasks which I find myself compelled to complete, even though I could just act like they don't exist. Cowboy doesn't set them for me, they just arise, but I find them to be a reasonably good indicator of how solid our relationship is, and how well I am going to be able to cope with our lifestyle in the future. If you are a cowboy, you might like to set these tests for your future (or, indeed, current) wife. If you are considering marrying a cowboy, you might want to see if you will pass these tests.

Here are some examples.

Montana Wife Test #1: Fill an entire vehicle (car or truck, doesn't matter) with dirt, old tobacco, loose change, fast food packaging and Mountain Dew cans. Spill some coffee in the carpet, and let the dog sleep in the back seat for about four weeks. See if the potential wife can get the thing cleaned up and smelling good. If she finds your missing drill bit that you wanted four days ago in the process, and remembers to give it to you, score an extra point.

Montana Wife Test #2: Ask her to get your good fencing pliers from the house. If she doesn't have to ask you what fencing pliers are or what they look like, she scores an extra point. If she knows which ones are your good ones, score an extra five points.

Montana Wife Test #3: Leave two different hats in different locations, and change their locations regularly, all around the homestead. Ask her for the whereabouts of either hat at any time. If she can correctly locate both hats at the time of asking, score an extra point. If she instinctively knows which hat you are looking for without you specifying at the time of asking, she scores an extra five points.

Montana Wife Test #4: Leave a perfectly good shirt out on the driveway and allow it to be rained on several times. Walk over it, kick it around, dump other things on top of it. See if she asks if you want to keep the shirt. This is the pass/fail section of the test. Of course you want to keep the shirt, it is perfectly good. If she is willing and able to launder the shirt and restore it to a wearable state, she scores an extra point.

Montana Wife Test #5: Obtain an expensive insulated coffee cup, either as a gift, or purchase one at outrageous cost. Fill it with coffee. Do not drink the coffee. Leave the insulated cup in a vehicle, preferably the same one as in Test #1, for an indeterminate amount of time. The longer the better. If the potential wife does not immediately discard the cup, she has passed the test. She may ask if you want to keep it. If she asks, confirm that you want to keep the cup. You may like to add that it is one of your favourites. Get her emotionally invested in the cup. If she is willing and able to clean it to a standard where it is safe for a beverage to be consumed from the cup, she scores an extra point. If she then adopts the cup for her own use, she scores an extra five points.

I am certain more tests are coming... I'll keep you updated.

Friday Night Feeling

It's Friday night! I'm on the sofa with the cat and Cowboy has gone out to play poker with the boys. Living the dream.

Earlier this week, I came down with a strange headache thing that meant I missed a day of school. This is very sad to me, because school is much more fun than it used to be when I was eleven.

I finally got our thank you notes for our wedding gifts in to the post and they are on their way to the lovely people who showered us with kindness several weeks ago.

Sir Richard is getting ridiculously big, and now when he sleeps on my chest in the mornings, it's less adorable and more suffocating. I still can't help being utterly besotted with him. I am powerless in the presence of his little face.

He continues to tear things up, climb on things he shouldn't, and shove his paws under the bathroom door and cry every time I go for a wee.

Occasionally he pushes a toy mouse under the door and we play instead. We have that kind of relationship.

Today, Cowboy pestered me into riding Sunshine for the first time in over week. We've had a lot on our plate, and I hadn't felt up to doing much in recent days. Sunshine has been out in the pasture with Beau, getting as much good grass as possible as the winter closes in.

Well, I brushed her off and saddled her today (ok, Cowboy threw the saddle for me... I'm puny...), and we went out to the round pen to see how we would do.

Bill Dorrance writes about feeling for the horse; true horsemanship comes through feel. I've been working hard to put aside my frustrations at my lacking horsemanship, and to leave behind my annoyance when I step into the barn. I've been focusing on putting out a good feeling whenever I am around Sunshine, and keeping in mind that she is my partner in this work.

We've worked on little things on the ground as I've brought her in and out from the pasture - she's stopped being pushy and impatient and has begun to feel for me when I'm leading her. When I'm brushing her down, I try not to be brusque about it, but to feel for her response to the work and to give her the sense that I'm there to help. She has stopped dancing about while I'm grooming now. She watches me with one eye.

Today, the weather was cold and damp, and both of us were feeling a little stiff and sore. I made an effort to tack her up quietly and gently, and to invite her with me to the round pen. We both stretched out a little bit. We both heaved a sigh as if to say "Goodness, I am out of shape for this sort of thing." That's entirely true...

We stretched out, we moved, we got as loose as we could, and I thought all the time about how she felt. She felt stiff, tight, unfit, but willing enough. She did everything that I asked without a fight, but she couldn't offer me the flexible, pretty thing. That was ok. I could feel her trying. I could feel her feeling for me.

"OK," she said, dropping her head and trying to round, "I hear what you want. I'll give it a shot. This is all I can manage today. Is that OK?"
It was more than OK. She and I have got ourselves into battles before. Finally we're learning to talk to each other without yelling. We're learning to meet in the middle.

It was possibly the best ride we've ever had together.

I'm going to go and throw hay at her now.

Investing in the nesting

Our friends and family were extraordinarily generous to us when Cowboy and I got married. Amongst the gifts were gift cards to a place I had never heard of before: Bed, Bath & Beyond.

"OH, I love Bed, Bath & Beyond!" my sister gasped. She usually has good knowledge about where to shop, so I grabbed my computer when we got home and went to scout out the website.

Well, goodness me, I nearly died of excitement.

I have spent the last three weeks - as Cowboy and I have been happily married for three whole weeks - agonising over what to spend these precious gift cards on. One cast iron trivet? Two cast iron trivets?? Turkey lifters? Maybe not turkey lifters... Wine glasses? No wine glasses. Wait, actually, wine glasses are essential. And seeing as it's a wedding gift, let's get red wine glasses and white wine glasses. Stemless wine glasses!

Let's get pillows. No, maybe not pillows, we can get a Le Creuset honey pot instead! And a lamp. I do love a nice lamp. Cowboy has been hankering for a coat rack, so we'll get a coat rack. Clearly I also need a butter dish, and a slow cooker.

In short, it was a spectacular shopping experience, and a glorious opportunity to nest into our little home. I had to remind myself not to feel guilty about getting the little luxuries, they're gifts from people who wanted us to have what we really wanted. I'm not planning on being eligible for wedding gifts again, so one ought to make the most of it.

The delivery should be some time next week. I'm beyond excited about finally being a grown up, with grown up things.

We made it!

Two years, three months and eighteen days after we met in Montana, on a dreary, rainy day here in the Pacific Northwest, Cowboy and I got married.

And we are living happily ever after.

Things that happened today

I lay in bed for over an hour after the alarm went off and asked Cowboy if I could stay and hide in bed all day. He said no. He's cruel sometimes.

The cat managed to lick me right on the eyelid, even though I've been trying to make him understand that I don't like it when he licks my face. The licky little ninja.

I went outside and discovered Sunshine being the perfect horse for a two year old girl. She really is pretty special to let a small child lead her all over the field without batting an eyelid.

We went to the ocean and I collected sea glass for some unknown reason. What will I do with sea glass?

I finally met a number of Cowboy's family members whose names I know but whose faces were brand new to me. They were full of kind and positive things.

Enough people came to my house at one time that they used all of my mugs. My house is not big enough for this many people, but it happened somehow.

We switched the heating on. Winter is coming.

My brother and sister arrived in town and we embarrassed my brother at a Mexican restaurant. It involved a sombrero and singing Happy Birthday, loudly.

My good friend from Minneapolis arrived in town and we realised we haven't really spoken in about two years, and it was so awesome to see each other again.

The cat got in to a tin that I hadn't washed out yet and now his face smells like food.

I think Cowboy has been abducted.

When the Cowboy is away, mice will... clean.

Cowboy is away for the weekend with the caballos, and I am staying at home with the cat and the dog and my cold medication. I'm attempting to use these three days of relative quiet to reorganise our haphazard little home and try to establish some kind of order to the place.

When Cowboy moved in, without me, he pretty much just camped wherever his stuff landed. When I came to visit, I stashed most things in the cupboard nearest to wherever they had landed. This means I have a whole cupboard dedicated to plastic bags, bookshelves covered in tools, and a closet full of junk.

The first thing I've done is to go through the box of small change from our bedroom. I've made $80 this weekend! Hooray!

I've learned how to fold a fitted sheet courtesy of Youtube, and folded all of my fitted sheets. It's the little victories that make my day worthwhile.

I ate more of my weird soup that I made the other day, and it has only improved with age. The spice has really ramped up. Mmmm...











I emptied out our walk-in closet in the bedroom and found all of Cowboy's guitar picks (he is always complaining he can't find any). I also found more money. Hooray again!

Then I gave Blue Dog a bath, because he smelled horrific and I couldn't stand it any longer.

He took it well. His old trick of lying on the ground like a dead weight beside the bathtub didn't work for him. Since I became Amazonian and strong, I can now lift him. He decided to get in the tub of his own accord after I manhandled him a couple of times, and that made the whole experience more pleasant for both of us.

Once he was sweet-smelling and no longer a menace to society, he was very keen to go outside. He promptly ran to the back field and rolled...

... and rolled...

... and rolled...

I didn't think he was going to stop...

Eventually he was satisfied and we came back inside, where I managed to make more mess than I had tidied up in the closet. I abandoned the project midway through.

I finally put away my suitcases in the shed, and rearranged a few things in there so that it is actually accessible and no longer a minefield. While I was outside, I pulled up a weed or two that I could see, thinking I'd head back inside and finish the closet.

Two hours later, I was still ripping out weeds. I would still be ripping out weeds if my 90 gallon garden waste bin wasn't completely full, and it wasn't dark. I have a lot of weeds. I grew them myself.

Tomorrow: I finish the closet project, and the living room project. We might be getting somewhere.

Weird Soup: Sweet potato, carrot and lettuce. Yes, lettuce.

Yesterday, Cowboy and I bought a bed. A real one. A new one! It's king size, we can barely open the bathroom door now, but by golly did we sleep well last night. No more lumpy, bumpy, tipping-us-out-of-bed futon. Thank goodness.

The best part is that we bought the bed from Goodwill, and the whole set up - frame, box springs and mattress - was just $550. It's nothing special, but it will tide us over until we have saved up for a good bed.

I made weird soup today. Here's how it goes (and sorry for the awful quality photos, taken on my iPhone with zero good lighting in my teeny tiny kitchen):

Catch a serious cold from your cowboy boyfriend (fiance... psh, details), and crave soup with curry and and orange colour to it.

Find two sweet potatoes and four carrots in your fridge. Perfect! Soften half a big onion in some butter in a big pan while you chunk up the carrots and sweet potatoes.

Find a romaine lettuce in your fridge that has seen better days, and blame the cold medicine while you chop that up and throw it in the pan too. What on earth was I thinking?

Fry everything for a few minutes to get the juices going. Wonder what just possessed you to put lettuce in soup.

Add a good twist of black pepper, a generous shake of curry powder, and for whatever reason, I also threw in a bit of nutmeg - probably out of habit.

Cook the spices for a moment, then add some chicken stock because you don't have anything else to hand. I used just enough to cover all of the vegetables and get them all cooked through.

Make a cup of tea and watch the cat play with a wasp for a while. He really is getting big these days.

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Cut yourself a generous piece of red velvet cake and discover that Netflix now has The Pioneer Woman's cooking show. Sit down on your sofa and forget about your soup completely.

Remember the soup about twenty five minutes later.

Remove it from the heat and blend it up, whilst saying a small prayer to the household gods of soup that it doesn't come out green, or worse, brown. I just bought a hand held Kitchenaid stick blender at Costco yesterday for a bargainous $24. I love Costco.

Say thanks to the household gods that the soup has come out a lovely golden orange colour. Wish that you had added more curry, and some cumin when you'd started, and add those things. It also needed salt and more black pepper. Say another thank you to the household gods that the soup doesn't taste of lettuce at all, it just tastes delicious and sweet and spicy and warm and happy.


Success!

Apologise to Cowboy when he comes home just as you've finished cooking and gets hit with the smell of curry, which he doesn't appreciate. At least it covers up the smell of infected feet that he has brought home after going shoeing.

I am excited to eat this soup later with some crusty bread. I hope you are excited too!



Here's the short form:

2 medium sized sweet potatoes
4 carrots
1 romaine lettuce
1/2 large onion
1 tbl butter
Approx 1 pint chicken stock
1 tsp cumin
1-2 tsp curry powder
1/2 tsp nutmeg
Salt and pepper to taste

Slice up the onion and soften in the butter. Cube up the carrots, peel and cube the sweet potatoes, and chop up the lettuce, and add them all to the pan. Stir to coat with butter and allow to fry for a few minutes. Add the cumin, curry and nutmeg, and salt and pepper. Cook for a further 2-3 minutes. Add chicken stock and bring to the boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 20-25 minutes or until the root vegetables are soft. Remove from the heat and blend. Season to taste.

13 days in

I've been in the US for 13 days. I have finally got a US phone number, and waved a sad goodbye to the phone number that I have had since my very first phone, the trusty Nokia 5110 with the changeable covers...

I've cleaned all the things - most things more than once, and the dirt keeps coming. It doesn't help that we have a juvenile feline who likes to shred anything he can get his adorable little paws on. We invested in a laser pointer in the last few days, just to keep him busy.

Sometimes we can wear him out, just for a moment.

I've started to learn where everything lives in the supermarkets. I've learned that you can't get anything for a good price without giving up your personal information and getting the store club card.

I have a pile of recycling in my kitchen and my shed because I haven't yet deciphered the recycling system. It involves crates with very similar contents listed on them. How exactly do "scrap paper" and "newspaper" differ in any significant way? Why is there no crate for plastic? It is mystifying.

I have fed Cowboy some real food and he has repaid me with some manual labour, heavy lifting and getting up early to get the horses in while I snooze for another hour or two.

The horses have been a joyous challenge to me. Sunshine is teaching me about how to say "I mean it!" and our new addition, Beau, is teaching me about lightness. Sunshine has been so desensitised that you could do just about anything with her and she barely blinks, which is wonderful for keeping people safe, but it also means she needs a louder cue. Beau is so light and responsive to anything and everything that just thinking something seems to be enough for him.

His little quirk is that he has spent so much of his 4 years in the arena, he has no idea how to pick up his feet. So we spent some time teaching him the other night.

It took him a few goes to catch on.

There is something magical about watching this little horse think something through for the first time. He tries so hard. He wants the right answer, and when he understands the question properly, he is ready for anything.

It was a beautiful evening, and it reminded me why I came here. Me, the cowboy, horses and the fresh air. I am so lucky.

Early days

I moved to a new country on Wednesday. It is now Saturday, and I have spent the last two days cleaning my house, stocking up my cupboards at Costco, befriending the kitten (including believing I had lost the kitten out of a window, crying in the garden thinking I would be dumped for being a negligent girlfriend, finding said kitten inside the house after all - hiding in the recliner), and attempting to get my head around the gargantuan to-do list. It's early days in the New Life.

I have also succeeded in eating badly, sleeping badly, overreacting, panicking, and my personal favourite: sitting in a stupor.

Cowboy is hiding from me this morning, while I scowl at the computer. Who knew it would be so difficult to find affordable, relatively nice furniture in an actual shop where I could go in and just get the furniture? I didn't realise how important it would be to me to have furniture. I've been living out of a suitcase for weeks now. It was fine while I was waiting to move, but now I'm here, I want to plunge some roots down and feel like I have a home.

It's becoming an ordeal. If I could hide from myself, I would.

On the flip side, things that I thought would be horrible, terrible, insurmountable issues as part of the move have turned out to be nothings, and the relief is overwhelming.

Yesterday I played with the horses in the rain, and began to see how good life is going to be. If I could only get some furniture...

I don't like that - Sam Pepper's "prank"

Today, I came across a post on Jezebel which discussed the recent "prank" which Youtube star (and surely "star" is a loose term here) Sam Pepper uploaded. The response was largely one of outrage, quite rightly. The other horrifying response was that of aggression towards those who were offended by the video.

I haven't watched the video - I don't want to give the idiot responsible any more views that he might take as justification for his actions. I also don't particularly want to watch women being touched in a sexual way by some predator in the name of entertainment. There's another category of videos on the internet where that happens too, and those are illegal. They're not pranks. Neither is this.

When I read the articles that discussed the video, my initial reaction was a powerful desire to punch the perpetrator in the face. I wanted to be violent right back at him. I imagined how I could kick him, yell at him, make him uncomfortable and frightened and violated. See how he likes it.

It's not the answer. Another viral video that I watched in recent months was the one where two men experience simulated childbirth pain. One of the men was so shocked at how bad childbirth might be, he said he wasn't sure he wanted his wife to go through it. That was a consensual experiment, the participants were fully aware of what they were signing up to and could stop at any time.

But for men to understand how it feels to be groped, assaulted, restrained, coerced, forced, humiliated, degraded, and all of the other things that women have been put through, there can be no informed consent. They couldn't be allowed to stop the experiment when they got uncomfortable. People don't get the chance to opt out when they're sexually assaulted. How do we explain that to those who don't seem to see what the problem is? He even posted the reverse scenario as part of the "prank" -  a woman sexually harassing and assaulting men on film, for entertainment - that doesn't make anything better. He says it's OK for women to be violent and predatory towards men, so it's OK for men to be the same? That perpetuates the problem.

Still, attempting to talk about the issue like grown-ups and educate people about how this kind of behaviour is not OK very often seems to produce accusations that women have no sense of humour, that it's just a bit of fun, that women have misunderstood what has happened and are ruining it for everybody else. How frustrating that the accusers have completely missed the point. It's enough to make all of womankind want to smack their heads against a brick wall. It would be more productive.

I am buoyed by the response from other Youtubers, who have openly condemned Pepper's video and made it very clear that he will not be welcomed back to the community. Many of them are kind, conscientious, respectful men. I know there are a great number of these men out there in the world, and it is a good start that men are beginning to speak up for women too. Wouldn't it be fantastic if women could fix all of the problems they face in the world all by themselves? The reality is that women's problems aren't women's problems. They are problems for everybody. It shouldn't be up to women to "fix" sexism or rape or domestic violence. These things don't just happen to women.

What can I do? I can put my one voice in with all of the other voices and speak out for what I believe in. I can do everything in my power to raise children who believe in equality and respect, and who understand social boundaries. I can choose not to watch Sam Pepper's video. I can push for an end to this vicious culture that says women should put up and shut up. As one of his victims put it: I don't like that.

Headache

I have a headache. It might be because I've neglected to wear my glasses for the last few weeks, but have simultaneously upped my computer usage while I try to negotiate the Big Move. Might be because I've had a bit too much sugar and caffeine today.

Might be fatigue, might be muscle spasm, might be a virus.

Might be my poor brain trying to understand whether or not my UK iPhone will work in the USA, and if so, how do I get a good deal on a mobile contract? I pay £6 per month, and so far the cheapest option I've found over there for something remotely comparable is over $40 per month. I'm not even certain that my UK phone (unlocked, bought from the Apple shop, and destined to be used until it dies) will be recognised by the US networks, which seem to have a will of their own.

Might be my brain trying to figure out how to pay the bills. Might be the fierce desperation that I have to suddenly and inexplicably win the lottery, so that I can suddenly and inexplicably buy a homestead of my own. The nesting instinct is powerful these days.

Might be the sadness that is starting to set in, as I begin to understand that I am moving far away from my closest friends, from my close-knit family, and from everything that is familiar to me.

Might be the many hours spent at the sewing machine today, making bunting.

I think I've lost my mind...

Last minute

It is rapidly becoming the last minute. I am down to last minute meetings, last minute socialising, last minute packing, last minute shopping, last minute panicking, etc etc.

Today has mostly been about last minute hair dye, as I realised it must be almost a year since my mother slapped henna (I use Caca Rouge from Lush, and have done so for over ten years) all over my head and I propped myself up for several hours while the mud did its miracle thing on my hair.

With what feels like several tonnes of goop and clingfilm on my head at the moment, my neck is rather sore. That may have something to do with the killer upper body workout that Mark the Magician made me do this morning. His trainers matched the walls of the gym today. I was rather impressed, but I don't think it was intentional.

"Rather than mess about with more reps," he said, as I sipped water in a recovery break between push presses, "how about we just build up this weight to about that of a saddle?" This man has paid close attention to my goals, and I love him for it.

If I can now push 60lbs over my head three times, without dying immediately, hopefully I can avoid the shame of flinging Cowboy's saddle, forcefully and enthusiastically, into the side of my horse instead of over her back.

I've also ended up doing some last minute bonding with this little monster, who has spent the last nine months completely ignoring me.

She has finally realised that I will scratch her ears, rub her belly and bump heads with her at her every whim.

I'll even feed her. I'm that kind of cat person.

I think she might be a little sad when I leave, if she even notices, of course.

I'm not really going to miss her needle sharp claws being dug (with love) into my legs, arms, neck, feet, fingers, etc.

She can be a little over zealous with her affection.

She also likes to dribble on me when she's really enjoying the bonding session. Then she likes to shake her head and spray the dribble all over me, and whatever it is I've been doing whilst petting her. Thanks, Marmite...

You love her or you hate her. Her name really is appropriate.

The Release

Holy Nancy Spumoni Snow Boots... (spot that reference)

It's often said that you never know how much pressure you can handle until you're under pressure. I'd actually go a step further - you never know how much pressure you've been under until that pressure lifts.

Yesterday was a big day. On the face of it, the pivotal moment was a little over an hour spent at the US Embassy in London, and most of that was sitting and waiting. It wasn't exactly strenuous or difficult.

The relief, and the release, that came with that magical little word, "approved," was like a bulldozer. I feel totally drained. I expected to feel exhilarated, thrilled, excited, uplifted, enthused.

All I want to do is sleep. My muscles ache, my joints are sore, and this is not the usual post-gym fatigue. As the tide of adrenaline washes away, I am aware of just how much tension I was holding. It's a wonder I've been getting anything done at all.

I am taking a couple of days to sit with this new development in life. Moving to another country, another name, another way of life is a lot to get my head around. My decision to go ahead with this is being met with mixed emotions from different people. I'm sure there are doubters, but I'm trusting my gut on this one.

Now I think I'm going to go back to bed.

Waiting

September already?! I need a sit down, the year is going by so fast.

This isn't really a bad thing, given that I needed time to pass quickly so that I could get back to my real life as quickly as possible, and get out of this sticky no man's land of waiting.

Less than 48 hours of waiting now. The official verdict will be in. Getting my visa has been a long and tiresome process, although judging by the forums on Visa Journey, our application has been relatively smooth, swift, and uncomplicated. I feel rather lucky about that.

Current projects include making bunting at the kitchen table for next year's celebrations. It's oddly soothing.

Progress report

Mark the Magician (the personal trainer) had casually mentioned in my first session with him that a person should really be able to deadlift their own body weight without too much trouble. That was the same day that I squeaked and groaned as I tried to deadlift 25kg, and protested, "That's really quite heavy!"

He was gallant about it and didn't laugh at me until a week later.

Today, I was lifting 50kg. It was tough, but up it went, for 6 reps. Then I did pull ups - pull ups! - for 6 reps (I'll admit, they were assisted rather than my full body weight, but still). This whole process was repeated 5 times. I felt like Xena. Next time we do deadlifts, apparently we're gunning for the full body weight equivalent. It's exciting.

Now when I tense my glutes, there's actually a slight curve to my butt, and there is something firm underneath the winter stores. This is very exciting. It's been a long time since I had a butt worth mentioning.

The "C" word - Christmas

Today, I've been thinking about (I'm going to say it, I'm going to say the "C" word...) Christmas.

I reminded myself sternly that it's only August, and that sort of nonsense wouldn't be tolerated until at least 30th November, but my little brain wouldn't give in and occupy itself with anything more useful.

This Christmas is lining up to be the first one I will have ever spent away from my immediate family. I've spent a few years where I've only been with a few members of the clan, but generally it has been a home affair. Some years we join forces with another branch of the family, other years we keep it small. This year, I will be elsewhere (or so we hope, visas permitting...).

The reason it stuck in my mind so insistently was the realisation that I am poorly equipped for Christmas. My parents have been collecting Christmas decorations for decades, and have ample supplies of fairy lights, ancient tinsel, fibre optics, baubles and bells and whistles. Every year, the attic vomits forth a mountain of boxes of decorations, and we spend a couple of days decking the halls with boughs of holly - literally.

This year I have no holly (and no hall to deck, so never mind). No fairy lights. No baubles, no bells, no whistles. Not even a sad strand of tinsel. I am at square one for Christmas.

The good news is that we found a Christmas tree stand under the weeds in our back yard, so we at least have that.

Naturally, faced with a Christmas vacuum, I turned to the only place I could: Pinterest.

There is an abundance of ideas. Some are marvellous, some are... deranged? Some require such an investment in materials that you might as well buy ready-made decorations and save yourself the bother.

Most affordable seems to be home made salt dough ornaments, and they seem to be so simple that even I will find it hard to screw them up. I might even splash out on some cans of metallic spray paint. I'll need ribbon, too.

I also fancy some of the woven and folded paper decorations, although I disapprove entirely of any that use pages from books. Don't people know that books are sacred?? I've seen some very fancy colours being used, but being a traditional old fart, I will probably be using good old red, green and gold for my Christmas palette.

I really need to get out more.

Mexican rice and black beans - cheat food

Earlier on this week, I met up with my best friend for supper. We plumped for our favourite Mexican eatery, where I stuffed my face with fish tacos. On the side was a small pot of black beans and rice.

I've been craving black beans and rice ever since. No other beans would do. There must be something in the black beans that I need. This afternoon I cobbled together this cheat* meal in about four minutes flat. It was so good.



*Why is this a cheat meal? Because I used packaged rice, that's why. Uncle Ben's Mexican rice with lime, to be exact. Don't judge me!

Here's how it happened:

Half a packet of Mexican rice
Half a can of black beans, rinsed and drained.
2 tablespoons of water

All of these went into a covered pan over low heat to warm through, stirring occasionally.

In the meantime, I halved an avocado, added a pinch of salt and a squeeze of lime juice, and roughly mashed. I then quartered some cherry tomatoes.

Ta-da! The rice and beans were lovely and hot and mushy! Shoved it all into a bowl, and gorged myself silly.

In future, I resolve to make my own Mexican rice. But given that I was in a post-gym state of jelly-limbs and questionable stability, quick and easy was what I needed.

Enjoy!

The Battle - Farewell, Robin Williams

At 2am this morning, when I finally tore myself away from The West Wing and decided I should go to sleep, I saw the sad news that legendary actor, Robin Williams, had taken his own life.

Image from robin-williams.net

My generation was lucky to get to know him in our childhood as the Genie, as Mrs Doubtfire, and as a whole host of other benevolent and inspiring characters. We loved him - we still love him. He was a crazy uncle to us all. He was also, without doubt, one of the most talented actors we will ever know.

When I saw the headlines that he had committed suicide, I took a long, slow breath. It was sad news, indeed. I was not surprised. He had been open about his battle with depression for many years, and so many of the best comedians are blighted with the demons at the other end of the spectrum. Perhaps this is what makes them so good at being funny - they have so much practice at keeping the smile in place, at behaving as if everything is great, just fine, there is so much to laugh about... It becomes an effortless charade.

Sometimes, the smallest victory in depression is getting home and feeling as if you managed to fool everybody that day.

I think I put on a good show today. Nobody suspected how bad it is. I made everybody laugh. They all think I'm normal. Even better, they think I'm fun and outgoing and happy. Mission accomplished.

Some of the toughest moments are when you look at your successes, and you can see how good your life is, how many people around you love you and care about you, and you still sit slumped on the sofa, thinking to yourself, I don't want any of this any longer.

If there is anything to be learned from the battle of another man, it should be that there is not a scale of severity with depression. If you're not suicidal, that doesn't mean you are less worthy of help and support and treatment than somebody who is. If you have mastered the effortless charade, that doesn't mean that you are coping well. You don't have to be looking at the last option for what you're feeling to be recognised as serious. That 'waiting it out' isn't the answer. You don't have to accept the bad days, because it's not just a bad day when they happen over and over again.

Depression bites deep, and hard, and holds on. People who are lucky enough not to know this black dog don't realise that you can't just shake it off. They don't realise that we are all actors, giving the performance of our life, because we worry about the reaction of our friends and family if we admit that sometimes life is impossible, and we don't even know why.

Let's talk about the battle. Those of us fighting in it are brave, and strong; not weak, nor cowardly. To go out into the world every day, despite the growling and the darkness, is an act of courage and determination.

Let's talk about those people who march in to the darkness, seeking the light on the other side. Genie, you're free...

The to-do list

Well, gosh...

I always imagine that, at some point, I will be on the winning side of my to-do list. I'll eventually have fewer things to do than I have already done, and the end will be in sight. Occasionally I dream that I will have nothing left to do, and then I can mess about being creative and frivolous (and play Xbox).

On my brief trip out to Washington last month, I drew up a to-do list in the first day or so, and then spent the entire visit adding to it. A few things were crossed off, such as "buy Xbox", and generally I'm pleased with what I got done at the new house, but I left behind so many tasks that I felt I should have been able to conquer if I hadn't been wallowing in illness and misery on the couch.

Being ill in America is very crappy, and I do not recommend it.

I have come back to the UK for what I hope to be the last time before I get permission to be in the US for the foreseeable future. My to-do list here is growing by the day. I grapple most with the strange way that other people's to-do lists seem to end up being put on to mine, because I have "nothing else to do but wait around", as I was told this morning.

How glorious it is when your work is tangible, and you can show somebody what you've been doing all day, when they can see you physically toiling away on an object or a task with immediately measurable results. What a luxury it must be not to have to explain that you might appear to be freely available, but you are in fact masterminding a global operation. It just happens to involve a lot of sitting down.

All I can do at this point is get my glasses on, get my head down, and get on with what needs doing, and attempt to hold it all together without having a meltdown.

I think Cowboy is expecting a meltdown soon. He usually knows before I do...

The Juice Cleanse: an honest review

It's all the rage these days. All of the super-healthy, vegan, gluten-free, homemade-almond-milk-making, kale-eating cool kids are doing it. It sounds so seductive:

The juice cleanse.

So, considering that I had nothing better to do with myself except pack my suitcases and cardboard boxes for impending emigration, I decided to try one. I've been following Fruveju on Instagram for a while, after Ella of Deliciously Ella posted about their juices, so I plumped for their one day cleanse.

The cleanse consists of six juices of 500ml each. They come in various enticing colours and interesting sounding flavours.

Image from fruveju.com

So, I was pretty excited when they arrived at my house. I had ordered online, and a very polite email had been sent to me to confirm when they would be delivered. Customer service is so lovely. The package arrived on the day as promised, delivered by courier. The juices were packed in a small cool bag, with an ice pack. They were still mostly frozen, and I put them in the fridge in the bag to wait a couple of days to start.

The accompanying leaflet on how to make the most of the cleanse suggested adopting a vegan diet for a day or two before starting, and for a day or two afterwards. Well, I didn't have time for that. I had training with Mark the Magic PT on Saturday and I ate what I wanted.

Come Sunday morning, I was surprised to find the juices were still mostly frozen! The ice pack was still solid and cold, and the insulated bag had done a super job. I put them out on the kitchen counter to thaw out and decided to start the day with a cup of hot water and lemon, as suggested by the leaflet.

Juice One was ready by the time I'd showered and washed my hair and faffed about for a bit. It was one of the two green juices for the day.


Now, perhaps if I was more accustomed to drinking green vegetable juices or smoothies for breakfast, this might have been more palatable. As it was, I'm still learning to enjoy kale at the best of times, and I could really taste the kale and spinach. It was a little bit of a shock for first thing in the morning.

I also hadn't quite appreciated that 500ml is almost a pint. That's a lot of iron-y green juice to get through. I took the advice from the website about how to get through it if it isn't so delicious, and drank it through a straw. It took me a while to work through it, and I started to focus on the apple taste rather than the kale taste, and it improved.

Onward! How hard can this be? All of the aforementioned cool kids had claimed not to feel hungry while doing this, so I was feeling confident.

The second juice was rather delicious: watermelon and lime.


Very refreshing, very easy to drink. The only trouble was that I was starting to think about food...

I cracked open the third juice, another green juice. I became acutely aware of the metallic vegetable taste again. I struggled for a moment. Although my stomach was full of liquid, I didn't feel satisfied, and I was definitely hungry. I've never been one to starve myself for the sake of it, so I caved and ate a toasted bagel with houmous and lettuce. It was epic.

I continued to battle with the green juice. This was getting more difficult. I had three more juices to get through after this, and I was already sick of juice. I started to notice the slightly grainy texture. The juice is thin, but as it reached the back of my mouth, I could feel the small particles of vegetable on my tongue. It wasn't all that enjoyable.

The next juice was this "spicy lemonade".

At first, it didn't taste too bad: almost like honey with a mildly spicy finish. And by "at first", I mean the first three sips. After those, the sweetness was sickly, and the cayenne was kicking my arse. With every swallow, the pepper would irritate the back of my throat and make me cough. The grainy texture was even more noticeable.

I'll be honest. I barely got through a quarter of this one before I considered pouring it down the sink. It was unpleasant. I didn't want any more juice. I constantly needed a wee. I wanted macaroni cheese.

Out of sheer stubbornness, I cranked my way through the lemonade, but it took me two hours. I'd have taken another green juice over this one in a heartbeat. I was glad to see the end of it.

Fifth juice: the Royal Roots flavour.

I'm still learning to enjoy beetroot, and tend to only eat it in a very flavoursome soup that hides the earthiness of beetroot with tangy orange. The pineapple and apple added some sweetness, but the beets and carrots were overwhelming. The ginger wasn't enough to add any significant kick. The grainy texture was making me twitchy.

I was starting to feel very lethargic and a little bit nauseous. There was none of the fabulous energising that the cool kids had blogged about. I just felt bogged down. I was desperate for a big plate of wholesome, greasy American food.


Eventually, I made it to the final juice. It sounded so good.



Again, perhaps I need to be more accustomed to some of these things in order to appreciate them, but this flavour was sickly. As the sixth pint of liquid in the day, it was difficult to get it down. I was just bored of swallowing fluids. I craved solids. I was so very glad to see the end of it. I could have sworn off juice for life. How anybody makes it through three or five days of juice is beyond me.

Some of the philosophy behind these cleanses is that it's a good idea to let your digestive system "rest" and take a break from dealing with solids. Sounds admirable enough. Trouble is, my gut is pretty picky about a lot of things. It likes to have something to work on. It feels good to have a diet rich in insoluble fibre. At the risk of sharing too much information with you, readers, there is something intensely pleasurable about a good bowel movement - you know what I mean?

I now feel like I'm playing catch-up, trying to eat enough of the right stuff to give my gut something to wrestle with.

On the positive side, whilst I was craving grease and salt and carbs during the cleanse, the following day I had a very different craving on the palate. I wanted extremely clean food. I had a hankering for salads and beans and lentils, for some complex grains and for some good proteins. Whether that was just the mood I woke up in, or the result of the juice cleanse, I couldn't say.

Would I do it again? Not unless I made my own juices. It was an expensive luxury, and the whole day was a bit of an ordeal. I'd love to be a glamorous, raw-diet-eating, super-healthy blogger, but I'm not. I didn't feel energised, I was ravenous most of the day, and I was in a terrible mood by the end of it all. It was not worth it. Honestly.

The Last Hurrah

The end of my feeble, wasted, lazy existence is nigh.

On Monday morning, I slithered into my running lycras and went to meet Mark. Mark, a personal trainer, owns a little outfit in Oxford called StudioPT, and I have asked him to fix me.

I did my best to put him off working with me. "My fitness is terrible. I am a walking disaster. I am riddled with old injuries." He was undeterred, and unfortunately I had to show up at his private gym and feign enthusiasm.

The studio is well equipped, bright and airy, and has a banging soundtrack. After a quick sit down to discuss my situation, Mark put me through my paces as an assessment session.

He is tall, lean, and oozes power. He demonstrated each exercise with little to no effort, and corrected my wavering form as I tried not to shake too obviously in the press ups. This was nothing like my usual visits to the gym.

Mark is going to whip my butt into shape, starting tomorrow morning. He says he has a plan. I'm slightly terrified.

I'm preparing the best way I can think of, with one last rebellion - sitting on the sofa watching the Food Network, eating a bacon sandwich, and binging on cake.

Ridiculously easy and delicious smoked salmon samphire pasta

I discovered this by accident the other day, in one of my "throw everything in a pan and cook it" experiments. This meal is so obscenely delicious, it almost shouldn't be allowed. It's also one of the easiest things you'll ever make. And you will make it. Because it is amazing.

You will need:
Pasta (I like fusilli, but any shape will do)
Smoked salmon (that's lox, to my American readers)
Broccoli
Broad beans or peas (optional)
Samphire (Americans, I believe this is known as Salicornia. Try and get fresh, pickled will not be the same)
A lemon
Butter

Put your pasta on to boil, with a pinch of salt (don't add too much, there's a lot of salt coming). While it's starting to cook, chop up the broccoli into small pieces. Chunk up the stalk into cubes - it's good stuff!

When the pasta is about 5 minutes from being cooked, throw your broccoli and broad beans or peas into the water with it.

Shred the smoked salmon into generous pieces, and smother with lemon juice and black pepper. Rinse the samphire well.

When the pasta, broccoli and beans are done, drain off the water and return them to the pan. Add a serious chunk of butter (I'm talking a chunk the size of an egg, here. A large egg...) and stir it around to melt and coat the pasta and veg with goodness. Stir in the samphire to warm through. Add the rest of the juice of your lemon. Avoid the temptation to add salt - samphire can be extremely salty, and the salmon will also add to the flavour.

Serve up in bowls, and then throw the smoked salmon on the top (or you could stir it in to get that hot smoked salmon finish - equally delicious). Add more lemon and pepper to taste. Devour. Wonder how you ever functioned before.

Any leftovers are wonderful as cold salad, aided by a good squeeze of mayonnaise.

Enjoy!

Night songs, PLUS MEC: new lip balm!

Sometimes at night in Washington, a pack of coyotes (pronounced "ky-oats", which mystifies me and every other English person I know) might wander near the house and shout at each other for a while. One night we heard them singing back at the train as it shuddered by, sounding its horn.

Cowboy loves their songs. Before now, he has poked me in the ribs while I'm sleeping just to say "Hey, you hear that? Cool, ain't it?"

It is rather cool.

Lately, here in the sleepy English village, there's been another night song to listen to, right around the time the last of the real light is leaving the sky: a peacock.

He's been here since last summer. He struts around the village sometimes, and has been seen perched on our garden wall. He's magnificent, but I feel a little bit sorry for him. Nobody knows where he came from. People have asked around to see if anybody is missing a peacock, but nobody has claimed him. He has no other peacock friends. Poor guy. When he sings at night, the crows that live in the big trees scold him.

It's a hard life.

In other news, I discovered a new lip balm. At £10 for a tube, I thought I had probably lost my mind, but it's worth it. A little goes a long, long way.

Lanolips is 100% lanolin (so not good if you have an allergy to lanolin), and has no fragrance. There is a lemon flavour on offer, as well as several varieties with some colour in them. I'm attempting to hold back.

Only a tiny amount is needed to cover lips in a sumptuous sheen of goodness. The finish isn't sticky, just gloriously moisturising. I find myself rationing it. It made me aware of how often I have to reapply other lip balms by comparison. A winner, on all fronts.

I think we should just ignore the fact that I bought 7 tubes of Chicken Poop in WA... I'm not ready to admit that I have a problem.

Buckaroo Country Photography

For a while now, I have been following a page on Facebook called Buckaroo Country. It was owned and run by Mary Williams Hyde, and she showcased her stunning photography from around the Great Basin (and beyond) as she travelled to brandings, ranch rodeos, roping competitions, cattle gatherings, and more.

She has the most wonderful eye for the horse and the horseman. The buckaroo tradition is not to be confused with cowboying - and although I call him Cowboy, he's more of a buckaroo. Cowboys are focused on cows. The buckaroo's world and work is about his horse. Mary captures this life so well.

As I am just learning about this life and the traditions carried along by the fine horsemen and women, Mary's Facebook page was a total delight.

Then one day, posts appeared that were clearly not posted by Mary. They appeared all day, at regular intervals, with sensationalist and attention-grabbing headlines. Mary's page had been hacked and taken over. In just a few days, her following of over half a million people was destroyed.

Mary fought back, and set up another page. Her following is smaller, but devoted. She still shares her photographs with us, freely and generously. Take a moment to see her work, and support this wonderful artist.

Click here for Mary's new and spam-free Facebook page. Be a good egg and press "like" while you're there ;)

Click here for Mary's website, where you can purchase prints, books, subscribe to her eMagazine, and support her journey.

Review: Soulindha

A little while before Christmas, I came across a pin on Pinterest's popular page for a striking leather bag. It sang out at the bohemian in me, and dating a cowboy has given me a fresh appreciation for quality leather goods.

Image from Soulindha on Etsy

I loved the style, and have been looking for a good handbag for a while. My days of buying a £40 "leather" bag from Aldo or Next are long gone - the bags available on the high street are too bland for my taste, and I prefer the strap across the body to something that needs to be tucked under my arm.

There was just one problem with this bag. The colour.

I wanted red. Not just any old red, I wanted scarlet (or "harlot scarlet" as I like to call it). I wanted brash, bright, attention-seeking red.

Etsy being the kind of marketplace where you can make absurd requests like that, I went ahead and messaged the seller directly, to ask if a custom made bag in red was possible.

Rawia was very prompt to reply, and very helpful. I could indeed have the harlot scarlet of my dreams, she would source some immediately and let me know what she could find in the ostrich leather for a contrasting colour on the top flap.

By golly, did she deliver. For just a little extra cash to cover the costs of the custom build, here's what she produced...

Image from Soulindha on Etsy

The colour was to die for. The ostrich panel is a glorious burnt orange that looks superb against the outrageous red. The leather is thick and soft and will age beautifully with use.

What I loved most was the craftsmanship. This bag is sturdy as anything. The seams are all secure and neat, there wasn't a single thread out of place. The bag is lined with canvas, and the inside pocket is finished off with a strip of red leather across the top edge. All of the hardware is high quality brass.

Every rivet is perfectly lined up. The braiding on the front panel is tight, neat and strong. I could wear this bag all over the mountains on horseback and it would hold up wonderfully.

Image from Soulindha on Etsy

It holds everything that I need: purse, keys, phone, excessive amount of lip balm, tissues, pens, paper, random receipts, gum... It comes with detachable straps that will hold a coat or jumper or blanket or whatever else you need to roll up and keep out of the way, as well as a strap to anchor the bag to your thigh. I wish I made more use of this strap, as I often find my bag around my head when I bend down in the supermarket.

The shoulder strap is completely adjustable, and can be changed to wear around your waist like a holster, short on the shoulder, or long across the body.

This bag has been designed and made with such care. The love of its maker pours out of it. Rawia's other creations on her shop are similarly beautiful, and very high quality. She made my bag very quickly and it was shipped in good packaging to protect it on the long journey from Australia. I could not have been more delighted when I opened the parcel.

Everywhere I go, I get compliments about it. I enjoy the smugness for a moment.

Doing business with Rawia was a real pleasure. It's refreshing to encounter people who trade on a more personal level, far from the corporate and bulk buying worlds of Amazon and eBay. This bag will last me for many years to come, and I have already made plans to use some of Rawia's other creations as gifts for good friends in the future.

Visit Rawia's Etsy shop, Soulindha, and see what you find. She offers this design in several other, more neutral colours, as well as many other designs of bag. Well worth a look, and certainly worth the investment.

On climbing back on.

"Get straight back on!" my instructor would shrill, marching over to wherever I was picking myself up out of the dirt. "Up you get! Get back on!"

That's the first rule that I remember learning about horses, apart from never using a mane comb on the tail. If you come off, get straight back on.

It's decent enough advice, and intended to stop setbacks from sticking long enough to become issues and obstacles. See that crappy thing that just happened? You can get over it and move on and still have a great time, and that crappy thing becomes a great big nothing.

It's been a strange time in life lately, and I fell off this blog. I fell off normal life. I fell into being somebody else for a little while, and realised it was no fun. Worst of all, I climbed off my horse. I climbed off, voluntarily, intentionally. Even though I landed on my feet like a regular dismount, I might as well have thrown myself face first into the dirt. My demons cackled with glee.

See these crappy things that happened? They're huge and terrible and your life is over and you'll never be happy again. You are a great big nothing.

It spiralled. I watched myself behave in a way that I hated. I listened to myself say things to Cowboy that were unfathomably horrible. I felt myself sliding like a poisoned body into a murky swamp, completely apathetic to stop it from happening.

It wasn't quite what I wanted, given that I was making plans for my whole future at the time, and a murky swamp wasn't what I really had in mind.

Shut up, the demons said. What you want doesn't matter. You'll never get it. You're going to fail at everything you ever do, you'll lose everything you've ever had, and you'll never have anything again.

And then I finally saw the sunshine. I saw this Sunshine:



I sat in the saddle in tears, about to climb off again (throw myself metaphorically face first in the metaphorical dirt). I had a violent meltdown. I was on the verge of quitting - quitting everything. I'd just go back to bed and never get up again.

Cowboy gripped my knee as I went to dismount, holding me still. He was unusually forceful. He almost shook me.

"Stay on the horse," he said. I fought him feebly for a moment. He said it again, slower, more urgently. "Stay. On. The horse."

"I can't," I protested, sobbing. "I'm just not in the right mood." I'll never be in the right mood again. Everything is worthless and useless and my life is already over.

"She doesn't care," he said. "Go ride." He let go of us, and chased Sunshine off into the middle of the arena.

I sat there as she walked about, looking for a spot where she might be allowed to stop. I didn't even pick up the reins. I watched her look back at me first with one brown eye, and then the other. She listened to me as I tried to catch my breath between the tears. She heaved a big sigh, and stepped onwards across the sand.

I finally came out of the haze. I emerged, squinting, from the toxic fog where the demons muttered at me, and I noticed the way she moved beneath me. I noticed her gentle, deliberate footfalls, and her patient breath. When we finally stopped, I felt her big heart pumping.

We had a big breakthrough that day. I say "we" did. I mean me. She has life all figured out already. I needed to hear it from her. She turned her head a little, looked up at me on her back. I like to think she was saying "Hey, human, what's the big deal? I've got this."

She became a safe place. That's an amusing notion, given that just a few weeks earlier I had been frightened to be on her back. Now, I will climb on her fresh from the field, and we put the world to rights.

Except now I am back in England, thousands of miles from her, and looking into the fog once more. In searching for another safe place, I'm climbing back on to the blog. Let's ride.

Inspiration

There are times in life when you look at somebody else for some inspiration. I've jumped on various bandwagons in my time, and each one had a different person that I pinned up as the driving inspiration. As life changes around me, and my ambitions become less glamorous, I am starting to see my bandwagons consolidating into one magnificent convoy.

I've always loved horses, and ridden since I was very little. My first pony was Sue, a tiny little grey Welsh pony who was the ripe old age of 18 when I inherited her from the rest of the family. She was quiet and solid and knew it all, and ferried me about while I learned how to sit quietly and still, how to balance, how to keep my heels down. Sue has gone to the great big pasture in the sky, I think she was 34 when she finally called it a day.

I borrowed a pony called Robin one summer, who was another well-aged old hand, and taught me to handle life with a bit more speed. Then the next year, I traded up to my sister's horse, Domino. He was slightly younger (still 16), with a fiesty Arab spirit with which he stomped his Welsh Cob feet. He still knew everything, taught me everything, there wasn't a single thing I could have done to shock him.

I've ridden hundreds of horses in my life, but one thing I've never done, or believed myself capable of doing, is training a young horse myself. I've always considered myself too inexperienced, or that a young horse would be too dangerous. That's amusing, given how many riding schools here in England happily put me on their greenest horses week after week, and instructors would flippantly comment about how hardly any clients ride a particularly troublesome horse that I had enjoyed riding.

So, to the inspiration. Obviously, a big inspiration to me is Cowboy, who reassures me that I'd be a good horse trainer, if I only stopped believing I am a useless horsewoman. There are many other trainers and clinicians that I've watched and studied over the last two years, who have made me want to learn more and try it for myself.

Then I sat down and watched the video diary that Stacy Westfall has been releasing over the last few months. It shows the week by week progress of a young stud horse that she is training. She talks through everything calmly. She demonstrates what she's doing, explains why. Some of it I don't agree with, but a lot of it makes sense. What's inspiring is seeing it look completely possible.

I hope to take on my own young horse in the near future, and build up the kind of bond that would open up a new world for me. It'll be a world full of mistakes and struggles, no doubt, but the prospect excites me. I'm grateful for this kind of inspiration - the kind that makes ambitions look closer than they seemed before.

Fear and hate

I had flu the last few days. It was pretty miserable. I'm starting to come back from it now, and I'm enjoying the "massive and sore lymph nodes in the neck" phase. Immunity is an amazing thing.

I am often overly concerned with other people's feelings, to a fault. It's a weakness of mine, a powerful urge to please everybody, all the time, even if it means sacrificing my own needs, wants and desires. I take grudges held by others very personally, even when they're not held against me.

I'm reminded of Master Yoda's wise words.



Fear is our protective emotion. It drives our desire to survive. But to live in fear of other people being fearful, angry or hateful is not really surviving...

So, I'm taking a lesson from this guy:

Keep your footing, as best you can, and trot on...

Wise Words

In January, I posted about a deeply personal situation. In hindsight, perhaps I should not have done so - although I took efforts to protect the identities of people I spoke about, and to do my best not to be openly offensive. I was, however, feeling defensive. Out of defence, I made a judgement, a wrong one. Despite many hundreds of thousands of people voicing their opinions and judgements on the internet, many of them offensive and insensitive, I am reluctant to make my feelings public.

However, I did make my thoughts public. This is a public blog. I am sorry if my voicing my feelings has caused hurt (but my right to voice them is unchanged). I have removed the posts, and removed an insensitive comment that was left with the sole intention of hurting me, but exposed another person in a way which I did not feel was acceptable. I was not comfortable with such personal details about somebody who has been hurt being freely available to strangers.

It is human instinct to seek out the sources of our pain, and to do whatever we can to stop them. If we cannot resolve the pain, we strike out at other things. We seek out other reasons for our anger and our hurt, and hope that this time we will feel better.

I came to terms with what happened some time ago. His Holiness the Dalai Lama can express what I am trying to do far better than I can. Please watch, listen and absorb.

Signs of getting older

I'm becoming increasingly aware that I am not 21 any longer. The thought of wearing a minidress and stilettos and going out dancing until 3am is not appealing these days. Neither is the fried chicken from the dubious fried chicken shop that we used to frequent after a night's dancing.

No, these days I fancy things like kale and chia seeds (whatever they are). I live in my sheepskin slippers and good sensible flats, work boots, and on the few occasions when I do cram my feet into a pair of heels, I just notice that my feet have spread and my bunion has got a bit worse.

I used to stop and stare at the window displays of Footlocker and Size?, in love with the brightly coloured Nikes and Adidas that would look totally sick at dance class.

OK, sometimes I still do that.

I tend to stop and stare at different window displays, though. The ones with good saucepans and juicers and solid wood furniture. I dream about the day when I can construct my perfect living room.

But the most recent, most potent sign that I am not 21 any longer is these...



I used to be able to read for hours, in terrible light, and suffer no ill effects. Lately I noticed headaches, a sense of tiredness in my eyes, and I was squinting unattractively as I moved the page closer and further in a bid to find the perfect focus zone.

The optometrist told me cheerfully that my vision probably won't go downhill in any significant way until I'm in my forties, so that's something to look forward to.

Efforts in creativity

Things have been a bit mad recently. I'll explain later. The long and short of it is I've needed to find ways to silence my brain, and to focus on one small task at a time. Otherwise the deluge of information and ideas is rather overwhelming.

I spent quite a bit of time over the Christmas period crafting jewellery, and I've picked it up again in the last few days. There's something rather zen about picking apart a piece of unloved jewellery and piecing something new together.



I was given a whole bunch of beaded jewellery by an old housemate before she moved out, which has bulked out my collection of materials considerably, but I've also made a few purchases here and there.



These interesting coloured chip beads came from Fishtail, Montana. The shop had strings and strings of locally sourced mineral beads. I had to limit myself to just the two colours.





I love them, and I want to make use of them, but the holes drilled in them are a little small for the metal findings I use. I'll either have to attempt to learn about using thread or wire, or find myself a drill.



Some of my creations are simpler than others. I have a few different colours to work with, and gold is not something I would usually wear. I'm quite tempted to try now that I've been playing with it a bit.

But these are probably my favourites...



I'm in the process of opening up a shop on Etsy, but being the sort of person who agonises over these things, it'll take me a while before I can summon the courage to get it up and running properly.