Moving!

My blog has moved to its own shiny new domain name! This old one is staying up to preserve a few links that other people are using, but no new posts will appear here.

If you'd like to keep up with me, please head on over to my new home. I'd love to entertain you in some fashion over there.

Thank you, Blogger, for your kind service over the months. I'll never forget the time we had. It's just that I've met somebody else, and... well... I just have to follow my heart on this one.

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.

Loading

View on Instagram

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.