Home On The Range

It's minus three C outside. I was waiting to see whether the sun was going to make an appearance, and use that as inspiration to spur me on to an attempt at walking off some of yesterday's indulgences, but instead the haar turned into freezing fog. Rather than accepting defeat and settling down in front of the telly with a pile of edible presents, I pulled on my big girl pants (especially useful, even in metaphorical sense) and made another stomp around my old stomping grounds.

And I'm glad I did. The fog wasn't bad enough to render all visibility down to zero, and the temperature was just on the turn when I came across a patch of gorse that had been covered in spider webs. The webs had obviously caught moisture from the fog, had frozen, and I walked past them just as they were beginning to thaw. I've never seen anything like it, and I'm glad I had my trusty Galaxy SII with me to record the melting beauty!

Magus Muir

These woods, the scene of Archbishop Sharp's murder in 1679, always felt a little eerie when I was wee... 

Being older I can appreciate how wild and beautiful they are, but I think they'll always feel a little creepy!

An old iron "To Monument" sign is slowly failing the test of time

Someone in April 1962 showing just how well they could wield a penknife...

Arch-Bishop Sharp's monument

Autumn's Final Fling

There's a nice walk I sometimes take up through the Scheveningse Bosjes, and round by Westbroek Park. Well, it's more like a theme and variations, because there are a myriad of routes to take around this part of the city that will give you a goodly supply of woodland eye-candy.  

Today's foray took me through the middle of the bosjes, around the park, and back past the lake (of which I can't find the name.) This whole area was part of the coastal defences called the Atlantikwall, created by the Germans when they occupied the Netherlands (and much of the European coast) during the Second World War; the woods were raised to the ground (as well as much housing), and the lake became part of an anti-tank ditch. It shows the massive fortitude of the Dutch that the many woods and parks of the city have been re-planted, and allowed to heal some of the scars left by the Nazis.

A Little Of What You Fancy Does You Good

"This beauteous marvel of confectionery is a Salted Caramel Brownie Slice from M&S. But, dear reader, it's more than *just* a Salted Caramel Brownie Slice from M&S... It's a promise made to the author many months ago, an enticement to divest herself of unnecessary poundage, a reward for perseverance (and, perhaps, for reading too many novels by Jane Austen).

Today there is 90 pounds (or 40.82kgs) less of our heroine. Huzzah!

And soon, very soon, there will be considerably less Salted Caramel Brownie Slice from M&S... om nom nom!"

It's Cold And Grey But Autumn Is Painting The Town Red

The Japanese Garden in the Clingendael estate to the east of the city, is only open to the public a few weeks of the year, but what vibrant few weeks in Spring and Autumn they are! Absolutely worth a visit come rain or shine.

More people than trees. Or so it seems in every photo I take!

I've learned over the course of this visit that the trick isn't waiting for people to clear the area so you can take a photo, because you'll be waiting for ever, the trick is waiting for people with clothing that match the background to get into place so you can take a photo... Pink kagool? Yep, just to the right, a wee bit more... :: click ::

I still need to learn, however, to be totally aware of my surroundings: here I thought I had a clear people-free shot and didn't notice the guy right in the centre with his hands on his hips until I cropped and checked the photos on a larger screen back home! I mean, he's RIGHT IN THE CENTRE OF THE SHOT!!

:: plays music to 'The Twilight Zone' ::

And of course, you can't visit any park that has water features of any kind, because you'll always see a heron or two, keeping an eye out for errant fish, and possibly equally errant humans.

I caught handsome Mr Heron doing a spot of catalogue posing. Just after this was taken, he pointed to the bank with one wing, while checking his watch on the other. Obviously a pro.

A Constitutional Preamble

I thought I'd add a little introduction to the parks phase of this literary affair, instead of whipping out a pile of tree photos for you to ogle at with no prior communiqué whatsoever. A twigger warning, if you will.  (I may apologise for that later.)

I started going for walks primarily as a means of finding interesting doors to photograph.  If you know me on facebook, or have had a look at my other blog here, you'll know I have a passion for portals that started with a visit to Vézelay in France last August, a destination to which I brought my brand-new (though not new in terms of tech) Samsung Galaxy Tab 2 7". This darling machine connected to the internet if there was WiFi around, and as I couldn't afford a laptop, this was the next best thing! And it took photos, so in that respect it was WAY better than a laptop! Oh my! I didn't own a smart phone (and I still don't), but this piece of kit was quite the Welcome To The Smart Age just the same, and I had a whale of a time taking photos, editing them, and slapping them all over my facebook page.  All from the comfort of my own hotel room!  

Yes, the quality isn't fabulous, but for a night-time photo basically taken with a big-ass fake phone, it turned out rather well.  (Abbaye Sainte-Marie-Madeleine de Vézelay.)

The town is an ancient hill-top settlement, originally going back to Roman times, and it became the start of one of four important pilgrim routes to Santiago de Compostela, so the tiny township is filled with steep roads, and ancient buildings that offer a plethora of characterful doorways to capture on cyber film. And a facebook photo album was born.

baby's first portal photo

At the time I wasn't thinking about the health benefits of going for walks, although after this entry (I may apologies for that later, too) to the joys of pounding the pavement in search of additions to my album, it became more obvious the further I travelled afield that the exercise was actually doing me good. I discovered that I liked walking, coupled with capturing moments on memory card that had already captured my imagination.  

I was tempted to add the portals to this blog, but as I'm at around four hundred doors and counting, I think they deserve their own piece of internet real-estate. Instead, I am happy to share with you in future posts some of the things that have stirred my fantasy on walks throughout this city, and elsewhere, but I'll leave this post with a couple more doors - one that shows the sloping nature of the roads I was talking about, and the other simply because I love that it's absolutely chock-full of texture!  What a story it could tell!

A First Time For Everything

"Nic tried on a pair of jeans today. A pair of jeans in a high-street shop, not a 'plus-size' shop. And in a 'normal' department of said high-street shop, not in a 'plus-size' department of the self-same high-street shop.

(This, it must be pointed out, is a first-time experience in the life of your author.)

And you know what? They fit!"

I do tend to sound glib when expressing myself in relation to my weight loss sometimes, of this I am aware. I have a habit of making things sound a lot less important to me than they really are, and part of that is out of habit - if no-one thinks it's important to me there's less chance of it being belittled/nicked/broken (which is a very old and very hard habit to break), and part of it is because I like to make people laugh. Or chortle. I can settle for snort, too. You'll find a lot of funny people (much funnier than I) who became funnier still primarily as a means to deflect hate, whether by, for example, self-mockery (hey, if I get the fat joke in first, that means people will laugh with me and not at me), or observational comedy (check out this thing that everyone does but doesn't realise how hilarious it is, instead of ridiculing me) to name just two methods of diversion.

So, when I sound a little flippant about about this brand-new shopping experience, believe me, it's covering up the utter and profound joy of potentially finding a bigger range of clothes to choose from, a bigger range of styles, shapes, colours, and at prices that don't penalise the plump for using up a few inches of fabric more than the same garment in a non-plus size. 

Reader, I bought the jeans.

Psych 666

"Nic really wishes she understood the absolutely hilarious reply to the Dutch equivalent of "Jesus, what's with fat chicks and knitting?" that was uttered by one of the ten or so gobby young 'men' on the train, because she's absolutely positive it must have been intelligent and insightful."

Yes, yes, societal norms, the fitting-in with your fellows, pack mentality etc etc etc. Everything can be explained in a psychological manner.

The kid who came out with the first comment may have been trying to assert his place of power within the group by drawing everyone's attention to him, via me. He might have confidence issues, he might have a problem with authority figures, he probably has something about himself that he doesn't like so is perhaps always the first to point out weaknesses in others, in the hope that no-one will notice his.

The comic of the group may want attention just as much as the leader, but perhaps realises that he doesn't quite have the strength to battle for that position, so deflects this flaw into making people laugh instead. He can hog the limelight as much as the leader, but because he's taken the role of fool, he'll never be considered a threat. The comic may also have sadness to bear in his life, depression, grief. It's not for nothing that you hear the greatest comedians are those who have the intelligence to make despair sound funny.

The rest are pack animals. Snarling for scraps of the action, trying to be accepted by copying the leaders, probably just hoping they won't be picked on next for any of their own perceived flaws.

Or they could all just be little devils with no consciences sent to make my day miserable.  

It hardly matters because trying to find reasons to justify their behaviour doesn't make the outcome any different. They come across as little shits, and I go home feeling like one.

Everything In The Garden's...

... boozy.

It's been a while since I opened up the drinks cabinet of my imagination. I am glad to report that it hasn't been emptied by teenage thoughts in the interim, although I'm still not sure how that bottle of Advocaat came into being...  Mind you, doesn't the Snowball cocktail use that...?  And the Bombardino?  Hey, there's also the Fluffy Duck... 

(My mind: a dangerous place in which to get lost.)

But I digress.  Slightly.   What I'm really here to bring you is the 'Summer Vegetable Most-Unhealthy Use' prize of 2014:  Peapod Wine.

peapod wine socks by yours truly
bbknits superwash sock in 'seagrass'

Yes indeed, this fruity little number... erm vegetally little number... has been grown from the seed of home-made wine memories of my youth. My Dad's home-made wines, that is.  The fruit or vegetable mash in the big tub which would slowly make its way to demijohns with their blip-blooping airlocks and finally to their final (temporary) destination in corked bottles under the floor where it was dark and cool.  It must be pointed out that Dad never actually made peapod wine, and although his raspberry, his rhubarb, and above all his parsnip wine shall forever live in our slightly hazy memories, there's not really anything sock-worthy about tipsy root vegetables.

  

So for inspiration I went instead to the rest of his garden, where the potatoes (great for chips, crap for socks), lettuce (can you even have boozy salad?), and carrots (pff, if you're not having them with dinner, then the only other decent and proper use is in cake) were passed over for the tendrilly fragrant vines that would climb up the old bamboo frames and present us with pods full of pea-popping sweetness. Perfect!

So I started the socks just how the pea plant starts - at the bottom with tendrils of vine, dividing up into stalks, ready to climb...

I have to admit I'm fond of this peapod pattern...  I wasn't sure whether I should make the pods in a cabled fashion, but in the end some natty, and slightly modified, skps did the trick!

But you know?  I think I'm most fond of the calyx cuff.  It's amazing what some twist cables and a little contrasting purling can do!

But really, this is a raised glass to my Dad, in sock form!!

The Peapod Wine Sock is worked from a pea-shoot toe up, with a peapod pattern foot and leg, short-row heel, and a calyx cuff, and you can find the pattern page on Ravelry HERE.  (You don't need to be a member to view the page!)

Or, should you be so inclined, you can just jump straight to buying this little gem by clicking on the button below!  At only €3 ($3.94, £2.37, or ¥410) it's a tipsy garden delight without the weeds, or the hangover!

(At)tempting Weight

"Note to self: these weigh twice as much as the last ones. Stopping distances will vary drastically from previous efforts. Probably best not to proceed without necessary face protection until arms become considerably stronger, if results like the last time want to be avoided..."

It appears that I'm a glutton for punishment.

I'm sure you'll excuse me if I don't let you know if something happens. This time.  

A Tale Of Two (And A Half) Storeys

"Nic was pondering, mid-climb of a dead escalator and struggling with a 20-kilo suitcase, that she used to have to do everything with nearly double the weight of that laden valise on her actual person... Quite a revelation!"

I got the same heavy suitcase up the two-and-a-half (the house has a strange layout) floors up to my flat boggling at every step. I used to carry twice the weight of this wardrobe on wheels wrapped around me, lagging my legs, encasing my arms, enveloping my body in layers of flesh, a corpulent cocoon out of which I am only starting to emerge.  

It seems such an abstract concept somehow. I, me, this person, used to live, to walk, to work with twice as much weight on them as this very heavy thing I've just hauled up the stairs. It feels like there should be a punchline. Not that I mean I think the whole thing's a joke; on the contrary, although I can't quite explain it yet, somehow it feels like this whole notion is approaching that almost unbelievable end of the seriously real spectrum.  

Where impossible reaches possible.

Snake-Oil Salesmen

"Nic was reading an article about an amazing woman who lost 172 lbs and was going to be featured in a fitness magazine, but after being given a true 'after' photo of her wearing a bikini (losing oodles of weight means that there are things that will never look 'normal' without the help of plastic surgery) she was asked for a different photo with clothes that covered her completely... O_o  And then there was the comments section.

Comments. I should learn never to read the comments on articles like this..."

(Actually, I should never read the comments on any article, anywhere. Unless it's on the Oatmeal, or on ridiculous items from Amazon.com.)

But you know? I think I'm in the wrong job. I should be working for some aspect of the diet industry, because it appears there's a LOT of money to be made out of criticising, cajoling, counterfeit caring, cautioning, comforting, corrupting, and 'curing', and that's just the Cs.  

You're too fat. Try this diet aid. C'mon, you're obviously just not trying - you're still too fat. Here, this diet aid is better. Please, your fatness is offending everyone because they don't want to be reminded that they're not living up to their own warped ideals of perfection. Try this NEW and IMPROVED diet aid. No THIS one, because that one is so last year, darling. STOP - they are all wrong - it's THIS ONE that will solve all your problems. And only ten ninety-nine per fortnightly serving of self-hate conditioning. Twenty-nine ninety-nine for this DVD explaining the ninety-seven steps you can take to be just like them. Fifty-six ninety-nine for twelve monthly magazines brain-washing you into buying more diet aids and more DVDs outlining forty ways to stop offending everyone with your existence and they're so expensive because we CARE about YOU and the HORRIBLE THINGS you have obviously done to yourself to be so very far away from what we think should be normal but WE can help YOU, you poor thing. Bless your probably clogged, surely unloved, unconventional heart.

Oh. Well now. You've lost half your body weight? You're exercising, eating well and enjoying a more fruitful life without us prodding you and selling things to you and constantly telling you you're not good enough?

You're DISGUSTING. How could you do that to yourself? Ugh - all that excess skin and health and contentment. Everyone!!! Do you SEE what happens to you when you're selfish and don't care about yourself and are swallowed up by our awful, uncaring society? But WE care. Try this diet aid and you won't ever have to be as embarrassing or as sickening as this creature...

repeat ad nauseam

She'll Be Coming 'Round The Mountain When She Comes

"Nic thanks the stars that there are periodic outcrops of victory to cling on to in this increasingly difficult uphill struggle to lose weight.

Mind you, the view from up here just gets better and better, 80lbs lighter and that much closer to the top!"

With perhaps less Hannibal, Alps, Elephants, and more Nic, Cairngorms, Highland Cow.

The Hippy Hippy Shakes

"Nic has discovered that there's nothing quite like trying to analyse your gait to determine why your hip hurts, to make your hip hurt more."

We've all been there at some time or other: we've seen ourselves walk down a corridor with reflective doors at the end; we've walked past a group of boys containing the cute one we've been spending way too much time thinking about; walked across a busy intersection where there's a hundred cars waiting at the traffic lights for us pedestrians to cross. You end up allowing a feeling of intimidation to take over, creating an inner panic that somehow your walk looks stupid, or unglamorous, or draws attention to you for all the wrong reasons, and you forget. You lose all memory of how you walked before, and trip, stumble, or walk swinging the same-side arm as leg.*

I've been told that extreme weight loss does extreme things to the body. I usually scoff when someone says that in relation to me, because extreme? Me? Hah!! Well, actually yes. But you see, I look at myself and the first thing I think of is that I'm still enormous and I still have a good few stones still to lose, forgetting that I've already lost the equivalent of a small adult in weight. It sounds contrived, but when you've been one way for so long, it's really, really hard to see yourself as any different, even when you know you've gone through some major metamorphosis or other. So I really do have to get around to the idea that there's some weird crap going on that I have no control over whatsoever, like, for example, the centre of my gravity, how my lessening weight is now distributed in relation to my body frame, and how it affects my balance, my gait, my movement.

So for the last few weeks I've been reliving the over-analysis of my walk by trying to figure out if something has changed enough in the way I get from A to B to cause my hips to complain so much. I've worn my walking shoes, everyday shoes, trainers, tennis shoes, and sturdy boots all on walks of similar length, and ended up coming back with a sore hip each time. And because I was so aware of every single step, trying to gauge whether I was leaning back more, leaning forward more, twisting somehow, limping, putting my heels down abnormally, rolling on to the toe differently in each foot, extending my legs at different angles, or had suddenly developed a shimmy worthy of Marilyn Monroe that was knocking my joints out of... joint... because I was so aware of each step I know I wasn't walking normally.  In all honesty, after this experiment I may never walk normally again.

It's obviously not the solution to discovering what the problem is.  

It has been suggested by a friend who has lost even more weight than I have, that it may take a while for my body to rebalance. She proposes that muscles have to relearn what they need to do for even simple things like standing up straight. Thinking about it, it makes sense. When I was at my biggest most of my weight was carried at the front, so my back and stomach muscles must have had to work extra hard just to keep my balance. I can imagine that they spent an awful lot of time in a state of rigidity. Now I have much less everywhere, and weight distribution seems to be evening up between front and back, these muscles might have to 'learn' to stop working so hard to support a weight that's not so uneven any more?

Maybe my achy lower back, and grumbling left hip are just symptoms of a long-term body refurbishment. But I think I'll steer clear of shoe shops and groups of boys, just to be on the safe side.

*Yes, yes okay, these are all from personal experience.

Eye Of The Donkey

"Nic learnt three things tonight whilst Wii boxing with her new wrist weights:

1: she thought she was using her waist/back/whatever muscles before.  She was wrong.

2: stopping distances for a hook are remarkably longer with weights than without.  Remarkably longer.

3: it is not easy to fake box with a nosebleed."

As I've finally managed to get the hang of not thumping my nose, grazing my chin, or throttling myself with the Wii controllers, I decided to up the ante with the purchase of some wrist weights. The thinking behind this was that I'd have more resistance, and therefore it would be a little more like punching a bag, instead of punching thin air.  

You can probably tell from all of this that I'm not a driver, but I suspect there's a distance/speed/likelihood of crashing formula that you have to learn. I'm sure at least there's a warning on the  side of the car?  CAUTION - MAY CAUSE MATHS PROBLEMS.

It's common sense. It weighs more than before, so if nothing else, my muscles won't be used to carrying them around, and therefore get tired faster, which will increase the chances of my punching my left boob with a right hook instead of the imaginary sand-filled bag hanging from my ceiling. But indeed, if properly thought-out, there has to be a stopping distance to exertion to muscle strength formula that might do the job.  

But until someone tells me what it is, I'll be online searching for hockey masks and triple-padded bras.

Season's Greetings

"Stravinsky. Possibly not the best composer to listen to whilst working out on the elliptical trainer.

Dancer that dies at the end of 'The Rite of Spring'? I know how you feel..."

It's not even the speed. I'm keeping quite a steady rhythm that has little to do with what I'm listening to (which would cause some hilarity if I was doing this in public at a gym - feet turning at a steady pace, arms gesticulating wildly to the beat, or emphases in the phrase - but it's ALL to do with the intention.  

It's possibly just as well I was at home because the Augurs of Spring section had me all dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun DUN dun DUN dun dun dun dun dun DUN dun dun DUN dun dun dun DUN dun dun dun dun DUN dun dun and no-one would have stood a chance anywhere in the vicinity of me, my cycle and my flailing appendages.

My Love Is Like A Red, Red... Cupcake

"Due to the unforeseen Great Albert Heijn Malteser Shortage of '14, we are, sadly, forced to postpone celebrating our 72 poundiversary loss with the designated Malteser Tray Bake. But we must thank the galant and vibrant Red Velvet Cupcake for stepping in at the last moment. (Red was due to celebrate the 59 poundiversary, but was inexplicably forgotten in the run-up to Christmas.)

Further poundiversaries are now designated as: 79 - Malteser Tray Bake (presuming the Shortage doesn't continue); 88 - something decadent from M&S (to be decided); 95 - tray of maple-pecan brownies; 103 - possibly an entire carrot cake. With frosting."

Yes, our noble heroine Bettie Crocker steps into the breach again, with her box mix cupcakes. The whole concept of bright red cake is such an alien thing to this Scot who was brought up with either brown chocolate cake or cream-coloured sponge that of course it had to be on the poundiversary list. Dear America, you are useful for so many strange things that we would never have thought of doing ourselves. Huzzah for your over-the-top, weird and wonderful baking practises.  

And frosting. Thank you for frosting. Icing is lovely, don't get me wrong, and the fairy cakes of my youth slathered in runny white (or blue or pink or yellow, should the village shop stock such exotic food colouring) icing, and hundreds and thousands, are fond, fond memories, but frosting? They say everything is bigger in the US and they don't appear to be wrong, at least when taking cake garnishing into consideration.

I wonder what it was that nudged some baker or other towards making a blood-red coloured chocolate cake, though?  I wondered enough, in fact, to ask Professor Google, and it appears it could be blood-red because some bloke in 40's America wanted to sell his red food colouring! Well, whatever the truth, the rise of the importance of the red velvet cake was enough for good old Bettie Crocker to package it up in ready-to-bake form, and for that me and my minus seventy-two pounds thank her.

Lovely Bubbly!

Champagne - the most decadent of alcoholic beverages, and usually so expensive to prohibit it's consumption except in the most celebratory of circumstances. 

So until you can get your neck around a glass (or indeed a bowl) of the good stuff, help yourself to some free bubbly socks instead!

champagne tower socks by yours truly

Champagne!  And what's more decadent than a glass of champagne, but many glasses of champagne, of course!

My Champagne Tower Socks are made from the top down, with a short-row heel, and were inspired by watching a 'how do they do that' TV programme that included the proper (or at least a successful) method of pouring champagne down a pyramid of champagne bowls!  I love the idea of champagne and froth carrying on down the sock in luxurious stripes - a gentle froth topping some over-the-top twisted rib - the epitome of luxurious ribbing in my eyes!

I did two versions, one a straight champagne and froth, the second a slightly more frivolous kir royale (crème de cassis, or blackcurrant liqueur and champagne),

kir royale tower socks
araucania ranco solid in 'PT485'
kartopu kristal in 'white'

but the options are not few - there are a good many cocktails that include champagne that could inspire you to any number of colour combinations!

I think my ultimate favourite champagne cocktail is the Black Velvet - champagne and Guinness.  Delicious!

And how often do you get offered free champagne?  They're just one click away...  Either HERE, which goes straight to the Ravelry pattern page, or...

(It says buy now, but the button just takes you to the paypal download page, but you pay nothing!)