Three days so far, and three walks done, plus walking my hooves off at work. No alcohol and not really missing it. No bread, still going through bread withdrawal especially when HH fires up the toasty sandwich maker and squishes jarlsberg cheese in between 2 slices of a gorgeous dense whole grain loaf and then toasts that toastie to delicious toastiness!!!
THEN I skip on over to Alisons blog where she beguiles me with Tamarillo Cosmopolitans and Wickedly/Quite Healthfully Chocolate Chestnut Spread and don´t even get me started on Bryces Primal Chocolate Coconut Crepes....
It is all doing my head in.
My heel is still a happy camper, so I am, too.
...and I met the most GAWJUS 11 week old Bernese Mountain Dog puppy, Bess (and her lovely owner) while out on my morning walking in the rain this morning.
No, I don´t have pics because I am a lazy blogger and I was having far too much fun playing with a very cutesom puppy!
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
One Month of Little Changes
I used to love walking. It was easy on the aging knees, the scenery around where I live is lovely.
There are horses who say hello along my 6.5km stretch of country lane. Then I developed heel pain and was unable to walk any real distance without pain, and even more pain the following day. Over the past few months I have barely walked with intent outside of work purposes. My last riding lesson was in March and it was a disaster as I had no mobility through the ankle and my foot would simply slip through the stirrup and I was unable to rectify it. That was just downright dangerous and a very scary feeling as a stirrup would edge its way up my calf. Without intentional walking, no horse riding and being simply unable to work horses full stop, I put on a few pounds. And then a few pounds more. To the point where my jeans actually do not fit me anymore. Forget about thrashing around on the floor and going red in the face trying to squeeze myself into them and then fighting all sorts of laws of quantum physics and laws of energy, mass and gravity trying to do the zipper up. The only equation that was working was;
Daffodil+no exercise+mindless eating = jeans do not fit anymore.
Now that I no longer have heel pain, I have taken the bull by the horns (actually, the runners by the laces) and took my first real walk in almost six months. Yes people, I actually walked my 6.5kms this morning in a very average time of 1:11:30 according to my gps and at an average speed of 5.45kms per hour.
That is not too bad considering my almost total lack of exercise. I used to do that walk in just under one hour flat, so I have a lot of improving to do.
Now for the important stuff for me. No heel pain when walking AT ALL. No heel pain when rolling over rocks on the side of the road to let cars pass by without killing me. NOICE!!!! and even now, hours after I have finished my walk, no pain OR tightness through the ankle, heel or calf. I feel great!
On the bread front. No bread has passed by my lips to settle on my hips.
On the alcohol front. Likewise.
So between no bread, no alcohol and walking one hour a day for one month, we shall see how the FattyDaffy goes in getting back into the top boots and the riding gear.
Small, simple changes.
BTW, YOU CAN DO IT, FIONA!!!! Thanks for joining me on this one month of little changes.
There are horses who say hello along my 6.5km stretch of country lane. Then I developed heel pain and was unable to walk any real distance without pain, and even more pain the following day. Over the past few months I have barely walked with intent outside of work purposes. My last riding lesson was in March and it was a disaster as I had no mobility through the ankle and my foot would simply slip through the stirrup and I was unable to rectify it. That was just downright dangerous and a very scary feeling as a stirrup would edge its way up my calf. Without intentional walking, no horse riding and being simply unable to work horses full stop, I put on a few pounds. And then a few pounds more. To the point where my jeans actually do not fit me anymore. Forget about thrashing around on the floor and going red in the face trying to squeeze myself into them and then fighting all sorts of laws of quantum physics and laws of energy, mass and gravity trying to do the zipper up. The only equation that was working was;
Daffodil+no exercise+mindless eating = jeans do not fit anymore.
Now that I no longer have heel pain, I have taken the bull by the horns (actually, the runners by the laces) and took my first real walk in almost six months. Yes people, I actually walked my 6.5kms this morning in a very average time of 1:11:30 according to my gps and at an average speed of 5.45kms per hour.
That is not too bad considering my almost total lack of exercise. I used to do that walk in just under one hour flat, so I have a lot of improving to do.
Now for the important stuff for me. No heel pain when walking AT ALL. No heel pain when rolling over rocks on the side of the road to let cars pass by without killing me. NOICE!!!! and even now, hours after I have finished my walk, no pain OR tightness through the ankle, heel or calf. I feel great!
On the bread front. No bread has passed by my lips to settle on my hips.
On the alcohol front. Likewise.
So between no bread, no alcohol and walking one hour a day for one month, we shall see how the FattyDaffy goes in getting back into the top boots and the riding gear.
Small, simple changes.
BTW, YOU CAN DO IT, FIONA!!!! Thanks for joining me on this one month of little changes.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Heel Spur.....
I am calling it. My Heel Spur is no longer bothering me at all. Yep, crack open that champagne, it is over. Months of hobbling hell, screaming achilles tendon pain, unable to wear shoes and at times unable to ride my horse and sometimes having to take time off of work all because of this blasted heel spur shredding my achilles tendon.
No surgery required. I took on Bowen Therapy and essential oils and beat the effects of the bony prominence into submission.
Yay.
...and now for the not-so-yay.
I put on weight through not moving around so much. My jeans are WAAAAAAAY to tight and right now I am looking at going up another size. EEEWWW! Muffin top!!!! My top boots are also almost muffin topping my calves. Double EWWWW. There is far too much Daffodil to be forcing into riding jodhs. It is not a pretty sight and certainly not for the faint hearted.
Something must be done and today I start. I no longer have the effects of a heel spur to cultivate my laziness. I have to get this spreading Daffodil moving and losing it.
I already know what my weaknesses are. Bread. I love bread, so no bread for me for one whole month, which of course immediately reduces my butter intake. What is bread without butter? (actually, it is still delicious!) Alcohol. Oh how I love you Shiraz, but you cloud my judgement and leave me eating mindlessly. Goodbye alcohol for one month.
Hello walking. One hour every day, rain, hail, shine or frost. This I really do need. My walking gait is still somewhat impaired from inactivity and the only way to restore that is through meaningful activity. What better way than walking?
It all starts here and it is starting now.
Bye Bye FattyDaff. Hello top boots!!!!
No surgery required. I took on Bowen Therapy and essential oils and beat the effects of the bony prominence into submission.
Yay.
...and now for the not-so-yay.
I put on weight through not moving around so much. My jeans are WAAAAAAAY to tight and right now I am looking at going up another size. EEEWWW! Muffin top!!!! My top boots are also almost muffin topping my calves. Double EWWWW. There is far too much Daffodil to be forcing into riding jodhs. It is not a pretty sight and certainly not for the faint hearted.
Something must be done and today I start. I no longer have the effects of a heel spur to cultivate my laziness. I have to get this spreading Daffodil moving and losing it.
I already know what my weaknesses are. Bread. I love bread, so no bread for me for one whole month, which of course immediately reduces my butter intake. What is bread without butter? (actually, it is still delicious!) Alcohol. Oh how I love you Shiraz, but you cloud my judgement and leave me eating mindlessly. Goodbye alcohol for one month.
Hello walking. One hour every day, rain, hail, shine or frost. This I really do need. My walking gait is still somewhat impaired from inactivity and the only way to restore that is through meaningful activity. What better way than walking?
It all starts here and it is starting now.
Bye Bye FattyDaff. Hello top boots!!!!
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Don and Hamelot Have Left the Building
Don and Hamelot, our two little Wessex Saddleback pigs were slaughtered yesterday. I will not pretty up this post for human acceptance. If you are vegan, you do not have to read on. If you are vegetarian, likewise.
Please, everyone who may read this post, be assured that these two little pigs lived a very happy life, they ate well, free ranged, wallowed copiously, burrowed with and without intent, got out of their paddock once and fell asleep on their boundary fence. They jumped straight back in when dinner arrived and strangely enough never attempted escape again. The grass may have been over-tilled by them both, but they obviously knew where it was greener. They had shady trees, a pig ark stuffed to capacity with sweet smelling hay that they would burrow into every night...and afternoon for siestas. They were well kept pigs.
HH and I deliberately kept Don and Hamelot far away from the house in their own purpose modified paddock. Even though we are animal lovers we do still eat meat, not alot of meat, but still some. Having our own property has enabled us to keep our own livestock for our own consumption. This was our first year for raising pigs. Having them away from the house meant that we did not cultivate a ¨pet pig¨ mentality. Don and Hamelot were pigs with a purpose. Their destiny lays in our freezer and eliminates the need for purchasing commercial (yes, even free range) pig meat.
Pigs can be very harsh on the land. Their newly vacated paddock will need a year of resting with a couple of round bales of grass hay to mulch it, preserve it and rejuvenate it before we can put any more livestock on it. That paddock has been stripped, tilled, turned, and upended by our little pigs. The deep underlying clay pan is almost our new top soil. The only thing keeping our topsoil in our paddock is the fact that they soil is still damp. Once it is dry, all it will take is a stiff breeze and our neighbours will have newly deposited top soil on their land. OURS! I have no idea how free range pigs can be kept to supply a commercial market.....Do they really, or are they only born free range and once weaned then kept off of the land? Our two pigs lived in a 3/4 acre paddock for four months and utterly destroyed it.
Anyhoo, I digress. Yesterday, Russell, our slaughter/butcher guy came with his refrigerated truck, gun and dog. He inspected our two little pigs and commented that they were at the perfect size. Being boars, you cannot keep them too long just in case their circulating testosterone ¨taints¨ the meat. It does not always happen, especially when the pigs are kept truly free range, but why take the risk? Don and Hamelot weighed in at about 34kgs and 38kgs respectively. A good weight to still handle between two people. Russell produced his gun and shot each pig in the head, between the eyes and they fell to the ground. Don and Hamelot both saw us as food and would wait at the fence for us with their little upturned snouts snuffling in anticipation of the food bucket. Today there was no food bucket, only a gun. There was very little noise, and they died immediately. I do not know what goes on in a professional abbatoir, so I cannot compare the two processes.
HH had set up a 44 gallon drum filled with water and boiled it using fallen timber from our property to fire it up and get that water boiling. Each pig was then dipped into the water for about five minutes which is enough to make it easy to scrape their coarse hair off but not to cook them. They were then removed and Russell hung them up using a block and tackle and the abdominal cavity opened and all of the innards removed.
Russell then set about removing the head and the trotters (which I did want) Some of the offal we saved, some went to the dogs and the rest into our septic worm treatment plant. He is quick. He knows his job and he does this for a living. Don and Hamelot then had a meat hook placed through them and they were put into the cool room where they will hang for a week before being butchered into traditional portions and put into the freezer to be eaten by us over the next year.
I hope this post is not too sanitized, but if you were expecting lots of blood and gore and squealing none of this happened. As I said, Russell is a professional. The whole morning was stress free. Don and Hamelot died in anticipation of a yummy food bucket. I don´t think that you can die much happier than that. They didn´t run away in terror and there was no squealing. It was a quick clean death. How many commercially farmed animals meet an end like that?
If you ever come to our place for dinner and there is pig on the table, rest assured you can eat without a guilty conscience knowing that Don and Hamelot lived a happy life, had a quick death and we wasted as little of them both as we could.
Please, everyone who may read this post, be assured that these two little pigs lived a very happy life, they ate well, free ranged, wallowed copiously, burrowed with and without intent, got out of their paddock once and fell asleep on their boundary fence. They jumped straight back in when dinner arrived and strangely enough never attempted escape again. The grass may have been over-tilled by them both, but they obviously knew where it was greener. They had shady trees, a pig ark stuffed to capacity with sweet smelling hay that they would burrow into every night...and afternoon for siestas. They were well kept pigs.
HH and I deliberately kept Don and Hamelot far away from the house in their own purpose modified paddock. Even though we are animal lovers we do still eat meat, not alot of meat, but still some. Having our own property has enabled us to keep our own livestock for our own consumption. This was our first year for raising pigs. Having them away from the house meant that we did not cultivate a ¨pet pig¨ mentality. Don and Hamelot were pigs with a purpose. Their destiny lays in our freezer and eliminates the need for purchasing commercial (yes, even free range) pig meat.
Pigs can be very harsh on the land. Their newly vacated paddock will need a year of resting with a couple of round bales of grass hay to mulch it, preserve it and rejuvenate it before we can put any more livestock on it. That paddock has been stripped, tilled, turned, and upended by our little pigs. The deep underlying clay pan is almost our new top soil. The only thing keeping our topsoil in our paddock is the fact that they soil is still damp. Once it is dry, all it will take is a stiff breeze and our neighbours will have newly deposited top soil on their land. OURS! I have no idea how free range pigs can be kept to supply a commercial market.....Do they really, or are they only born free range and once weaned then kept off of the land? Our two pigs lived in a 3/4 acre paddock for four months and utterly destroyed it.
Anyhoo, I digress. Yesterday, Russell, our slaughter/butcher guy came with his refrigerated truck, gun and dog. He inspected our two little pigs and commented that they were at the perfect size. Being boars, you cannot keep them too long just in case their circulating testosterone ¨taints¨ the meat. It does not always happen, especially when the pigs are kept truly free range, but why take the risk? Don and Hamelot weighed in at about 34kgs and 38kgs respectively. A good weight to still handle between two people. Russell produced his gun and shot each pig in the head, between the eyes and they fell to the ground. Don and Hamelot both saw us as food and would wait at the fence for us with their little upturned snouts snuffling in anticipation of the food bucket. Today there was no food bucket, only a gun. There was very little noise, and they died immediately. I do not know what goes on in a professional abbatoir, so I cannot compare the two processes.
HH had set up a 44 gallon drum filled with water and boiled it using fallen timber from our property to fire it up and get that water boiling. Each pig was then dipped into the water for about five minutes which is enough to make it easy to scrape their coarse hair off but not to cook them. They were then removed and Russell hung them up using a block and tackle and the abdominal cavity opened and all of the innards removed.
Russell then set about removing the head and the trotters (which I did want) Some of the offal we saved, some went to the dogs and the rest into our septic worm treatment plant. He is quick. He knows his job and he does this for a living. Don and Hamelot then had a meat hook placed through them and they were put into the cool room where they will hang for a week before being butchered into traditional portions and put into the freezer to be eaten by us over the next year.
I hope this post is not too sanitized, but if you were expecting lots of blood and gore and squealing none of this happened. As I said, Russell is a professional. The whole morning was stress free. Don and Hamelot died in anticipation of a yummy food bucket. I don´t think that you can die much happier than that. They didn´t run away in terror and there was no squealing. It was a quick clean death. How many commercially farmed animals meet an end like that?
If you ever come to our place for dinner and there is pig on the table, rest assured you can eat without a guilty conscience knowing that Don and Hamelot lived a happy life, had a quick death and we wasted as little of them both as we could.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
The Search Thus Far....
Recently I wrote of the demise of my beloved black purse.
Now begins the tale of replacing her.
Sometimes it is real drag being a crazy op shopper on the hunt for something specific. Daffodils Law stipulates that as soon as you want something second hand you shall never find it. I don´t think I have spoken a truer word. All I want is a purse. Of course, not just any purse will do. I mean lets face it, I have just laid to rest The Perfect Purse. It was a purse that slotted into my hand perfectly, its soft wells and troughs formed by my hand so intrinsically a part of me. The union of hand and purse so perfectly matched that aside from colour and texture we may well have been as one. Spiritually and chemically bonded.
The first purse I stumbled across was a red leather purse almost brand new. YIPPEE!!! Completely unmarked leather, smelling freshly tanned and probably sweated over by a small child in a third world country mindlessly purchased by someone and then just as mindlessly fell out of love with and relegated to the op shop.
...and now it was mine. Gleefully I put all my valuables into it and started on the long path of working, nay moulding this purse into my own.
My effort lasted about one week.
I hate the purse. It has an awkward closure. It is difficult to secure, and even though I spend an extra moment to ensure that I have closed it properly the stupid little press stud does not always catch.
I can see why this almost new purse was donated to an op shop....because it is next to useless! It will be taking a one way trip back to the op shop where someone with more patience than me will tolerate the dodgy press stud.
Purse number two was found at The Savers store in Mill Park. It is a fairy floss pink crocodile print leather, smaller in stature than The Perfect Purse. Upon opening I just about fell over at how many card holding options there are inside! My black purse could hold 4 different cards. This purse can hold about 20? Who has that many pieces of plastic? I have my ATM card, medicare card and drivers licence. In permaculture terminology I have plastic deficit to be owing this purse. Look, don´t get me wrong, it is a cute purse, but it is more for someone in their early 20ś with a plastic fetish and not someone of my vintage sans plastic.
I thought I could learn to love this purse. Alas I cannot see a future for us.
On MOnday, while stumbling around Bendigo purchasing rubber sheeting (get your mind out of the gutter peoples, it is for lining Cash´s new hoof boots!) I fell over an op shop that I had not been to before. Tucked away on a side street. Quiet and organised. Very helpful and pleasant staff. I found a gorgeous riding shirt for me, business shirt for HH and a basket to carry it all in. While standing there waiting for the shop assistant, my eye fell on a purse....
Deep burgundy patent mock croc leather. Noice.
Open it up. Space for 4 cards. Big tick!
Compartment for my folding money that I do not have to fold....big tick.
Quick snappy closure that is in perfect condition for my coinage...big, big tick..Oh, I think I am in love!!!
I purchased gorgeous new purse, got home and once again set about slotting my important bits into it.
I hate this purse as well.
The card compartments are too small for cards!!!! WHAT THE?!!!
Who manufactures a purse that cannot hold a drivers license? Or allows you to easily and deftly whip out the ATM card and just as easily slide back into its spot? Not Mellini, that´s for damn sure. They have NO IDEA how to make a functional purse. They make great looking purses that are useless.
The search continues.
Now begins the tale of replacing her.
Sometimes it is real drag being a crazy op shopper on the hunt for something specific. Daffodils Law stipulates that as soon as you want something second hand you shall never find it. I don´t think I have spoken a truer word. All I want is a purse. Of course, not just any purse will do. I mean lets face it, I have just laid to rest The Perfect Purse. It was a purse that slotted into my hand perfectly, its soft wells and troughs formed by my hand so intrinsically a part of me. The union of hand and purse so perfectly matched that aside from colour and texture we may well have been as one. Spiritually and chemically bonded.
The first purse I stumbled across was a red leather purse almost brand new. YIPPEE!!! Completely unmarked leather, smelling freshly tanned and probably sweated over by a small child in a third world country mindlessly purchased by someone and then just as mindlessly fell out of love with and relegated to the op shop.
...and now it was mine. Gleefully I put all my valuables into it and started on the long path of working, nay moulding this purse into my own.
My effort lasted about one week.
I hate the purse. It has an awkward closure. It is difficult to secure, and even though I spend an extra moment to ensure that I have closed it properly the stupid little press stud does not always catch.
I can see why this almost new purse was donated to an op shop....because it is next to useless! It will be taking a one way trip back to the op shop where someone with more patience than me will tolerate the dodgy press stud.
Purse number two was found at The Savers store in Mill Park. It is a fairy floss pink crocodile print leather, smaller in stature than The Perfect Purse. Upon opening I just about fell over at how many card holding options there are inside! My black purse could hold 4 different cards. This purse can hold about 20? Who has that many pieces of plastic? I have my ATM card, medicare card and drivers licence. In permaculture terminology I have plastic deficit to be owing this purse. Look, don´t get me wrong, it is a cute purse, but it is more for someone in their early 20ś with a plastic fetish and not someone of my vintage sans plastic.
I thought I could learn to love this purse. Alas I cannot see a future for us.
On MOnday, while stumbling around Bendigo purchasing rubber sheeting (get your mind out of the gutter peoples, it is for lining Cash´s new hoof boots!) I fell over an op shop that I had not been to before. Tucked away on a side street. Quiet and organised. Very helpful and pleasant staff. I found a gorgeous riding shirt for me, business shirt for HH and a basket to carry it all in. While standing there waiting for the shop assistant, my eye fell on a purse....
Deep burgundy patent mock croc leather. Noice.
Open it up. Space for 4 cards. Big tick!
Compartment for my folding money that I do not have to fold....big tick.
Quick snappy closure that is in perfect condition for my coinage...big, big tick..Oh, I think I am in love!!!
I purchased gorgeous new purse, got home and once again set about slotting my important bits into it.
I hate this purse as well.
The card compartments are too small for cards!!!! WHAT THE?!!!
Who manufactures a purse that cannot hold a drivers license? Or allows you to easily and deftly whip out the ATM card and just as easily slide back into its spot? Not Mellini, that´s for damn sure. They have NO IDEA how to make a functional purse. They make great looking purses that are useless.
The search continues.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Carda-mom mom Carda Carda-mom
In a fit of silly I purchased a cardamom plant a while back. I don´t live sub tropically. I live in central Victoria where the summer can flay the skin off of your nose and winter can snap freeze your butt cheeks in the blink of an eye. Not exactly prime growing conditions for cardamom. I hold no hope in her ever flowering as the conditions we have here are simply not conducive to that. However her leaves will still impart a subtle flavour of cardamom. Mini yay!
I potted her up in early February so that when the weather started to turn I could move her around through the various micro-climates to offer her some protection.
I think she has done rather well considering her geographical handicap. Check out her puppery.
I am quite proud of her achievements.
Do you attempt to grow the unusual or take on the challenge of growing things completely outside of your growing zones?
I potted her up in early February so that when the weather started to turn I could move her around through the various micro-climates to offer her some protection.
I think she has done rather well considering her geographical handicap. Check out her puppery.
I am quite proud of her achievements.
Do you attempt to grow the unusual or take on the challenge of growing things completely outside of your growing zones?
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Losing a Little Piece of Me
My purse died recently. To some people that may not mean much, to me it was a very sad day. I have had this purse for almost 21 years. I purchased it on sale (of course!) at Myers all those years ago. It was a lovely plain black leather purse with minimal card holding capacity, for in the dark ages plastic cards were not that common. A compartment for my coinage and allocated space for my ¨folding money¨.
It fitted perfectly into my hand, the black leather worn to buttery softness as it almost never saw the inside of a bag, as I am not a bag person. If it doesn´t fit into my purse or jeans pocket then I don´t carry it.
Even with being held almost every day come rain, hail or shine the leather still maintained its integrity, a sign of a quality build. But even that quality build will at some time come unravelled as something challenges its integrity and staying power. That something was coins. Yes, the coin compartment of my purse burst it banks and would blindly and shamelessly share my tinkling wealth with the outside world. With my heart in my mouth I carefully inspected the inner workings of my beloved purse to see if surgery was an option. If we can put a man on the moon, surely we can repair my purse?
WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY!!!!
Don´t we?
Alas, we do not. The whole purse would have the be taken apart and the clasp and leather reunited. A huge undertaking and no one could offer the guarantee that she would be as good as new. It was with a heavy heart and a little tear in my eye that I removed my valuables from her and laid her to rest.
Such a faithful purse, a dogged and sturdy performer under pressure and at play. She has been with me through thick and thin, travelled the world seen many a sight that other purses do not see as they live in a bag. She was a well rounded purse. She was a purse who had lived life to the fullest. There are not many purses that can say that!
Goodbye my lovely purse, you shall never be forgotten. Any purse I have from here on will have big shoes to fill.
Vale Daffodil´s purse.
It fitted perfectly into my hand, the black leather worn to buttery softness as it almost never saw the inside of a bag, as I am not a bag person. If it doesn´t fit into my purse or jeans pocket then I don´t carry it.
Even with being held almost every day come rain, hail or shine the leather still maintained its integrity, a sign of a quality build. But even that quality build will at some time come unravelled as something challenges its integrity and staying power. That something was coins. Yes, the coin compartment of my purse burst it banks and would blindly and shamelessly share my tinkling wealth with the outside world. With my heart in my mouth I carefully inspected the inner workings of my beloved purse to see if surgery was an option. If we can put a man on the moon, surely we can repair my purse?
WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY!!!!
Don´t we?
Alas, we do not. The whole purse would have the be taken apart and the clasp and leather reunited. A huge undertaking and no one could offer the guarantee that she would be as good as new. It was with a heavy heart and a little tear in my eye that I removed my valuables from her and laid her to rest.
Such a faithful purse, a dogged and sturdy performer under pressure and at play. She has been with me through thick and thin, travelled the world seen many a sight that other purses do not see as they live in a bag. She was a well rounded purse. She was a purse who had lived life to the fullest. There are not many purses that can say that!
Goodbye my lovely purse, you shall never be forgotten. Any purse I have from here on will have big shoes to fill.
Vale Daffodil´s purse.
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