Gender, dancing, art, and centripetal force

The Scottish Fusion Retreat dance events are delightful residential fusion dancing community events in Scotland. One of the many things that I love about them is how good a job they do of enforcing the idea that a person’s gender is a) exactly what they say it is, b) not relevant to dance roles, or anything else other than how they are referred to, and c) not necessarily related to how they present.

The dress code at these events is “keep genitalia covered at all times outside of your room”. There used to be a caveat to that that it might be made more restrictive at the request of an attendee who was uncomfortable with it. Once, that attendee was me. I requested that everyone have to cover their nipples, on the basis that I didn’t think that Scottish Fusion events had the social authority to overrule the general societal rule that ‘female presenting nipples’ should always be covered. This made me uncomfortable, because it meant it was one more space where men and people who read as men could go around topless but I couldn’t, making me more aware of the gender I am perceived as than I want to be.

At some point that caveat got updated to say something like ‘extremely uncomfortable’. Afterwards I had a good chat with Nel, one of the organisers, about the reasons I was uncomfortable. I came out of that conversation convinced that either SFR actually does have that social authority, or it *should* have, and we, as a community, should be working to fix it if it doesn’t. So I decided that, the next time I attended an SFR event, I would spend a chunk of it topless.

The SFR events also include the role of ‘Dish Daddy’, which is a person who is in charge of whoever is volunteering for clean up duties. It’s a role that suits me down to a tee. And is usually done topless. A perfect opportunity.

When I first went topless while organising washing up, I was surprised at how uncomfortable it made me. This was, after all, something I had not only planned but looked forward to. I think the main thing that made me uncomfortable was seeing that it made other people uncomfortable. I decided that it was probably the kind of discomfort that leads to growth. After all, according to the stated ethos of the event that they bought into, there shouldn’t be any difference between seeing me topless and seeing other Dish Daddies topless. It didn’t take long at all for me to get comfortable with it, and for the folks around me to either get comfortable with it or get better at hiding their discomfort.

The first time I danced *after* having been washing up topless, I put my top back on. I figured that the discomfort that someone might feel being right up against a topless person of any gender in a non-sexual context (you will often get very close to your dance partner when doing fusion dancing) might not be the ‘useful discomfort that leads to growth’ kind. But the first person I danced with was the other Dish Daddy for the weekend, who was still topless, and said I could go ‘taps off’ (you need to imagine this in the accent of someone originally from New Zealand but living in Scotland for many years for full effect) if I wanted to, especially since he was. I took it back off. The next three or four people I danced with I offered to put my top back on for. When they all said no I stopped bothering.

People who have never done partner dancing while wearing skirts or dresses with a particular property might not know this, but there’s this amazing thing that happens when you twirl in one. Centripetal force takes over and it goes ‘swoosh’ out. It’s a feeling I have always loved. At some point on that first night I discovered that, if I get spun in a similar way while topless, I get a similar effect with my boobs. I was so delighted by this experience that I found the nearest person I knew to be an artist and commissioned them to draw the experience for me. Yes, I’m dressed as a pirate in the picture. I was at the time. That’s a whole other story.

Art by evcreates.com

A battle bard's tale

When the High Elves of the Empire disappeared on mass the peoples they had subjugated were free, and the caste system they had implemented based on species was disbanded. But, as with the fall of any great empire, order went with it, and strife followed in its wake. Much knowledge and magic was lost.

This was the world into which Mara of the Morrigan's Fae was born. In the empire the fae had been bound to entertain the elves. The Morrigan's Fae were a band of fae who had been taught, and bred, to entertain elves with darker tastes. They followed the Morrigan, Goddess of Death in Winter, Fertility in Summer, and Battle all year. Mara was born in Thornhill, a Morrigan worshipping, matriarchal, fascist stronghold. She was a bard, as was the the norm for her people. But she wanted to be a warrior, and as fighting was a part of the lives of all Thornhillites, she fought as much as she sang. She fell in love with Brandon, a human being. Monogamy was not the norm in Thornhill, monogamy between those who could not produce offspring was actively frowned upon. But they were in love and did not care.

Brandon, wanting to hear his name sung in the stories of heroes, left Thornhill to join the Academy of Eblana, which was set up to bring heroics back into the world. Mara followed him there, as she did everywhere. There she started to learn a new way of seeing the world. Rather than letting the weak die in an effort to protect the strength of the group, the heroes of the Academy protected the weak at all costs. This world was very new to Mara, but compassion appealed to her, and their ideals slowly seeped into her being.

After graduation, the people who attended the Academy became a band of adventurers, as the founders were before them. They went on expeditions to right wrongs in the world and fight the good fight. Mara and Brandon graduated with a few others from Thornhill. On Mara's first mission a stranger appeared at the camp and invited Academy graduates to a grand hunt. Mara and Brandon were among those that stepped up. As they found themselves scattered in the dark woods, they realised that he had not specified what their role in the hunt would be. Mara saw the hunters catching another Academy member, Barnaby. She herself was hidden, and could possibly have survived. She fought with herself. Was she of Thornhill? Of the Raven Queen aspect of the Morrigan, who says that the weak should be left to die? Or was she of the Academy of Eblana, a hero, ready to protect those that needed protecting, at any cost. Decision made, she ran forward to save him. He lived perhaps one minute longer because of her interference. It cemented with her who she was, and it cost her life.

Mara woke up. Given that she remembered dying, this was surprising. She learned that the Huntsman, who had killed her, brought her, and several others back. Their life force was now tied to his power. If he was killed, if he could be killed, they would die with him.

It became clear that the Huntsman was merely the first of his kind to attack the Academy. The Sidhe, ancient beings of near godlike power, were unlike anything they had faced before.

Even before the hunt, the people from Thornhill were not well liked or trusted in the Academy. Other graduates now became suspicious, unsure if the loyalties of the risen were with the Academy, or the being that had raised them. And the risen became more insular and isolated over time.

One of the risen began behaving erratically, bringing more suspicion to the group, and, in their eyes, endangering the Academy as a whole. They dealt with this problem as it would be dealt with in Thornhill, and removed it by executing him. The rest of the Academy were horrified and the risen were punished for this by being further ostracised and demoted to undergraduate status.

A second Sidhe, the Storyteller, attacked the Academy and they acquired his book, a powerful magical relic that could be used against the Sidhe. Brandon betrayed the Academy by giving this book to the Huntsman in exchange for power. He exchanged more and more of his autonomy for power, and eventually left to join the Huntsman, giving up the last of his free will. Mara was broken hearted, and swore she would both avenge and kill him. But, although he appeared each time the Huntsman did in future, he was unkillable. He would get back up, or simply disappear.

Mara slowly became useful to, and accepted by, the Academy. She proved herself and was made a graduate once more. Her songs were well known and often stuck in people's heads. She made some friends, including Ishmael, a fellow follower of the Morrigan. And even those that did not like her deemed her ‘useful to have around’. She was often mistaken for a cleric of the Morrigan because she was so devout. But her bardic magics, providing support to others in battle, were well known and respected.

As a consequence of being raised by the Huntsman, rather than really alive, she could not have children. She enlisted the help of a male fae by the name of Yasha in confirming this. She was distraught, because having children, for those able, was a huge part of her Faith. She hated herself for spending so long with Brandon, with whom she could not reproduce. Her people back in Thornhill agreed, and she was shunned.

Once, briefly, the laws of the universe were changed, so that Gods could walk on earth. Several chose to do so, and met their followers. Mara met the Morrigan herself, who assured her that her devotion to Her Battle Maiden aspect, was sufficient. This brought a great lightness to Mara, but it was short lived.

It appeared that the Academy had a way of killing one, or both, of Brandon and the Huntsman. Mara was certain that the time for revenge had come. She resigned herself to her own death, and lamented the deaths of the other risen, and prepared. But the weapon was lost before it could be used to kill either Brandon or the Huntsman. Mara lost all hope and disappeared into the bottom of a bottle for years.

Ishmael, Mara's old friend, roused her from her drunken stupor. He sobered her up and told her that the Academy were on their way to a final battle with the Sidhe. He trained with her and with undergraduates and got her back into fighting shape. Better shape, in fact, than she had ever been in. Mara strode to the confrontation with the sure knowledge that this time her mission would be completed, and she and Brandon would be free, avenged, and dead. Ishmael adopted Mara as his daughter. No longer Mara of the Morrigan's Fae, she became Mara ap Ishmael bin Sheyalia.

The honour of killing the Huntsman fell to another, but Brandon was killed by Mara's own hand. Over the years, her anger at him for leaving her, betraying her, and betraying all she had since come to love, had hidden from her how much she had loved him. But as she stood over his unconscious body, preparing to kill him one last time, and knowing that this time he would stay dead, it all came back. Relief and grief flooded over her together. As soon as the Huntsman was dead she could feel that the energies keeping her going were draining away. This was Mara's final battle, but the Academy had eight more Sidhe to deal with. She stood with them and supported them, as she always had.

The Gatekeeper, who keeps the gate between their world and the next, had barred it on behalf of the Shadow, perhaps the darkest of the Sidhe. Any Academy members slain in the domain of the Sidhe would not pass through. Mara wept again for Brandon, who would not have another chance to live a better life. She worried for herself, unsure if she would make it home before the last of the Huntsman’s power dissipated. And she fought all the harder to stop any more Academy members from falling.

With the other Sidhe defeated, the Academy's final confrontation with the Shadow grew close. The Shadow was aided by Academy members who had fallen, raised as themselves, but twisted. Ishmael was killed. Mara, consumed by grief, saw and heard little else of the fight. He had fallen in battle, a noble and good death for a cleric of the Morrigan, but could not return to his Goddess. But the Academy came through for Mara, as she had always done for them. With the Shadow defeated, the Gatekeeper unbarred the gate. Mara and Ishmael walked through together, towards their Goddess, and the unknown.

My Dad

On Tuesday 5th of December, Motor Neuron Disease, which has been cripling my wonderful father all year, brought his lungs to a point where even his immense will could not make them go, and killed him.

Our conversations over the past few days have been interspersed with 'oh, we need to tell that person / group of people, they / some of them were really fond of him'. I think pretty much everyone who ever met him was. My siblings and I had a good laugh / cry on Tuesday night trying imagine the one person that didn't like Dad. I've had so many lovely messages from people who met him through me, sometimes only once or twice, and knew how wonderful he was.

I don't want to sound arrogant, but I really love who I am. And so much of that comes from my Dad. He gave me my love of public speaking, of dancing, of games, of logic, of puzzles, a lot of my sense of humour, warmth, love of people, of learning, of words, of music. From him comes my tendency to pick up a new passion or hobby, fall deeply in love with it, and do / practice / learn about it all I can. From him comes my (reasonably) quiet determination, and I believe his was all that kept him alive since the nurses said he could go any minute last Thursday.

Our time with him over the past week was a blessing. It was difficult, and the waiting for an awful but inevitable thing was exhausting. But spending so much time with my immediate family, in a way we haven't done in a long, long time, was beautiful. My brother reckons Dad organised it that way on purpose. He was mostly sleeping, but we had some really lovely moments with him when he was awake.

I am going to miss my Dad terribly. But I will also always have him with me.

Ask Culture, Guess Culture, me, and Tea

I find the concept of 'ask culture versus guess culture' fascinating. I find it really useful for understanding social interactions that otherwise didn't make a lot of sense to me. I'm normally very much an ask culture person. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. But I've realised one 'guess culture' thing I have. If I say 'do you want a cup of tea or coffee' to someone who is, for one reason or another, briefly in my home, that's not all I mean. It is a genuine offer of tea or coffee, but more than that it is also an invitation to stay and hang out, and a request for further company. I don't know why I don't say 'I'm enjoying your company. I'm not busy for the next while, wanna stay and hang out?' But I don't.

Mini Marathon 2017

I've completed the Mini Marathon four times now. The first time I did so was not long after I had taken up running, and I was mostly just viewing it as 'another race'. When I took part I realised that it was much more a fundraising event. So many different people displaying their causes proudly. I nearly cried several times reading t-shirts. I knew that if I took part again I would do so for a cause. The second time I ran for Alzheimer Society of Ireland in memory of Terry Pratchett. And the third I ran for CMRF, as the staff in Crumlin had saved my son's life when he went into anaphylactic shock at seven months old.

It's still a race though. I've improved my time each year. I'm particularly proud of this year's time or 51 minutes and 18 seconds. 42 seconds faster than I was aiming for, nearly 3 and a half minutes faster than last year, and over 5 minutes faster than the year before. It was particularly pleasing because I've been missing a lot of BHAA races lately, and had felt a little like my running skill had plateaued. A 5 minute improvement on your 10K PB over two years is not a plateau! I really pushed myself to get there, as can be seen from these before and after pictures:

This year's charity was particularly close to my heart. My Dad was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease just after Christmas. I've been fundraising for IMND for the race and the response has been phenomenal. I was also interviewed for a 'human interest' story for the Evening Herald on the topic.

I told my Mam yesterday to make sure Dad understood that the reporter had played up the 'she really wants to see him at the finish line' angle because it made a good story, and that I care more about him looking after himself. I didn't want him pushing himself to come and see me. I meant it. But when I sat down on the ground after pushing myself over the finish, felt my mam touch me on the shoulder and looked up to see my Dad there. Well, I'm gonna carry that moment with me for a very long time.

Weight update

Three years ago I posted about my weight loss journey. And later about reaching my goal weight. I said I'd post an update after three years, so here I am.

I haven't managed to keep all of the weight off. I've managed to keep the regain to 'slow and steady' and have only regained about half of what I lost.

Not only that, me at this weight now looks substantially better (to me, anyway) than me at this weight on the way down. I guess it's more muscle than it was that time.

I'm still not happy though. I did manage to still be down at least 30 pounds after a year. I printed the forms to apply to that Nationals Weight Control Registry. But I never sent them and no now longer qualify.

Lately I've been feeling a lot like this:

The part of me that is upset by not fitting into certain clothes and the part that makes food decisions don't seem to be on speaking terms

— Saoilí (@saoili) July 28, 2016

So I need to reopen that line of communication. Too high a proportion of my clothes have moved into the 'not right now' pile. Time to get them back. Well, soon. Soon.

Paddy -v- Patty, and the joy of acceptance

I'd bet good money that there are no actual Irish people, in Ireland, who refer to the 17th of March as 'Patty's Day'. Maybe there are some blissfully unaware that anyone at all does this. But you only only need to check out the twitter feed at the end of Paddy, Not Patty to see that they do, oh they do. 

This, understandably, frustrates a lot of Irish people. I'll admit, that the first time I found out, I spent some time, Canute-like, on Twitter, politely asking people not to do that. I don't think it helped. This feeling spawns some excellent art:

But it probably doesn't achieve much. I realised, recently, that I'm much happier just accepting that we're talking about two different holidays. St. Patrick's Day, also known as Paddy's Day, an Irish celebration, and Patty's Day, and Irish-American derivative holiday. It's okay everyone, their thing is not our thing, they can have it.

The main reason behind seems to be a noble enough one. They don't want to say 'Paddy' because it's a slur. I know that for us that's super weird, because it's not a slur here, it's just a name. The name, in fact, for the patron saint of our country. The 2nd most popular name for 52 year old men in the country. But that's here. That's us. It isn't there. They don't know what it's like to be Irish. But we don't know what it's like to be Irish-American. We don't know what it's like for Irish to be just your culture and heritage any more than they know what it's like to also have it be your nationality. If calling it Paddy's Day hurts people, why should we try to make them?

On a tangentially related note. I recently learned that Mammy is a racist term in America. I was shocked. I called my mother Mammy until I was old enough to call her Mam. I still do, occasionally, when joking or wheedling. Likewise my son with me. I'm bothered when anyone calls me his Mum or his Mom. That's not who I am. I'm his Mammy. Knowing what I know now I'll be careful with that term if I'm over there. But I won't stop using it here. They have their thing, we have ours.

And really, in the end of the day, I think it's time to sit back and accept this, 'cause we're not going to win this one:

A quick 'what not to do'

Lately, I've been dipping a toe into wearable electronics (clothes and accessories that light up or make noise, that kind of thing). On Saturday just gone, the nice folks at DAQRI sponsored a few of us to work on our own projects in the vicinity of their stand at Career Zoo. They paid us in components, and we drew interested passers-by to their stand. It was a win win situation for everyone involved.

Over the course of the day lots of people came over to ask what we were doing. We talked several people through the project we were working on, recommended Adafruit enough that I thought several times that they should be the ones sponsoring us, and had some really excellent chats with people. I mostly let my excellent sister, who has more experience with this stuff than I do, do the talking.

I'm not sure whether (the also excellent) Vicky was specifically tasked with recruiting women for this role. I do know that everyone in the group except her husband was a woman. I wasn't really aware of it though, until a man, probably not quite old enough to be my father, but approaching that age, came over to us and 'hi, I'm female friendly!'. No, sir, you are not.

'Female friendly' is a useful term when it comes to events and spaces, particularly in tech or other male-dominated fields. It's good to know before committing to something that I'm going to be welcome, and that there is at least an implication to the men there that they should be on good behaviour in relation to people that don't share their gender. Drawing attention to gender in these situations can be dangerous, risking invoking stereotype threat, among other potential problems. But often, the advantages outweigh the disadvantages.

But in the case of this gentleman's statement, there were no such advantages. We were the ones in the position of authority, it was not up to him to make us feel comfortable there, all that we needed was for him not to make us feel uncomfortable. And in that he failed miserably. His statement served to draw attention to our female-ness, said, in fact, that that was what was interesting about us, more so than what we were doing. The other two women at my table noticeably, understandably, went cold once they'd heard this statement. I managed to give a polite, brief introduction to what we were doing. But he had taken me out of my comfort zone. For the next hour or two I would occasionally think about that interaction and shudder slightly.

I was sorry, afterwards, that I didn't say something to him about it. After all, the fact that he was familiar with the term, and tried to use it, implies that he meant well, that he was trying to be nice. He may even pride himself in trying to make tech spaces welcoming to women. I wish that I had had it in me, right then, to tell him how badly he was failing. But I didn't.

If you don't get why this bothered me, that's okay. You don't need to understand why it's a problem. But please understand that it's a problem. And please, please do not draw attention to the 'female'-ness of women in tech spaces. Just don't do it. Thanks.

Famous poems rewritten as limericks

Proud enough of my contribution (based on this) that I wanted to save this for posterity. 

http://saoili.tumblr.com/post/135380524278/famous-poems-rewritten-as-limericks

Sorcha the Hobbyist (Crosspost)

This is a cross post from a few years back on a blog that has since been made private that I wanted to have public. The blog is 'a celebration of the diversity of what it means to identify as girls and women.' It's a little out of date, but I've left it unedited.


Me? I’m a hobbyist. A person of passions. When I discover something that I love I throw myself into it. I’ve been an actor, a singer, a pianist, a martial artist, a poet, and a songwriter. These days I’m a dancer, a runner, a boardgamer, a knitter, and a coder. And that’s just in my spare time. My day job is a cross between consultancy and support. Oh, and I’m someone’s wife and someone’s Mam. I live for my passions, and for sharing them with others. I have walked into rooms of strangers who were also dancers or also gamers and been instantly at home.

I’d say I probably wrote my first computer program around the age of 7 or 8. Written in Basic; drawing pictures on the screen. I studied computer science in college. I’m getting involved in the open source scene at the moment, and finding any excuse I can to write Python programs. I mentored at the Coding Grace Python beginners workshop for women and their friends recently and I’m looking forward to my first PyCon Ireland Python Conference in October.

I’ve played and loved boardgames all my life. In college I discovered better boardgames, and people that identified as gamers. Since then I’ve been an active member of the wonderful Irish gaming scene. I’ve helped to run a few games conventions and I’ve dabbled in other types of games, such as RPGs, LARPS, and computer games. My boardgames collection takes up a wardrobe in our sitting room. And I write boardgames reviews for the gazebo: http://issuu.com/the_gazebo/.

I’ve always loved to dance; but aside from a few years of ceili dancing on and off in school, and the odd salsa lesson, I hadn’t done much about it, until I broke my foot in a playground, age 23 (it’s a long story). While I was incapacitated I realised that I didn’t miss walking, or many other things, nearly as much as I missed being able to dance. I attended my first swing dance lesson class before I was fully off the crutches. And I’ve been swing dancing when I can ever since. I’ve danced in Sweden, the UK, the USA, and of course at home in Ireland. I lead and follow, and love both.

I did Couch to 5k in Feb 2010. By November that year I was running (very slowly) in BHAA (BHAA.ie) races, which I still do. I joined the BHAA committee in late 2011. I ran the Mooathon marathon in September 2011, and you can read all about it on my blog here: http://www.saoili.blogspot.ie/2011/09/i-accidentally-ran-one-of-hardest-and.html. I’m currently recovering from the Run Kildare half marathon 2013. I’ve never gotten very fast, but I really love running. When everything works just right, running feels like flying.

My grandmother taught me to knit when I was a small child. This skill lay mostly dormant for a long  time. I’d knit the odd scarf here and there, but never much until quite recently. I knit my son a baby blanket, which I finished the day he was born. One Christmas I knit a scarf for my father-in-law. The following year, by request, I knit a Christmas jumper for my sister-in-law. She got it on Easter Sunday (I never said I could knit fast). She also got me a book of dinosaur knitting patterns for Christmas and I’ve been knitting dinosaurs most times I’m sitting still since.

I don’t own a television, or read magazines. Even so, sometimes I struggle to not think of myself as ‘there to be looked at’. But mostly I’m too busy for that.

#TheDress

On Thursday evening, my husband called me over and asked what colours this dress was.

I thought it was obviously blue and black and said as much. He said he saw it as white and gold and then showed me the conversation on Tumblr about it. Apparently a lot of people see it as blue and black and a lot of people see it as white and gold. We were lucky enough to be able to rule out room lighting, monitor quality, and a bunch of other things, by virtue of us being in different  'camps' while looking at it together.

We were confused, so we googled for an image editor (pixlr, because apparently there are no e's on the internet). We took samples, one from the bit that looked blue to me and white to him, and another from the bit that looked black to me and gold to him. What we found made the whole thing make sense to me. The blue / white bits were a very light shade of blue, the black / gold bits were a very dark shade of gold. So the blue bits were so light he saw white, and the gold bits were so dark I saw black.

I thought this was very interesting and posted about it on Facebook. Around about the same time, many, many other people saw this and wanted to share it. When you come across this, you're going to want to get as many opinions on it as possible, which is a great way to makes a thing go viral, which it promptly did. Just under my post on Facebook, someone else was talking about it. For a while there seemed to be almost nothing else on Twitter. There were Buzzfeed and Wired articles. It was on Reddit. There were interviews with the people that originally posted it, and with colour scientists. There was an XKCD comic.


I wasn't surprised that it got shared around so much. I was slightly surprised that for some people, it seemed to change colour, as it never did for me. But I was very surprised how vehemently some people were arguing that people who disagreed with them were wrong. I've seen people stating that there's obviously something wrong with the monitors of people seeing it the other way. I've seen people call the people stupid, or colour blind*, or 'deficient in some way' because their perception differed. So many people were saying that the dress was 'clearly', or 'obviously' the way they saw it. Many people wondered if every single person claiming they saw it the other way was lying, in some sort of gigantic internet troll conspiracy.

There were #TeamWhiteAndGold and #TeamBlueAndBlack hashtags on Twitter. Personally, I'm on #TeamCantWeAllJustGetAlong**. Now, I like a good argument as much as the next person, but I don't see the point in arguing with someone if there's no chance either of you will change your mind. Because, the dress is blue and black***, the only argument left to have is what colour people see it as, and expecting to change what the other person sees by force of argument is madness.

Another thing I've heard a lot of is people say is 'it's just a really badly taken photo, get over it'. But it's not about whether or not the photo accurately represents the dress (it kinda does, but only to some people). It's about how it divides people, reasonably neatly**** into two groups. It's an opportunity to realise that we all suffer from the typical mind fallacy. We all trust our own perceptions too much, and we don't trust what other people tell us about theirs enough. Most of the time, what two people perceive is close enough that we don't see the cracks, but this is a rare opportunity to do so. It's fascinating, but it's not really about the dress.





* Not that I think it's anything offensive about being colour blind, but someone isn't necessarily colour blind because they don't see a colour exactly the same way you do!
** Though this would be a terrible hashtag really. Most of your tweet is gone on it.
*** No, really, I'm not just saying that because that's the way I see it. The person who took the photo said that in person there is no doubt. Also, there are photos of the dress for sale. (You should read the reviews).
****I've met a few 'blue and gold' people, as well as a few other varients.

The story of my wedding dress

This post has been sitting in my drafts folder for nearly two years. I decided to dust off, finish it, and share it. Enjoy.


One of the first things I organised before getting married was my dress. In fact, I had my dress organised before we'd picked a venue. At least, I thought I had.

I didn't like the idea of having a wedding dress hanging around after the wedding. It takes up space and gets in the way, it costs money to get cleaned, and it's not like I'll have any use for it. I wouldn't even get the traditional 'make your child or children's Christening clothes out of it', since, if I do have any more children, I won't be getting them Christened, just like I didn't with my first. So I decided to hire one.

Online I found Bride's First Choice. According to their website they are 'Ireland’s first modern mobile bridal salon targeting on bringing the most comfortable, unique and stress free bridal experience.'. That sounded good, not only did I get to hire my dress, but I don't even have to go to their premises. They even do bridesmaids dresses. It sounded perfect.

So, we organised for Tanya to come to my sister's house in Maynooth, where I lived at the time, with a car full of dresses. We agreed that we would cover Tanya's petrol expenses up from Limerick. My two bridesmaids, my mother, my mother in law, and I, had a lot of fun trying on dresses and talking about colours and the like. I commented that what I really wanted was the top of this dress, and the bottom of another dress she had.

I was pleasantly surprised when she said she could do that. I didn't think she did bespoke dresses at all, but she assured me that it would be no problem, even for hirin. It would be a little more expensive than hiring an existing dress, but still far less than the usual cost of a wedding dress.

Having discovered she could get dresses made for us, we also decided to get dresses just like these ones for my bridesmaids:

But in green and with a halter neck. We spent some time selecting the perfect shade of green from a book of samples she had. I also asked, speculatively, if she could do a waistcoat in the same colour, since one of my bridal party was my best friend, who happens to be a guy. She said it was no problem and I was delighted.

We paid for her petrol costs once or twice more for fittings and getting measurements. I wondered if I should be concerned because it seemed like maybe she hadn't taken enough measurements. But this is her job, I reasoned, she must know what she's doing.


We were in the process of organising a dress fitting for June 3rd, about two and a half weeks before the wedding, which Tanya assured me was the perfect timeframe for alterations, when the first major flag went up. The bridesmaid's dresses had arrived, in the wrong material. Now, I don't know a lot about different materials, but I could tell from the photos she sent that they were wrong. This looked like a completely different dress than the one we'd ordered.

She assured me that the different colour was just because of the light, the camera, the other dresses around it and whatever, and that it looked right in person. She also assured me that the halter neck we'd requested was there, just not attached, and that the halter neck being separate to the rest of the dress was perfectly fine and normal. But the dresses we ordered were flowy, and silky, and pretty. This thing looked to me like a bad bridesmaid's dress cliche. I told her the fitting (and attendant round trip petrol fee) could wait until the new dresses arrived.

Which is how I ended up not trying on my wedding dress until June 14th, a week and a day before my wedding.

To say that fitting went badly is something of an understatement.

The new bridesmaid's dresses, which were, at least, made of a silky material this time, still had no halternecks. My sister's dress could be made, at a stretch, to be straight at either the front, or the back, but not both.

But, at least it closed on her. My sister in law's dress, which was, apparently made to fit her precise measurements. looked like this:
 

The 'waistcoat' was laughable. It looked like something made by someone who had never seen a waistcoat, but had had one described to them. You wouldn't put it on a chorus member in the background in stage production. Let alone one of the main party at a wedding.

My dress was not right. It was made of what looked and felt like a cheaper material than the one I'd tried. It wasn't quite the right style, the detailing was all wrong. There was this weird sort of fold in the material at the front. And oh yeah, it didn't fit me.

My Wedding Dress Didn't Fit Me. A Week Before My Wedding!

Tanya tried to convince me that these problems could be fixed. That there was enough material in the seams of my dress and my sister in law's to 'let them out'. Why she thought I would be willing to give someone who had messed up this badly over the course of months a week to fix it, I have no idea.

I got all of the money I'd already put down towards the dress back from her. For some reason I didn't demand the money I'd paid her for petrol back as well, although I had budgeted this in as part of the cost of the dress. I even paid her for her petrol for that day. I wanted to get her out of my life as quickly as possible and that seemed like the easiest way to make that happen.



My mother in law went to the wonderful Bridal Boutique just down the road and explained the situation. When I followed a few minutes later they were fully prepared for damage control. Actually, I was finding the whole thing pretty hilarious, which seemed to make me some sort of hero in their eyes. I tried on a few dresses, but as soon as I came out in this one, my mother in law, sister, and sister in law informed me that this was the dress I was getting married in.

 

The shop model fitted me almost perfectly and needed only minor alterations. 

I got a large discount, because normally the shop would have the same dress made specifically for the bride, but there wasn't time to do so in this case. 

On the day it fit like a glove, and my groom's face when he first saw it was worth all the hassle.

It lives in my wardrobe now. I'll get around to selling it one of these days.

Goal weight

Thanks to Weight Watchers at Home, I have reached my goal weight.
 

Along the way I hit a few plateaux. I gained weight over both Christmas and Easter, but lost it again quite easily afterwards.
 

I was intrigued by where I lost the weight from. Initially the weight came off my belly, which was unsurprising, as that's where I was carrying most of it. But then I started to lose weight off my hips, making me more straight up and down and less curvy than I am used to. But then, after a while, I started losing weight off my waist, most visible at my sides when viewed from the back. I got my curves back!




At some point I also started losing weight off my breasts, which is very strange for me, as before now they've only ever gotten bigger. It was also great news, as it means I no longer need to go to speciality shops for my bras. This was particularly useful as the particular speciality shop I tended to go to shut down around the same time.


Overall I'm very happy with my new shape. It's different to the one I had the last time I was a size ten, as I am much fitter now than I was then.

My body is the size I want it to be, on average. My belly is still bigger than I'd like and a little saggy, my face is maybe a tiny bit pointy, and my ribs stick out from certain angles. It is my body, and I choose to love it, but it is not perfect. I don't believe that anyone's body really can be.

I found the Weight Watchers diet generally easy to stick to. I was almost always tracking on a Monday, rarely tracking on a Sunday, and varied in between. But I got a general feel for what eating the right number of points felt like. So even if I hadn't been tracking well, I knew if I'd had a good week or a bad one. I mind being a bit hungry less than I did a year ago, and being over full more.

Since starting this journey I have discovered the Nationals Weight Control Registry. This is a long term research study of people who have lost weight and kept it off. Their threshold is losing 30 pounds and keeping it off for a year. I lost 34 pounds (15 kilos, 2 stone 6 pounds). So, hopefully this time next year I'll be signing up to join. I'm hoping this will help to motivate me, as I know that motivation for weight control is harder than for weight loss.


This is what me losing 34 pounds in 10 and a half months looks like.

Please don't close the Exchange (an open letter to Ray Yeates, Dublin City Arts Officer)

Hello Ray,

I tried to call you at the Arts office, but I was told that you're on holidays this week. I hope that you see my letter before it is too late.

I understand that you have told Exchange Dublin that they need to close their doors by Friday due to 'Anti-social behaviour'. I assume you're already familiar with the petition on change.org to reverse this decision.

I just wanted to personally add my voice to this. I am not directly involved with the Exchange. However, I have visited there several times; for arts exhibits, story evenings, hand-craft sales, and other things. A few times my husband, son, and I, have stopped in while passing and there is always something interesting on. And even when I haven't been able to visit myself, I have been glad to know that this island of art and culture existed in our city. 

According to John Tierney, Dublin City Manager, in a press release in 2011, your role as Dublin City Arts Officer means that you are 'responsible for the continued development of the arts in the city of Dublin'. Even if this alleged anti-social behaviour exists, and can be traced back to the existence of the Exchange, I cannot see how closing it fits with that purview.

For the sake of arts in Dublin, please reconsider.

Regards,
Sorcha



Slightly edited from email version sent to ray.yeates@dublincity.ie

Quick hello to Python people

I'd like to welcome anyone coming to my blog from Pycon Ireland, I hope you enjoyed the convention as much as I did. If you're here to get a feel for who I am, I recommend this post which I wrote for this blog. 

I love blogging for the same reason I love delivering training, programming, arguing about Monty Hall, and teaching boardgames. In all these cases it's about understanding something well enough to be able to explain it to someone else. It just happens that in one of those cases the someone else happens to be a computer. However, I blog very irregularly because it's rare that I get the inspiration and time to do so at the same time.

How to fix (or at least open) a toilet

Some time ago there was some problem with the inner workings of one of the two toilets in the house. Unfortunately we have one of these new ones, with the flush buttons on top, which we didn't know how to open.

My husband sort of did battle with it until it opened and he could fix the problem. Over the next while whenever I was in that bathroom I fiddled with it until eventually I had it reassembled. In the process, I discovered a magical truth. Those buttons screw off.

Just pinch the outside and turn anti-clockwise (lefty loosey). At first it will seem like it's not going to do anything. But keep turning and eventually.

At this point you can just lift the top of the cistern like an old fashioned flush on the front model and get at the whatever you were trying to get at inside.

A while later the other toilet in the house started flushing constantly. The cistern was constantly filling up and emptying at the same time, wasting huge amounts of water. So I simply unscrewed the buttons, lifted off the top and had a look. That black thing at the right had drifted up, and water was flowing over the top of the white pipe in the middle. So I pushed the black thing down, put the lid back on, screwed the buttons back on, and felt very satisfied with myself.

Fixed the toilet. Like a boss.
— Saoilí (@saoili) August 13, 2013

My current weight loss journey

I have another post about weight loss, thin privilege, size acceptance, yo yo dieting, obesity discrimination, being both fit and fat, the myth of how easy it is to lose weight if you'd only try, and much more, sitting in my drafts folder. It is a complicated and nuanced question, so it'll probably sit there for a while. This post, on the other hand, is on a topic I definitely am qualified to talk about: me.


Through a combination of good fortune, privilege, and conscious effort, I am less affected by our culture's body policing than most women. I had made peace with being overweight, and wasn't going to take 'but it's for your health' from anyone who couldn't keep up with me on a ten mile run. But recently I realised that I was not just fat, but getting fatter. Despite continuing my running, trying to cut down my portions and carbs, and trying to avoid deserts; I was getting large enough that I needed to buy new clothes, and heavy enough that it was slowing me down when I ran. So I am dieting.

I lost quite a lot of weight on Weight Watchers At Home several years ago, so it was the natural choice this time. I put a lot of that weight back on during pregnancy and breastfeeding*, and more since. I enjoy Weight Watchers. There are rules that I find easy and fun to follow; I quite like rules. I find the challenge of trying to pitch my eating in the narrow band between the daily minimum and my daily allowance pleasing. And most of all I enjoy Weight Watchers because it feels like a game, and it's a game I'm good at.

I expected to hate the ProPoints system which replaced the comfortably familiar system I used last time; change confuses and angers me. The new system removes half points, introduces weekly points in addition to the existing daily points, changes how points are calculated, and makes almost all fruits and vegetables 'free'. All of these changes, to my mild irritation, make it better.

Despite starting with a five day week, I lost six pounds in week one. I've been losing a steady pound or two a week since. Last time I aimed for the mid range of 'healthy weight' for my height, but found that my face started to get too angular under ten stone. That was before I took up running, and I have gained a lot of muscle mass since. So this time I'm aiming for ten stone six, the high end of 'healthy' for my height. I've already lost more than 5% of my starting weight, and I'm about a third of the way to my goal weight. I might update again when I get there.

I've struggled with my weight my whole life. I was a large child, I gained several stone during my junior cert, and apart from the brief period between the first time I did Weight Watchers and a month or two into my pregnancy, I've always been big. Some times more than others. So the really interesting bit here isn't how I look and feel in a few months when I reach my goal weight, but how I look and feel in three years time. Maybe I'll update on this again when I get there, too.


*A lot of people say breastfeeding makes you lose the baby fat. Maybe it does for some people. But I think this didn't work for me for the same reason exercising for weight loss doesn't work for me; it makes you hungrier, and only makes you lose weight if you ignore that extra hunger.


P.S. These comparison photos also teach me that my running bra is whatever the opposite of flattering is. But it is very good at its job.

Week 1

Week 2

Week 3 

Week 4 

Week 5