Another Middle Aged Moment Of Truth

I cannot put my finger on what it is that really makes you realise that middle age has it's own style. Well, at least I could not until yesterday.

On Sunday morning I had a sporting event to partake in. It was not a big deal, just a fun morning thing.

The group I do my exercise with is part of a franchise group called Step Into Life. The classes are run by a personal trainer and always held outdoors.

Yesterday all of the franchise groups had their annual Mini Olympics and I joined in. It was silly stuff. Mock commando crawls, running with jelly beans on a spoon and bouncing a fitball madly. All fun and games. The age range of those attending was from eighteen to sixty.

I had to be there at 9.00 am and my husband and son came along to watch (and video). We parked along the street about one hundred or so metres away.

As I got out of the car one foot caught in the handle of one of those eco friendly shopping bags and I shot out of the passenger door as though someone had tossed me like a bag of potatoes. I landed on the nature strip, my hands and knees, the knees meeting hard concrete of the kerb on the way down.

It was so unexpected and so quick that I was shocked and remained in this position for a few seconds. I was speechless. My husband had seen it happen and asked if I was okay. My silence concerned him greatly.

"I think I am", I replied. But it took a while for me to stand up and brush myself down.

You see, when I was down there I had to allow a few seconds to process what had happened and work out if I was hurt. I was hesitant about moving until I had assessed if any collateral damage had taken place.

When I was younger, I know I would have just jumped up and got going. Just fallen out of the car, laughed myself silly and then leapt up and moved on. My son would do that were it to happen. I have seen him fall over and just get up many times, brushing himself off without a thought.

I ended up with a couple of big bruises on my upper shins and a case of acute embarrassment but that was all.

Later that day when we got home I watched the video that my husband had taken of me running in the events. It was at that point I realised how being middle aged comes with it's own style of movement.

When you get older, whether you realise it or not, you generally become more careful with what you do with your body. Even if you exercise, even if you are fit, you will find that you are slightly hesitant about where each part of your body is at when running and exercising.

Because, if you fall or trip you can bet the landing is going to hurt more than if you are young. So, to compensate for the subconscious awareness you protect yourself as you do things. You may not jump off a table without thinking first or climb up a ladder without being very sure all is stable.

When looking at the video of me running I said to my husband that I ran like a middle aged woman. He asked me what else I would run like and I said "I don't know, just not like that". And it was not just me, it was all the middle aged and older people there. It did not matter that we were fit, we just had a style that said "older".

When I was doing a commando crawl which was followed by push ups, sit ups and burpees (all whilst holding a mock rifle) I noticed on the video that my movements were not fluid. They may have been good but they had an air of stiffness about them. I was surprised. I don't particularly mind but it was strange to actually see.

When I do my normal exercise I am so mindful of where I put my feet down, especially as we are often training in semi darkness. When I do star jumps or skipping I make sure I am on even ground. For I know that if I fall it will not only hurt but it will hurt for a lot longer than it would have ten years ago.

It seems as though now I have accepted the external aging process like wrinkles, finer skin, softer flesh and just looking like I am past forty, I am now having to really accept all the internal stuff that will happen irrespective of my efforts.

It really is not something that happens to other people.

You can bet I am not going there without a fight.

Although, I may take up some low impact exercises like swimming.

I hear all the old folks are doing it.

Sigh.....

Ciao
LC

Why I Like Weekends

On most Saturday mornings I leave the house at 8.15 to get to an 8.30 morning cardio class. I can't say it is my favorite activity, however it is only an hour's effort to feel great for the rest of the day.

Once I am finished I stop off at the local shopping centre and do some quick food shopping. I buy fresh fruit, sometimes the newspaper and a croissant for my son. Before I get to the car with my goods I visit a small cafe and pick myself up a strong, hot, freshly made coffee. My husband is out on a long bike ride so no coffee for him but always some fresh white rolls for when he gets back.

I love the small routine of this little morning effort. Once home I enjoy the coffee whilst reading the newspaper either on the laptop or the actual paper itself. Sometimes my brother will drop by and we chat for a while about what is happening. Then eventually I will have a shower.

Saturdays have their own particular atmosphere. They are, to me, a working day at home. I get things done that need doing. Put some loads of washing in the machine, change the sheets on the beds, hang out the wet clothes and do some general cleaning up. I rarely plan anything for a Saturday because it eats into my little routine.

Today, being Sunday, I did not feel the same sense of duty when it came to housework. I actually went to a local shopping centre. I needed to pick up a couple of things and braced myself for the stressful event of finding parking and traipsing over the vast expanse of shiny, marble tiled floors trying to avoid the slow moving people.

As it turned out, parking was a doddle and the crowds were average. I found what I wanted and was heading home when I made the mistake of meandering into the food section of an upmarket department store.

Whilst there I allowed myself a treat of a couple of hand made chocolates. As I was walking around I noticed a sign that said "Dorset Cereals" and stopped in amazement. There were boxes of cereals that I first came across when overseas last year. It was staying at this lovely little bed and breakfast in Sibthorpe. I did a post about it which is here. At the breakfast table in the morning was a range of beautifully boxed cereals that were produced by a company called Dorset Cereals.

Now, I am a big fan of quality cereals and muesli's. And these ones met with all my expectations and more. When I came back to Australia I often wished we had them here to buy. So today, once I saw them I had to buy some. I bought two boxes of the overpriced delights and also an equally overpriced box of delicious oat biscuits (another favorite).

I put them up in the cupboard when I got home, planning to have some for breakfast the next morning. However, at about 9.00 pm tonight I was compelled to open a packet of the cereal and have a tiny bowl.

As I stood in the kitchen munching on the mix of flakes, nuts and fruit, the memory of that lovely morning in the little bed and breakfast reminded me of what I love about travel. Meeting nice people, finding places to stay, eating breakfast in sun filled rooms and bringing back memories of things we do.

It was worth every cent I paid.

It is going to be a couple of weeks of sheer breakfast bliss.

Lovely.

Ciao
LC

Getting Things Done

The Internet at home is on go slow until the end of the month. There seems to have been excess downloads (You Tube and Music) by the two other residents of the house.

It does not happen very often but when it does I am reminded of how jumping onto the computer has now become a habit of a lifetime. When I think of something I will want to look up more about that particular thought. Or looking up a recipe. Reading the news or browsing on EBay. Sometimes I will spend hours just looking up sites that are about a particular artist or author.

These days I am so aware of the mild addiction I have that I don't allow myself to fret about it. Instead I do something constructive around the house. Yesterday I cleaned out my wardrobe. I was ruthless. I even tossed out a pair of these gorgeous evening pants I wore in 2005 when I was the size of a stick insect. Never, ever would I fit them again and, quite frankly, never want to be that size again. But the fabric was of the most divine black, heavy and slippery satin and I loved them for that alone.

Out went some shirts that are way too tight across my shoulders now. Along with other things that were over washed and just plain old sad. I also went into our spare room and cleaned out a cupboard of some curtains I thought I may one day use. Five years later they were still waiting to be used so out they went. I even cleaned out drawers that had the most unwanted items in it. Tags from clothes, old receipts and bobby pins.

I have been picking up the odd little old suitcase now and then and keeping it for these moments. Special things I want to keep together I put into the suitcase and I plan to hang a tag on each one with a description of what is inside. The cases are small and look great sitting in the wardrobe and it is a more interesting way of storing memento's.

For the past few weekends I have been making a point of doing what I think is a long overdue one day job. Even if I only spend a couple of hours at it I am happy. Last week was book sorting. I unpacked boxes of books I had in storage and went through them. Got rid of the books that had been "bestsellers" and kept the special books, the classics and some lovely old books I have.

This is an ongoing thing and I have finally realised that it is best to just chip away at it slowly and thoughtfully. Otherwise I get so overwhelmed I end up doing nothing. In a small house you kind of have to be a bit organised or you end up with bucket loads of stuff that you really do not need.

Years ago I was at my mother's house and she was sorting things through. Lots of the bits and bobs she gave to me. At the time she was saying to me that one day I will go through the same thing. I will just look at all the paraphernalia I have accumulate over the years and decided what is important and what is not. At the time I secretly thought she was wrong. But she was right.

It is not so much that I want to get rid of lots of things, but I want to put away some items into a structured form so that I can find them later on. We have a mezzanine floor in the garage where we store things like this. For ages I have been talking about doing it and am finally making a constructive effort to get it done.

I am always intrigued by stories of people who never get rid of anything. It must be the most terrible burden to live with. For the sufferer and also those who may live with them. Especially if they don't feel the same urge to hoard.

Years ago a friend sent me a story about a woman who could not throw anything away. She had clothes packed up to the ceiling, papers and all sorts of things. One day a pile of stuff fell onto her and she was suffocated. It took the police three separate searches to find her. Her foot was poking out from underneath a giant pile of clothing.

My husband told me how years and years ago when he used to go and fix people's telephones at their houses, he went to the house of one lady who had thousands of plastic flowers piled up everywhere. Up high and in every room. Thousands of them. I wonder where she is now.

One time I went to visit someone's house to look at something to buy. I think it was a time clock for my parents factory. Every wall was lined with home made drawers in which there were screws, nails, washers and other similar items. Every single wall in the house and up to the ceiling. Hundreds of drawers. I was with my older sister at the time and said nothing. I just looked around in astonishment. There were signs of children living there. I recall thinking that his wife must be very tolerant. When I left the place I turned and said goodbye politely. To which he replied "oh, it talks, I thought you were just weird". I thought that was funny coming from him.

I figure that if you are going to hoard stuff you may as well be organised about it all otherwise it could be a bit messy. Just pack it all neatly away.

I do a similar thing with my thoughts.

Sort through 'em.

Then pack 'em.

Or Blog them, which, thinking about it, is like online storage.

Ciao
LC

Doctor Visit

Today I had to go to the gynaecologist's for a visit.

Trust me, it was not a social visit.

Now, this doctor only ever sees women. From assisted reproduction, pregnancy and beyond. He specialises in twats and related body bits. He helped me get pregnant (via IVF thanks), delivered my son, has done numerous operations on me and last year gave me my hysterectomy.

So, with all that in mind, means that the clientele is going to be female. Right?

Then, if that be the case, I want to know where he gets his ideas on what women like to read when sitting around in the waiting room.

I don't know about you, but when I am waiting to see the doctor I want to read a women's magazine. Or Reader's Digest. Maybe a gardening mag. How about a nice little magazine showing me new decorating ideas. Even some plain old celebrity trash. Nothing too deep and meaningful. Not unreasonable is it?

Well, in this office the magazines which, incidentally, were piled high on a coffee table in the middle of the room, consisted of fashionable MEN'S magazines. Not nekked girls mags, but ones about men's health, modern living of the modern man, men's fashions, classic cars and other similar sorts.

There were also magazines on holidaying in incredibly expensive island getaways, just in case the urge took you as you were plonked in the chair.

Now, in my mind, if you are pregnant, a middle aged woman or have just had a baby, you can bet the last thing you want to read is an article about how hot Megan Fox is do you? Especially when it is accompanied by a highly air brushed photo of her in a skimpy pair of knickers, not a spot of cellulite showing.

And you don't want to see page after page of young and handsome suited men with semi naked, smooth as silk young women draped over them, insolent smiles on their youthful and beautiful faces.

For you can bet you will be feeling as unattractive as can be sitting in that room with the full knowledge that within the next half an hour the gynaecologist is going to be pulling on his latex gloves and saying the words "feet together, knees apart please" before he peers up your twat, speculum and lubricant in hand. And reading those magazines is just a reminder of what you are not like.

Of course, I can only speak for myself.

I ended up staring at a spot on the wall opposite, the magazines were so uninteresting.

Anyway, the visit was particularly unpleasant as the end result is another bit of surgery to be done. Honestly, I thought there was nothing left to do in the department. This will be around operation number twenty three.

Still, at least I get to have another dose of lovely pre surgery drugs.

That is the pay off.

Although, I am starting to think it is not really worth it.

Sigh....

Ciao
LC

My Feelings Today

At work I cannot log into Blogger for some router reason so I have to post via my email. 

 

Not that it matters how I post, especially with this email.

 

I am bored.

 

BORED

 

I know one should not be bored and perhaps it is a reflection of possibly being a boring person.

 

Well, if that is true then, based upon my level of boredom right now, I am a super boring person today.

 

Maybe bored is not the word. 

 

Maybe I just hate my work today.

 

The same goes for yesterday.

 

So, am I then boring and hateful this week.

 

Which is wrong as I should be grateful for having such a good job.  But I 'aint right now.

 

Plus, it is freezing.  I have the heater on but I have very cold hands and feet. 

 

And I am grumpy.  Tired and grumpy and cold.

 

While I am here, I shall add that I am also whiney today.

 

What about FAT. 

 

That always fits in there somewhere.

 

I am also hungry.  And lunch is half an hour away.

 

Plus, I spent money on the internet.  Make up.  Moisturiser.  I am sick of being frugal and buying moisturiser from the supermarket.  It makes my face itchy and does not make me look younger. 

 

Oh, and I bought perfume.  I have none.  Well, I have some perfume oil I bought from the Body Shop with the misguided thought that it would be as nice as the big brand name stuff.  Sorry, it isn't. 

 

In no particular order, this is a run down of how I feel today.

 

Boring

Hateful

Cold

Grumpy

Tired

Whiney

Spendthrift

and

Ungrateful (for my job)

and

Hungry (for food)

and

FAT (which is not good when also hungry)

 

But, once I get my new make up and all that I shall at least look and smell good.

 

It doesn't matter how you feel as long as you look and smell good.

 

Sounds like a marketing ploy.

 

So, how do you feel today?

 

Ciao

LC

Sunday Number 2411 (or something like that)

Another Sunday.

I like Sunday's until it gets to about 7pm and I start to think about Monday. Then I feel a bit disappointed that people don't work weekends and have weeks off. It would be much nicer.

As it was a sunny day I went outside and mowed the lawn. I love mowing the lawn. Love starting the mower, love the sound of it and love pushing it along the untidy grass. When I am finished it is nice to look at the smooth grass.

It would be fair to say I would be the only female in the street who mows the lawn in nice clothing. Or mows the lawn at all. I had black pants, black t-shirt, hair all shiny and blow dried, make up on. Not that I get dressed up just to mow the lawn, it just happened to be that I decided to mow the lawn and was wearing what I was wearing.

Thinking about it, I actually don't have special clothes for gardening just as I really don't have going out clothes. I wear the same stuff no matter what I do. It is a problem when I have to go out for a formal evening as I am then forced to buy something dressy which annoys me no end as I know for a fact that I will not wear it again.

In summer I will mow the lawn in a dress but put a pair of gumboots on to protect my feet and legs. Then I will just put sandals on and go to the shops with the same clothes. I don't care if I am a bit sweaty or have some grass stuck to my dress. My standards must be low or something. Yet, I would not leave the house with bad hair. So, maybe my standards are low from the neck down.

My husband is just as bad as me. More than once I have seen him working on the car, best shirt on with sleeves rolled up. Then I have spent time getting out grease from a white shirt. I don't care, life is like that.

My son will wear unironed clothes, dirty clothes, smelly clothes or scruffy and overwashed clothes. Although, he does have a strong idea about how to dress if heading out somewhere groovy.

About the only time I am fairly thoughtful about what I have on is when I do exercise. A badly chosen outfit can cause all sorts of problems including chafing and riding. And if I am sweating I need clothes that take the moisture away.

I know some people have gardening clothes and mucking about clothes. But for me if I get a notion to do something I just want to jump up and do it. I don't want to jump up, change my clothes and then do it. By then the urge will pass. Also, I don't want to have to then change out of my gardening clothes and then into normal clothes. It gets all complicated for me.

One sunny morning I got out of bed at about 7.30am and looked out at the untidy front yard and had the notion to do some gardening. So I just went out in my pink pyjamas and did two hours gardening. My neighbour waved to me and asked me why I was not dressed yet. I said I was, dressed in my pj's and that is how it should be. Just get out there and do what feels right.

Today my son and I went to a HUGE shopping centre near us. This place has just opened yet another batch of same old shiny shops and we almost got lost. There were people everywhere and most of them were half my age and all good looking of course because only good looking people shop at Chadstone. Now and then they let middle aged sorts in just to fill the gaps.

My son complained and complained about being there, conveniently forgetting that we were there for HIM. I managed to shut him up with a chocolate milkshake and threat to do a public pick at the earwax on show in his right ear. He was quiet after that.

I did buy something for myself. I went into Laura Ashley and about myself a caramel coloured shirt dress that had short sleeves and a full skirt. I did not try it on. It was my size and had been reduced from $189 down to $49.95 and was the last one on the rack. When I got home and put it on my husband commented that it looked like a dress that Inspector Gadget might wear. Sort of a short sleeved trench coat.

Just the thing to mow the lawn in!

Ciao
LC

Excitement At The Supermarket

I went to the supermarket today to do the weekly shop. Or should I say the main weekly shop because, as you know, I always end up at the supermarket numerous times during the week.

It was more exciting that usual to do the shop as management had changed things overnight.

They moved the delicatessen meats to the other end of the deli counter where the fish had been. Which meant the fish were now where the meat had been. But the roast chickens stayed in the same section.

Then they moved the mince meat to where the fresh chicken had been, but they left the sausages where they were. I noticed a new range of Angus Beef sausages and bought some. Son and husband ate them and agreed that they were rather pleasant.

The health food section was expanded. An extra five feet of space was added for more inedible and overpriced, over processed health food to be added.

Another exciting move was that all of the vitamins were moved to the same aisle as the shampoos and other personal items. It appears that the range of vitamins have been increase. So I can now stand for an extra five minutes to decide which brand is the cheapest when buying my multi vitamins.

Also, in the same aisle, they shifted the shampoo further along to the left and added some extra brands! Plus, a huge range of skincare was reshelved with all sorts of specials. There was a small crowd of women gathering near the Olay brand, which apparently is the best to buy.

As I went down aisle after aisle I could barely contain my excitement at the change that would greet me. I noticed, however, that the cleaning products had been split into two separate aisles which was a bit confusing. Plus, I had trouble locating the paper towels but it did not take long to find them again. Toilet paper was in the same aisle, but on the opposite side.

When I got the the dog food section I was so impressed at the new range of overpriced "entree" meals available for the dog. So, I expect you feed them to the dog before you give him the big can of regular dog food. On the entree pack I noticed that it said you could warm it up in the microwave. Not sure about you, but I would vomit if the smell of hot dog food was in my kitchen.

However, I did buy my dog a tube of treats that looked just like Pringles. Last time I offered my son one, but he refused. I wonder if I were to serve them up at a party if anyone would eat them.

They had quite a few good specials going and I stocked up on couple of things. There were a few announcements over the PA which included a special on the roast chickens but since nobody eats it in our house I had to forgo the bargain. How disappointing.

Got to the counter and realised I had forgotten to bring my eco friendly shopping bags with me and leant over to the girl and whispered that crime to her. Asked her if the bag police were around. She said it was safe, they had alread nabbed someone for having no bags.

Supermarket shopping can be an adventure now and then.

Ciao
LC

Day Out Years Ago

When my son was about three or maybe four we went out to a Jazz Festival that was being held about two hours from where we live.

 

My niece, sister in law and nephew came with and we all piled into the car I had then which was a new Renault Scenic.

 

We went there as my husband was playing piano with a few different bands so we thought we might make a day of it.  The festival is family friendly and geared for everyone.  This is the link as to where it is held.

 

So, we got there with our picnic basket packed, picnic rug and chairs and found ourselves the perfect place under a shady tree where we made ourselves comfortable. 

 

The sun was shining, there was the sound of music through the air, the gardens were lush and green and children played on an open lawn just near us.  To make the day more perfect, there were a few peacocks strutting around and showing their glorious tail feathers.

 

My son had his face painted and ran around pretending to be little monster.  As the weather warmed up we all lolled around on the picnic blanket, nibbling at the now warm chicken and wilting salad we had made hours beforehand at home.  The icing on  the cup cakes had become sticky and dripped onto small hands that held them. 

 

After a few hours of this indolent laying around, broken now and then by a relaxed meander around the property to see the bands playing, we decided that we should head home as the boys were getting tired, my niece was planning a night out and my sister in law was also starting to feel the effects of the sunshine and fresh air.

 

I was a bit sunburnt, despite having spent most of the time under the shady canopy of a tree.  My head was thick with tiredness and my arms and legs felt heavy from the warmth that they had absorbed from the heat in the air.  Truly, I would have loved to have gone to sleep on the rug then and there.

 

But we slowly packed things away, rolled up the rug, tossed the left overs back into the picnic basket, folded up the chairs and made our way back to the car which was sitting, amongst hundreds of others, under the hot sun in a big, grassy paddock that was pock marked with holes left behind from cows that had been in the field when the weather was wet. 

 

We stumbled along with tired children complaining, heads thumping now that we were out in the baking sun and eventually found the car.  With great relief we loaded everything in, kids and all.  The interior was stinking hot and the air conditioner was a welcome relief once it kicked in.

 

The drive home was long and silent.  Eventually all the passengers fell asleep and I was left to my own silent concentration.  When I finally made it home it was a complete relief.  Everyone headed home and my son and I were left alone to ourselves.

 

Being so tired, I decided to take a nap on the couch.  So I put on a video for my son to watch and as he did so I drifted off. 

 

Drifting off just does not cover it actually.  I fell into at deep, deep sleep and woke up with fright to a dark house, video finished and my son missing. I leapt up in fright and called out his name.  Then I heard his little voice from the front yard replying to my frantic call.  He had been visiting the neighbours next door.

 

So I went next door to apologise for my son inviting himself over, and also just to say hello.  They had visitors and apparently my son had been there for TWO HOURS unbeknownst to me.  I had been laying, on the couch, in a deep sleep whilst my son took it upon himself to visit the next door neighbours.

 

But worse than that is that he had told them that I had gone out and left him alone in the house! 

 

I was so embarrassed.  But once I explained the truth there was a great deal of laughter.  I think they knew it to be untrue as they would have come over to check otherwise.  They knew me well enough to know that would not happen.

 

Now and then they have reminded me about the time I went out and left my son at home alone. Always with a wink.

 

After that, I always locked the front door screen to prevent any further escapades.

 

Children come up with funny things sometimes.

 

It was a funny end to a lovely day.

 

Ciao

LC

Sometimes

Some days I really don't want to be at work.

I mean, I really, really do not want to be at work.

You know those days?

Where you are driving in the car and listening to the music of your choice?

Then you pull up at the traffic lights and look up at the hint of blue sky coming through the clouds.

See the sun peering at you.

Driving past people sitting in front of a coffee shop, drinking coffee, reading the newspaper or just sitting.

Noticing the blossom coming out on the trees planted in the streets.

The almost empty parks with their lovely green grass ready to walk on.

Sometimes it is hard work being a responsible grown up.

Sigh....



Ciao
LC

Boy's Lunch

Last night I made a lovely loaf of wholemeal bread in my new bread oven.

 

When it was finished I took it out, sliced it and gave a piece to my son. It was warm and had raspberry jam on it.  He munched away at it.

 

Me: "What do you think?"

 

Son of mine:  "Mmmmm, delicious"

 

Me: "So, you can have this bread in your lunchbox at school"

 

Son of mine: "No, I don't want it for school"

 

Me: "Why not? I thought you liked it?"

 

Son of mine: "I do, I just don't want it in my lunch box".

 

Me: "But why?  If you like it why would you not want to have it for lunch?"

 

Son of mine: "Because."

 

Me: "Because it is home made?"

 

Son of mine: "Noooo."

 

Me: "Because it looks home made?  Is that it?  You don't want bread that looks home made in your lunch box?"

 

Son of mine: "Yes, I want my bread to look square and neat like bread from a shop.  Or a bread roll.  I don't want it to look home made."

 

So this morning my husband had to go up the street to get some bread rolls.  Tonight I will make bread rolls for him which are not so likely to look home made.

 

When I was at primary school my mother used to make me lunch that consisted of black bread and stinky cheese sandwiches.  It was tough for me being a child of foreign parents going to a school with kids whose ancestors came over with the first fleet.  I was teased all the time and used to sit on my own to eat lunch.

 

They all ate white bread sandwiches with jam or vegemite.  It was important to fit in just a little bit.

 

I understand where he is coming from.

 

Home made cup cakes are one thing.

 

Home made wholemeal bread might be putting him out of his comfort zone a bit much.

 

Sigh....

 

Ciao

LC

Books

I had another pleasant weekend. Easy going, no pressure. I think I was in a good frame of mind. The sun had been shining now and then in between the blustery wind that shook the trees and made the clothes flap madly on the clothesline.

On Saturday we had to go and pick up a bookshelf I bought on Ebay. It was to go into my son's room as his books were piled high on the floor and bedside table. The other night they all fell over and spread across the floor and woke us up. This event, along with the danger of falling head over heels on the way into or out of his bed made the need for a bookshelf quite urgent.

When I started to put the books onto the new shelf I realised just how many books he has. At least two hundred. I filled up the shelf and stepped back to look at them all. I remember each time we have bought a book together. We could go to the library, but my son is like me in that he wants to keep his books for ever. He likes to buy sets and many children's authors do sets very well. Once he latches onto an author he likes it will not be long before he has read all of that particular author's books.

Mixed in with his books are some books from my childhood. Not many but a few with coarse paper yellowed with age. I remember buying a couple of them through a scheme the book had.

Today my son and husband went to a second hand market together. My son came home, pleased as punch, with a new book to read. It was a hardcover edition of a Mathew Reilly novel. We had looked at it elsewhere the day before but did not buy it for some reason. He was so happy to have a hard cover to read as he loves the heaviness of hardback books.

Now he wants to go each week and buy one. We have a deal now. He gets pocket money and I am happy to pay for one book a month but if he wants more he has to dip into his savings. Because his reading of books is becoming so prolific I think we will start going to stores that sell second hand books.

As much as I love the classics when it comes to books, I don't try to introduce him to them. Now is not the right time. Let high school do that job. Today I found my school edition of Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy. I found that so awful to read when I was in high school and yet so intensely beautiful when I was in my twenties.

I grew up reading many Enid Blyton books. The Magic Faraway Tree. The Famous Five. Secret Seven. I loved them. They took me to wonderful places in my head, which I still drift over to for a visit now and then.

Naturally when I had my own child I was determined to share the delights of Enid Blyton with him and one evening I sat with him in bed and started to read a little book written by her.

Upon reflection I believe that it was not really ideal reading material for him. The main character had run away from home to join the circus, spoke to strange old men and stole some clothes from someones back yard. To top it off, his name was Dick. My son kept asking why he was called Dick. It was the first and last time I attempted to get him into the books I loved as a child. He is living his childhood, not mine.

However, there have been some books that have stood the test of time as far as enjoyment goes.

Harry The Dirty Dog by Gene Zion, Margaret Bloy Graham is a wonderful book written about a dog. There are three in the series and I think they were written in the 1950's. I read it as a child and it was just as funny when my son first heard it.

Caps for Sale by Esphyr Slobodkina. This is a particularly fine book that I read as a child and it is fantastic. It covers all sorts of wonderful emotions. I was reading it today and it is so fresh even today. The illustrations are timeless.

I found a whole list of great books listed here on this site Vintage Children's Books. Makes a great trip down memory lane for some of them.

I have to confess, the writing skills that are in the older books for children are more finely tuned than today's kids books on offer. Although my son is past the age of most of the two books I have mentioned, they were the books that he wanted me to read to him more than any others. Many of the newer books just never seemed to be as appealing to him.

But I am not a book snob when it comes to reading for children. Or for any age actually. As long as there is a way to get a someone to look at a book, comic or newspaper then I think that is the most important thing.

I am fully aware that this post is a boring one and it is not about to morph into anything exciting. I have just realised that when I started this post I was going to talk about something else.

However the image of my son's spotless bedroom and books all neatly upright on his bookshelf has captured my tired mind and I now have nothing else to say.

Except goodnight.

Ciao
LC

Lardy Carby

This is me. First thing Saturday morning, straight out of bed and into my exercise clothes, ready for a work out. I say ready, but I am never really ready for a work out.

Don't be fooled by my shiny faced smile. I am tired and not looking forward to doing a cardio class. On Saturday's we have a different trainer who is of the belief that if we don't feel like a puke at some time during a class she has failed us.

Today was a difficult day as far as cardio went. The wind was fierce and it seemed that no matter which way I faced the wind was against me. At one point another girl and I were running up a hill, wind pushing into our faces. It was the end of the class and we had been sent on a quick kilometre run to finish off the day.

So here we were, jogging away slowly, legs aching having done at least ninety step ups on each leg and a number of sprints and shuttle runs. Up the hill we went, whinging about it. I asked her if she ever saw people running along and think they were kooks. She said she did think that and now knows it to be true since she feels like a kook doing it.

I know I have mentioned how unnatural exercise is for me, even after a few years of doing it, but it is worth the effort.

But you see, now I really have to exercise because I just bought myself a bread maker. Yep, a big carbohydrate monster.

And if there is one thing I love, it is bread. I did this post once that outlined my love of bread. The fact is, bread, no matter what, is a jolly delicious way to ensure a layer of fat stays on your body for ever and a day. Well, I am speaking for myself anyway.

I have to control myself when it comes to bread. At one point I realised I was eating about six to eight slices of uber healthy, seedy and grainy bread and wondered why I felt like I had bloat or something. It has been tough cutting back.

I can also make pasta dough with this lovely machine. I have already made two loaves of bread in less than twenty four hours, both of which met with approval. Mmmmm, makes the house smell so lovely.

It might not look as glamorous as the shop bought bread, but who cares, it tastes delicious and I am in total control of what is going into the mix. Well, as long as I follow the recipe. If I am going to binge on fresh bread, fresh pasta and other yummy carby foods, well then, I will just keep on working out and running against the wind, up hills and down.

However, I did notice that as you bring one new appliance into the house you have to firstly work out where on earth it is going to go. I had to shift things around to fit it in the bottom of the pantry.

I then had to buy a bread slicing guide to ensure that I could get more than six slices of bread out of one fresh loaf.

Now, I have to buy a pasta machine to make the fresh pasta.

And also a bread box to store the freshly made bread in.

It never stops.

The life cycle of money leaving the wallet.

Ciao

LC

Boring Ho Hom

Sometimes when I read other people's blogs I think my life is very, very silly and full of the most uninteresting personal contemplations of a middle aged female.

Which is fine by me as I am the aforementioned middle aged female.

When I look at houses in streets near me I realise that there are so many different lives going on and I am astonished. In every house are a whole set of dynamics that I know nothing about. Right next door, across the road. So much going on. Little accidental secrets.

If everyone put a little daily chatty note on their front fence each morning that you could read as you walked past, well, it would make you realise that life is full of ordinary things that are the glue that make us a cohesive society.

For example, today I could have a note that said:

Ran out of hair conditioner. Ate raw rice porridge for breakfast and it tasted like flour. Yuck, had to load it up with sugar just to get it down and was still hungry. Am trying to have something different for breakfast each morning but it is too hard to think of it when I get up. Bought some health food crap which I cannot even smell without feeling blech. Have to go to work but really want to stay home and tidy bedroom. Put load of washing on before I left house. Why do I have so much washing? There are only three of us. Got the council rates in today. Have gone up to $1553 per stupid year. What do they do. Empty the bins and mow the park lawns. Oh, who cares anyway. Also got the gas bill. What the? How can it be $400. Oh, yes, because I have the heating going on high. Where is my favorite lipstick? Oh, this one will do, pink is kind of okay. Is that that pink sticky one that my hair sticks in, yuck. Is that a roll of fat around my waist. When did that happen? Shit. Hey Ho, Hey Ho it's off to work I go - again. Today is Ground Hog Day.

If you think about it, you would only have to read three daily reports to realised that everyone has the same stuff happening in between the more interesting events.

What note would you leave?

Ciao
LC

Work And Thursday's

It is Thursday today and I am at work.  Last night I slept poorly.  Restless and overtired which has resulted in me greeting the morning with a vague headache. I need to blab and so a blog post is the place of blabs for me.  

 

Yesterday work had been intense.  Lots of number crunching and ploughing through vast amounts of paperwork.  At one point my desk looked like the inside of a paper recycling bin, so covered it was with stuff.  By the end of the day I managed to get it tidy.

 

On the way home from work I bought dinner from a shop that makes great home made foods.  Just the thought of having to stand in the kitchen and prepare food was too dreary to contemplate.  Doing such a thing used to make me feel guilty, now it makes me feel happy that such places exist. 

 

A couple of years ago I used to think that I was an inefficient human being if I could not do it all.  A bad wife and mother if I could not manage to keep the house spotless, do all the ironing and basically be a domestic angel.  It took a while to realise that it was okay to not do everything and the anything I did do would have to be done again anyway so what was the urgency.

 

Besides, over the years I have learnt to do things really quickly and efficiently in record time.  So, if my bathroom is ignored for three weeks I can get it looking brand spanking new within the hour.  Funnily enough, I spent many years looking for easy ways to do housework.  One day I worked out that there was no easy way.  You just have to do it.  Or pay someone else to do it.  No amount of dust grabbing cloths, steam pads, magic mops, twirly dusters, whizz bang cleaners or fantabulous earth friendly liquids will remove the fact that it takes time and effort.

 

It takes a while to get to a place where you work out how you function as a human being and the approach to take to get the best out of yourself.  For some reason you spend years working on some societal example that has been set, only to realise that it has nothing to do with what is the truth about being a person.  The lead up to that realisation is often spent being so rigid, so unrealistic that it can make life a very difficult thing.

 

At work I go through stages where I am working at full speed and being very productive, followed by quite the opposite, which is where I am at today - hence this post during work times. Going with the flow is what works for me and I am lucky I am in a working environment that encourages that. It is so much more productive.  In the days of yore I used to just work like a Trojan and the collapse with fatigue when I got home.  Not the ideal life balance. 

 

But you have to go through all those realisations to develop the awareness of how to live your own life, as opposed to someone else's.  Some people take longer than others and might find that life has passed them by whilst they were working it all out.

 

When I think of society and what deems a good human being I feel it is all wrong.  Years ago if you lived and died for your country you were a hero.  Or if you married, had children and raised them well,  you were living a good life. Maybe worked for years in your job before retiring was good enough.  Now it seems you have to be rich, beautiful, thin and popular to be successful. I know it to be a lot more than that, but young people may find the fall to reality very hard. 

 

Last night my son said to me "hey, I have pubic hair".  What does that comment have in relation to this post you may well ask.  When he said that I felt my heart lurch in my chest.  Another stage in his life towards the rigours of adulthood.  It made me think of what is ahead, what responsibilities I have towards being a parent.  How can I make his journey a useful one and still allow his spirit to be free and his love of life full of joy?

 

I wonder if I will every be able to answer the questions I ask myself.  Or is it that once I have the answer, a new question will come up.  Isn't that part of life anyway?  Asking oneself the meaning of it all?

 

My son has worked out the best way to find the answer.

 

He was watching Monty Python's "Meaning Of Life".

 

I think I might find the answer in there somewhere.

 

Or at least, the answer that makes the most sense.

 

Ciao

LC

Underneath The Oxter's

Remember this photo of Julia Roberts doing the red carpet thing a couple of years ago?

She shocked the world with her hairy armpit. I mean, it made headlines news!

I thought this photo was great, the way she just nonchalantly raised the arm and showed us what a decent hairy armpit is all about.

I, like most females, wax or shave hair from places where I do not want hair.

I have, in the past, even done the xxxx wax just to see what all the fuss was about and will, incidentally, never allow my pudenda to be hair free ever again. Not to the extent it was done anyway. Apart from the fact it just looks wrong, wrong and wrong to have a hairless foof once you pass the age of twelve, I had so many ingrown hairs that it looked like acne had settled down there to stay. Also, I did it in summer and things just got all hot and rash like.

I know you may not want to hear it, but since I have no shame I just like to share the experience. Plus, I am at the age where I just don't want to take off my knickers to get waxed by some twenty year old girl. These days I am more along the lines of xx wax. Neat and tidy. Pants on thanks.

Besides, when I told my mother what I had done she laughed and said "don't bother, it thins out down there anyway as you get older and you will wish it was all back in it's full glory". Er, thanks for the heads up mum. Remember the 70's when all the girls plucked their eyebrows to kingdom come and then........the eyebrows did not grow back. Well, just keep that thought in mind if you wax your mons veneris.

But I am digressing here (as you would when talking about a Brazilian).

I am a bit of a lazy sort when it comes to making my legs hair free. I hate to shave but I never seem to get around to waxing until things are just a bit far gone. In fact, my son has said to me once that I should get my legs waxed. What the?

It is a funny thing about woman having hairy legs. People are inclined to be taken aback if they see a bushy shin on show from below the hemline of a skirt. I know I am always shocked.

But, more confronting about hairy legs is a set of hairy armpits on a female. Especially a female who looks as though she would be a smooth as silk in all the right places. Hence the reaction to the Julia Roberts photo.

I have, on the odd occasion, allowed the hair under my arms to grow to it's full glory. True. And, in Summer I have gone down the street with a singlet top (sleeveless tank I think you would call it) and been perfectly fine about it all. But, if you could see the eyes open wide on people if I raise my armpit enough to show hair.

You see, hair under the armpit is more confronting than hairy legs. Hairy legs suggest laziness but hair under the armpits is a defiant gesture. The fact that the armpit lies along the gazing line of the breast has something to do with it along with the vague suggestion of feminist inclinations. As if to say "you look at my breasts, now see my hairy armpit".

Not that that is the reason why I allow myself to lapse now and then.

Years ago I was working in the women's clothing section of a big department store. I would do the usual sales work, putting away clothes and helping customers.

One time I had to help a woman with clothing sizes. She was very, very beautiful. Italian, olive skinned and had a lovely body. Aged about mid thirties she was totally confident with her semi nakedness and would hand clothes over to me, talking at the same time whilst standing in just her underwear and no bra. It did not matter than anyone could see her.

But what was most fascinating about her is that she had hairy legs and armpits. It was a contradiction to her luxurious, long dark hair and her heavily made up eyes. Her feminine ways were completely at ease with her hairy body. Everytime she tried on a dress, top or shorts you were able to ignore anything else. She knew what she was doing as she persistently raised her arms as though making some statement. I was duly impressed, strange as it may seem.

Although I am tempted to just keep my hairy armpits sans natural, the reaction from all and sundry is too much to put up with. Even at home a hairy oxter elicits a look of horror from my husband and son. A polite observation is made - just in case I have not noticed that a rodent has left it's fur under the oxter's.

And should I go to work with my hairy under arms on show I would never hear the end of it. My boss would take me to task. Can you believe it!

It is very liberating to have hairy armpits.

Maybe even sexy!

I just might put them on show this Summer.

Love me, love my hairy oxters!

No?

Ciao
LC

Leave A Message After The Beep

My fridge beeps if I leave the door open. My last fridge had a weighted door that would shut slowly once you let go of it and moved away. I think that newer fridges are deliberately designed to have doors that don't shut automatically so that it beeps and you are duly impressed with the clever little beep. And possibly pay extra for that little beep.

My dishwasher beeps when it finishes washing. My last one didn't.

My microwave beeps when the food is finished heating and THEN beeps again to remind me if I don't take the food out of the microwave after a certain amount of minutes. Then beeps again if I still don't take it out.

My washing machine beeps when if finishes.

As the the dryer.

When I plug in my mobile phone at night (to charge up) it beeps and then, fifteen or so minutes later, it beeps again to tell me it is now fully charged. That second beep often wakes me up just after I have gone to sleep. And sometimes, for no reason at all, it just does a random beep at some stupid time like 3.00 am in the morning.

My car beeps if I open the door with the lights on. Or open the door and the key is still in the ignition. Or my bag is too heavy on the passenger seat and the car thinks my bag should put a seat belt on.

Beep
Beep
Beep

Everywhere I go I hear beeps.

So I want to leave a message after all those beeps.

Shut Up!

Ciao
LC

Thermals

I have been shopping around for thermal underwear lately.

Because we are going overseas in Winter and because I know I am going to freeze my butt off, I need to get some thermals. This is based on advice from lily livered whiney girls like myself who enjoy sitting in a room that is always 22 degree Celsius.

Get thermals! Wear them under your pants. Under everything. That is what I am going to do as I hate being cold. And my husband and son hate me being cold because I whinge about it.

So, I have been checking out thermals and have been duly impressed by what is out there now. I even bought a couple of thermal tops. One singlet and one long sleeved thing. To try out before I go. I mean, I don't want to get overseas and find that what I have bought is not keeping me warm.

The thermal tops I bought are made of a fine black wool, sheer and lovely. I was so impressed by these new age, fine wool thermal undergarmets I bought as traditional woollen thermals are just plain old ugly. Plus, the manufacturers always try to sex them up by getting some slinky girl to pose in a provocative manner in a beige thermal pair of long johns or long sleeved singlet.

Honestly, thermals are not sexy. So, why not forget trying to make them sexy. Thermals are practical. They need to be warm, not sexy.

How do I know that the warm thermals are not sexy? Because the sexy ones I bought are not warm. That is despite the fact that they are promoted by some well known, blonde sexy snow skier who swears by their thermal properties.

I wore them under my clothes and was just as cold as I had been when I wore my plain old cotton singlet.

So now I am going to have to go for the warm factor and drop the sexy factor.

Thermals, Spanx and other undergarmets that are to serve a practical purpose (keep you warm, hold you in) will never rate high on the sexy stakes.

But I will have to draw the line at beige.

I am not at the beige age yet, even underneath my clothes.

Ciao
LC

Down By The Seaside

Today the air was cool and the sky was blue. We went for a walk along the beach.

And had an icecream which we ate whilst enjoying the sunshine.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, son kindly gave the two fingered salute as I took the photo. I am again reminded of the teenage mindset that is creeping in.

Although, I have been know to do the same thing even now. Could be genetic?

Another opportunity to have a mother and son photo.

I would love to live by the beach. It is a timeless place. No matter the weather, no matter the mood I might be in, just the sight of the water and the sound of the waves fills me with peace.

Lovely place.

Ciao

LC

Er Um O

Tonight my son was sitting at the dining table doing his homework.

Boy, didn't he moan about it. Moaned and moaned.

Moaned about the pen. It was not writing nicely.

Moaned how boring homework was.

Moaned about how tired he was (but not tired enough to go to bed of course).

Finally he came out with the reason for his grumpy mood. He had a bad day at school.

A boy in his class was annoying him.


"I hate Arty. He is so annoying. He talks non stop and if I tell him to shut up it is me who gets caught and told off. And even when I stabbed him with the compass he still did not shut up", my son ranted away.

I said something about how he should not stab someone with a compass just because they are annoying. The expected parental response to such a confession.

"And, it really annoys me how he chews his wooden ruler. You know, he does it all day and I think if he farted you would see sawdust", my son continues on.

I was laughing at him and then he said something that kind of wiped the smile off my face with shock.

"Yeah, and you know what else I hate. He blabs on and on in a stupid high girls voice and wriggles in his seat at the same time for so long like he is having an orgasm", says son of mine.

What?

What, what, what?

I stare at him. Mouth open with shock.

He stares at me. Mouth open and laughing.

"Oh my God. My son said THAT word to me", I said in shock and then do a faux scream in horror.

My son is is really laughing at my reaction.

"You said the O word in front of your mother", I said.

By this stage he is laughing so loudly that my husband calls out from the office.

"What is going on? What is the O word? What did he say?" husband asks.

Son and I look at each other and both laugh.

"Orange", my son calls out.

"What? That is not a rude word. I don't know any rude words beginning with O", my husband answers.

By this stage S and I are laughing so hard that I can hardly breathe. My son comes out with a few more random words beginning with the letter O.

I change the subject. My son says something about knowing all those words and what they mean.

I am reminded of a conversation that my son and I had last year after watching Meet The Fockers. That movie with Barbara Striesand and Ben Stiller. It was a sequel to Meet The Parents.

There is a part in the movie where Ben Stiller (the son) is telling his mother (Barbara Streisand) about how his wife is pregnant. His mother is so pleased for him and then asks him something along the lines of whether when the baby was conceived was the sex extra special. I cannot recall the exact words. But the gist of it was that they were talking about his sex life. It is a bit over the top.

Anyway, my son turned to me and said;

"Do you know mum. That is like you and me isn't it? We will be like that. Talk about anything".

"Um. Well, yes. I suppose so. But you know, you don't have to tell me everything. There will be times it is okay to keep things to yourself. But you can always talk about things to me. Yes, for sure", I answer in amazement at his words.

Later on my husband came out of the office and again asked what was the O word that my son had said.

Which brought forth another bout of laughter from S.

Well, at least I won't have to explain it to him.

But it appears I might have to explain it to my husband!

Ha ha ha.

Now I am laughing.

Ciao
LC

Night, Sleep And Storms

I was woken up a couple of nights ago by a storm.  The wind was loud and with it came heavy rain. 

 

I opened my eyes and looked over at the window and could see how the trees were being grabbed and pulled about by the wind.  There were noises of leaves falling down the chimney, rustling as they fell.  It must have only been about 1.30 am. 

 

The wind made the house creak.  That is the thing about an old house.  It moves with the wind, the sun and the rain.  You can hear it.  I know new houses do as well, but they don't make the same sound.  I love the creaks.  I could hear the rain falling on the terracotta tiled roof like soft footsteps.  But in the garden it made a heavy sound as it hit the earth.  I could picture the leaves of plants shaking as the drops hit them.

 

When I was little, storms in the night scared me.  I would wake with fright, my heart beating in my chest.  Even though I am middle aged I still wake with that sudden fright of hearing howling wind interrupt my sleep.  Then I just snuggle down into the doona and close my eyes listening to the sounds until I drift off again.

 

As a child a thunderstorm would send me into my parents bed where I would crawl between the two of them and go to sleep.  Sometimes my dad would wrap his thick, muscled arms around me and I would sleep feeling both trapped and safe. As I got older, the need to feel protected left me.  I learnt to shut my eyes and ignore the noise, the fear.  Now I find that noise soothing as though Nature is letting herself be known.

 

When I was very little we lived in a caravan for a while.  About a year.  One time there was a cyclone.  My father spend the day anchoring the caravan to the ground with star pickets and chains.  The anticipation was unbearable as a child.  Our first big cyclone was on the way.  That night the wind howled and whistled and shook the caravan.  I could hear screeching noises, trees groaning and the rain hitting the metal sided caravan with such a force I thought it might break a window.  Things fell on the roof.  I was in the top bunk and could stretch my hand up to where the twigs and branches landed.  It seemed so close.

 

At one point there was an eerie silence and we stepped out of the caravan.  Outside it was strangely light despite being the middle of the night. 

 

"It's the eye of the storm", my dad told us and we all went back inside.

 

The storm started again and seemed to go on and on and eventually I fell asleep.  When I awoke it was a bright and sunny morning.  Outside the caravan park was littered with debris.  Two vans had tipped over.  Some windows had broken in other vans. Trees were split and long leaves of tropical plants were shredded.  The air was wet and warm with the sun shining through clouds.  I ran over to the pool and saw that it was covered in branches and leaves.  My mother would not let me go in the murky water.

 

Later that day we went for a drive.  There were houses that were flooded up to the decking on the high set verandahs.  People stood and waved to us.  Some of the had little dinghies that they used to get to the front fence.  There were floods everywhere.  My dad had to drive the car through water that was so deep you could lean out of the car window and touch it.  For myself and my siblings it was great fun. 

 

I am amazed that people live where there are hurricanes on a regular basis.  Or in places where tornadoes come to visit and pull up homes and throw cars around as though they are toys.  I suppose that you just adjust to it.  Once I met a girl who was from Lebanon.  She told me that she used to ignore the gun fire that went on around her.  Another girl told me that living in Russia and lining up for food was no big deal. My sister lives in Queensland which is tropical.  She is used to the giant insects, wasps and spiders that visit her home on all the time.

 

What am I used to?  What do I have happen in my life that would be difficult do deal with?  I cannot think of anything and am thankful for that. 

 

The more I know that goes on in the world, the more grateful I am for how little really goes in my world.

 

Sometimes when I think of how lucky I am I wonder what I have done to deserve it. Then I wonder why I think like that.  Doesn't everyone deserve to have a peaceful life?  Why do I feel guilty at times for having peace in my life.  Is it because it is not something that I can share, unlike food or money, how can I share peace?  How can I give the comfort of safety? 

 

Anyway, I suppose a lot of us have to weather a lot of storms to get some sort of peace.

 

And for some, storms will always be on the horizon.  Which is not a bad thing as knowing of it's imminent arrival makes you prepared.

 

Ciao

LC

Just Sunday Stuff

Last week was a busy one for me. Not a particularly enjoyable one either. I had bookkeeping obligations that meant I had to work extra hard and by the end of the week my brain felt fried.

I had also decided to change one of my exercise nights to an exercise morning. So, on Thursday I got out of bed at - get this - 5.30 am to do a 6.15 am class. The night before I had not gotten to bed until 11.30 pm after book club so you can imagine how tired I was the next day. And the day after.

So, not enough sleep, too much book work and an abnormally early morning took a lot out of me. It is a bit tragic isn't it. Sad old middle aged woman who cannot handle a late night. Sigh.

But, despite the early morning upheaval I am continuing it ever Tuesday and Thursday to free up two evenings and allow me to do other things. I am thinking it will take about three weeks to adjust to the change.

This weekend was a relaxing one. The sort of weekend needed after a busy week. For the first time in ages I bought the Saturday newspaper and read it front to back. Bought some new season cherries and, after admiring their glossy red flesh, ate them along with some strawberries.

Today I managed to prune some roses and an overgrown hibiscus. Pull out some weeds from the front yard and do a general tidy up.

Later on my son and I went for a drive down to the beach and had afternoon tea of scones, jam and cream. From inside the warm cafe we looked out at the choppy blue green water of the bay. There were big grey clouds in the sky that held the promise of rain.

After leaving the cafe we went for a walk along the path that ran parallel with the water. My son went behind the safety fence and walked on the big granite rocks that lined the water's edge. The wind was cold and fresh with the smell of the sea upon it.

I watched S as he stepped from rock to rock, his hair blown back, pale face full of smiles. He wiped his eyes that had filled with tears from the cold air blowing into them. At one point he spread his arms and laughed as he walked, as though embracing the cold wind. He looked free and happy.

Eventually we had to turn and head back to the car. As we walked we looked at the homes that share their back fences with the public space. Most of the places were two storey which enabled the owner to enjoy the seaside views. My son said something about how great the view would be here. Then he said to me that although money won't buy happiness it can buy you things that are close to happiness. Like the houses that have views to the beach.

They notice things early don't they.

When we were in the car he was playing his music. Each time a song came on he gave me the run down on who the band was, what the song was called and what it was about. Some of the music I knew, but just as much I had never heard. It made me, once again, realise that my son has things going on in his head that have nothing to do with me. They are his thoughts, his observations and his feelings. He chooses to share them with me and I learn more about him on different levels.

Once home, the routine of life started again. Put a load of washing on, fold up and sort washing, make dinner and then bake a cake for school lunch.

Next week I plan to take Friday off and go into the city for the day. Get to the art gallery. Sometimes there are times when I need my own space. No work, no son, no husband, no house,no computer. Just for a few hours where I can chill out and be somewhere else (that is not the supermarket).

So, hopefully I will get all my work done in four days and be able to take that day off.

A day off is my motivator to work extra hard.

I better go to bed right now!

Get some rest and wake up ready for the week ahead.

Ciao
LC

Childhood Exercise

There has been a large amount of expensive study done around the world to explain the increase in childhood obesity.

Obviously food intake has increased. Lots of processed food at that which is believed to have an unknown effect on a person's metabolism. Sweet food, fatty food, high GI food and too much of it as well.

Then there is the truth in the belief that children just do not move around as much choosing instead to plonk in front of the television or computer. And eating all that rubbish at the same time.

Inert and inactive.

So, more food and less exercise. Pretty simple.

But, I realise another reason why children do less physical activities.

Because at a very, very young age they have been exposed to the insane people that appear on that show Funniest Home Videos.

I am sure you have seen it.

People send in home videos of other people (or themselves) doing unbelievably dangerous and stupid antics.

I am sure that a young and impressionable mind of a child could be so put off any exercise after seeing:

1. Bike accidents that involve a violent collision into a hard object (usually some sort of face connection happens)

2. Skate board accidents that end up with someone being almost impaled on a letter box. Or a body slams into concrete. Or they land with some handrail wedged between their legs.

3. Trampoline accidents where the person ends up being propelled onto the ground head first. Or with their crown jewels making impact on the springs. Or the trampoline mat gives way completely.

4. Swinging out on a rope over water.....duh! rope breaks.

5. Gymnastic activities that end up with the gymnast hitting a wall after back flips, coming off the bars at great force, not making it over the horse or falling with spread legs on the balance bar

You get the idea? The list goes on and on.

So, seeing as the "experts" are always going on about how television shows can directly influence a child in a negative manner, then isn't it reasonable to think a child would be completely put off exercise after watching all those insane accidents?

Seriously, when I watch Funniest Home Videos I am reminded that there really are loads of really stupid people out there. Or very brave. Or totally insane.

But I cannot stop watching it either I have to confess.

I feel so safe sitting on my chair seeing all those accidents that other people are having.

Ciao
LC

Hair

The other day I bought the DVD of the movie Hair.

I saw the movie version of Hair when it came out in about 1979. Went into the city with a few school friends. It may have been a Saturday. The day has stayed in my mind so clearly for all my life. I had sewn a top to wear. It was cream and looked a bit like a hip length caftan. Across the back I had embroidered, of all things, a few palm trees with coconuts on them. The edges of the top were all blanket stitched, possibly because the hem was a bit untidy. I wore it over a pair of cobalt blue jeans and topped it off with a pair of black Mary Jane shoes.

I think there were maybe half a dozen of us. Some boys, some girls. The city was a great place to go to when I was a teenager. Especially with friends, special friends. The sun was shining and the buildings were big, casting shadows and making me feel small and happy. In those days you really did have to go into the city for fun as the suburbs were, well, the suburbs. Now the suburbs are almost cities in themselves.

For all my life I have been fascinated by the musical Hair. I actually have the CD of the original soundtrack playing in my car at the moment. Even today I think the storyline is so significant. Unfortunately Hair was kind of defined by the brief moment of nudity in it but those who saw it would probably know it for the political, moral and societal questions it posed. Which, interestingly enough, are very relevant even today.

The movie was not entirely faithful to the stage production. It is difficult to capture the intimacy, the essence of a theatre production once you bring it to film. Many of the songs were left out and the orchestral arrangements changed but the movie still has it's own merits.

Plus, by the time the movie was made, twelve years had passed since the original musical had been and gone, the Vietnam war was over, hippies were out of vogue and people's memories are short. Which is a pity, because the original story is great.

I watched it last Sunday. My son and husband also watched it. For me, it was like being thrown back thirty years and being sixteen again. Having not seen it since then, the memory of it was pulled forth and along with it came the emotions and excitement of that day out.

Seeing it at age forty five reveals the faults in it, which is fine. I recall now that it was also the first time I saw Beverly D'Angelo in a movie and I realised how lovely I thought she was. So different to other movie stars.

I might not watch it again for a long time but I am still playing the music in the car, loud as possible and listening to the words of the songs which, even though I know them off by heart, are very powerful each and everytime I hear them.

One of the songs I love for it's lyrics and music is What A Piece Of Work Is Man:

What a piece of work is man

How noble in reason

How infinite in faculties

In form and moving

How express and admirable

In action how like an angel

In apprehension how like a God

The beauty of the world

The paragon of animals

I have of late

But wherefore

I know not

Lost all my mirth

This goodly frame

The earth

Seems to me a sterile promontory

This most excellent canopy

The air-- look you!

This brave o'erhanging firmament

This majestical roof

Fretted with golden fire

Why it appears no other thing to me

Than a foul and pestilent congregation

Of vapors

What a piece of work is man

How noble in reason

How dare they try to end this beauty?

How dare they try to end this beauty?

Walking in space

We find the purpose of peace

The beauty of life

You can no longer hide

Our eyes are open

Our eyes are open

Our eyes are open

Our eyes are open

Wide wide wide!

Even now after forty one years those words count in every possible way.

The stage production is up and running again on Broadway and I think it would be great to see. Maybe the impact of a musical like Hair would never be so great upon society today because we are so overwhelmed with all the difficulties that the world seems to be continuously going through.

We all just seem to fumble along to get through a day and the last thing we may feel like, at times, is thinking about other people's suffering, our lack of control in what happens beyond our door and whether or not we can ever, ever make a difference anyway.

But it is important, now and then, the be forced to think about things that have nothing to do with us.


I think we owe ourselves that.


Ciao
LC