The Menopause Blog (not suitable for women under 50)

Sorry, this is not an art blog again (I'm falling down a bit in that area lately - sorry) it's one for the girls.

Greetings sisters,

If you are a female and of "that" age and gone past your reproductive use by date, you know that we all have those days (weeks, months, years....) when life does not have a rosey hue, even if our face does. I have just arisen from another sleepless night and am sitting here in total frustration soaked to my itchy skin wondering why my body has turned against me and wanting desperately to bawl my eyes out (for the umpteenth time this week).

I have therefore decided to provide a location for angry or teary menopausal women everywhere to verbalize their feelings about this condition. Let this be a place where you can either voice your rage against the universe that bestowed this hormonal plague upon you or write something to give us all a much needed laugh.

Now, before I begin, if you are one of those really annoying women who positively breeze through menopause without a bead of sweat upon your brow, your libido still intact and no whiskers on your chinny chin chin, then this is definitely not the blog for you, however in the interest of fairness to sisters one and all, by all means contribute if you wish but please have some sympathy and try not to make the rest of us feel even worse. If however, you are scratching, sweating, bawling and wondering how life all went so very, very wrong, then please go get your towel and take a seat.

Anyway, today as I dried (and then dried and dried and tried to dry again) my body after my morning shower (I don't know why I bother - there can't be dirt on me anywhere as the sweat would have washed it all away), I started pondering this unhappy condition. What follows are a few random thoughts (logical thought is now beyond me) that popped into my head where at least a few brain cells remain somewhat intact.... er, where was I? Oh yes, popped into my head..... what follows are a few random thoughts on the subject.

One last comment before we start. If anyone out their has a cure that will not increase my risk of breast cancer, cervical cancer, ovarian cancer, stroke, heart attack, haemorroids or poverty, then please CONTACT ME NOW!!!!!!!

Anyway, here are this morning's rambling thoughts about how life has recently been for me:

Aaaahhh! Fat attack! It doesn't make sense - I just lost those 2 kilos and now in 2 days they're back and I haven't even eaten 2 kilos worth of food - what is that? Fluid, it's gotta be fluid! But it can't be - I haven't drunk that much either! Maybe the scales are broken, that it, the scales are broken! Ahhhh....sob.......my life is over.......sob.......

Libido, libido, where for art thou libido? Wait, who comes there - chocolate? Is that you chocolate.....?

At last, my life has reached a period where there is no period.

Look Terry, oh Great Terrydacktill of the Universe, whilst I know that all my life when I've been really busy I've been saying "I'm so busy I wish there were two of me", and whilst I really appreciate you finally answering my prayers, I think there has been a little misunderstanding. I didn't really mean the two of me to be in the same body! Sob.......my life is over.......sob.......

When I had my periods I used to comfort myself with the thought that "Oh well, at least I don't have to shave off a beard every day...." Who knew!

I wonder if Nair really works? I wonder if its carcinogenic - but if it kills the whiskers will it kill me too. Sob...I wish I were dead....sob

But I'm a red head, genetically we have less hair follicles than any other hair type so how can I be getting hairier armpits? Eeek, my eyebrows are starting to curl upwards. Oh no! I'm beginning to look like John Howard! Waghhhh - I'm so hairy now wagghhhhhh......sob....hiccup....etc.

Why is this so difficult - I used to be able to paint my own toenails. What does it matter anyway who will look at me now that I'm going to have naked toenails.... If I can't reach to paint them, how will I cut them - they'll grow long and turn into claws - I'll start looking like an evil anime cartoon character - Oh no! I'll become the long-clawed, stubble chinned evil witch of the baby boomers.

I wonder just how much sweat a container of baby powder will really absorb?

Well why doesn't anti-perspirant come in 1kg bottles?

Why are my boobs sore, why am I so teary, what's the matter with me? NO, it couldn't be - its been 18 months, I'm in menopause now for goodness sake! NO, its not possible, I can't be ovulating - please God, don't let there have been one last evil little egg lurking, waiting to catch me unawares. I thought they had gone for good - please don't let me have a period, please, please, please. But what if its not that - what if its ovarian cancer. I wish I could remember what my life was like before I worried over every little health issue?

How do people have menopause babies - is it possible some women still retain their sex drive? I read somewhere that menopausal women can get an even stronger sex drive. If that's the case how come I don't have one - that's just not fair - what have I done to deserve this - where's my new improved libido - how come I miss out? Not fair... my sex life is over.......sob..etc.

No! Don't come near me I'm too hot! No I did not mean it that way! Out of my way please, I need to open the windows.......where's the damn air conditioner remote gone? What do you mean it's not hot, what are you talking about, of course it's hot!

DON'T ARGUE WITH ME PLEASE!!!! I don't have enough hormones left in my body to want to kiss and make up....

I just don't understand how even when I don't drink much I still sweat so much - where's it all coming from? I know it is possible to turn water into oxygen and hydrogen. Does that mean I've developed the ability to do the reverse - that's it - breathing causes sweating. Maybe I've discovered a whole new realm of physics........I'll be famous! But wait, I'm in menopause - I probably won't live long enough develop the theory and become famous......aghhhhhh.......I'm never going to be famous........aaghhhhhhhhh....sob......

In the past it was risky enough wearing white on some days, but now that I'm sweating so much I'll never be able to wear white again drat it.

I'm sure all those morbid country and western type truckin' songs were written by menopausal women.

God was obviously male - no self respecting female deity would have invented menopause. Men! Hmmphf! Mutter, mutter, snarl, snarl, sweat, snarl, sob, snarl......

Why is it called menopause? Is it because it is a warning to men that there is a time when men should "pause" to think before they speak around women of a certain age?

I used to care what people thought about me - now thank's to menopause I don't give a fat rat's you know what about it (sob, that's not really true.... sob.....I really want someone to love me now that I'm hideous and hairy and my life is over.......sob.......)

To shave or to pluck, that is the question? To suffer the pain of outrageous tweezers or the hideous look of a shaving rash?


WHAT DO YOU MEAN GRUMPY, WHO'S GRUMPY?!!!!!!! MOODY, WHAT DO YOU MEAN MOODY!!! I've never been grumpy in my life, how dare you say such a thing to me (sob).....oh God, I am grumpy, why am I so grumpy... (sob). I'm not nice anymore ...but it's not my fault - it the hormones you see, the hormones I tell you...they are controlling me.....IT'S THE BLOODY HORMONES, THE HORMONES... they have me in their evil grasp.....evil (sob) grasp...

How did I get like this? It was never meant to be like this? Did my mother go through this? I don't remember seeing her sweat? Was I so selfish and insensitive that I didn't notice her suffering? (Oh no, ....I was an insensitive daughter......(sob).......how could I have not noticed.....(blubber blubber) ......I'm an insensitive cow.......(major bawl session)..etc.

I'm sure I'm single-handedly responsible for keeping Kleenex in good business....

Don't argue with me, if you value life, limbs and your dangley bits just get out of my way!

Will screaming at the top of my lungs really help I wonder? Maybe I should punch cushions? Maybe I should just punch any unsympathetic male that gets in my way....mmmm....that option has possibilities....a certain appeal .....but it would require energy - have I got enough energy left to punch? Perhaps I'll punch tomorrow (where did I put the damn chocolate?) sigh...

Soooooo tired! Sleep, I vaguely remember sleep....it's something I used to be able to do before my life was over......

God, I'm sweating so much I've fogged up my glasses. How is that possible!

Depressed, what would I have to be depressed about. It's normal to gain weight during menopause. At least I've now got somewhere upon which to rest my elbows.

Why is it that any cousellor they send you to for help with your minor menopausal mid life crisis is either barely out of kindergarten or looks like Elle McPherson on a really good day?

Why does Johnny Depp look prettier than me (be still my fluttering heart (or you'll have stroke))?

All any policeman would have to do to track a menopausal cat burglar would be to follow the sweat droplets on the pavement (or the smashed objects).

Favourite new phrase that exactly sums up how I feel about work, life, the universe: CARE FACTOR ZERO! Naturally this does not apply to cute, cuddly, furry little things. Mmm, and also to not so cute furry big things too, and animals, and whales, yes whales, I still care about them, oh and dolphins, dolphins too, and butterflies they're so beautiful they make me...(sob).... want (sob)....to cry (sob)...... WHERE'S THE BLOODY TISSUES WHEN YOU NEED ONE GRRRRR!!!!! .... where was I, what was I saying - oh yes - care factor zero - it's the rest of the planet with the exception of the above, that can go drop off and leave me alone......I think........but I'm not quite sure.......(sob, etc....AGAIN!.....sob)....ahh look a flower...isn't it pretty....(sob, sob, ad infinitum....)

You'd think something with a name like "rosacea" would be pretty to look at - like roses.

I am actually convinced that there has been a mistranslation of biblical texts. I think a whole section has been left out and it went something like this: "And God said unto Eve as he cast her from the garden, for your sin of wanting knowledge ye shall suffer the menopause and verily thou shalt drown in a sea of thine own sweat."

Stress + coffee + sugar = sweat.
Stress + coffee + sugar + chocolate = sweat + fat , but who cares.

If men went through menopause the following would have been invented millenia ago:

- a cooling fabric that miraculously absorbs moisture

- an automatically operated bed which monitors body temperature and gently removes and replaces sheets as required, whilst its occupant sleeps on blissfully undisturbed

- a booth you could step into which sprays you gently from base to apex all over with anti-perspirant which lasts 24 hours, isn't carcinogenic and won't cause alzheimers

- knickers with little sponges built into the elastic at the back to catch the sweat before it runs down between your cheeks

- non fogging glasses no matter the temperature or humidity either side of the lenses

- absorbent body powder that stays as powder and doesn't turn into something 2 seconds later that looks and feels like pancake mix spread over your skin

- mirrors that are programmed to reflect back a wrinkle, fat and hair free reflection

- long handled brushes for the painting of toe nails

- steel capped pretty shoes that let you kick the ...... out of anything you want without hurting your little pinkys

- more resilient cushion covers.

The only reason I can see that women haven't invented these things yet is because they don't realize they need them until menopause hits and by then its too late because menopausal brain rot is already setting in and they vaguely know there is something they should be doing, but are no longer capable of remembering what it is or how to do it.

Then again, I suppose if men had been gifted with menopause I guess they still wouldn't have invented the much needed abovementioned items for the same reason. Oh dear.....they'll probably never be invented unless we can convince some younger women to do it for us, and that's not going to happen either - have you ever tried explaining to a younger person what menopause is like - they just don't believe you (sob), they just don't understand (double sob), they think we are making it all up - that it can't be that bad (aaghhhhh ....my life....etc. etc.).

I suppose all one can do when faced with the fact that men and younger women won't invent them for us either, is to make men's lives a misery and to comfort ourselves with thoughts of the wicked, evil, smug satisfaction we know we are going to feel later when those skinny, hairless, unwrinkled, always cold, unsympathetic young girls also hit menopause and we are able to say those long awaited words "See, I told you so and you wouldn't believe me.....no, it doesn't end any time soon.....mmmmm, 10 years at least, 10 long, long, itchy, sweaty years.....still, yep, sometimes even into their 80's.....pity someone didn't invent an automatic bed isn't it....mmm......no, no deodorant will work..... " (ha, ha, haaaaaaah, haa..... my life is good....ha ha...not over.....ha....chuckle, snicker, chuckle...(sorry - a secret, rare moment of vengeful bliss) (mwaa haa haaaa - thought I'd throw in an evil laugh there as well....mmwhaaaaa haaaa haaaaaaaaa haaaaaa haaaaaaaa..)).


Well, as you can see from the above, it's been another fun morning here in menopause land. I think I'm going for a record today as it is only 9.30 and already I'm on my second t-shirt... (ho hum sigh....).

I offer no apologies for the tone of this blog - it's how I feel today (would you believe I blame menopause for it myself). Actually, I'm all by myself today as Ron has gone out (so I guess it doesn't matter that my libido has also done the same) and I better go and do something more important now like look for the coffee, chocolate or maybe perhaps a biscuit or two (ah comfort food). You know someone told me the other day, I can't remember who it was but they had it on good authority, that not only do broken Tim Tams not make you fat (and we all knew that), but that they are also great hormone balancers as well - how's that for a handy bit of information. I think I might just pop into the supermarket and pick myself up a packet of hormone replacement therapy.

This is not a group blog site, however if anyone else out there in menopause land is tearing their hair out in frustration (hopefully their chin hair - not what's left on their head which seems to disappear in direct ratio to the appearance of whiskers and eyebrows) and would like to contribute, I will happily place your words of wisdom (or whatever) in this blog - just email them to me or put them into the comments and I will transfer them to the blog. You may remain anonymous if you so choose. Feel free to circulate this to anyone else you feel might benefit from knowing that they are not the only one experiencing the joys of this fun time.

Cheers everyone (enjoy your broken Tim Tams).


Heather.


Heres's a first comment from one of my friends (thanks AG) (and a link about the drug mentioned - I will leave readers to make up their own minds about the drug which I cannot use, but which may be of interest to others: http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/womens-health/medicines/progynova.html)


Excuse me? I thought you worked in a HEALTHFOOD STORE. Do such stores not have a veritable plethora of shelves full of menopausal remedies??? I seem to remember many years ago when I (briefly) entered that phase, you were swearing by all sorts of non-prescription, natural type cures, Black Cohosh being the only one I can recall all these years later. So what happened ??? Have you now decided that homeopathic remedies are not all they're cracked up to be, after all? You can buy a cool gel underlay for the bed which will stop the night sweats, & go on a low dose single HRT like Progynova. It doesn't cause cancer, & stops the day sweats, whiskers etc. etc. etc.

And another comment from another friend (thanks DM):

Hi Heather loved your article on Menopause. I found brushing your eyebrows up and cutting the the hairs that stray above one of the easiest ways to keep them in control, better than tying ribbons on them, besides, the ribbons get in the way of your glasses!

Heatherian Studios and DinamikTiDi News: EEK! I'm Going to Uni and PCAC Past Newsletters Find A Home

Heatherian Studios and DinamikTiDi News: EEK! I'm Going to Uni and PCAC Past Newsletters Find A Home

EEK! I'm Going to Uni and PCAC Past Newsletters Find A Home

Hi everyone out their in blog land,

Sorry its been a while since I last checked in.  Did you like my little poem in the last blog (first one I've written in years).

Anyway, this is just a quick little note to let you know (if I haven't already told you that is)  that I am the new editor of the Port Community Arts Centre Inc. newsletter (I'm still not sure if this is a good or bad thing - time and my blood pressure results will decide).  

Taking this on has meant that I have had to do a crash course teaching myself about desktop publishing software and strange things like text boxes and linking and grouping and word art and on and on until my brain was full.  It also meant I had to learn to control my anger and frustration with the software, and to continually wrestle with my overwhelming urge to swear and hurl a troublesome printer into an outer earth orbit.  I also had to ransack the spare room and hunt up my old Drake secretary's handbook to check punctuations  and brush up on the old grammar, hem hem!  It's a long, long, long time since I was a secretary.  Anyway, my first newsletter was produced before Xmas and the next one will go out sometime over the next couple of weeks, God willing.  

Thanks to the genius and generosity of Ron's best friend Stewart, who has set up and hosted it for free on his web server, past copies of the newsletter will now be available to be viewed on the web by anyone who wishes to read them (and I know there's one or two of you out there (no names mentioned) who will read it just to see if you can catch me out on the ol' grammar issue won't you?).

So, if you wish to take a look at my first editorial attempt, or if you wish to view future copies of the newsletter, then follow this link:

http://www.hollogram.net/pcac-newsletters/

and then click on any link that looks like its a newsletter.  The parent directory link directly above will take you to my own website (feel free to click on that too if you wish).  

I know it looks a bit basic at present, but at least it works.  Sometime when I get the chance and just for the historical aspect of setting up a newsletter archive of PCAC activities, I will scan and endeavour to place some older editions on to the site.  I am sure some of them have had interesting articles in them (that's if I can find some lying around somewhere). 

As if that wasn't enough of a challenge for my tired old brain, which is creeping ever faster towards senility, I am about to commence a Bachelor of Arts in Fine Art full time through an online university (I have long suspected I had masochist tendencies and this decision has confirmed it - why do I do these things to myself... why...why...why.....what was I thinking.....).  

If this blog is a little neglected in future, or if it turns into a dialogue of laments about the hardships of studying, or the gut wrenching panic of realizing that nothing you have spent half a day reading has sunk in to your memory, or sad tales about wishing one's mind would expand as fast as one's waistline when sitting at a computer all day, please forgive me.  

I suspect that I am going to be head down, hunched anti-socially over my overworked and beloved Apple Mac, all the while scratching my head in total confusion for the next 4 years (I'll probably get a bald spot from scratching or stress related alopecia).  I'll be up to my neck in art books with  dictionary in hand (to try and understand all that confusing art terminology) surrounded by an ever more neglected house and garden (at least the chooks know how to fend for themselves most of the time). 

Hopefully at the end of the ordeal I shall emerge from my labours with a brilliantly creative old brain, newly revitalized and ready to tackle the art world head on, dazzling them with my newly found artistic genius (optimism), and burdened by a HECS debt I will probably never be able to pay on an artist's earnings  (reality).  At least I'll be arts educated and able to look at works of art (like that silly all black square painting in the National Gallery)  and waffle on dropping some impressive arty words into my comments and sounding like I'm someone who knows what they are talking about, instead of being the person who stands there and says "what the **%#* is that supposed to be! (optimism).  (Actually, I suspect that after 4 years of study I'll probably still look at something like that and say "what the **%#* is that supposed to be! (reality)). 

Ooo, oooo, I nearly forgot - I'm getting an I-Pad 2 (yaayyyyyy!).  "What! How can you, a poor uni student working only 9 hours a week now, how, can you afford it?"  I hear you cry.  Well, it turns out that all my continual maxing out of the credit card over the past couple of years has finally paid off - we had enough award points to get one.  Oh, just think how up to the minute and intellectually, technically, trendy I'll look when I'm researching in the library holding my I-Pad 2 (optimism), although I suppose everyone else will have a super smart lap top to use and be able to afford to connect their devices to the internet (reality - ho hum).  Well, I'm getting one anyway, even if I can't afford to connect to the internet yet.

OK, I guess that is all for today, unless anyone reading this out there would like to donate a raffle prize to the PCAC raffle (in which case feel free to email me instantly).

Cheers all, have a great day/night, whatever it is where ever you are.

Heather

(Editor Extraordinaire (hem, hem))

The Hippo And Me In Water Should Be

I'm built like a big Hippo but without her grace
I've a similar figure but a very different face.
The Hippo swims happily all day in the nude
But for me to do that would be rather rude
It'd make me all wrinkly and I'd look like a prune
It'd  get real chilly especially if it was  June.
The Limpopo and Zambezi are the Hippo's home
For me its got to be the Elizabeth Aquadome
Where the water is  clear and free of crocs.
They play good fast music and it really rocks
When the aqua-aerobics ladies strut their stuff
Its enough to make me feel I've had enough.
I don't have the energy to  nimbly leap and  dash
I mostly  just walk and float and splash
Unlike the Hippo I keep my head held  high
Which keeps my hair and spectacles nice and dry.
On land the Hippo's clumsy and  rather large
But in the river she's like a fast moving barge.
Along the lakes and rivers all day she'll roam
Making the most of her wet and watery home.
Using only the water to support her great weight
She collects tasty weeds for her dinner plate
As she munches quietly throughout the day
She takes some time out for a little fun and play.
So now like the Hippo I'll endeavour to be
At home when swimming in the pool or the sea,
I just won't worry about my rather large size
And think of the Hippo's grace when I exercise.  

I’ve just staggered in the door after visiting the swimming centre where, for about ¾ of an hour,  I did my best impersonation of a hippopotamus lurking in the Limpopo River.  I wonder where the word hippopotamus comes from – I am sure some brilliant student of latin out there will know the answer, but I have my own theory – someone like me with large hips and an ever increasing pot belly came to the river and saw an animal with similar characteristics to herself , whereupon she said it was “hippy with a pot like me”,  which over time was changed to hippypotame, then to hippopotami.  

Anyway, without my best friend Rosemary for company today at the Elizabeth Aquadome, I stayed wallowing  insecurely down the shallow end and tried to ignore the fit aqua-aerobics class fanatics dashing in and out the water like a school of acrobatic dolphins.  In a futile attempt to regain my former youth (that’s the period in my life when I was slender and did karate seven days a week)  I attempted to kick and punch the water with a degree of enthusiasm, until I was overtaken by the need for oxygen (must remember to breathe when I exercise).   Once upon a time (a very, very, long time) before menopause and 35 extra kilos set in,  I was fit and skinny and of tolerable appearance.   Now I desperately squeeze into a pair of bathers way too small for me and try not to think about how much my thighs  resemble a starving cannibal’s favourite fantasy (one thigh alone could keep a whole village going for at least a week (or as one of my friends put it - all that meat and no potatoes)). 

Before entering the safety of the water I had to run the gauntlet of  tanned, newly waxed, manicured,  pedicured, slender young things parading about in their barely there designer swimwear.  They were obviously the swimming pool equivalent of the pedometered, pink lycra clad gym dwellers.   Checking I had no koala ears and keeping my armpits carefully hidden I tried to slink unobtrusively around the outer edges of the pool, all the while frantically searching for the comfort of spotting someone else fatter than me.

I eventually  reached the sloping walkway which led gradually into the pool.  This walkway allows one to walk into the water gradually and gracefully and  was something I would have once scorned to use.  When you are young,  you run to the water and take a flying leap and dive bomb into the pool or you race down the ladder with the agility of  a spider monkey. It came as an unwelcome shock to to me to realize that I hadn’t a snowflake's chance in hell of negotiating the ladder and  as I ambled slowly down the ramp on my bone on bone knees I offered a silent blessing to the thoughtful designer who had provided such a feature.

When it comes to the water, I have always been a bit of a wus about getting into it (but once in I hate coming out).   The pool was supposed to be heated, but obviously my definition of “heated” and that of the person responsible for the theremostat appeared to be somewhat different.  The ramp, whilst great for the knees, was an excellent way to prolong the agony of getting wet.  The water inched its way up my body while I winced “oooo, aaaaa, ooo aaa, cold, ooooo aa....aa....aa...aa.....AA...AAA” (the dolphins looked on and smirked and my fellow hippos smiled sympathetically).   Finally with the water lapping around my ribs I got brave enough and ducked under far enough to cover my shoulders, which is as far as I will go.  I know I look a bit odd in the pool wearing my spectacles, but its better than bumping into everyone and everything. There’s nothing more embarrassing than having a personal conversation with someone you have mistaken for your friend or realizing you are walking off with someone else’s bag or towel (oops, sorry …. I thought you were….  blind as a bat without my specs…..).

Finally, I was in the water and standing next to a lady who was huddling under a patch of sunlight shining through the window.  We smiled and she asked how I was, so being polite I returned the enquiry.  It was at this point that I discovered how  amazingly chilly you can become in not very warm pool when you are standing still for an eternity listening to someone’s medical life story.  I work in a health shop, so I am used to listening to interesting medical histories – I just hadn’t expected to be doing it in cold water on my day off (ho hum….) nor had I realized a person could have so many diseases all at once and still be drawing breath (lots and lots of breath!).  Eventually I extricated myself and made yet another attempt to recapture my long lost youth by doing a few karate punches into water  for about 30 seconds (stupid shoulder – mutter, mutter) after which I decided to just sedately walk up and down the pool for a bit.    This kept me amused for about another 2 minutes and then I decided to lift up my feet and attempt to swim like the dolphins. 

It was at this point that I discovered a couple of other unwelcome facts about swimming.  If you want to swim properly like the aqua-aerobic dolphin people you have to put your face under the water.  This has a few drawbacks such as water in the ears, water in the nose,  water in the mouth,  water in the lungs and death by drowning.  You also have to open your eyes, therefore if you are going to have to submerge your face it is not good to be wearing your spectacles because they  can fall off or get water on them and then you can’t see again (which defeats the purpose of wearing them in the first place, drat it). 

The other interesting fact I discovered was the relationship between fat and water.  When I was younger and thinner, swimming was difficult and I sank like a stone.  Now that my knees, arthritis and menopause have conspired together to give me a body ratio of 5 parts fat to 1 part muscle and bone, I am suddenly very buoyant – I float.  Yaaaaay I float – you couldn’t sink me if you tried – I just bob around like a cork.  At last it all makes sense - now I understand why the hippopotami have chosen to be fat!  Ha haaaaa – what do you think of that you skinny dolphin people,  “heh heh – I’d like to see you do that” I thought, as I confidently  struck out into the water ……..

It was at this point, just before my head was forced down under the water, that I realized that the area of my anatomy which harboured the most fat  was the area which would rise to the top and have the most buoyancy.   As my ample bottom rose ever higher above the water my face and feet were forced downwards,  it was only the frantic movement of my arms which prevented me from submerging.  Thus it was that I discovered the drawback of having a pear shaped figure – if only I’d had boobs big enough to match my bottom I could have kept  evenly afloat. 

I wallowed around for about half an hour trying to move the arthritic joints as per my doctor’s instructions (“you have to move the joint Heather, move, move, move the joint, move, move….. ad infinitum……”).  He has been telling me this for a while now but it wasn’t until after our last conversation,  which touched on one of my phobias, that I decided to get into the water at last (the  conversation in which he mentioned “needles into the knees to draw out the fluid”).  So, I lifted my knees and bounced up and down gracefully,  light as a feather in the water  just like something out of  Walt Disney’s “Fantasia”.    The one good thing about exercising in water is that you can have hot flushes and sweat like crazy and no-one notices!

It was while I was still experimenting with controlling the buoyancy of my bottom to the point  that I could swim and not drown,  that the music started up.  The dolphin people  formed themselves into a pack of synchronised movement and  I decided that in the interest of preserving some of my ever more fragile self esteem,  that I didn’t want to see a brilliant aqua-aerobics performance.  I fled the pool for the sanctuary of the change rooms. 

“Arctic “would be the word best used to describe the temperature within the change rooms.  For some reason the change rooms had air conditioning which was forcing air straight from the south pole into every nook and cranny – there was no escape – every part of that bleak, cheerless Siberian landscape was sub zero. Teeth chattering as I searched in vain for warmth, I noticed a sign about vandalism  not being tolerated.  I decided it would have had to be a  very tough vandal  indeed, who would be willing to brave the cold for long enough to get up to any sort of mischief.  Although it was officially summer,  the temperature was only 16 degrees outside and it was perfectly obvious to me that the person responsible for the temperature both in the pool and the change rooms was certainly demented (or very, very menopausal).  

The best aerobic workout I had for the day was when I speedily stripped off my bathers, hastily towelled myself half dry, quickly threw on some clothes and puffing and panting bolted for the door and  warmth.  Normally I would have put on my knickers, but I was so cold I just pulled on my tracky pants and left it at that, trying not to think about how embarrassed I would be if I had an accident.  When we were children we were always warned to have clean underwear every day and to never to go out with dirty knickers in case you had an accident.  I think the same principle applies to having no knickers, although I do  wonder if I was lying bleeding all over the ground whether I would really be worried about my lack of underwear (I'd be more concerned about how many needles they might stick into me).   I dashed across the carpark heading for  the warmth which I knew waited for me inside my  car (thank God for the sun, glass windows and trapped infra red radiation).   

When I arrived home I raced inside heading for the bathroom to wash off the chlorine, which is kind of silly really as I live in Adelaide (in summer you can smell the chlorine in the water when you turn on the taps).   But, oh the bliss of standing under the warm shower in my own   tinnitus free bathroom, the joy of  warmth, soft towels, my hair dryer and privacy.

Why can’t pool change rooms have doors or curtains – even though we are all the same sex what on earth makes architects think we all want to be herded together so we can see each others naughty bits….men may have to suffer from penis envy but I really don’t need to reminded that some women have boobs which manage to defy the relentless pull of gravity and catching sight of sensitive parts of someone’s anatomy pierced with bits of metal just makes me want to wince and feel faint.  

I know that exercise  is supposed to be good for me but as I now sit here too exhausted to do anything more than type, I am wondering if that is true.  The knees, ankles, hips, neck, back and shoulders are  all clamouring to remind me of their existence (as if I needed any reminding)  and I think I am fighting off a cold.  And I’m hungry!  Hungry, hungry, hungry!  I want to swim to help my knees but also to lose weight.  How can I lose weight if every time I go swimming I become ravenous immediately after!  On a day when I don’t swim I might not have lunch at all, or have a really late one at about 3.30pm, but on the days I go swimming I get home and collide with the furniture in my unseemly haste to get to the fridge  (even the chooks keep well away from me – they see the starved look in my eyes (and thank their lucky stars they are not  horses)). 

Well, today was my third time at the pool and now I have to psych myself up for my next visit.  I am praying it will get easier but darned if I know how I am going to do it when winter comes around (will I break a hip slipping on the ice on the change room floor……will they let me wear thermal underwear under my bathers……does chlorine kill the influenza virus …….if I have 2 lungs can I really get triple pneumonia……. ?)

Oh well, time to do some work.  Perhaps coffee and some food though first …..

Cheers
Heather (the water nymph)

Why Oh Why Did I Choose To Add Tartan?!

Hi everyone

I have been very busy of late trying to do lots of things, one of which was to finish the painting I started for the Port Community Arts Centre "Celtica" exhibition.    This exhibition is held once a year and is a member's exhibition where the theme is anything Celtic.  Members can enter paintings or sculptures on any subject they wish and win a prize or merit award, but there is always a special separate category and prizes reserved for those that enter the Celtic section. I always like to put in something with a Celtic theme and in previous years I have been lucky enough to sell paintings and receive some merit awards. 

This year, for goodness knows what reason, I got it in to my obviously senile brain, that I would paint some flowers.  As someone who has not painted watercolour flowers before and has not painted more than 3 flowers in any medium in the last 20 years, this was probably not the smartest thing for me to decide to do.  So, undaunted by the fact that I didn't have any idea how to paint flowers,  I set about doing a couple of Scottish Thistles with some Heather amongst them.  So far, so good - they were duly penciled in and I started to paint them.   I intended the painting  (as I usually do) to be sort of loose but it ended up getting more and more detailed (as they usually do). 

It was at this point that I decided they should have tartan ribbon or fabric wrapped all around them.  Yes, I know, I can't explain it - I don't know what possessed me. I roughly pencilled in something that looked like ribbon and because I had purple flowers and some touches of yellow on the leaves I figured that something with yellow would be the go.  It was while I was pondering upon this subject that John Ford, my very talented art teacher, came over and suggested that I use something with yellow in it.  As he had suggested the same thing I had just been thinking, I knew I was on to something.

I went looking on the internet but next day  John emailed me a picture of the McLeod of Lewis tartan.  Well,  as I am a fan of the "Highlander" movie and the clan McLeod, that seemed to be a good choice and I duly set to, innocently unaware of what a pain it was going to be to paint this jolly tartan fabric.

I didn't like the outline of the ribbon I had drawn in so I rubbed it all out and started again. I still wasn't happy and next thing you know I was drawing in and rubbing out and then re-drawing in again (and rubbing out again etc., etc.).   Finally I got a shape of draped tartan cloth that I could live with (mostly because I was simply fed up with the whole exercise) and I started to work out what colours to  to use for the tartan so as to get it as close as possible to the picture John had sent me. 

If you look at the picture of this tartan, you will see a lot of lines, lots and lots of them.  I can't begin to tell you how sorry I was once I had started doing them.  It dawned upon me that it was going to take me a very, very long time to finish them all.  On one of the days I worked on them the lines flowed, the painting and I were one in our own little Zen moment.  It was one of those rare occasions when the paint flowed obediently along the brush, which also glided smoothly over the paper obligingly painting beautiful neat straight or curvy lines whenever required.  However, the next time I tackled it,  Murphy was by my side and the same brush that had shared the Zen moment with me perversely kept forming tiny globs at the end which ran down on to the paper and spoilt my nice neat lines - I was so not impressed but I kept at it, even though my hands were shaky and I would not have been able to draw a straight line if my life depended upon it. And as for Zen, he'd gone off back to a mountain cave somewhere and was nowhere to be found.  In the end it took me over 15 hours to just do the lines and then I looked at them and realized that to make it look more like fabric they should be broken up a bit, so that it looked woven.  

To do this I took a small brush and dabbed on tiny  little yellow dots at random all over the nicely drawn lines, which seemed to work.  In the end I toned down the yellow a bit as it was too bright and overpowering the flowers. The whole thing nearly  drove me ga ga but I stubbornly stuck at it, resisting the urge to consign it to file 13.  Sometimes I do wonder just what exactly is it that drives us to want to go and get all creative and start painting pictures that cause us so much stress.  Anyway, I finally finished it in the nick of time and this was the result of all my efforts, taa daaa, my first watercolour flowers (and possibly my last tartan!):

 

A Scottish Bouquet - Thistles, Heather and McLeod Lewis Tartan

Hmmmm, I wonder now what the chances are of a wealth member of the McLeod Lewis clan coming to the exhibition and desperately needing to purchase a painting - about 3 billion to 1 I suspect.   

If anyone would like to visit the "Celtica" exhibition, it is at the Black Diamond Gallery, 66 Commerical Road, Port Adelaide, South Australia.  The gallery is open from 11.00 to 4.00 each day and the exhibition opens at 2.00 pm on 26th November and finishes on 4th December.  

Cheers all

Heather