Has Hell Frozen Over?

Anyone that knows me, even remotely knows me, knows that I HATE exercise.  Hate it.  With a passion.  If you ever see me running, that means there is either big trouble coming (and I'm hoping that someone runs slower than me or I'm doomed) or that there is wine at the finish line.  Exercising is something that I do when I'm desperate.

That's right.

And I am officially desperate.  Give me a name tag and a uniform - I'm there..

I'm aiming for less jiggle, more giggle. To be happier when I look in the mirror and to help my back pain.  Working at a computer is poison for your back.

And jeans....

Age is an unkind companion.  This weight creep thing is not to be sniffed at.  It's insidious and sneaky and very clever.  And I hate it.  I used to think I had a crappy metabolism in my 20's.  Ha, life is laughing at me now!

Or not.

So I bit the bullet and made the decision that I needed to start exercising.  I have such a sedentary lifestyle and I couldn't find any downsides (except of course that I hate it!) and it should only add positive things to my life.  Right?  Please. Help me to convince myself.  I did some research online and we went out and bought an elliptical trainer (which was the only thing at the gym that I found less torturous than a treadmill or a stationary bike).

The only way to treadmill.

After careful consideration, joining a gym at this stage was off the list.  The thought of getting out of bed, putting on some half decent clothes and taming my hair into something that doesn't resemble Medusa, jumping in the car, driving to a gym, waiting my turns on equipment, trying not to worry about how stupid I look or if I'm doing it right or if someone is getting a COMPLETELY unflattering view of my derriere, getting back in the car with a beet-red face, and then jumping into the shower....well....no. Just no.

I have a much better chance of succeeding if I can throw on whatever clothes are sitting on the floor covered in cat and dog fur, not having to worry about the state of my hair or the fact that I have a big sleep wrinkle from my sheets across the left side of my face and being able to walk the few metres to the garage to be blissfully alone. Besides, I can't have my dogs and cats assist with my stretching at the gym, can I?  (For those that don't have pets, this kind of assistance involves getting their paws wrapped up in my headphones, licking my face, winding around my legs and generally getting in the way.  That's the animal way.)

I have good intentions, and so far so good.  I'm even trying to be reasonable and starting off slowly so that I don't hurt myself.  But is it too much to ask that after a few days of using it that I drop a few kilos??  Where is the motivation?  Where is the justice?

The sad thing is that my extra kilos have been around longer than an Australian Prime Minister has stayed in office, and will probably outlast the current one too.

One thing I know about me though, once I make a commitment and actually commit to it, I do stick to it (which is what made me such a loyal volunteer...well, the monkeys had something to do with that too!).  I know that I like routine, so I can do this.  I can.  I also know that if I put something out there, into the universe, and say it out loud, I have to keep my word.  I don't HAVE to, but it helps.

Don't worry, I have an way out....I haven't said how long I'll stick with it!  Hopefully long enough to feel healthy again and not cringe if I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Fitting into some clothes that have been sitting in the 'hopeful' corner in my closet will be a nice bonus too.

Happy(?) exercising!

Maybe I should join a gym?

Friday Follies - Hey Weirdo!

Life is weird.  People are weird.  Pets are weird (cats in particular).  But most of the time it's just normal weird, not 'weird' weird (like Trump's hair or Angelina Jolie's relationships).  We are all weird in our own little ways, and that's what makes us delightfully unique and never boring.

Can't we be both?

Some of us are more weird than others.  I spend a lot of my life fighting my 'weirdness' and trying desperately to fit in, blend in, and melt into the background.  But my inner weirdo fights to be free.  I usually reign her in, but sometimes she comes out.  It entertains my husband (who, by the way, also has an inner weirdo) and I think sometimes scares him.  Keeps him on his toes, I say.

Here are some of my weirdo ways.

Good thing I've already found my weirdo.

Currently I'm being weird about my new cordless stick vacuum.  I know, I know...how boring!  But as a functioning adult, I know that you can relate to getting a new appliance that actually does what it is supposed to, is easy to use and is fun (it seriously makes this really cool 'boingggggg' noise when you let go of the power trigger.  Fun?  Sadly, yes.).  My mother, who loves me and wants the best for me, subtley (like a brick to the head) pointed out on the weekend that my 17 year old self would have been appalled that at 50 I was slightly in awe of my new vacuum.  Something for cleaning my house.  I'm hanging my head in shame (but giggling with glee inside).  Don't despair, I recall a party at a friend's house where we all had a very drunk discussion on the merits of the different types of clothes pegs.  Teenage me is turning in her grave.

Yes!

My taste in music.  If you had a look on my phone, you will find everything from 80's music, heavy metal, thrash metal, rap (Eminem style), classical, Susan Boyle, Neil Diamond, 70's music (I DO go to Rio!), country and Middle Eastern (I fell in love with the different rhythms in my belly-dancing days).  It can be a bit jarring to go from Rob Zombie to Peter Allen, but they all represent different parts of me.

I talk to my animals - a LOT.  Is that weird?  Not in my family, but I think it took my husband a bit of getting used to when we started to live together.  Fortunately osmosis has worked it's magic and he talks to them all the time too.

I most certainly do.

Cats are pretty weird do, hence my absolute adoration of all things feline.   I particularly like when the cats have a complete freak out spontaneously and start chasing ghosts up and down the halls and up and down the walls as they skitter past you with complete unabashed abandon.  And then they stop.  And stare at you.  What's that about - I wasn't the one being weird at that particular moment.  Just when you think that you are familiar with their weirdness, more weirdness comes out. Clawde is 9 and middle aged for a cat.  He was having his nightly cuddle on my lap the other night while we were watching TV and got up to sit on the table.  He watched TV for a bit (he likes to do that sometimes.  One of my old cats particularly liked watching hockey and used to chase the puck.) and then quite calmly and precisely began biting at the tissues in the box and ripping them to shreds.  As tissues do, they stuck to his wet, rough tongue, so there was vigorous head shaking accompanying this task.  He's never done that before.....or since.  Weird.

I also have a weird 'thing' where all the cupboard door have to be closed properly, especially before I go to bed.  Not left slightly ajar, but closed.  This is probably a hang over from when my Dad made me watch Star Trek when I was very little, and it used to scare me before bed.  Who know what monsters lurk?

Did I hear something in the closet??

Clawde, being the generous cat that he is, contributes to my obsession.  In the middle of the night, he goes through the house and opens EVERY sliding door in our house (which includes the closet in our bedroom).  I think this must be because of the universe's need for balance, the yin and yang if you will.  It also makes one think of poltergeists and spectral ghosts messing with my mind, but fortunately I've caught Clawde at it many times.

Hello?

Dogs aren't quite as weird as cats.  They are too busy trying to please everyone and just make sure that they can still hang out with the humans. They don't want to mess that arrangement up.  Chamois used to be a bit weird when she'd do a big stretch and then rest herself on her knees.  She seemed to be quite comfortable that way.  Personally, I've never seen another dog sit that way before.  She can't do it now, of course, with a knee scaffolded by titanium and bone grinding on bone in her old joints. 

No Chamois, of course, but that's how she used to sit.

I must learn to think more like a cat in that respect and embrace my inner weirdo.


Who's weird?

I'll Have What He's Having

Last week I had to do one of those tasks that you dread and put off for days....taking Manu to the vet.  He is petrified at the vet's, with muzzling a must and minimal contact from animal health professionals the result.  The poor guy, he really is scared, but it makes everything extra difficult and stressful on everyone.

Prior to this vet visit, I had had Chamois in to get some more pills for her arthritis.  Yes, we are into the geriatric years, I'm afraid.  It appears that vet visits and medication are becoming the norm around here.  Anyway, the vet had dealt with Manu a few months ago and they basically had to knock him out to check a skin condition and a lump in his mouth.  She remembered him well.  Very well. She might, in a somewhat sarcastic tone, have said that Manu 'loves' her.

Expectations....

The vet suggested that Manu may benefit from a dose of a serotonin-uptake drug before his next visit, just to take the edge off and make it less stressful for everyone.  Yes, I agreed, drugs are the answer!

With a conservative dose popped down his throat an hour before the dreaded visit (having not had this medication before, we didn't want to give him a big dose and then have me scratching my head as to how I was going to get 60 kg of mush into the car), Manu and I headed off to our appointment, me with trepidation, he with great delight at being in the car.

We didn't achieve that outcome either.

His happiness was soon squashed like a pesky ant as we parked at the clinic.  He shook like a leaf, just about vibrating out of his skin when he realised where he was.  So, the conservative dose clearly was too conservative.

As I waited in the waiting room, trying to wrestle 60 kg of yellow dog from trying to jump in my arms (I now have bruises shaped like claw marks all down my thighs as a result), I prayed that a little bit more time would soothe his nerves and allow the drugs to penetrate his anxiety.  The minute the vet came out, a low rumble emanated from his throat.  Crap.

He was not smiling.

We decided that more happy drugs were in order, so 3 times what he had already been given where unceremoniously shoved down his throat (by me of course, Manu never would have let the vet get close enough) and Manu and I were left alone in the consultation room to marinate for half an hour or so while (fingers crossed), his serotonin levels hopefully rose to delightfully carefree levels.

I think the drugs are kicking in.

As time passed, his wind loudly passed - constantly - so to me that was a sign that he was getting more relaxed.  Always find the positive in a negative, I say.  It turned out to be a poor sign, and poor logic, as farting comes as easily to Manu as does ferretting around the yard for cat poop to eat.

The drugs did appear to be having an affect though - his eyes went softer, and he would smile and wag his tail at me.  That is, until the vet or a vet nurse popped in to see how we were doing.  Then it was back to a growl, with pulled back ears, curled toes and the give-away whale eyes bugging out of his skull.  Oh dear.  Smile, wag, wag, wag, growl, growl, growl, smile, wag, wag, wag.  We gave up.

With muzzle in hand, I shoved it on his face and cradled his head tightly while they attempted to get blood from a back leg.  That was a no go as he kept trying to crouch down and cut off the vein.  So back to the front leg we went, which we were avoiding as they would be close to his head, and more stressful. Bloody dog.



Fortunately good, big veins meant easy and quick blood removal.  With that done, the muzzle was removed and he relaxed slightly (while still growling of course).  Stupid dog, we could have been in and out of the vets in 15 minutes had he not behaved like such a goose. One and a half hours later we were on our way home, medication in hand, bank account lighter and back to having a slightly drugged dog smiling at me. Covered in dog fur with the stench of Manu's farts still lingering in my nostrils, we went on our merry way.

If only the muzzles looked like this.

Or this.  That would clear the waiting room.

So here we are, Chamois on pain medication for the rest of her life for her horrifically arthritic legs (hearing bone grinding on bone as she sits or moves is something that I'll never get used to) and Manu is now on the same medication for his arthritis.  Plus he's on antibiotics yet again for that stubborn lip fold dermatitis.  Yikes.  There is a medication line up on my counter morning and night read to pop down waiting throats.  Plus we are dog sitting Mabel again, and she is on daily tablets as well.  Look at all of these oldies and their pills, it's the canine old folks home.

Maybe Clawde and Purrkins can help out?

My one blessing is that Chamois and Manu are dream dogs to pill. They come and sit when called (we are almost at the stage where I just shake the pill bottles and they come) and pilling them is easy and simple with little fuss.  I supposed the fact that they get a doggie treat after each time they are medicated helps too. 

Let's just not talk about pilling Mabel.....that dog has skill and definitely puts mine to the test.

Artistic recreation of pilling Mabel.

Friday Follies - It's in the Bag

Takeaway

As of 1st July, stores are no longer able to provide single-use, thin plastic bags.  Well, hasn't this created a mighty uproar amongst the privileged Aussies?  Especially for those that shop at the two major grocery stores.

I have to say that I am all for helping the environment because we truly are killing it with our disposable lifestyle, and the whole 'if you can't see it and can ignore it, it's not a problem' attitude.  I'm the first one to put my hand up and say that I am a person of convenience, and could do so much more to help the environment.

Another victim

For the record, I make sure that my cosmetic and cleaning products are cruelty free where possible.  No animal should be tortured because I want thicker eyelashes or a shiny floor.  And to be honest, it's easy as there are a lot of products available at the big chain stores, and they are often the same price or cheaper than the big brand items.  They are also good quality, so I don't feel like I'm being deprived.

However I admit to giving little thought about what I'm putting in the landfill.  I conveniently put my rubbish into the bins, don't recycle as well as I could, and then once a week it all gets removed from my sight.

The change of rules for plastic bags has made me have a closer look at my habits and lifestyle and that's never a bad thing.  I am a firm believer that even small changes can make a difference.  I dutifully bought my canvas bags, placed them in the boot of my car, and have been using them successfully at my weekly grocery shop.  I was even really good and put in the special bag from the bottle shop that has nice little compartments for wine bottles.  Thumbs up, Christine.  I actually like these bags much better - I can fit a lot more in them and the handles don't dig into my hands.  The masses cry out - But you have to remember them!  Yes, you do.  But you remember to put your undies on in the morning (sometimes inside out, but they are on!) and you manage change in your life constantly, surely you can do this one little thing??

Thumbs Up!

However, I can't help but feel a bit cynical over this whole plastic bag ban.  I still see so much plastic packaging at the shops, and the stores just sell their plastic bags now....and they are thicker plastic than the previous ones.  I'm puzzled as to how this is actually helping.  There are still a lot of plastic carry bags leaving the shops.  If there was more effort by big conglomerates to reduce packaging (why do 6 tomatoes need to be in a plastic small crate covered in plastic?  And yes, I do buy the loose fruit and vegetables, not the pre-packaged ones.), I would be more convinced that they were doing this for the right reasons.   This change could also create employment opportunities.  It is harder for the check out person to pack the canvas bags and it is a slower process.  Do you remember the days of two people at the checkout?  One to process the item, the other to pack the grocery bags?  They'll never go for it though.  It's all about reducing staff - the largest cost to any business.  They fail to see that staff are their biggest asset.

I get confused.  We can make hybrid cars, we constantly create new and different brands of mascara and other potions and companies are continually spending billions on research and development.  Why, oh why, has someone not invented a 'plastic' that is compostable or not harmful to the environment.  Wait, they have (a quick Google search will bring up pages of hits), but it's not in the economy of big business.  It's so disappointing. 

No plastic for you.

I digress - back to the whinging Aussies.  My Facebook feeds, the local news, etc has been chock-a-block full of articles about the bag ban.  How dare they? is the overwhelming theme.  Other states in Australia imposed this ban years ago.  Surprisingly, they still exist, haven't gone into economic meltdown or fallen down into a big blob of what was once flesh and bone, never to function again.  Get over yourselves.  I have seem more outcry over this than I have about the woeful and inadequate jail sentences given to murders, drug dealers, child molesters and animal abusers.  If people put the same amount of effort into the real injustices that exist in our world, the world would indeed be a better place.  And if people put the same effort into demanding a real recycling effort from business, they could really accomplish something wonderful.

We have the technology...



I think my Grandma and her generation had it right.  She always could produce a little fold up fabric bag from her handbag (something that folded and zipped down to the size of a wallet) or a string bag that I remember her using at the green grocers. 

There is hope - I see so many more companies springing up that really do care about the environment and provide cost-friendly items such as produce bags, bamboo or stainless steel straws that can be ordered online and mailed to your house. (Flora and Fauna https://www.floraandfauna.com.au/ and Biome https://www.biome.com.au/ ...just two examples.)

For those whinging about convenience - does it get more convenient than that?

Friday Follies - Who Are You?

Okay, we all know that how we perceive ourselves is completely different than how other see us.  I'm definitely not the Lone Ranger in this one.  I think many people would be surprised at how far apart others' perceptions of ourselves are from our own.  Sometimes I wonder if we would even recognise the person that other people see.

Yikes! Who IS that?

At a family lunch on the weekend, a off-the-cuff remark was made about me that took me completely by surprise.  I've never lacked in confidence??  You HAVE to be kidding me.  I have been fighting insecurity my whole life and, in my eyes, I'm completely insecure - never good enough, never thin enough, never smart enough, never motivated enough....you get the idea (never have enough cats....but maybe that's a different issue?).  Don't get me wrong - I'm not completely insecure and have come an awfully long way since my teen years, but it still lurks in the background.

I can't say that I'm upset that I'm seen as confident, pretty happy about it actually, but I really don't get it. 

As a child moving between countries, I was the chubby kid with the accent.  If that isn't a recipe for disaster, I don't know what is.  I think it did help me to develop a sense of humour though.  And, as a wise man often tells me  - it's character building.  To that I answer - I have enough f*&*ing character, thank you.  Inside, sometimes I still feel like the kid I was in Grade 6....ugggh.

Ugghhh.

As the older sibling, you would think that I had learned to do a lot of things for myself.  The entry of a baby brother into my life was a blessing at one stage, as I could get him to ask a question, buy something at the store, interact with an adult, etc so that I didn't have to. He did wise up eventually and stopped doing my bidding, but he's always had a better knack at being social than I have.

Ooo, maybe I could have a lion?!

This insecurity and fear of failure was probably the reason that I was often too scared to have a go at things I maybe would have excelled at.  I remember thinking in my late 20's that it was too late to study to be a vet, because I was so old, and 7 years of study would be so long.  Now, at 50, I think about what an idiot I was.  Oh well, we can't regret these choices.  I don't like living in the past, and our choices make us who we are today, and I'm pretty content at this stage of life.  Don't get me wrong - being a multi-millionaire would make me even more content and in a better position to have more cats!  There are still things that I wish I could do, but I am my own worst enemy.

I have tried to address this fear of failure by trying new things.  When I was single, I made a vow to myself to try at least one new thing a year.  It was pretty successful - I took cake decorating courses, started volunteering at a zoo, took bellydancing (and did it for many, many years) and learned to ride a motorbike with a friend (and ended up buying one because it was so much fun!).

So where does this perceived confidence come from?  The following comment was that I definitely have opinions.  Yes, I sure do.  But believe it or not, I keep an awful, awful lot of them to myself because I either hate confrontation or think the other person isn't worth me getting my knickers in a knot about.  The latter is usually the one that applies to the work place.  I find that a lot of people are not worth the energy it would take  (hmmm, are my anti-social tendencies showing?).  I am confident enough to know that everyone does not have to have the same opinions and ideas as me and that no one is necessarily right or wrong.


You would think at 50 that I would become more accepting of myself - my inadequacies and weaknesses as well as my strengths.  I always hear about how a lot women hit their stride at 50.  Some days I get it, some days I don't.  I'm guessing most feel the same as me, I just don't see it because we all wear a mask to hide our raw and honest feelings most days.

As the saying goes, I hope to be the person that my dog thinks I am (Manu, not Chamois - I think Chamois feels she is superior to all of us).  

Manu doesn't think I'm a bully or a nag like my husband does.  I prefer to call it facilitative behaviour modification technique, but tomayto, tomahto.  A rose by any other name....our perception is reality, but reality is not necessarily perception.  But as I get older, I hope that perception and reality are not so distant from each other.

Facilitative Behaviour Modification Technique