Embracing Colour.

I've never really been a person who wears colour. I always tend to go oh pretty but still buy black. 
An evolution seems to be taking place in my closet. Lately my favourite piece of clothing is this yellow cardi.
It's lightweight and easy to throw on.
But what I love most is the colour. Yellow. Who'd have thought a girl who grew up with an absolute hatred of the colour yellow would end up loving this.
You might be wondering what did the colour yellow ever do to me?
When I was a little girl my parents decorated my room. Wallpapered the walls with tiny yellow flowers. I hated it. I was a girly girly and I longed for a frilly pink room.
Ever since then I have disregarded yellow out of hand. 

But something about this yellow cardi begged me to pick it up. Such a bright happy colour after what seemed a year and a half of winter weather.
My flatmates say I seem much more animated when I wear colour. 

Now my major drama is not overloading my wardrobe with colour until its a jumbled mess of items. When I shop I always think what do I have that will go with this? And I won't buy anything that doesn't work with at least something else in my stash. 

Well that's not totally true. I did end up buying a floor length pink dress the other day that I am not overly sure about. I'll give it a few months in my closet to grow on me but if It doesn't its gone. Space is at a premium in my closet. I'd like nothing better than to convert the back room into a walk in but I doubt the flatmates would understand that.

I've heard about the idea of capsule dressing month by month. When I actually have more than 30 pieces I'm going to try that.
For now I'm concentrating on what to wear with those two toned shoes i bought the other day.
Seems I have a ways to go yet before I become one of those stream lined put together women. 


  

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Dinner.

 

Tonight I should have been having a lovely dinner out with my boys for my birthday.
I should have been primped and prettified in a beautiful floor length red silk dress. My make up having been expertly applied by someone who understands the complexities of mascara and eye liner. My hair should have been tamed by a very snooty hairdresser named Brett into a glamorous do that I could never achieve without tearing muscles and ligaments and very possible doing a triple flip backwards into a bath.

Instead I woke up and felt kind of off. My bones ached in my shoulders and my arms. My head ached and I felt weary and nauseous. This did not bode well for my mystery night out.

In the end I decided to cancel the evening and rebook it for a night when I wasn't feeling so under the weather. 

The only upside to this unfortunate series of events is this - I have been scouring everywhere looking for the perfect pair of shoes to match my dress because I just can't see myself being happy wearing black shoes with this magic dress. I want the ruby slippers to go with the ruby red gown.

In a side note the ruby slippers from the Wizard of Oz was a film adaptation, the original slippers were silver. I could use some silver slippers as well.

I ended up spending the day reading fashion blogs. Something that I admit I have sort of disdained a little bit until now. I read Vogue mainly for the photography.
Fashion and fashion mags, blogs etc are the fairytale books for adults. 
It has taken 40 years to see that although you may not be able to afford the premium priced clothes on view you can take lessons from these magazines and blogs. 
About cut,colour, style and how to organise a wardrobe. 

I realised that these women are just like me,but with a more defined sense of style.
Which proves you are never to old to learn something new.

I may not have made my dinner date but my afternoon was spent uncomfortable but productively. I now have a swag of links to other writers who I look forward to following.  

Follow Your Passions.

For years I've worked in the worlds of child care and then welfare with extremely disturbed teenagers.
The last few years in the industry were mental torture and there is only so many horror stories you can hear before it starts to affect you. 
Eventually I had to get out of the industry altogether, simply shifting specialities wouldn't have been enough to help me sleep at night.
Going from working sixteen hour days to doing nothing but reassessing your life turns your world upside down.
For the first two years I slept almost constantly and my wardrobe consisted mainly of pyjamas.
Now, having made the decision to go back to work I am faced with the question, what do I want to do career wise?
I know for certain that I will never go back into the welfare sphere. Although I did enjoy working with the clients the management left much to be desired. No debriefing, hellish hours and at times even more hellish conditions.

So using the skills I developed working in the trenches isn't an option unless I decide on an exciting new career as a bouncer. 
This means retraining in another area and that's a daunting option at 40 years old.   
I read a quote the other day that said, if your not happy with your job quit and follow your dreams. Life is too short to be stuck in a job you hate.

What I loved most about working in welfare was teaching the clients how to cook.   
Cooking is the one thing that I really get a kick out of. It relaxes me, even when I happen to be cooking for 30. There's something comforting in knowing that mixing chocolate with hot cream makes the most heavenly icing for cakes.
This is a love that has developed over the last ten years. Nothing makes me happy than having a houseful of people to feed. 
This is what I will be concentrating on next year, an apprenticeship as a chef. Learning from scratch all of the fundamentals of this craft will be as much a pleasure as it will be hard work.
I only wish I had come to this realisation ten years ago.  

Happy Birthday

It's finally arrived, my 40th birthday.
How do I feel today?
40 feels like 30.
Today I feel great but it didn't start out that way.
This morning, after being spoilt by good weather for over a week I awoke fully expecting that I'd see bright blue sun kissed sky.
Nope it was overcast and hazy.
Well I wasn't having any of that. So I did the only thing I could, I rolled over, curled up under the covers and went back to sleep until the weather changed.
Thankfully the next time I opened my eyes the sun was shining.

I had nothing planned until a dinner at my parents house and that didn't start until 6pm. The day was my own and I spent it in the sun on the back veranda soaking up as much Vitamin D as possible. And it was bliss.

For years I'd imagined that 40 would hit me like a tonne of bricks.
Instead I felt upbeat, light as a feather and seriously happy. 

 Forward Momentum, my new personal mantra.

The Last Day Of My Thirties.

Well its here, the very last day that I can say I am a woman in my thirties. 
Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new decade.
Today I met my friend and we went out for lunch. 
I'm not a social butterfly, I'm more of a shut in so this is progress. 
Lunch was wonderful. Not so much for the food which was average to say the least. A roasted root vegetable salad in which every vegetable tasted the same all with a heavy dose of cumin thrown in to make the tongue tingle. I'm trying to stay away from "safe" ordering. Usually I'd order the fish but I really do need to broaden my horizons and so now when I am out to eat I try things I never would have. 
However our meal was eaten Al fresco beside the water on a gorgeous spring day, you can't ask for better than that.
I had forgotten just how pleasurable it can be to sit with someone and talk and laugh and share a meal. 
For years I have been an angry angry girl. Being infertile and unable to do anything about it  meant that I hated life and did everything I could to disassociate from everything and everyone. 
This means I missed a lot of the social aspects of being a woman in her thirties. 

Being a shut in means you never have anyone to judge you. 
It also means you have no mirror except that which you walk past without taking any notice of. 
So you forget how to dress for social situations. 
Twenty years ago I simply slid into my favourite black mini skirt and threw on a top and I was good to go. Ten years ago I wriggled into my favourite jeans and shrugged on a shirt, added some boho accessories and same thing, good to go. 
But now, not only do I not know what to wear I also until quite recently didn't have it in my wardrobe if I did magically find the answer. 

So people watching at lunch becomes more a homework assignment than a way to pass the time.
Sitting directly behind us was a large table of women obviously quite used to being the ladies who lunch. All in their late thirties or older and not a monster stroller insight anywhere. Women who were all wearing the summery type outfit that I have never been able to pull off. Those triangular baby doll type dresses that look like they belong on pre schooler's.
You have to admire someone so comfortable with the shape of their knees at 40 years old.   

I was sitting there in a pair of capri jeans and a black tank and strappy sandals taking it all in. Why did these women all look so put together when I looked half done?
And then I realised, accessories, I was wearing none and they really do complete an outfit. Jewelry, a scarf, a handbag make all the difference.

So the last lesson of my thirties is this - look in the mirror and see what's missing.

Taking Back A Little Of What I Love

Further to yesterdays musings today we spent sorting out the accumulated debris from the move.
Shift a box, make a decision, all of a sudden things begin to take on a life of their own.
Four years ago a weekend would have found us joined by a crew at a cabin on the river. We don't have that any more and until today we really didn't understand the impact that not having that in our lives had on us in terms of the life we led.
Weekend used to be spent in the sun, in the water, around a table eating a barbecue and the nights were lit by starlight and a roaring fire. 

This afternoon we had a barbecue, lit a fire, albeit in the backyard but still if you can't have everything compromise.

 I spoke to my mother this afternoon and she was talking with some animation about a trip she has booked to Tasmania. My parents have recently been touring in the middle of Australia to Ayers Rock and surrounds and they have the travel bug. We've been telling them for years to go out and explore the world and they've finally taken our advice. My parents are in their late sixties and early seventies. What I realised from that phone call was that I don't want to just be waking up to life at that age.

I make so many excuses, put things off, think I'll do that another day. And every day I do that I waste an opportunity to be living my life.

Part of my plan for my 40th birthday is to stop making excuses, to start living my life, and to do that I need to start saying YES.   

So YES I'm up for everything, except skydiving.

The Birthday Cometh.

Lately I have been hearing a lot of the same question - "So you're turning 40, how do you feel about that?"
I think people expect you to be dreading the day, as if I waking up on your birthday will produce crows feet, grey hair and all of those other things you expected when this day came. 
Fortunately time has so far been kind to me. 
My sister on turning 30 was a hysterical mess, you'd have thought her life was over. She hadn't accomplished what she thought she would, she wasn't where she thought she'd be, she was just damned unhappy.
It's true you can sit back and lament what you haven't achieved, what you haven't got so far in life but what is the point? Its not like you can go back.
A month ago if someone had asked me how I was going to celebrate 40 and how I'd feel this week I couldn't have told them. It was still an abstract idea.
This week is shaping up to be a festival of celebrations. Three dinners to attend and a lunch date. That's more social than I have been in ten years.
At my fortnightly psych appointment I was talking about milestones that I hadn't achieved or hadn't been able to achieve. A wedding, a baby, first dates, being kissed on New Years Eve.
While there are things that I can't ever have (the baby) there are aspects of the others that I can do something about.
I'm not overly fussed about a wedding but this week I'm dressing in a gorgeous long red silk dress, buying the ruby slippers to go with them and having my hair and make up done just as you would for a wedding. So the fuss the primping and the pampering and a great meal without all that extra stress that goes with a wedding. 

A baby, can't have it and over the years I have felt left out of a huge part of being a female. I don't belong to any stroller wielding mummy's club that goes regularly to lunches and coffee dates. My girlfriends all became mothers and I became for some time aunty baby sitter. But these friends have drifted away, as much my fault as theirs. They shut me out of certain things and I responded by freezing them out. Acknowledging this won't bring them back into my sphere but at least now I can let it go to some extent.

A kiss for New Years Eve, something to keep in mind for later in the year. 
Milestones aren't always automatic. And the older you get the harder you sometimes have to work to clock these perceived adult milestones. That's what this next year will be about, changing my thinking, accepting that which is inevitable, being proactive about what I want to get out of this next decade.  

How Long Does It Take To Get To Know You?

You expect your friends and most especially your family to know you. Know what you like, know what your dislikes are, know how you feel about eating garden pea's. Its the kind of information that should be easy to answer. But I have learnt this week that there are plenty of instances of people who know you well who don't know you at all.
For example, my flatmates kids. Whenever a birthday or Christmas or Fathers Day comes around I get phone calls from the kids asking if I have any idea what dad would like for said occasion.
Living with somebody should give you a good idea of what a person likes but I have found in this case the kids can reel off a dozen things dad doesn't like but when it comes to what he does like, what he is about they seem to have no clue.

Another case in point is my birthday. I've been invited for dinner  with people who have known me for 24 years. On the menu, pasta and no doubt a heavy helping of wine.
I don't eat pasta, In fact I loathe it entirely. For me the texture just doesn't sit right in my mouth. I don't eat tomatoes either. They're squishy.
As for wine unfortunately that's the one area where I shall never grow up. I'm allergic to wine.
They all know this and yet every time I am there I get offered glasses of the stuff.
Is it politeness to keep offering or is it that the "I'm allergic to wine it will make my throat swell up and require a trip to the emergency room" not a clear enough indicator that I don't want the wine? Ever.
After 24 years I'd expect these people to have some clue about me.

So I am facing the prospect of a birthday dinner where I won't be eating because at 40 I really shouldn't have to sit there and eat just because it's in front of me. Apparently it was reiterated that I don't eat pasta but everyone else at the dinner does so that is what is staying on the menu. I can have the Italian vegetable side that is being served with it.

Usually I'd just shrug this off. People make mistakes. But after 24 years?
It makes me feel somewhat invisible.

Empty Hangers.

Having talked about a wardrobe overhaul for what seems like forever I finally committed myself to this task this morning. And although the sun may be shining outside it was still freakin cold in my bedroom. Goose pimples on very white thighs, not exactly my best look ever.
My first cull produced 26 now empty hangers.
It amazes me just how much junk we keep stashed in our wardrobes.
Why do we feel the need to hang on to things that don't fit us anymore or things that we just plain don't like?

I have discovered that Yes I have the wardrobe of an adult Emo. Looking down the list of things still available for me to wear it reads in almost one shade. Black. Black, Black, Black. With an occasional but rare glimpse of red.

Where are my ever faithful neutrals?
Where are the tops and bottoms that will get me through the next season?
I read fashion magazines on a weekly basis. Clearly they are not having the desired effect.
Although I confess I knew I was in a rut, the stark truth of the matter is that not even I could fathom the depth and breadth of that rut.
Until now.

When a check of your wardrobe reveals that you are down to three serviceable blouses and a lot of mismatched separates you really do have to resign yourself to going back to basics and rebuilding your wardrobe piece by piece.
Step one, the cull is now complete.
Step two involves combining the pieces I do have into outfits and photographing them for future reference.
I find this makes it easier to visualise what I can do with my existing pieces.

Step three is the fun part. Retail Therapy just in time to use my birthday as a great excuse. 

How Do You Save The Weekend?

So this is a problem I've identified. The weekend.
Usually this is when couples,singles, aliens visiting from outer space get out and enjoy what their city has to offer.
Me, I seem to have fallen into the pj's all weekend and DVDs.

In my defence it has been raining here for just over a year and so the urge to get out and enjoy oneself is limited. There's only so much donning of sensible waterproof shoes and braving the cold a girl can accomplish.
But the weekend routine has become a rut I really need to get out of. 
The sun has finally decided to make an appearance once again.

With this in mind naturally a girls mind goes to thoughts of a summer wardrobe. 
Going through what passes as my wardrobe I find that I am in need of well, everything.
First step is naturally getting my hands on the September issue of Vogue. 
There's something utterly genius about Anna Wintour. She's definitely one of my style icons, as is Diane Keaton. And while I can't hope to emulate their style or their budget I think approaching the ripe old age of 40 that the time for younger inspiration has past.

This year I'm hoping to introduce more colour into my wardrobe. 
I wear so much black I could be the poster child for middle aged Emo's. 
However there is light at the end of this dark as midnight tunnel. 
I was walking past a shop the other day and the window display caught my eye.
White pants, a navy and white striped Breton top covered by a red summer weight cardigan.
It caught my eye due to the colour but straight away I thought dated, obvious, too easy.
After all I live within sight of a lake and a marina so nautical style, maybe not.

Stripes and me have not had a favourable history.
Whenever I wear stripes I feel like one of those wine barrels with the metal hoops around them, you know the ones made by convict men called coopers. 

For some reason the Breton top is resonating with me as a way to revitalise my summer wardrobe. Naturally I'd prefer my Breton to come from Brittany but what's a girl to do?
A long as I can find a reasonable version without awful embellishments (read anchor motifs, stripes in any colour other than navy, ribbons, bows or pockets)  I'll be happy.

For my 40th birthday there are dinners planned, Numerous functions at which I have to appear dressed in ...... something. other. than. pajamas.!
Over the next two weeks my mission is to go through my wardrobe, throw out all of those hopeful items hanging in my closet hoping against hope that I'll lose weight. Introduce new items that fit, that co ordinate and give me options for a dressed in clothes weekend lifestyle. 

40 is my "grow up" deadline.


  

Commitment -not just a word jilted lovers use at the therapist.

I used to be so good at this. Sitting down on a daily basis and posting.
A few years on and I find that by the time I have something to say it's yet another day gone by.
The biggest problem with starting any new blog is the thought, "Is anybody out there?" or "Am I just writing blindly into an empty cyber space?"

My last blog was a cornucopia of items, meme's, generally a riot of opinion not always well received. And isn't it funny that most people who object to a blog post enough to comment on it rarely leave their name, preferring instead to hide behind anonymous.

This blog is aiming to be something extremely different. The grown up version of my previous musings. 

In less than a month I turn 40.
This milestone typically throws a woman into the path of such revelations as belly fat, the out dated hairstyle, wondering how now to dress and still be on the fashionable side of prudence. Because lets face it those thigh high lace up motor cycle boots that you love so much only work on the celebrity 40 year old.  
Fashion magazines start to become slightly irrelevant. Sure those dreamy floaty muslin peasant tops look great matched with smaller than daisy duke cut off's but honestly your thighs aren't what they used to be. Yet the thought of teaming them with a skirt seems some how a bit mumsy.

I confess I'm not a skirt wearer. In my youth I was known for the trademark black mini skirt dubbed by one and al as the nappy. Those days are long gone. 
I missed the whole fashion for yummy mummy's as I haven't had children and so that transition from being a child to bearing children hasn't affected me. 
I breezed straight on through those late twenties early thirties as the brat in black. 

Career wise I've been for the most part a jeans and boots wearer.No corporate suits for me.No intricate routine of hairstyle and makeup over the last twenty years so the more mature dressing is still an enigma to me.

And lately pajama's have been the fashion go to's most of the time. Combining depression with Seasonal Affective Disorder means I want to be warm, comfortable and left alone.
Not conducive to getting out and having a life. You know you are pretty far gone when you find yourself doing your shopping in your pj's. 

So how to turn this around?
Do I look for celebrity inspiration? The fact that Julia Roberts looks amazing and she's four years older than me? Probably won't help. After all its easy to be motivated when you've already got a full life, a personal trainer and the added benefit of acting for a few weeks for a few million dollars. 
Nope that's not going to get it done. 

One foot in front of the other, steely determination, inspiration of a more natural sort, dare I say it, will power? The catalyst is out there, I just have to find it.

The state I'm in.

It's been a while since I posted anything. 
I admit that moving into this house has been a challenge that I have yet to conquer.
My main computer sits unconnected in a room filled with boxes spilling over with Christmas tree ornaments. Images are piling up on my laptop waiting to be transferred and edited.
More boxes decorate the living room, filled full of books I have read far to many times.
I keep putting off making final decisions about placement.


Right now I'm busy dodging boring sports (read women's water polo, women's basketball, white water canoeing) and trying to catch the equestrian events from the extremely poor television coverage. Australians are supposedly swimming mad, as if that's the only sport that interests us. Personally I'd much rather see the equestrian events as they pertain to an activity that I will be pursuing this year - I'm finally turning in to a twelve year old pig tailed girl and learning how to ride a horse properly.
For this I shall first need to go shopping, for boots,a helmet and a bra that will withstand all of the inevitable jiggling.


Speaking of foundation garments I have finally learnt my underwear laundering lesson.
Being too tired to care I threw a load of washing in the other day. Usually I'll hunt out a delicates bag to wash my bra's in, this time I threw all caution to the wind. Washed and tumble dried one of my very few pretty bra's came out minus an under wire. The missing metal was found twisted in such a way that only melting it down and recasting it would fix it's problem.


Lessons of turning 40 - Washing bags - Use them!!

To Make A List Or Fly Blind?

Some people when faced with the scary upcoming mature aged birthday will write a bucket list, get a makeover, date a younger model or go to the extreme and find themselves hurtling towards earth strapped to another human being praying that the parachute opens all in a vain attempt to avoid that big birthday badge that proclaims you to be “Over The Hill.”


Firstly, there’s no way anyone is ever talking me in to sky diving. Ever.
As to a bucket list, ever since the movie of the same name came out bucket lists have become an almost essential part of the newly mature psychosis.


The things I must do before I die fall in to two distinct categories. 
The possible and the probably nots. 


World travel for one sits at the moment on the fence. 
The saying “you’ll never never know if you never never go” is a double edged sword. While I fully believe the sentiment I also know deep down that I’ll never never go if I can’t raise the dough.
There are of course the must see destinations - Paris, Italy, Africa. 
But there are also other destinations I long for - Auschwitz, Egypt, Alaska.
Right now I couldn’t afford the flight to Bali that seems to be a prerequisite for all under 40 Australians.  


Me? I don’t even have a passport. I’ve never even been in a plane.
Something else to add to a list in a bucket. 


Dating the younger generation - a solid no thank you.
I don’t understand cougars, I don’t even agree with the description.
To me older women dating much younger men look plain ridiculous.
What is she trying to tell the world? 
“Despite my age I can still get the good ones? I’ve still got it. I’m trying to hold on to my rapidly fading youth?”
Ok so I confess I happen to know an older woman dating a much younger man and this is where my latest opinion on the subject comes from. 
The younger man is the same age as this woman’s daughter. Insert sick noise here.


I’ve never been interested in younger men, I doubt I ever will be. I guess I’m just too grown up to contemplate spending a night with a man who wears his pants well down below the underwear line. Some things should be left to the imagination and old Calvin Klein adverts. 


The makeover, the one thing I am contemplating before the birthday looms. 
Naturally with all makeover resolutions this one comes with a crappy diet/lose weight/fitness campaign as all such resolutions do. 


The fact that I’m approaching 40 and summer I figure increased likelihood of heart problems plus a looming watersports commitment means this winter the fat really has to come off.  
I was sitting in the emergency room of the local hospital about a week ago. Stupidly my foot had connected with a large lump of solid timber chair leg and straight away up came a lump the size of a tennis ball.  Yet more damage to my already chronically damaged ligaments.
While I was there I counted how many times I’d been present at a hospital and waiting to see a doctor. As I’ve gotten older the numbers climbed higher. 
When is it time to start treating yourself with love and respect? 


When does that bullet proof jacket we all seem to wear in our teens and early twenties slip off never to be worn again?

The Project.

I bet you’re thinking “Oh crap I’ve stumbled upon yet another of those midlife crisis blogs. Another one of those desperate attempts to cling to a fading youth.”
Perhaps some may draw that conclusion.


I prefer to think of it another way…. Time goes by so quickly these days that before you know it you find yourself approaching an age you always thought of as something from a far distant future.


For me 40 approaches. 
As a woman this means most of us begin to think more seriously about wrinkle prevention, hiding those first strands of greying hair, the early onset of menopause ( God forbid!).
You begin to cast a critical eye over an outfit for age suitability. And you realise that calling yourself a girl is a concept that has been over for many years. 


For me the approach of 40 woke me up to the fact that there are many, many things that I’ve yet to accomplish. Things that others of my age ticked off their developmental milestones list years ago.


I’m going in to this new decade with a renewed sense of time passing. 
So begins the Grasping 40 Straws project.


Over the course of the next year I intend to drastically change my thinking, my circumstances, my career and therefore my future.