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!!