I’m getting grumpy. I suppose it’s a natural occurrence as I grapple with my sixties, unwanted hair in the wrong places, and much wanted hair falling out of all the important places. Toss in a measure of Covid, the political … Continued
So, since I’ve been getting ‘older’, my hair has started to fall out. It blocks the tub, the vacuum cleaner, sticks to the bottom of everyone’s socks, and is attached to everything. This has become a huge issue for me. … Continued
Getting older is a privilege, but it really is tough at times. Hips and knees groaning, eyes becoming as blind as a bat’s, hair thinning and going grey (except the witchy-poo ones growing out of post-menopausal chins)….the continual downshift of skin, as gravity pulls it to the floor like melting wax. Your nose still growing larger and ears too – while synapses begin to disappear into oblivion.
I wasn’t going to post this latest blog as it seemed so trivial and silly in light of the awful tragedy in Manchester. I didn’t want to be disrespectful at a time of great sorrow. But then I decided that I should go ahead, because I am British, and proud of my people. They, (like the American people) pull together when there is a real threat to divide their nation, they do NOT let anything stop their lives from continuing as normal. The British have survived wars, invasions, and will never surrender to terrorism and tyranny. My hearts go out to all those devastated by loss and injury, and my pride goes out to the country that is in my soul.
This week I got to be eleven. I went with two dear friends to see the movie ‘Beauty and the Beast.’
It was like role reversal for me. Back a hundred years ago, I went to an ‘R’ rated movie (A Clockwork Orange) when I was 14….and they thought I was 18 (it was the boobs). Fast forward 43 years…….this time I went to a kids’ movie and I’m 57…. I didn’t even have a grandkid with me. Yep, I’m living on the edge folks.
I hate getting older. And it’s not just because of the wrinkles on my face either. I’ve actually become quite fond of the two creases either side of my mouth that run down towards my chin. The ‘laughter’ lines around my eyes and the rumpled skin on my forehead are okay as well. At least they give my face strong character and hint at the hard, grueling, not-to-mention ‘full’ life I have led thus far.
One of the lovely gifts that going through menopause has brought to my life is the new ability to sweat. Not glisten, not perspire, just plain old good honest sweat. The kind that makes you feel as though you could cook a fried egg on your more than adequate belly and heat up a pizza under your left boob. I can remember playing an entire racquetball game years ago and feeling a bit ‘damp’ around the collar, I used to actually COMPLAIN that I wished I could sweat….