It’s Chat Time

Which means I haven’t got a piece of poetry in me.
It’s been a hectic last couple of weeks, just wanted to let you know that Mumma Penguin finally went home last Monday. She has regular careers from the Council visiting almost every day for a month to help and organise her, which in turn will also help Pop. He is so happy she is home again and she is thrilled, though she has her stubborn pants on about doing her exercises!

Pop realised the other day that his memory is sadly going now too, imagine my surprise when I phoned them the other day and he was doing a crossword puzzle, out of the senior Citizens magazine they get, the first he has ever done in his 86 years ( mind you I was on the phone for one and a half hours) as he kept saying now 16 down is…. 😀 but I’m happy he is trying and even Mumma P was joining in…miracles! I am going to buy him a book of easy ones so he (they) don’t give up!

I have been busy with services funerals, conducting two last week and three next week. I cried at Thursday’s one, as I was reading the committal, the wife of the deceased a beautiful petite lady called out a few times (which made people laugh) during the service as I read, then she said “goodbye my darling” and I couldn’t hold it together for a while. It’s normal, every now and then it happens, it gets to me. I’m human, which is a good thing ☺️

Mr.S had his operation, he now is hobbling on crutches and plaster, I picked him up from Hospital this morning and he has slept most of the day.

K is trying to get into modelling. goth style mostly, this has been keeping her busy of late, below are a few of her recent photos taken…now all she needs is someone to discover her. Yes I know I’m being brazen,  forgive me, but if you don’t ask or put it out there…..

My 900th post, who would have thought.

Keep your eyes ever upwards and not upon the skin

or Mags Models and Moi.

So I just returned from getting new tyres put on my car. A “blokey” (Aussie term for man) atmosphere without a female in sight, at least there was a coffee machine.

I sat down in front of the coffee table in the ‘waiting room’ with the not so abundant array of magazines ahead of me. The choice admittedly was rather dismal. Yes, ‘yee har’ there were mags for the boys on tyres, and 4 wheel drives and the like about 5 and 2 mags for the women folk.

Vogue and another glossy high fashion one with Jennifer Anniston on the cover (I remember her) but not the magazine title. I sat with my skirt and T shirt on sipping my machine made latte (taking note this is the 1st warm day we have had since Winter has ceased) so my bare white skin was that of a beacon heralding the arrival of Spring.

Casting my eyes on the pages and flicking through, with stunning photographs (all touched up by the way) of the glamourous models and the expensive haute couture clothing that adorned their silken bronzed bodies. I gazed in awe at how pretty the clothes were and indeed how perfectly unmarked (almost store mannequin) were the models that wore them.

Sadly I looked downwards to my arm holding said magazine and looked at my pale, slightly freckled, corrugated arm that was holding it up. Rearranging my skin so that the corrugation wasn’t on full view (even to myself any longer) I continued glancing through the pages.

The meaning of this post?  I have lived in this body for 57 years and as much as it sometimes makes me go ‘ugh’ I have  no choice but continue living in it. The models in the mags are all young, stunning, air brushed and haven’t had kids.

I am older, bore 2 children and definitely not air-brushed and for gods sake don’t get me started on my legs! I just won’t look down anymore.

🙂