Tag Archives: reflection

the curse of curvy calves

1 May

For as long as I can remember I have been well endowed in the calf area. As a young’n I recall being desperately upset when long zip boots first came in fashion and I struggled to find a pair generous enough to accommodate my meaty mid-leg.

curvy calvesIt’s true that my dimensions are not exactly petite… but nor would I say that I am obese. No matter whether I have been in peak shape in need of some trimming … my calves have been a constant. In fact I would go so far as to say that the curvy calf is somewhat of a family tradition, with Mum’s looking like the best ‘baking leg’ you could buy.

Curvy calves are a curse, and for women that share this affliction, exercise becomes fine line….too much walking, jogging, cycling will pump them up even further  and soon have us looking like we are on steroids.

Anyway the reason for this reflection is my current skinny leg jeans attraction. I have a couple of favourite pairs, they fit and feel good…however I find as the day goes on that the lower leg begins to twist and I end up with a side seam somewhere up the front of my shin…worse on the right than left. Now originally I blamed the production process, thinking that the fabric had been cut crooked … however, not so… it is the power of the curvy calf that causes the constant creep.

BUT I will not be beaten… nor will  I give up my favourite jeans!.

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pardon me if I repeat myself

12 Apr

…and I could (repeat myself that is) …with yet another public toilet adventure that happened today …. BUT I wont.

What I do want to talk about is our crazy habit of giving towns double (repeat word names) … Here I am tonight in Wagga Wagga.. yet all Aussies that I know, call it Wagga, and somehow when I hear the whole title I think people are trying to be funny, or mock the place..

When I left the airport  and was 5 mins down the road and came across the town (well call it a town  at a stretch …)gumly gumlyI was prompted to investigate. So… having settled into my hotel room, I resisted the urge to prepare myself for day 1 of Uni tomorrow and instead I consulted Mr Google about this silly name thing…. I was astonished to find that there are over 60 Australian locations whose names are duplicate words.

Not surprisingly many of them are Aboriginal names and apparently the reduplication is an indication of emphasis (if Wagga means crow then Wagga Wagga means MANY crows.. ) BUT what I don’t get is why we pick and choose which ones to abbreviate to one word … I mean why do we all call Wagga Wagga Wagga … but we don’t call Woy Woy, Woy??.

So many questions and so few answers …

 

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the need to pee ….

21 Jan

Over recent years I have noticed a very bizarre phenomenon… the need to pee as soon as I pull up in at home and the keys are removed from the ignition.loo2

This strange situation usually happens at the end of the day, when… with great relief I wheel into the garage and begin to unload the shopping (along with all the sundry bags and items collected throughout the day). It’s a though a switch is flicked, and I have to pee….right then and there.. !!!

It quickly becomes a mind game, as I employ every single muscle fibre of my well tuned pelvic floor (at least it once was)…  to buy myself enough time to at least get all the stuff as far as the kitchen before rushing full speed into the bathroom (God help me if the backdoor is locked and my hands are full while I fumble for a key).

But here’s the puzzle…the normal trip home is 30 mins, yet on the odd day that I am travelling from the city it can be up to 2 hours …it makes NO difference how long or short the trip is. Nor does it matter that I make  a conscious habit of going to the loo before leaving the office, it’s just an automatic response to arriving home (mmm what does THAT say?).

I cast my mind back to the 80’s when I worked as a Childbirth Educator… coaching couples in the care and fitness of their pelvic floors, drilling them in their exercises like it was boot camp. I wonder just how bad things would now be without the benefit of all that training.

Guess it’s just another one of the joys of being ‘50 something’ !

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