A New Gym in Town.

Together with family and friends, my nephew now just started a fitness center.
In the past, we called them health clubs, and I rather liked the idea of going to a health club, I certainly liked it a lot more than the idea of entering a fitness center. There is something overly ambitious about a fitness center, something I can't quite feel comfortable with.
To put it bluntly: my body was not meant for display in revealing lycra. My body has been through decades of hard work and three pregnancies. Age and gravity have had an impact as well.
I no longer feel comfortable jumping and do sqats, certainly not in public. My body lands long before I intend, and keeps bouncing long after I make a new move, much like a dog shaking off water in slow motion.

A few years ago my nephew suddenly became sporty and fit. He didn't just pick up jogging or go for a ride on his bike. No, it was like a determinated force driving him to enter competitions like "strongman" and "triathlon" and other extreme competitions. He and his wife, along with the rest of her family, and friends, got so involved with this new lifestyle that they wanted a fitness center that had every workout option all the other gyms had combined, plus everything they felt they missed in other gyms. Now they got that. They do not have is a mezzanine with a runway, but that's not that common here in Norway anyway. We, Norwegians, run outdoors, using nature for challenge... or a treadmill.

I have great expectations my aging body will benefit from this. However, I do not expect to become fit, firm and fabulous, but it would be nice to go on regular basis, just to slow down the inevitable decay my age and diet cause on my body. On that note, I also feel I should give the impression I try to get ready for spring and milder climate, hence less clothes on my body.

I read a headline the other day: "No thanks to New Year's Eve. Get started with a healthier diet and more exercise now!" I think they put it so accurate and great, because new year's resolutions do not work for me.
And, yes, I think it's boring to run. Sorry, but I'm very outdated that way; I don't ride my bike to work, even though it's "only" 13 km, and I do not exercise in wild and fancy garments so expensive you have no other option but to use them all the time, and soon you wear them to the grocery store and make others feel guilty for buying steak and not lean fish or vegetables, just because you look like an impudently surplus of energy.

But now, now Level Up Treningssenter AS is established, and they are open for membership and they have Bodybalance!

An old friend and I sat down on opening day and had a cup of coffee. We did not try out any of the work out machines, but we had a look, and decided that we should also be able to do this. Just because we are past our youth doesn't mean we are ready to pack it in. The 40s is the new 30s, some say, but we need to make an effort to stall. An effort based on more than great tips about good foot creams, silk spray and tiger balm.

In the past I have tried most; Jazzerzise, ​​Zumba, Pilates, Weights, Jogging, Swimming ... But my hips are not entirely Latin, and all the aggressive, loud shout outs from the instructors make me so stressed out that I forget in which order I am to jump left or back and I cause a lot of chaos in the lines and involuntary outbursts of laughing. Instructors do not like that, at all.
But this time I found Bodybalance on the schedule, and it just hit me that this is it!

Now, Bodybalance does not promise calorie burn, better fitness or better mobility, but it promises to reduce stress levels and make me concentrated and calm. I do not really need to be calmer, because my girlfriend sometimes pulses me, just to check that I'm still alive and kicking, but I can clearly stress less.
I just hope it will not be difficult to help me up off the floor, that would have been a bit boring, in a room full of conversations. I hope I will not be the only "old person" there.

Body Balance is Yoga, Tai Chi and Pilates at once, and with carefully selected motion combinations, you'll exercise strength, balance and mobility, and while struggling to fold yourself while standing on one foot you'll hear beautiful and customized music. I am very fond of music!
All in all, this will give you a physical workout and inner balance and harmony, and it suits ALL! Therefore me included!

My goal is that I will be able to continue to tie my shoelaces without having to sit on a chair or heave for breath. I think that's a fair goal.
In spite of age and size, I now have a young hope of having a beautiful interior in full harmony and a smoother outer .... in new premises.

CONGRATULATIONS WITH THE OPENING OF THE NEW GYM!

A season fit for failure

Every season has its story.

My story this time of year is end of term, end of schoolyear, exams and lovely weather. 

It never fails: when it is time for exams, the weather is at its best. This is the season for lovely, hot weather and sunshine from blue, blue sky. Not a cloud in sight, and barely any breeze.

Exam really means sweat and tears around here. In buckets!

It is time to sum up everything done, everything left out, everything missed and everything we never got time to get done.

This is the season for the feeling of shortcomings. There are no good hairdays.

For my part, it's not only true for work, even though I may feel it more, as I am a teacher, but I have kids in school as well. And to be a parent these days means you need to be forever young, otherwise you have lost on behalf of your kid.

My 15-year old has finished junior high school, and now is on the threshold of making the choice which to a large extent will decide which occupation he will have for the rest of his life. 

Well, it's not really carved in stone, but very few take the extra burden it is to start anew to get the education they discovered they actually really wanted.

Although... my oldest son is unsure of his choice and is playing with the thought of continuing school and get a higher education. He has an education, and is very good at it too, but he struggles to face doing it for the rest of his life.

I can only ensure him he will get my entire support, whatever his decision will be. 

Apart from all of these lifechanges my kids are facing, which takes a lot of time and conversation, every activity they participate in has some kind of summer celebration, marking end of season.

Barbeques, games, hikes, sleep overs... and at work it is the same. All the teams and departments I am a member of, as well as the entire staff combined, invite me to pubs for a beer or a glass of wine, barbeques, boat trips... lovely, adult unwinding. I never get to go to any of them.

Through out the year I used to rush home from work to get dinner finished in time for whatever was on today's schedule. 

This time of year I rush home to avoid those last minute's tempting invites, put on my running shoes and play with kids, engaging in water fights, throwing darts at ballons and treasure hunts. 

And then the obligatory barbeque, which involves hotdogs, buns, ketchup, mustard (for those a bit daring) and crisp fried onion. 

Kids are not very adventurous when it comes to barbeques, or maybe they are just not patient enough to wait for that perfect, marinated steak with baked potatoe.

Anyway, by the time the schoolyear is over, the end of season gatherings are as well.

My 9-year old's soccer team announced a game between the boys and the mothers.

I had every intention to participate, but... my body ached, my head was spinning, my feet felt like soar concrete... I didn't have a crumble of energy in me, and all I could think about was the neglected mountain of laundry at home. 

So the mums played a heroic match with me on the sideline. And they won. Mums 5- Sons 4.

My son asked me why I didn't play.

I didn't know how or what to answer him, and that's when I lost.

Only for a brief second, though; He was generous enough to give me a second chance, and his reply was swift and obviously prepared: 

"That's ok, you'll be on the team when season starts, and the mums play against the dads".

Oh, joy.

Letting myself down is tough.

I have become who I definitely would never be. It is so annoying. Not only have I turned out to be someone I dislike, I also failed to mould myself into a perfect triumph. You know, maybe not perfect, but perfect for.... well, me.

There was this plan, in my head I would be different from what I was forced by circumstances to be when I was young.

As an adult I would be bold, wild, vast and free, and because I had the choice to be all that, I would be happy with where I at all times were.

That is not at all how I turned out to be. Maybe I was before, maybe I'll be again, but right now I am just discontent and ungrateful. Oh, I felt my eyes twitching right now.

I sulk over whatever I find unpleasant in my life. I accept being a pathetic shadow of who I deep down believe I am.

In spite of knowing this I don't deal with my present, I ignore my hidden resources. I don't ignore and raise above the trifle hickups which serve as pebbles in my shoes. I don't face up to, or do anything constructive to make me capable to gather enough energy to turn my grumpyness around.

The sad part of it all is that to blame everything and everybody other than myself is like an instinct in me when I am frustrated. My best defence and excuse is to acquit myself.

Of course I know that at the end of the day my discontent is nobody else's fault but my own, but I don't like to recognize my own failures. Maybe I have too many, maybe I would be overwhelmed by my shortcomings, maybe I just happen to like living in a bubble of artificial selfconfidence: "It's not me, it's you!"

I would have to do some admissions and introspections to change my mood and point of view, which I'm not ready to do, yet.

Instead of admitting to I should show more engagement, initiative and interest, I wrap myself in self pity and rest my case in blaming uncontrolled circumstances.

That's really not who I am. I know what made me like this, and yet I avoid taking grip of my life.

Steve Harvey has repeatedly stated that to be successful you need to jump.

When you jump, you take a leap of faith, and place yourself into that insecure state of "the unknown".

It's been too long since I acted or placed myself out of my comfort zone. I used to be good at it when I was younger.

Now I have too many good reasons to stay where I am at.

I am aware of the fact that inside the comfort zone nothing happens; we deal with same old because we know what we have, but not what we might have.

The minute you do something out of normal, something extra ordinary will happen. Funny thing about extra ordinary: it's usually very good! Extra ordinary brings something new and by that also the possibility to adjust to a better situation. Yet, I (like most others) still try to avoid it.

I used to think that each their own forger of a good life. To be honest: I still believe that is true, but back then my strongest characteristic was to be creative.
My life was veiled in colours, sounds, actions and design. Hah, as induvidual and free I would like to call my past self, I was the typical, average creative person. Such an oxymoron, isn't it; to put creativity traits in a box.

Today, after pondering on my own discontent, I realized something important: I gave in a while back. Some time along the way I settled for good enough, rather than chasing my dreams. I suppressed a lot of my creativity blaming the stress mess I was caught in.

I am a quiet, calm person. It doesn't mean I'm not opinionated. I used to be a champ at achieving my goals.

By that I mean I thought I was chasing and achieving my goals.

What I was really doing was getting an education, a lot of it! I took so many degrees nobody will hire me now. I am too qualified, with tons of formal qualifications, tons and tons of prior learning experience, but no formal leader experience documented on paper. Still, I have the skills, habits and conduct of a leader.
I am too educated to be employed as a teacher in a new school now; I am too expencive. I am stuck where I work today. How pathetic is that?

The minute I got a family of my own, my goal was to create a happy and safe home for my family.
I went to the extremes and even planned what to do to maintain my kids' lifestyle and standard if my husband died. And I planned how my passing away will not affect their way of life too much.

Growing up I learned nobody must know. Some secrets you keep, so that others can have dignity and pride. If I was on top of things, I could prevent bad things to happen to others.

I did the expected thing and created a solid home for my family, while covering every possible outcome of disaster.

Now a lot of people are no longer part of, or even in, my life. In addition my young ones are more independent than they were. I have been a toddler's mom for 19 years. Getting used to I am not needed as much anymore, is hard to do.

A silent major change has taken place, and I didn't pay attention. Instead of becoming a freer person, I find myself in a position where I confuse opportunities lost with opportunities found.

The funny thing is: everybody else in my circle are really content. They really appreciate having the opportunity to choose freely what they want to make of themselves, and what to do.

So why am I stuck in the habit of limiting myself? Why do I feel my interests, wants and needs are not important enough to pursue?

My pondering made me realize that it's not reality which keeps me in a state of thinking how my actions will affect others in bad ways. There are no reasons why me changing focus should in any way give other people a hard time.

In my mind I create discussions on weather or not I should do something; if it is safe or not to change something because it would feel, look or perhaps work better. Often it's a matter of improving things, not repair them because they need fixing.

It's in many ways the same procedure I go through when it comes to throw something away; I deal with each item and detail as if it is of major importance, even though I deep down it isn't. The urge to keep, just in case I maybe need it some time in the future, is strong and inherited from my mother. (Yes, I blame her. She grew up during the war, and knows how to make use of what you have, and then recycle.) I know this, and yet it is so hard to ignore the voices telling me to keep it, keep it!

One of my all time wants, is to travel. I don't feel I get to travel and explore new places the way I want. Our family vacations tend to be a lot about amusement parks, water parks and beaches. Not my favourite cup of tea.
I would rather walk through an unknown village, discovering their ways and style. I would like to walk through a museum in my own pace and noone to call my name or tug my sleeve. I want to not eat at McDonald's. I want to sip to a glass of white wine, while watching people and reading a book.

By the time I have thought through my reasons why I should go for a long weekend by myself, and the importunate, more pressing reasons why I shouldn't, my kids have picked up on my intensions and tell me they want to go too, because there is a football match they really want to see live. And I feel awful about letting them down, leaving them or for some other reason start to doubt it is a good idea for me to go on a sole journey.

I know I think all this, and I know I am wrong. I am certain my family would really understand and condone my modest weekend of self fulfillment.

It's hard to be a loser. You get to the point when you expect to face another failure. I think maybe it's time I stop letting myself down.
Then, being a grumpy, old woman would be something I was in the past, and I would be the happy woman, in the best of ages, I truly am.

Older Ladies by Donnalou Stevens

Have to love this one:

Change

Change. It's a mighty word when you think about it; ever so easy to say but you need to put thoughts, effort and consistency into it to make it last.
Funny isn't it, to make change last; it's such an oxymoron just to say that, and yet it is true.

It's much like love, in that respect. We tend to love this and that all the time, and the bar is low; we love chocolate, we love the beach, we love potatoes, we love our family (most of the time)... At the end of the day it turns out that the minute we involve somebody else in our love circle, love becomes more complicated. Then love imply some sort of obligation, commitment and conditions.
To put it short: When you love somebody else, and no longer just yourself and your own likings, and you appreciate others, you need to make changes to maintain that love.

Anyway. We experience small changes and bigger changes, they all have in common that changes make things different.
The reason we want changes is, after all, we are not completely happy about the way things are, so different must be good then, right?
I am not quite convinced, because I myself have things I would like to change in my life, but... and there is a huge but: There is a reason why things are how they are. There is a reason why I don't find everything in my life perfect: after everything is said and done, after all my excuses for not having made things better, the reason why days go by the same manner they have is that I am stuck in a comfort zone. And that is a good, safe place to be.

I need  a few changes in my life. Funny I think that, because I have found people are less demanding than I think they are. But the changes I want are more about the fact that I feel I do what I think other people expect me to do, rather than doing what I want to do.

Women have this pressure they think they are supposed to want more, that they should want better and have higher standards. Just look at the magazines written for women: they are written to your future, perfect you.
"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans" ~John Lennon~
Still true, I think. We plan for the future, and not for here and now, and what we did plan for now is forgotten in the chanse for what will be next, so we chase for the future and don't stop to think.

I made a few searches online, go get some inspiration on how to make changes happen.
They write boldly about how it is you and how you are which is important, and then, by the flip of a coin they continue by telling you to change your looks, get fit, and eat healthy. Changing turns out to always become a quest for fitting into a norm. A standard set by strangers, who couldn't care less about you as an individual.

That's just it, isn't it? You should look at where you are, because where ever you are is where you are at. And if where you are at, is not where you want to be, then you need to think carefully and find out where you want to be in life.

Life brings you blessings, but it also hits hard. One blow after another makes you feel trapped in changes you had no saying in. And those changes are so very hard to deal with. It's like they put you off from taking part in the adventures which could have been. These changes are bad, because when we don't know what to do we tend to do the wrong thing. The urge to act then and there is so intrusive we see them as problems which have to be solved rather than opportunities to do the unexpected but right thing.

But then, on those rare occasions, you experience timing so perfect it's hard not to believe it was meant to be.

At the end of the comfort zone is where changes, and life, happen.
Another thing I found online is that as soon as somebody brings up changes, they talk about it as if you live in a bubble where only you exist. They make it all about you, your needs and you spending money to make things change.

Real life isn't like that. For most of us being that selfish is bad.
Most of us have people in our lives which we are accountable to. We can't just sign out and disregard people in our life. We all have people we care for, love and are responsible for.
They don't drop everything to watch you find yourself.

So, is it impossible to change? To make things, life, different?
No, but you have to find out where you are now, who is there with you, and then look at your goal and find those small twists worth the while, because they will give you the pleasure of stop feeling the pain from all the memories and emotions you were deprived of.

Maybe your twist is start drinking water instead of soft drinks. maybe it is writing job applications (the hardest part about that is preparing yourself to the possebility you might have to leave your coworkers and find your role at another workplace) and send them off. Maybe your twist is to walk or bicycle to work or school. maybe it is getting up an hour early and swim in the morning, or join cooking classes. Not just to get fit or anything, but more to break out and see new, friendly faces. Then you control the change in your life.

We should not fear changes. Those inflicted upon us are opportunities, those we make happen are spending the moment doing something now to move along.

Change should not be a lot of hard work. Better never is. It is the beginning of another wanted adventure.

Ageing makes excellent.

It’s my birthday today. The celebration of me getting older. When people ask me my age, 

very rude, but more common, I can say I am closer to 50.

It’s no secret I just simply love all the goofy quizes and tests online, analyzing which flower you are, your personality and a lot of other quirky stuff (still waiting for the test which will show I am a Red Bugatti Veyron, which harmoniously combines athletic performance and elegant form, bringing the proud history that is part of the Bugatti-DNA into the present. 

No such test has popped up yet, but I'm still hoping. After all, I am old enough to be responsible about excellence now.

Anyway. The last test was what I am like as a person. That was unexpected, but ok. I feel I know myself pretty well, but hey! Let’s see what a facebook-related test has to say about me:

You are spiritual, emotional, intelligent, charismatic, analytical and down to earth.
You are someone who needs to get to the bottom of things. There is no question you haven’t asked, and no answer you have not been 100% happy about. Your understanding of people and your extensive knowledge doesn’t come from books alone.
You like to observe and come to conclusions. It gives you a mystical touch which others find very fascinating.

Now, that's a whole lot of compliments... if you like being a mystery to your surrounding. I don't mind that. I have come to terms with being eccentric, and feel comfortably good about it. Still that was a bit over the top, made me feel more of an overexcited, loony cougar than a fairly reasonable woman. Don't know why, just did.

There are many things wrong with my body. It's not age, even though age may have refined and enhanced the unwellness.

What worries me, is that my mature insight forces me to admit to my vanity.

I dress well... for my size. I am a very active woman... for my size, I eat healthy... for a woman my size... the list can go on and on. I have a lot of good things going, but I blame my size for not being as good as I can be, or could have been.

I don't feel age slows me down at all, in any way.

I wear what I want, I listen to the music I want, I do what I want, I engage in whatever activity I want: there is nothing, really, in my life, which holds me back.

My mother is a funny cookie. She has recently had several back surgeries done, and has been in crucial pains for many year. For as long as I can remember, actually. This meant she has needed quite an extensive amount medication.

Now they have helped her cut back, so she is more alert than she has been for a long time.

I was talking to her on the phone, and she told me that "Just today, my eyes fell on the bracelet they put on your wrist, when you get registered as patient at hospitals. You know: the one with all your essential information on it. And I thought to myself I would read what it said. It was a major shock to read I am a 76-years old woman. When did I get that old?"

Funny that she should say that, cause that's exactly how I feel, when I read my birthday card saying I am now 45.

When good tales are told.

Life is full of those all too familiar ups and downs. Situations we experience, see or hear about that create the everyday stories we remember for a short time. They turn into tales we tell to get sympathy or to make someone laugh. Sometimes we tell them to cause a bit of drama, other times we tell them to support someone, which may lead to the terribly unfortunate episodes of slander travelling across minor, or major, parts of people and area.

Sometimes the stories make an impact, other times they are just food for swift entertainment.

I am not good at telling stories, never have been. I can't even tell a joke properly. 

Actually I write a lot better than I tell, which is a strange perplexity to both me and others when you think about the nature of my profession: being a teacher.
A teacher should be good at telling stories.
A teacher should be able to get the students interested in any topic, just by adding "fun facts" and stories related to the topic.
A teacher should trigger all the knowledge a student has, which can be linked to, and fill in gaps, which they achieved on different arenas in the past. School is not a separate department apart from the rest of your life.
School is part of your breeding and growth, a compliment to all the other experiences and knowledge that you  acquire through life.

I often get students who claim they don't know English. They can't speak it, they can't write it. Of course it's just nonsense: they chat while gaming online, they listen to music with English lyrics, sing along even, they watch a lot of movies and they speak English when travelling abroad. But they think this is something different than the English they are supposed to perform in school.

Often my job is to push the right buttons and trigger their understanding of English and Norwegian  as English and Norwegian, and not English versus school English and Norwegian versus school Norwegian.

I try, it's not that I accept my shortcoming and admit to failure, but I trust my students to carry the story on and add the remarks and catchy associations. It works. It works the minute you make them pay attention.

Yesterday we had Global Dignity Day here at our school. HRH crown prince Haakon Magnus visited, and it was a surprisingly pleasant experience.

That too culminated in stories. Not mine, but the students' stories about what they understood dignity to be all about.
They told about everyday situations in which they had contributed to somebody else's dignity. Or when somebody else contributed to theirs.

We heard about young talent, making the wrong choices, siblings with extraordinary challenges because of some diagnose, we heard about hospitality, kindness to strangers, arrival to a new home country... the stories were many and ever so warm and told with heart.

Listening to them I was rather proud how their everyday, little stories showed what material these youngsters are made of. The stories they carried with them, and told with such shyness, defined dignity in brilliant ways.
Makes me think their tales of everyday life will improve in the future, just like good wine.

One of those wonderful, honest and truthful speeches worth listening to more than ones.

Mary Maxwell, a 72-year-old friend of the couple who founded Home Instead Senior Care, was asked to give the Invocation at a convention a few years back.

Good enough is perfect

Every day I see, meet and talk with lovely, young people. Most of them are young men, still uncertain of their ways, not confident enough to straighten their back to the full length, but I see there is a lot of potential.

There is something beautiful about youth. The kind of beauty you don't acknowledge, or realize. There is this inherent doubt that it will never be good enough anyway, no matter what. Literature describes it as an amazing flower still a bud. Which is actually a very appropriate description: Regardless of their baggage and background they have not yet reached the full potential of all the facets they hold as a person.
Some say: "I have seen it all. There is nothing you can say or show me I haven't heard or seen before". Usually, they have not yet seen, felt, experienced or heard the finer things in life. They think about life as tough, and the world is a rough place to hang out.

I am grateful I will never be a teenager again. It is a lot of work to be young. Young people are so opiniated; eager to share their headstrong knowledge and logic. They oppose, argue, negotiate... especially negotiate. EVERYTHING is up for negotiation, they think. And most of us adults fall into the trap and actually participate and play along.
Young people stretch the borders. They seek borders to be guided, only to find us, the adults, just as bewildered.
They want to be protected, often, to my surprise, from themselves. They want us, the adults, to carry the responsebility and hold the right answers.

They are conserned and worry about the future, they try to figure out their values and react to unfairness, but most of all they worry about coming too short. Demands are too many and often too much since noone really prepared them for the expectations they would face later in life.

I know I spent a lot of my young years being insecure. When I had the chance to be wild and vast and free, I found myself wondering, almost at a halt, in a crossroad trying to figure out what direction I should choose. My insecurity so overwhelming it battled my courageous attempt to be a person with values I could be proud of.
I felt like an ugly duckling, knowing I would always stay an ugly outsider, and never be a swan.
I have pictures. Pictures from school: Early 80s and they all wear something dark blue and have a really straight haircut... I am wearing a red jacket, totally out of fashion. And I have shaggy hair pointing in all directions. And I am the only one smiling. Back then I felt it hard to stand out; to be the one always different. Today I look at the picture and see: in spite of everything, I had a beautiful smile.

Being young is brutal. You manage, fix, cope and master; friends fail and let you down. Love passes just as easilly as it occured. Parents and society are pushing and pulling in all directions, not allowing time to take a breath and think things over... you are just carried on, not really following the flow, just unable to fight it.

Being youth passes. As do being a young adult. Suddenly, almost like by magic, you look around and realize you are no longer insecure, you are given more space, it is no longer a punishment to take on responsebility for your own actions.
The bud will bloom and turn into a beautiful flower, not always a rose, not even a sunflower or a tulip, but ever so beautiful in its imperfection.
Maybe not a perfect adult, but perfect for someone.

The Beauty of (Old) Age... or whatever he said.

"Old age is no place for sissies."

It is a well known fact that I am not good, at all, at using public transportation. I very seldom take the bus. That only happens like.... ones in a blue moon. My car was otherwise engaged, and I was planning on having a glass of wine, so the other day I took the bus. Quite pleasant, actually, I have to say. All of us passengers sat there with each our own mobile, shuffling away on the screen.

As I was preoccupied giving the impression I was consentrating doing something important, the bus made a stop.
I only sensed it as she sat down next to me. The smell of synthetic strawberry hit me, and I could hear her chewing. Eagerly.

She sat there, next to me, on the bus and smelled like chewing gum, 15-16-years old, perhaps. A sorry attempt on adding years using heavy make up. I am sure bouncers have fallen for it before. Maybe a false ID has backed up her lie.

I smiled at her, but as I took in her appearance I hid my smile so she wouldn't see it change. Smiling to myself I thought about how her youth was given away by her roundish cheeks, nervous hands pulling at the sleeves, the nailpolish lumpy from the too slow and careful brushstrokes. Her entire being was oozing from puberty. No eyeliner in the world can change that. Nor can a miracle bra.

There is a spark in young people, an excitement at the threshold of adulthood, yet holding a contempt for maturity.
The want to do it myself, which has been inherent ever since able to pull oneself up and stand on their own is still strong. They have not yet realized, let alone experienced, we were always there to catch them and comfort when they fell.

I am turning 44 next month. My youth has passed, I have been an adult for the longest of times. And I am well on my way into maturity. I am mature enough to realize I have been overweight for almost half my life. It will not disappear just because I want it to. I just have to want to lose weight bad enough to do something about it.

The young girl next to me knows nothing about the everyday struggles the future holds in store for her. She can still charme her way through life, without being scarred.

You need to have a heart as cold as stone not to be charmed by youth. The problem is: charme is about all there is.
Charme is a breath of freshness, but over time it really isn't very entertaining. It takes a lot of work listening to, and watch. It drains me of my still fragile, earned virtues, which my beginning maturity has granted me.
I would much rather be trapped in an elevator with someone old with personality.

I am ageing. I am losing muscles, subcutaneous fat and firmness. My body is decaying, regardless how well I ignore the fact. I have become more polished and my edges are not as sharp as they used to be. I have now endurance, stamina rather than speed, I have the ability to focus. And so my expressions of emotions are not as outgoing as they perhaps, once upon a time, were.

But then, age has brought me something I cherish a lot more than all of my lost features put together: complexity. I have more strings to play, more facets to show and shine from. I recognize and embrace more feelings and emotions in both myself and others. I am more forgiving. I know how to take people for what they are without taking it personal. I can be generous, with myself, my time, my resources without expecting anything in return.
There is a depth I find in myself, which I didn't have before, but which now vibrate with intensity through my entire person.
This is what makes maturity and age so much more exciting than youth, but you need to reach the stage yourself before you can really appreciate it.

And since I believe that, it is ever so annoying that this young kiddo, Ashton Kutcher, said it this well:

Old woman with blue hair.

You shall not muck about with elderly people. They have lived a long life, they know the art of survival.

I was asked whether I would rather live a long life than die young and active. I don’t really see the clash of interests. My own grandmother was very young at heart her entire life. She married again when she retired at 67, after having been a widow for 11 years; living life, travelling and leading an active, single lifestyle.

Now, it’s not like as if all elderly people are full of buoyancy, energy and
courage to live, but they got experience and a quality in them which enable them to adjust society and everyday life. They have learned how to choose their battles.

We all have a standard to everything we do. Some live the principle “good enough”, others may think it’s “fair enough, it will turn out just fine, I am sure”, while some just doesn’t find calm and peace at heart until they find everything’s perfect. As tempo, strength and the body in general crumbles, the standard will adjust. Maybe cleaning the windows four times a year isn’t as important anymore, maybe dinner sometimes is a sandwich (which would be unthinkable before), but they try, they really try for as long as they think they can cope.

Now my oldest son has turned 19, and I have to admit I have started to think the years go by and I am kind of getting on a bit. Now and again my thoughts are turned to the future and what it will be like. So I went online and took a test on what I will be like as an old woman. 

The internet is packed with tests: What flower are you? What animal are you? What cartoon character are you?... So I searched and found a test on what kind of an old woman I will be. I only found tests on grandmothers, but there is a chance I will become one, so I found a test which introduced itself like this:

«There are many types of Grandma's. Grandma's are the backbone of the family. Who doesn't love a Granny? You can be called Grandmother, Grandma, Maw Maw, etc...What will it be?

ARE YOU an awesome Grandma?? What does Grandpa and the youngsters say about you? Do you LOVE crochet and all things needlework? Do you think being a grandma is the GREATEST Take this quiz and see what kind of Granny you may be."

So I took the test and answered to several unlikely questions, just ticked off the alternatives, and the result turned out to be:

What Kind of Grandma Are You?

Your Result: You are an "80's Granny"

76%

No big band music for you. It's all ROCK AND ROLL..80's music, hair gel, members only jackets and Big Hair Do's. You still wear shoulder pads EVERYDAY...Rock On Granny

The alternatives I missed out on were:

42%: You are a "Hip Granny"

28%: You are a "Sweet Granny"

28%: You are a "Young Granny"

28%: You are a "Dancin Granny"

16%: You are an "Old Fashioned Granny"

12%: You are a "Healthy Granny"

0%: You are a "Forgetful Granny"

Well, I am a true product of the 80s; I was a teenager during the entire fantastic decade, so the result can’t be said to be directly wrong, and yet there was this tiny dubious voice at the back of my head… so I found another one, just to confirm my result. Of course I trust these tests. After all I have turned out to be both carnation and Mini Morris. I just needed my future as a sporty, old woman confirmed. This test showed:

“Ever wondered what your elder years would look like? Let's find out if you're the one who never ages, or perhaps the crazy cat lady...”

…and the result turned out to be:

“Watch out! Mobile grandma is heading your way!! You won't let silly things like a bad hip at 85 stop you from hanging out at the mall with your grandchildren and your electric cart. Drive, sugar, drive like the wind!»

I think it is safe for me to look forward to becoming an elderly woman. The alternative isn’t much to aspire to, not for quite a number of years anyway. But to look forward to be a vigorous, fit granny… I like it! 

More than anything I would like to be one of these elderly women who in a loud voice speak their opinion, who demand attention and service, who elbow their way and give everybody a lesson on gentleman behavior by a quick glance… and blue hair! I never had that before, not even during my wild teens when I performed quite a few frisky experiments with various sundry variations of red. 

The  setting lotion they use when they roll up their hair on hair rollers (which by the way are very efficient and good, but which no person under the age of 45 for some reason would never be caught dead wearing) leaves a wonderful pastel blue teenager can only envy them. Why one has to be old before it is acceptable to use setting lotion is in all honesty a mystery to me.


No, I think I would rather live a long life and be an active, old woman… with blue hair.

Given the key book to life

Teaching English and Norwegian on a vocational training school, future building- and construction workers, means my students are for the most part young men of the age 16 and older.

I have to admit I face a lot of challenges. They don’t like things to be too detailed, neat and extensive. They want everything to be to the point; “enough said”. Most of them have never written an essay longer than one page, and they actually have problems finding the right words to express themselves. I suppose I just described more than 70% of teenage boys around the world.

I’m having a bit of problem knowing what to call them; should I call them boys, young men or just refer to them as teenagers? I feel that each “title” hold a lot of truth, and yet they limit them in unfair ways.

When I was a teenager, well… first of all I like to think I was a young woman. I had a good upbringing, different yes, but I never thought of my life as a bad life. Challenging, in so many ways, but never bad.The thing about being a teenager during the 80s is that we had our rebellions, we did stupid things, but I can’t remember we gave up. I can’t remember we turned careless.

It was hard to be a teenager back then: finding ourselves were a struggle, as we faced the challenges of being a young adult. But we had time and the future ahead. We went through time of unrest and upheaval, and we were excused because we were in fact teenagers.

Now I feel like society is hardened, in a way. Our young ones are expected to grow up before they have even completed childhood. I find this is the case in most aspects of their lives.
We are talking about microfashion now. To me that is insane. Children should have clothes to play and run and explore the world in. Not wear brand mark clothes they have to behave well in. I choke in my coffee every time designers talk about outfits to 8-year old girls “sexy”.

Some idiot introduced the term children’s sexuality… what? Yes, I am aware I challenge psychology now, and I use strong and perhaps unfair words, but with a little imagination I am sure he/she/they could have come up with an expression which didn’t engage children in an introduction to adult expectations which to some extent approve of children having an active sexlife. In my mind that is just so totally wrong: Children are curious about their own body, they should not have to be made sexual objects because of that. They are learning to know themselves!

Children look in the mirror and consider their body on adult beauty standards. They go on diets and use make up in a much younger age than before.

Then the teens hit in, and they find it hard when they are not considered adults, because they have learned the ways of adulthood, and yet they never learned about the consequences. Suddenly there are things to take into consideration which arouses feelings they never expected, they never prepared for dealing with them. It is so easy to turn to anger. A feeling they can relate to, and they often punish others by punishing themselves, and the other way around.

In many ways, and in many fields which are part of being a complete person, I feel like a lot of people bring discrimination on themselves, and they do so by getting in people's faces too often and too strong. They like to say: “Accept me or else!” They act according to the saying attack is the best form of defence. They go around demanding respect as a member of a group, instead of earning respect as an individual. And that sort of behavior invites discrimination. And the feeling of being discriminated makes them angry, more aggressive, more likely to destroy relations to people around them.Within short the risk of solving the problems by using medications and nonprescription drugs, even alcohol, is sky high.

In my life confidence in myself (even though I am aware of my many flaws) and trust in others are crucial. When everything else falls apart I have that, and I get back on my feet and move on.

How do you gain confidence in yourself and trust in others, when you have never really been allowed to explore and test the limits? How do you recognize your platform in life to rely on? In my opinion being given the answers, rather than finding the answers by putting some effort into it creates insecurity rather than good skills. I understand society may not agree, but that’s how I feel like a teacher and an adult.

Telling the captivating tale.

The other day I spent some time sorting my digital photos on my laptop. I use an old, worn out Canon mirror reflex camera which I simply love. Only thing about it is I wish I had more lenses, but that is a minor drawback. It perpetuates the moments and the impacts I try to capture for the future.

I sorted the photos into folders, added comments and even added the photos taken with my mobile phone to the right folders. I had a good time sitting there, letting memories flood my mind. To capture the moment means that in the future you can be brought back to the past, remembering what life used to be like. (Could that be why so many these days find partners a LOT younger? Because they can’t hack reality and needs to hide in the past?)

I take different photos now than I did a few years back. I tend to capture people when they are not aware. I don’t take photos of people who pose or make funny faces. I like to think I capture more of their true self. I find my photos more beautiful now as well. I am not a great photographer, not by far, but I don’t behead every person I “shoot”.

As I was sorting the photos I came across a photo of a young, beautiful couple. They were newly married at the time, young and up to date. Looking at them brought back a lot of memories, not only of the two who posed holding arms around each other, but the situation as a whole. I was abroad at the time, very alone in a foreign country.

Since my recollection fails me at times, I was not certain if I had sent them the picture, so I looked up the man on facebook and sent him the photo in a message. He replied: “thank u for the pic , it's raise up a lot of memory .we sure look nice back then .”

It would have been great to have him in front of me then, as the reply made me wonder.

My personal opinion is that young people often are like blank canvases. Yes, youth is beautiful, not only because of the features, the boldness in showing your personality by the fashion you follow, the colours and the light mood which often beams from them. It is even more about the potential they hold in the mere notion of standing on the threshold of adult life. When you are young, yet old enough to make choices and form your own future. Nothing is too late; you got the world at your feet.

And yet, even though I think that, I can’t help but wondering why we don’t appreciate the looks of older people more. Especially here in the western world we go to quite some length to hide the trails of our lives, marked on our body and face.

When I was 18 I found 18-year old young men very attractive. Today, when I look at them, I can tell their potential, but they are not defined and show character. They don’t have the features yet, which I appreciate in a man’s look today. As for women I think it to be even more true.

It is like… the six powerful words by Ernest Hemingway.

Six powerful words
"Baby Shoes" by Ernest Hemingway

 

According to legend, Ernest Hemingway created the shortest short story ever told. While having lunch at New York City's famous Algonquin Round Table, Hemingway bragged that he could write a captivating tale -- complete with beginning, middle, and end -- in only six words.

His fellow writers refused to believe it, each betting $10 that he couldn't do it. Hemingway quickly scribbled six words down on a napkin and passed it around. As each writer read the napkin, they conceded he'd won. Those six words? "For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn."

While the anecdote may be apocryphal, whoever did write "Baby Shoes" has forced writers forever after to consider the economy of words. Today, the work has inspired countless six-word memoir and story competitions, proving that a story's brevity is no limit to its power.

(http://edition.cnn.com/2011/LIVING/01/16/mf.literature.hard.to.write/)

The older I become, the longer and more captivating the story “Baby shoes” gets. Same thing goes for people: The older they get the longer and more captivating their story is. And I find that absolutely beautiful.