Bodily misfortune

More and more often I wonder about human nature. There is something profoundly wrong with us, when we let strangers decide how we feel about ourselves. And how we feel about ourselves, is accepted to be based on a set way of thinking what we should look like, according to a few wise guys with so-called authority and knowhow on the matter. This is not about bad haircuts or torn jeans, chains and nails or too much (or little) make up. We are measured and judged by our BMI, not by our actual looks. I don’t even mention personality here, cause that is, as far as I have understood, not relevant.

I have mentioned my own size here before, but just to remind you, or give you a quick update: I am a rather heavy girl, and I do not mean in the sense of what I am like being around; I am talking kilos.

To change that, I know I have to do something serious about my lifestyle: My dog should get a few extra kilometers’ walk every day, I should eat often and very small portions, I should be more active and perhaps even ride my bicycle to work… Cut to the core weight issues is all about too much in versus too little burned. And if you enjoy too much, well everything we do has consequences. Eating and drinking too.

Now, obesity is a huge burden for those who suffer from it, not to mention how their families are affected. Often frustration, feelings of powerlessness and depression eventually affect the daily lives of people with what is often referred to as "morbid obesity".

Those are the politically correct explanations to what it is like to be fat. The truth is that what really affects a person is not the risk of getting sick. The risk of future serious health problems is not something people really think about. If they do think about it, it is something which could possibly happen others, but not yourself. (Ask any smoker, and they will say that yes, they knew about the risk of getting cancer and other illnesses.  Yes, they chose to start anyway because it will not happen to them.)

The hassle of tying shoelaces, getting in and out of bus seats and cinemas with a trifle bit of dignity left when getting out of there, the constant worry of BO (think for yourself how much effort it takes to move 200 kilos contra 100) or missing a thorough embrace. Not to mention what it feels like to shop for groceries when every other customer in the store pay attention to what you buy and how much.

Fat people are never in commercials or films unless they are there to illustrate a diet of some sort, or they are portrayed as funny, clumsy, often unwashed hair or too much make up, with no true friends and no sexlife.

You know what I find offending about it? There is not one single voice out there who say: “How rude!”  In addition to everything else they have to struggle with, they are suitable for picking on; people are entitled to blame them for their own, bodily misfortune.

Why don’t we ring the doorbell and ask them to join us when we walk our dog? We should give them support and an alternative rather than use them for an excuse to rightfully bully someone.

Maybe it is so that normal size people need fat people to feel good about themselves?

A sigh over shoes

When planning my house I failed to consider the consequences of having active children.

Oh, I thought that I was smart and thought of every eventuality, and for the most part I am happy about how it turned out. Still, there is one thing which I am really annoyed at: I failed thinking through the quantities and how to store shoes.

Playing soccer my kids need boots for artificial ground, astro turf, firm ground and soft ground… and living in Norway indoor shoes as well. Soccer alone adds up to three pairs of football boots, times three: nine pairs of boots.

For everyday use they need sneakers, jogging shoes, rubber boots, hiking boots, winter boots, sandals and proper shoes for those dressed up occasions. And then some shoes they just had to have because they look cool or they are really comfortable. Not all of them used every day, but often enough nevertheless. Often enough to require having them. I have not done the math, to be honest I am a bit afraid to, but it is a great many shoes. I know that much.

They grow out of or wear out the footwear and need new ones, and the old ones tend to stay around causing both confusion and disorder.

You see; just like school bags, gym bags and jackets, shoes have this tendency to end up on the floor, just inside of the entrance door. We trample over it all, as we enter or exit the house, and strikingly few of us get the brilliant idea to hang, or place, them on one of the many convenient hooks, shelves or wardrobe closets in the hall. Even fewer of us actually do it, so the hall is constantly the total chaos! A jumble we cautiously tip-toe across in order not to strain an ankle.

The rumour has it that women, in general, have many shoes. I don’t think so. I think most women are like me, and I don’t have many pairs at all.

I only have my slip ons, my high-heeled ankle boots, my low-heeled ankle boots, my flat-heeled ankle boots, my jogging shoes (in case I was to give the impression I am a sporty type of a girl) my sneakers, my court shoes, my high-heeled sandals, my low-heeled sandals, my flat-heeled sandals, my slippers, my hiking boots, my rubber boots, my ski boots and my gardening boots. In addition I have my gorgeous, red, really high-heeled statement shoes… and a couple more court shoes, just because they need to fit the outfit. In other words: just the most essential pairs of shoes. I don’t have much space in my wardrobe (it is a very small wardrobe), so I keep those I can’t find room for there in different wardrobes around the house. (No, I do not hide them, just place them.)

I am not the only mum with three kids around: How do families in normal homes storage their shoes?

I really should... but I don't, or do I?

I have given up on magazines. They cost a fortune and even though they all claim to be different; they are not. They are all the same (and I disregard the x-rated, as I have no experience in them and their contents, just thought it was necessary to mention that).

At the end of the day they all make women feel they are not good enough, don’t try hard enough and do not show enough initiative.

Through October, November and December they tell us how to dress (including what perfect hold-ins and stay-ups to buy), put on the right make up, get the right hairdo, cook, bake, set the table, drink, decorate, make personal greeting cards for the holiday, make time for the kids during planning the holiday and find the perfect present.

Thank heavens for family traditions! I have decided to stick with the old fashion way my mum tried to keep up.

Now that the celebrations are over with, the magazines are overflown with the answer to how to diet and get the perfect body (back) after the excessive eating and partying. The methods are different from year to year, depending on what is in fashion.

This year it is low carb diet and aerobic and pilates which are mentioned a lot, for an effective weightloss. I am not quite there yet, but I see they have a point when it comes to the weightloss itself. It is rather disturbing not to be able to tie your own shoes without heavy breathing. (Just to make clear the thought is not new to me I admit I have bought every dvd I have come across on Zumba. That looks like a blast! Just haven’t gotten around to try it out too much yet, but I will. And I expect to look great in no time… just a glimpse into, hopefully, near future there.)

Scary I know all this, since I never buy the magazines, but the frontpages are screaming at me with loud colours and BIG print.

The good news is that I do not have to pay for the bad conscience, I get it for free.

So, regarding my insight on what modern requirements women face, and knowing I should care more about them, it hits me:

I am a woman, and even though I claim I do not care what the magazines say, I have to admit they plant a somewhat distracting insight in my failure of being the best version of me, and I kind of owe it to both myself and my fellow human beings to be at my best in most respects.

On the other hand: in what way do men face the demands of society? I am just being curious here, cause I hear very little about that, and looking around I know there are many gorgeous men out there. A lot more gorgeous men than women, in fact.

This year's weather.

I am so terribly fed up with the weather we have had this year. I can’t really say it is unpredictable (7°C and rain on May 17, 7°C and rain on Midsummer night and 7°C and rain on Christmas Eve) but honestly: I am not a fish, yet I feel gills and frogman’s feet growing on me.

Every morning I open the door to my house looking fairly ok, even my hair is done! By the time I reach my car I just look like a sad excuse for a respectable woman. (Believe me: I have no high standards for appearance but even I admit that looking like someone who just crawled out of a pool fully dressed is not recommended as a look suitable for work. Especially as I am supposed to be a rolemodel. (Yeah, I know; go figure!).

Rain itself is no problem, we have umbrellas for rainy weather, but not only do we have cold weather and rain: the wind never stops, and it ruffles up the bits not too soaked in water to cling to my body.

Now, I have to admit I love weather! I am the kind of person who embrace the elements, I see the beauty in the forces of nature and can contemplate the forest or the sea with great gratification. I can dance barefoot in the garden in the rain, or stand on a cliff by the ocean, unfold my arms and face the horizon just to become one with the forces raging.

Still, there are limits. Even I reach a point of satisfaction.

They say storms usually get female names because they are wild, wet, beautiful… and when they leave they take almost everything with them. There is a core of truth there, but now and again it would be lovely to walk my dog and come back home without leaving puddles on the floor and knowing the odour of wet dog disperses through the entire house… (getting so familiar with the stench now I can hardly actually smell it).

I should be grateful for the plentitude of water both because of our clean hydroelectric power and because we never have to worry about thirst, but I really need to dry up now… just for a little while. Just to remember what it feels like to look trimmed.

Dresscode.....

Back in the days we had dresscodes. People were expected to wear a certain standard of clothes when attending different events or situations.

Work, church on Sunday, theatre, funerals... we knew how to dress before entering any of these situational localities. And jeans or very short skirt (ending above kneehight) were not proper for any of them.

I was thinking about it the other day, as we went to Church for Christmas ceremony. I looked around noticing all kinds of attire were represented and nobody gave any outfit or anybody a second glance.

I am not sure what I reacted to the most: the fact that we do not seem to notice eachother (neither in a good nor a bad way) or that we seem to have stopped caring how we are percepted.

Then, just to make a point, I gave my own look a good thinking through.

I never brush my hair, I very seldom wear any make up, my style is at best described as chic punk.... and almost always black, but I enjoy wearing grey as well. I wear chains and buckles, high heels and chiffon...

In all fairness I have to admit my own sense of dresscode is a bit off... and I don't even wear newest fashion, I dress according to my mood... suppose that is not what can be considered proper dresscode, or is it?

Maybe to dress according to your own feeling is the most honest thing to do, if clothes should be about personality and not about what somebody told us to wear because everybody else does.