THAT'S ALL FOLKS!

Time for AU to go into permanent hibernation.

Was poised to relate the latest holiday 'airport boarding-pass machine fiasco' - but suddenly realised that this latest technological battle story, is hardly any different to those of previous years - and in all probability (unless scientists can re-grow a new brain for me, from a bit of the old one) the world of technology, in all its wonderfulness, will continue to boggle old Geri forever and ever, ad infinitum....

And anyway, have been thinking deeply and seriously about this computer of mine. Don't really even want it anymore.

The 'search' bar is useful of course, for looking up new stuff - but I can't seem to get animated about anything at all lately. On the other hand, it is also useful for in-depth perusal of News items; but am finding the News more and more depressing and the World more and more unhappy and desperate - and I wish I had a magic wand... but, I haven't.

Going from 'online banking transactions', back to the paper/envelope 'rompslomp', will of course be odd at first; but the radical thought of throwing off as many technological chains as possible and roaming free, both literally and figuratively... is making the old Geri heart feel lighter than it has felt in years!

Visions of walking free through dense woods, filled with beautiful birds and large-eyed night animals; or pottering around cave ridden hills, discovering million year old relics; and dabbling tired feet in babbling streams and quiet woodland ponds; and living quietly with maybe a chicken or two in a little hut or one roomed cottage, tucked away somewhere off the beaten track....(sigh..).
Or maybe I'll just stay here in my little, noisy, smelly (petrol fumes in the kitchen seeping in from adjoining storage rooms of flat dwellers above me) town flat - and sort my head out (!)

So good-bye folks.
And many thanks to all those readers who have followed and hopefully enjoyed AU- and particularly to those who have regularly left comments. Your consistent good natured support has been greatly appreciated!!

Take care, one and all.
Geri Atric.
(AKA - Jean xxx).

HELP! OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE....

If there is a name meaning the complete opposite of 'hoarder', then on reflection, I might have to lay claim to it.....

That does not mean the Geri dwelling is cleaned from top to bottom every day - on the contrary - but it does mean that I can not save 'stuff'!!!

In fact, clutter in any shape or form, makes me seriously anxious. And anxiety is bad. Starting with a nasty niggling feeling; slowly increasing to a heavy oppression; and quickly followed by the inevitable 'can't take anymore' (!) explosion of frantic clearing out of cupboards, drawers and neatly filed away boxes - boxes that have already been sorted umpteen times throughout the years, but 'need' sorting again. 'Stuff' that past muster a couple of months ago, is rifled through yet again - and thinned out even further..

All old school books and reports (way back to infant times and handed down to me by my mother when I left home) have slowly staged their way to the dustbin. Old dolls; bald teddy.... binned. Come to think of it, I never had any reading or picture books whilst living at the parent's house. The only books I - and as far as I know my brothers too - ever saw in the house, before we bought our own, were borrowed from the school library... Our father was in the Royal Air Force and we moved house within England and overseas, at least once a year. Books were too heavy to pack and transport. Ornaments and pictures too. We never had either of these adorning our 'living quarters' whilst I was growing up.... Hmm, perhaps therein lays a clue......(?)

Anyway, back to the clearing-out phobia. Bank papers older than 3 months; college books; other documents (divorce papers) and old business licence (memory of independent, working days)... all gone. Well why keep them? It's all PAST life.... And it is truly, genuinely perplexing to me, that people 'hang on and hang on' to old memorabilia - stuffed away in old suitcases in attics and cellars etc. and doomed never to see the light of day again until they pass away and other folk have to clear it out....

Photographs: Ah yes. Well those at least, I saved - by giving them all to my children as soon as possible after they were settled into homes of their own. I also gave them their own school reports and drawings and little school made clay pots and animals etc... but unfortunately threw away a lot of their old toys. Things they would like to have now, I am sure.

And I genuinely regret 'clearing' those out, since I feel now that they were not mine to clear.

Don't know when it all started. Don't know why. But the feeling experienced once the clearing out is done (again) is like a huge distressing weight lifted from my mind. Physically too, I literally feel 'light headed' and full. As though I have just eaten a good meal.

But there it is..... And it is amazing to me that I still have any 'stuff' left to throw away. Well, there is always the stray advert or magazine coming through the door. Despite having a NO junk mail/NO local newspaper sticker, above the letterbox!

Okay. I know this is all a bit OTT. Off Key. One sandwich short of a picnic. Ten pence to the shilling, etc..

But at least I will never keep a whole 'clachan (hamlet) in a valley', on a shelf in my garden house, like my eldest daughter does!!!!!! Heh-heh!

COLOUR ME CRAZY!

I have an unusual craving to see colours today. In fact, I need to see them so much, my head and eyes are aching with the longing of it.

Violet; indigo; shimmering blue; emerald green; bright lemon yellow; passionate orange; firey red! I want them all!

The sky outside the window is a misty, whitey-grey; and every parked car within my line of vision is either dark grey, dark blue or dark green.

People cycling and walking past are hardly noticeable in their beige summer rain coats.

No colours anywhere.

A misty rain is falling - but there are no sunbeams to paint a prism through the clouds.

Hmm.... I see grandson no. 1. has left his coloured chalks behind.... Maybe a spot of self made 'street art' will brighten things up around here?!

Saw two students draw an exact replica of the Mona Lisa on the paving stones in the town center last year. Won't attempt that - but a few rainbow patterned flagstones just outside the front door should brighten things up today!
And unavoidably p**s the neighbours off - although that wouldn't be my intention.
(They are always washing the pavement over here. It's a Dutch compulsion. Stoop washing. Drives me nuts).

Here's to colours! Long may they brighten the eye and lift the spirits!

EYJAFJOLLAJUKULL...!

I suppose this isn't so much a new Post, as a bit of 'worry warting'.....

1). Youngest daughter flying off (volcanic ash permitting) to warmer climes at the end of next week, for a well earned 7 day break of culture, rest and relaxation - without the kids... First time ever - and mixed feelings... (Hers, not mine. She deserves this).

2). Grandkids motoring off to a holiday park in France with their dad and other grandparents for that same week...

3). Fast forward: Dad and kids return; Mum/daughter is about to fly home - and then that second and much larger 'beast of Eyjafjollajukullamaflip' (next to the one that's spewing up now) blows its gasket (!) and strands daughter in the Middle-East for the unforeseeable future!!

4). Dad goes back to work and other grandparents back home to the other end of Holland - and Grandma Geri packs a bag and nips up 'post haste' to daughter's house, to care for the grandkids.....

5). Not that I mind that, at all. Already help out now two days and one night a week. A few more days will be all the more fun - as long as daughter is safe and the tour company look after her - and bus(?) train(?) or sail(?) her home again, without it costing the earth... and the kids don't put the telly on during the day - 'cus I always fall asleep in front of it!! (And if those two little 'monsters' suss that one out.... oh boy)!

O.M.G.! What am I saying? This isn't like me at all! The old Geri can always seem to find the 'sense of ridiculous' in most of life's situations - so what's with all this panicky stuff....?

Aeroplanes; volcanic ash; looking after two very young kids properly - for lord knows how long? Cleaning, cooking, (their dad can do the shopping) bringing and fetching to school and nursery; not forgetting to fetch their pet cats back from the cat kennels; remembering to take my pills...

You know what... I think it's time for a big mug of morning coffee and a walk in the park - and a fresh psychological reboot to this weirdly foggy day!

FLITTING THOUGHTS

Gazing out of the window, at a sneaky new fall of night-time snow, I am reminded of buttercups and daisies. Which doesn't make much sense, I know - except of course that on parting the curtains, I was expecting to see the clear streets of yesterday, with their promise of Spring.

Fickle weather. But never mind, I can still dream of buttercups and daisies - which reminds me of a hymn we used to sing in our amazingly high young voices, at Sunday School:

"Daisies are our si-il-ver, buttercups our gooold..."

Free riches.

Which puts me in mind of Church for some reason. Probably because that is where the grown-ups would disappear to after dumping us at SS - and most of them (the grown-ups) were not rich at all. Which reminds me of that saying: 'As poor as a church mouse'....

Why is a church mouse considered to be poor? Seems to me it has quite an affluent existence, in a mostly quiet (except on Sundays) dry place, with access to an abundance of alter flowers, wafer crumbs and drops of spilled wine. Seems to me, a church mouse would be partying day and night!

Still, mice are not a popular animal. Which by a huge leap of the imagination reminds me of a 'school boy howler':

Teacher: I want you to write an essay on the House of Lords.

School boy (writing industriously): In the H of L's the men are called Peers, because they peer about a lot. And they wear cornets on their heads and their robes are trimmed with vermin...

Which reminds me of a Dutch song:

I saw a mouse (warble).
Where?
There! There on the stair - right there... A little mouse with clogs on..
Well I declare!
Going clip-clippity clop, on the staair! Oh yeah..!"

Which puts me in mind of another Dutch song about 'Tulips in Amsterdam'. Which makes me think of Spring.........and buttercups and daisies...

........and that infernal snow!

Which makes me think of 'whiskers on kittens and bright woolen mittens....tra-la'!!

'And they're coming to take me away, ha-ha-hee-hee, to the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time and I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their nice white coats and they're coming to take me awaaay heyhey!'

Did I mention that it was Sunday?

FLU-UCTUATION...

Happily - it is not Swine Flu.
(Although I wasn't tested...)

Unhappily - it is the start of another bout of double pneumonia.
(A secondary bacterial infection. Though secondary to what, I do not know).

But there again, happily - the antibiotics are kicking in and things are slowly improving.
(3 cheers...).

Unhappily though - am not allowed out in the sun whilst taking the antibiotics.
(Groan..)

Very happily though - it is an overcast day.

Ha-ha! Last laugh for me! .. (cough, cough...)

STRICTLY FOR THE BIRDS?

Birds of a feather are all of a dither! A recent television program revealed a male osprey flying back to the nest with his prey and proceeding to tear strips of it and feed them to his young. So what’s wrong with that? Well, that’s what I thought but the commentator almost fell out of his tree! This is obviously big news. Evolution gone haywire.

Apparently male ospreys just don’t do that sort of thing. His job is strictly to bring back the prey, dump it, screech at the wife how wonderful he is - and then fly off and hunt for more.
In her turn, Mrs. O. will screech back at him that he’s nothing special, fluff herself up a bit and proceed to stuff bits of fish down her children’s monstrous throats. And now here she is, this poor creature, all ruffled and perplexed and out of a job! Cast aside like last year’s feather duster.

I strongly suspect the hand of human technology - as in the human birth control pill - in this evolutionary quandary. In my opinion ‘the pill’ has finally polluted the ground water to the extent that the evolutionary perfected Mr. Osprey, has been tipped over the edge into his feminine side!

This is just the beginning. Mark my words. I would not be at all surprised if one day all male birds are behaving like Mr. O. - and from there, it is just a short evolutionary step to male birds with moobs*.

In fact that future scenario might not even be ‘strictly for the birds’. As ground water everywhere becomes even more contaminated with estrogen, it might be that eventually all species will become androgynous …? Caw! (I mean Cor!) The mind boggles....

Think I’ll leave further discussion on that topic to the experts.
I’m off to feed the ducks.... and drakes.

* male boobs.

HORMONE REPLACEMENT THERAPY: FRIEND OR FOE?

Despite my own seemingly age-related shortcomings, I do realize that ageing is a personal experience and that not every old person is dithering, fumbling and doddering their way through life. So why am I?
Come to think of it, by modern standards, 60-ish isn’t all that old, but whereas just three and a half years ago I was completing yet another Open University course (for fun), with my sights set on a degree (to show off with) and being regularly complemented on ‘not looking my age’ (preen) I am now a forgetful, white haired, wrinkly worry wart!
After serious thought, aided by numerous cups of coffee to dilate blood vessels in the brain and aid sluggish memory - I have worked out the exact day the ‘rot’ set in. It was 31st December 2004. That was the day, when after twelve years of daily use, I stopped taking Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT).
HRT had originally been prescribed for me at the age of 45, to soften the onset of debilitating ‘mood swings’: i.e., unreasonably angry one minute/manically happy the next; as well as to combat sleeplessness; and the pain of other more physical perimenopausal symptoms. I have to say that whilst HRT may not be the answer for everyone, I thought it was brilliant! Not only did I feel ‘normal’ again within a couple of months - but my skin was benefiting too, appearing hardly to be ageing. As for my hair - the few white strands that did gradually appear, were mostly confined to the temple areas and easy to cover up with a touch of hair dye.
After two years of taking HRT, I returned to the doctor and asked her if I should stop - but since I obviously felt and looked so well, she offered me a repeat prescription and I accepted it gladly!
I don’t really know why I eventually stopped taking HRT. However, health warnings in the media of a possible link between breast cancer and prolonged use of this remedy, certainly had a lot to do with my decision.
It took less than 72 hours and just two ‘missed’ pills, for Mother Nature to realize she had me back in her grasp and to punish me soundly with my first ‘hot flush’. O.M.G.! I was convinced I would spontaneously combust! Ten minutes after that one there was another and then another, day and night; on and on… The time between attacks did gradually diminish but even now I still experience at least two a week. Mostly at night.
Then there was the dizziness; difficulty concentrating and increasing forgetfulness! Not all within those first 72 hours of course but certainly after a year it had become so bad, I cancelled my fifth OU course two thirds of the way through and started ‘pottering’. I pottered around the house, painting and repainting the walls; pottered in the garden hunting slugs; pottered around town alone staring into shop windows and not daring to go in, because I knew a shop assistant would approach me and I’d turn red and stutter and look like a hot, sweaty fool. The physical decline was merciless. Instant bloat! From pear to apple shape in a couple of months and my trunk and chest decorated with something called cherry (senile) angioma..! Wrinkles; rapidly whitening hair and horror of horrors: hair growing out of my nostrils…..aagghh!!! All the more astounding, because I thought that particular affliction was reserved for (old) men? Needless to say, I soon yanked them out with my eyebrow tweezers. Although eye wateringly painful at first, perseverance does pay off because when I do it now I hardly feel a thing and the result lasts quite a long time.
Thankfully the ‘mood swings’ have not returned! In fact, I feel that I am more tolerant and compassionate than I ever was before. Perhaps that is one of nature’s survival techniques: the older and weaker you get the less chance you have of grabbing a share of the mammoth meat, so the more appealing to the clan you have to become, to get them to toss you a bit…! Or something like that. Just a thought. Going to potter off now and try out a new soup I’ve invented, which is guaranteed full of healthy Omega 3 and Omega 6 - and will hopefully revitalize my shrinking hippocampus and reduce my expanding midline! I’ll let you know if it works and pass on the recipe… but if I don’t, it will mean it hasn’t worked and I’ve forgotten what I just said…. Toodle-oo!