Stealing Beauty

A couple of days ago, as I hit the 30-minute mark on my daily run, and the magic endorphins kicked in, I had a sudden rush of affection for my legs. Which got me thinking ...

When I was younger, I hated my legs. Too skinny, too chubby (take your pick), too pale and freckly, too much cellulite, too much thigh muscle. Now that I am older, and it's no longer desirable/necessary/relevant to me to wear short skirts or prance around in a bikini, I can love them for the fact that they can go for a long time without getting tired, they have climbed mountains, they hold me up in difficult yoga poses and they have hiked the Inca Trail. Function over form, I guess.

Instead, I tend to focus my Limb Loathing on my arms, which seems to be common in women over 40. We don't have to hate our legs so much, so we transfer our body issues to the other bits that are on show.

I resolved, there and then, to stop thinking about my body as disparate, unloved 'bits' and try harder to give the whole damn thing the respect it deserves. I realise this will be difficult, but I will do my best.

When we're young, we don't know to appreciate our youth (or can it only be appreciated in hindsight?). In the same way, we don't seem to be able to appreciate our bodies until, for whatever reasons, the end is in sight.

I called this post Stealing Beauty because I feel that we - our objectified, commodified modern selves - overlook our own beauty every single day. Of course I don't mean beauty in the sense of aesthetic perfection - I am never going to look like this - but in the sense of being complex, active, creative and productive.

Not new or original thoughts, I know, but you have to have them for yourself for them to mean anything. I could say all of this to someone younger - my daughter, for instance - but she won't understand what I mean until she sees it for herself. I hope that will be sooner rather than later.

Tomorrow I will stop being earnest and worthy and return to frivolity.

The Getting of Wisdom

I'll get to the wisdom bit later.

First, here is a great photo taken by the partner of one of my best friends. It shows why I love where I live, although I do harbour (excuse pun) fantasies of going to live on 10 acres in the country one day. The two white arrows in the top left show the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the iconic Opera House. Moving down to the lower right, the red blob shows our current and future homes, and the red X shows Phoebe's school, where I sometimes teach. If we ever get the house done, one day we'll have a little boat moored in the bay at the bottom ...

Now, back to the wisdom bit. On the weekend, I went to a 30th birthday party. The friend in question organised a wonderful celebration for herself - first we had champers and finger food at her place, then we went to the theatre, after which we had a Lebanese feast at Abdul's, somewhat of a Sydney institution.

The performance was Thom Pain (based on nothing). Here's the wiki entry, which doesn't really tell you much.

Two guests giggled throughout the show (I was mortified). Several others showed their erudition afterwards by bandying about words like 'postmodernist' and 'theatre of confrontation'. I was in one of those moods. I studied Drama and Postmodernism at university, but bit my tongue. As I get older, I hope I get slightly wiser, and learn to talk a little less and listen a little more. I suppose I really mean I wanted to tell them all to be quiet, but made do with being quiet myself ...

Almost Famous

The marvellous Materfamilias has tagged me for this meme - "list 7 of your personality traits, as evidenced on your blog, and then pass the award on to 7 other blogs with notable personality". I'll give it a go ...

1. Frivolous
2. Resilient (not copying Mater, but possibly in a similar frame of mind)
3. Occasionally thoughtful
4. Selectively sociable
5. Excessively fond of food and cooking
6. Easily amused by children (mine and others')
7. A voracious reader (when I have time)

As for passing this on, I read very few blogs regularly (I am a purger rather than a hoarder although you might not gather this from my blog) and most of the ones I read daily have already been covered, so I will simply mention them: Materfamilias is a warm, open and inspiring person whose blog I love; Sallymandy has an infectious joie de vivre, even when things are tough; Une femme writes so engagingly about clothes that I had to buy shoes she mentioned!; Imogen shows great generosity in her sharing of style tips with readers; Duchesse has an incisive, occasionally acid (which I love) take on all things 'style' and a great eye for jewellery; my mother, who hasn't blogged forever, but knows all there is to know about food, and a great deal else as well - here's hoping she revives her blogging mojo.

That's only six. Does this mean I have a short attention span? Or perhaps I lack loyalty? Or maybe I can put a positive spin on it and call myself discerning ...

Little Buddha

Australia is ostensibly a secular nation. Despite this, every week in public schools time is allocated for 'scripture' class. Because it is 2009, not 1950 (notwithstanding best efforts of our last PM), we now have options: Anglican, Catholic, Baha'i and Buddhist are on offer at Phoebe's school. (Holden's school has Laus Deo as its motto but no religious instruction of any type.)

To date, Phoebe has always chosen 'non-scripture', where they sit around and colour in or do something similarly edifying (an extraordinary waste of school time, but I won't go off on that tangent).

The other day she said to me 'Mum, can I do scripture?'. I remember being attracted by the idea of God when I was a little older than she is now, so I said 'Sure, which one?'.

'Buddhist', she said. 'I want to learn to meditate and stuff.' I grinned to myself, signed the note and that was that.

A few days later, I was ranting about something in the car while she was sitting next to me. 'You know, Mum', she said, 'In Buddhist scripture I learnt about something called Patient Acceptance'.

Hmmm. I must meditate on that.

The Boys

My boys put me to shame, they are so damn FIT. Holden, like his dad, has lots of natural running talent. Unlike his dad, however, he is too lazy to train. He still managed to do the Bay Run - a 7K fun-run that goes around our Bay - in a respectable 31 minutes this year, coming 8th in the under 15s. Next weekend they have the more gruelling City to Surf ... Andrew's not-very-secret ambition is to win the Father-Son category.

Me? Well, thanks to being shamed by THEM, I'm bravely keeping up my 30 minutes a day jogging on my slow and ancient treadmill (note: it's the treadmill that's slow and ancient, not ME). I'm not going to break any land speed records, but I guess it's better than nothing.

Phoebe, sadly, takes after her mother, and thinks a game of Solitaire is as much of a workout as she needs.

Friends with Money

A few weeks back, we went to a weekend party with about 60 other people. This was an excellent opportunity to check out clothes/outfits/style. Sometimes, when I'm ruing the emptiness of my wardrobe, I wish I had lots of money to spend (conveniently forgetting how much I hate shopping). While at the party, I spent time with two women who can spend just about anything they want (on anything they like). It was interesting.

Number 1 is a tall, skinny (not slim, skinny), leggy, patrician blonde, born to money. She is always immaculate, with tasteful makeup (always pink gloss, never lipstick), tasteful Botox (oxymoron?) and perfect hair. Her style is too preppy (even a little boring) for me - but it suits her and she wears it well. I didn't like the Prada handbag - too ostentatious for mine (not that I could afford one even if I sold my children).

Number 2 is a smart, attractive dark-haired woman who is very successful in her own right (in fact, she is a minor celebrity here) and also married to a very wealthy man. She has just as much (probably more) to spend as Number 1. But she doesn't seem to care as much. She tends to look rather 'thrown' together, occasionally even slightly sloppy, and she freely fesses up to this. Sometimes she is dressed by a stylist - when this happens, she is a knockout.

Conclusion? I'm not sure - I'm still thinking about it ...

Circle of Friends

Recently I was ruminating about how hard it can be to reach out to friends when we need to, and why this is. I've realised that there is another reason that we (or I) might be reluctant to do so - sometimes they just AREN'T there for you.

Many years ago, when my father died (suddenly, and young), my best friend avoided me for three months. She told me later that she 'didn't know what to say'. I told her that she could have called me and said that to me.

This time around, I told one friend - not a close friend, and someone well-known for 'flitting' between friends - that there was a crisis. I wasn't 'reaching out', I was letting her know why I couldn't be somewhere. Her response was to send me a text that said 'Going away, call you next week'. She didn't call me. I have seen her half a dozen times since and she has avoided both conversation and eye contact.

What's interesting to me is that once this would have crushed me. Now, I just think 'Oh well, she can't deal with it. Never mind.' But when you're younger, that kind of response might be enough to put you off confiding in people ...