Find my own feet

With Spring raising its beautiful head and shining upon me. Sorry, getting all soppy. The Sun came out twice last week and I’m slowly learning how to get out and enjoy it without a car, and it’s time for a mental, as well as a physical Spring clean.

There it goes, that thought that counts, thought about Spring cleaning so as far as I’m concerned that counts. Now for the brain washing. At this time of year, I wish I could unzip my head, take out the stuffing and remove the brain, run it under a warm tap, give it a quick shake, pat dry and stuff it back in. There’s a lot of rubbish in there. Most of which, my poor readers you get to read. Or not!

I’ve stopped doing stupid things, like horse riding, jumping out of aeroplanes, roller skating and arguing with inanimate objects. The cupboard door has won four out of five of our last battles. I’ve stopped thinking of myself as Superwoman, I’ve become Supergran, but without the Tartan. In fact I’ve had such a clear out of the weird and wonderful that I do believe I can now be classed as a normal middle aged, erh.. not sure if lady applies. But I’m definitely middle aged, and it has come to my attention that maybe I should start acting that way.

The realisation that it was time to move on from denial to acceptance, (I am now on the third stage of grieving for my youth) was the cinema. I planned to go alone, as I have in the past. I booked in to see Finding your Feet, a feel good British movie. What I got, was accompanied by a younger friend and an eye opener. For a start, Deb was at a loose end, so I asked if she wanted to join me. Maybe I should have warned her that Wednesday afternoon at the pictures was grannie day. It was funny she did look out of place in amongst the grey brigade, but I think she enjoyed the film.

Secondly, I watched a version of myself being played out by a member of the cast. There they were, all of us. The posh totty without a clue, safe in her own little privileged world. (That was once me, before my last divorce), the single and forever hopeful, played by the perfectly groomed Joanna Lumley (yep I’ve been her as well). Then there was the heartbroken betrayed wife, the wayward sister and the young mother. All the stages of every women’s life, played out in front of my very eyes. I’m not sure what the other women in the audience were thinking but I could hear the mutters every now again of “That’s me,” or “That’s just like so and so.” I could feel the revelations of the on lookers.

Which one am I right now, I’m the third from the left at the back of the dance hall. The woman that stands in the back ground and makes up the numbers whilst the stars play their part, and for now, that’s just were I intend to stay. The only difference between me and that woman seemed to be that she had joined her dance and had learnt her lines. Me I was still finding my feet. I left feeling that I could do just as well. I could also have any life I wanted.

That was Wednesday. Since then I’ve joined a new gym. Grab a Grandad Fitness, it should be called, I felt so young in there. The class I watched as I was shown around the building was occupied by the 50+ and I felt a calling of kindred spirits. Sitting in the coffee shop after the tour I got talking to two women of my age, they had just been to a Bodycombat class, I realised this was going to be fun. Not like the last Gym I tried to go to. That was full of 20 somethings and I felt so out of place, and when I went to join the 50+ circuit training it turned out that it was men only.

Then I went and had a tattoo. The normal type of thing a middle-aged woman does.

It’s Spring, the Six Nations Rugby is almost over, and the weather is changing. I’m seeing daylight when I take the dog out, and dust on the telly when I open the curtains. I’m seeing the ripples of belly under my t-shirts and trying to find light tunics to put on to hide them. I’m seeing old age creep up on me. I’ve had three days of menopausal headaches with no other symptoms, no, not even a bad mood, but I will tell you that Mark came out in sympathy with me when it first started and came home with a tummy ache, either that or the thought of spending money in the restaurant I’d booked for that night made him feel ill.

And today it’s Mothers Day, it’s a British thing. A throwback to the days of servitude, when the single young ladies were allowed to go home, once a year to visit their mothers. Just like any other Sunday I got a call from Mandy, she’s coming over for Easter and we decided that at this moment in time, once in two months would be enough for our relationship and her petrol tank.

It’s a new beginning, again, but this time it’s all different, I feel like the world has changed around me, or is it just that I have had my eyes opened. I no longer have the privilege of a driving licence. I no longer have the freedom to roam wherever I want to roam, but I have seen things that I would otherwise have missed. Like getting stoned on the bus on Wednesday when two youngsters got on smelling of drugs, and choked the oxygen out of everyone, leaving the passengers feeling high as they passed by and went to the back of the bus.

I realised that there was more to the retail park than just shopping, the gym for instance, the pet shop where I can play with puppies, and Guinea pigs and chinchilla things, those cute fluffy furry things that look like a cross between a rat and a rabbit, and of course the rabbits. Last week I had the painful experience of hearing a mother explaining that one of the rabbits was trying to shake the other one to get their attention as he humped merrily away. She didn’t do a very good job of convincing the young lad that they were playing games.

I saw my Fitbit get confused as I cycled to the park. I have an electric bike and doing 15 miles an hour uphill on a pushbike apparently isn’t possible. I also confused the hell out of the BMW driver who decided to lick the salt spray off my tyres, he got that close. I waited for that moment when he was just about to overtake and I pushed the button and sped off, he was stuck, as a little old Fiat came towards us and he couldn’t get passed me. I loved pedalling past the traffic jam and feeling the chill air along with the warm Sun on my face. SPF factor 30 anyone.

I think I’m finding my feet quite well. I have sorted out what can and what can’t be done without a driving licence, I’ve got over the WOE is me, I think, and I’m getting on with it. My feather duster of life is out and ready for a darn good work out. My head has been unzipped and my brain given a shaking and put back firmly in place. I’ve had my Spring Clean. The house…. What about it?

Maybe that will be next.

PS: You have to go see the film, it was brilliant

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