Weave a new basket Women of of World.

SURVIVAL

Hair is back on the list.  Still on the list.  Had my hair done again.  Going overboard now.  Love extremes, me, I do.

Blogs are essential for the future writers.  Our blabbering, mostly by the Mummy-bloggers, will serve the curious in years to come in some very meaningful way - like explaining when no one else can how or why some things just happened or didn't.

MOVING ON

Not that I have less to be thankful for, or that my survival list is any shorter, but moving on.

There are extraordinary numbers of aged humans about in this area.  Observations from the line.

I still classify women  by their shopping styles.  Garlicks Store (no longer exists) Departments: The Showroom, The Scene, Sport and Leisure types, Lace and luxury, Kitchenware, Gap girls and Germaine Monteale ladies.

Women in their fifties still have schedules and chew gum furiously to prevent spitting out their feelings. Their wrist watches tell more than the time and they have hair ... sometimes not done, but about to be done and very convertible.  Mom to Glorious possible in 50 seconds. Their clothes are sensible with quality versus fabulous.  Can-do girls.

Over fifties go grey with gay abandon or dye to cover the years that streaked by. Doesn't matter really. Grey is good as dye if you dye often and well. 

And speaking of dying ... we ancients are dying on our feet, in our shoes, and our memoirs are written in our shoulders, in the lines that run from our nose holes into our chins and drop out of our fingers into the heavy grocery packets.

Those lines connect all women.  One cannot escape the pain of the grind. One can read about the lack of support while expectations were met, tasks completed, projects finished and dinner was delivered.  

The men, when they tag along ...  There's the standing straight, aloof, once upon a handsome one, but now a furry squirrel type sporting an air of completion.  He didn't die. 

The round bod who smiles a lot or puffs too much.  He loved the menu.

There's the mean man, the I'm only doing this because it's easier than killing you man.  His claim to fame is that he spared you.

The broken boys hobble about alone mostly.  They played the game and the bill just got delivered. Rugby, soccer and sky falling... hands, knees and backs, a daisies...

The more unmarried women are the better condition they are in.  There is the absence of disappointment, drudgery and other dank D-words.

One might imagine that single women are in better nick because they are on the look out for a fellow - still - but I don't think that is true. Not altogether, anyway.  They might well be searching for a mate, a someone to ... but they are more at peace.

There are no loop-holes that can spring up from the grass and bite you on the behind.  There are no surprises, no late night arguments about money, sex and what schools ...  Their hair holds their heads higher than the married sisters' heads are held.  They wait intellectually, don't chat to packers, move silently along unaware of their influence on all those about them. 

They hold the energy.  They keep the peace.   I suppose if women knew this they would flip out and over compensate.

Women, however, had better get that we have the power to demand better from the sons and lovers. 

No, I don't mean in the love department. 

Raise the bar Sisters!  These fellows are falling through the holes in the .. floor. 

According to the Violence History book I'm reading (see previous blogs for references) men cause the mess and women clean it up.  

For a number of years women have concentrated on the home (alone) front mess.  Time to go global girls.  There is a big mess to clean up and we will need rubber gloves and shovels.

So, single or strained, ladies, time to change our minds about what role we play in society.  The lesser role is so yesterday. 

Just a Thought ...

Sooner rather than later my lovelies.