You’re too young for that.

Today’s model wears Leona Edmiston, the Louboutin ‘simple pump’
and a fetching pink cane.

In 2010 I was having a bit of a bad trot. Alright, I was having a shocker. Life wasn’t a bed of roses. It was more a bed of compost…… I’d attempted to separate from my then husband ( ‘don’t mention the war’ again) and was somewhat of a hot mess. Ah, memories.

One night, as I sat on the couch watching Carrie Bradshaw and the gang, I realised I had a sore knee. Weird. Went to bed and awoke unable to walk on that leg. Not being the athletic type, I knew it certainly wasn’t a sporting mishap. Over a couple of days it resolved.

I then progressed to having an agonising shoulder and couldn’t dress myself. That too resolved over a number of days. “This is jolly” I thought. “Now my limbs are going out in sympathy with the rest of me”. In true fashion I decided to do the adult thing, and ignored it. That was until the next week when I had another episode and couldn’t use either arm or one hand. This meant very bad hair and not being able to do up a bra. MEDICAL EMERGENCY.

Off I went to my very lovely GP who was duly concerned. She hoped it was some form of virus. I had, in the interim, also developed swollen glands and a chest infection. Ace. Lovely GP told me to come back pronto if it didn’t improve. The grand finale arrived some 48 hours later when everything imploded at once. Shoulders, hands and both knees. I awoke in agony and was literally stuck under the covers. Glamorously (and using language that was bad even for me) I managed to get out of bed. In what must have been quite an entertaining vision, I then slid slowly down the hallway on my butt to the bathroom which housed painkillers. I took enough to kill an elephant and then lay on the bathroom floor until things improved enough to make it to the lounge room. 9am I dialled the doctor. 11am I had a blood test.

About 9am the next morning I got a phone call that I was being referred to a rheumatologist immediately who would slot me in. By lunchtime the next day I was the proud owner of my very own autoimmune disease.

‘Palindromic Rheumatism’.
What the hell is that??????

‘Palindromic Rheumatism’ is a rare form of inflammatory arthritis. Its cousin is Rheumatoid Arthritis. A certain percentage of ‘PR’ patients go on to develop ‘RA’. Some occasionally can have both conditions.

Well of COURSE I have won that lucky bloody door prize. If you’re curious here are links to both diseases. Don’t feel obliged. Sore joints, hobbling about, lots of drugs….. blah blah.

Palindromic Rheumatism
https://www.google.com.au/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=3&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwiG0LXy9r_iAhWt6XMBHe6lBosQFjACegQIDRAK&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.arthritis.org%2Fabout-arthritis%2Ftypes%2Fpalindromic-rheumatism%2F&usg=AOvVaw2ysJ_Fsx_ycGMfs8LX2yrc

Rheumatoid Arthritis
https://www.google.com.au/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjo2NHE97_iAhXW63MBHdOVC8wQFjAAegQIAhAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Farthritisaustralia.com.au%2Ftypes-of-arthritis%2Frheumatoid-arthritis%2F&usg=AOvVaw14sj0kyx29QsbifHRmszRo

I like to call my disease combo ‘weirdo arthritis’ because I’m a bit of an odd case. I’m on a meds regime that mostly works (unless I get super stressed and a few other factors). There have been some medication misfires along the way, and a few occasions where it’s all gotten pretty ugly. But generally life goes on in quite a reasonable fashion. People have it a lot worse. Naturally some people have it somewhat better as well.

It goes without saying that if a lady such as myself is occasionally stricken with malfunctioning limbs, she’ll need to fashion coordinate her walking aids.

For the arthritic woman, we recommend a red floral stick
teamed with Prada pumps and a Pomeranian.

Most people don’t guess there’s anything medically wrong with me unless it’s visible and I hobble. Which I determinedly try not to do. Then of course come the inevitable looks of surprise and comments about my age. (Why thank you… yes I AM 35…..). I’m always happy to answer questions, and I think awareness of these diseases is important. Word of warning however. If you say fish oil or turmeric to me I WILL have to possibly insert my favourite walking stick up your behind.

Stick reserved for disciplining well meaning people
who recommend herbal remedies.

Arthritis can be confusing, but this version is not what your nanna had. It’s a misfiring immune system and not wear and tear. No, I’m not going to give up chocolate donuts and high heels. There have been times when I’ve had to wear flat shoes during an acute flare in my feet, knees or hips and those are the times I’m a bit of a sooky cow. I’m short enough as it is for God’s sake. That’s just CRUEL. (I have teamed the flatties with bling jewellery to try and distract the eye from time to time when forced to face my public in a sorry state).

That’s just life as an arthritic chick. 🙂

Arthritis Foundation – Palindromic Rheumatism
<https://www.arthritis.org/about-arthritis/types/palindromic-rheumatism/>

Rheumatoid Arthritis – Arthritis Australia
<https://athritis.australia.com.au/types-of-arthritis/rheumatoid-arthritis/>

In Dog We Trust

Anyone who knows me knows I adore my dogs. In that endearing, yet annoying crazy dog lady way. Life revolves around them. It’s ALL about the doggos 24/7.

I went shopping today. The mind immediately conjures up images of a small blonde lady drifting amongst shoe stores and perfume counters. Staggering out of ‘Karen Millen’ nursing a haemorrhaging Mastercard. It happens. Not today however. Today I indulged in my other, less publicised shopping habit.

This kind of shopping expedition is called “Things for the fur kids”. Just between us, I get more of a kick out of that than a sojourn to Louboutin. Trust me, that’s a deliriously happy place to be and a BIG call to make. Having joyful, healthy, snazzily attired dogs means more than any pair of heels. Because they are my family and the most precious things I have.

I was married for sixteen somewhat inglorious years (don’t mention the war), which meant cohabiting with my other half. Now I ‘live alone’. Or that is how society sees my situation. A household of one. I perceive my living arrangements as a household of four. One human and three furry children. There are meal times, play times, walk times, bed times and inevitably…. telling off for ‘being a little sh*t’ times. (Generally they don’t recognise that last one and just sit there looking pleased with their handiwork). There are no arguments, no lies, no affairs, no put downs, no yelling and no disappointments. They trust me. I trust them.

I will never be bitter about where I have come from in life because, without sounding all trite, it got me to where I am now. The future is always an unknown, but the present has three happy fur babies in it. That’s pretty marvellous from where I am sitting. Figuratively speaking. Physically, I am sitting balancing a Pomeranian on my lap who snores VERY loudly. (God forbid I should move my legs and disturb the delicate slumbers of ‘Diva’).

Each of my dogs has their own story of how they came to be mine. Those tales are yet to be brought to you by the wonderful world of blogging. Two out of three had difficult lives and have now landed on all four paws. Both often look at me in a heart breaking way that says ‘thank you’. It’s quid quo pro. I saved them and they saved me.

Today’s haul was doggie do bags, 1kg of dried (Aussie) chicken necks and three matching walking harnesses/vests. It’s a design I like that’s safe and Diva has…. ahem….. ‘outgrown’ her original one. (She is possessed of a somewhat healthy appetite). I leave you with Bunny’s thoughts on her new vest, which will be remaining in the cupboard for now. They say a picture tells a thousand words.

Harness was taken off and behold.

Bunny may be little but she knows her own mind. She was most certainly not walking in THAT. Madame lay down like she’d been shot until I removed the offending garment. That’s part of the deal of being a Pomeranian parent. You live to serve. 😉

DIY Journalism

So you’re merrily filming on your smartphone when there’s an unexpected incident right in front of you. A fire, a crime, a celebrity sighting (hopefully dishevelled, drunk or both). You capture it and then realise you have something newsworthy on your device. Something people want to see. BINGO. You’ve entered the realm of citizen journalism.

‘Pardon?’ I hear you say. ‘Citizen what?’. Citizen journalism. It’s been around for a while.

“Journalism experts agree that citizen journalism is the collecting and reporting of information via social media platforms and traditional news outlets, either by non-traditional news sources or the public. For example, police officers or city clerks could operate as citizen journalists if they were to release information about an incident. Citizen journalism has become increasingly popular with the rise of smartphones. However, an early example of citizen journalism can be found as far back as 1963.” (Summer Stuart)

People have traditionally asked ‘Where were you when JFK was shot?’. (For later generations, the equivalent question is with regards to the demise of Princess Di). Immediately we call to mind grainy footage of President Kennedy slumped in his car and Jackie clambering to assist him in her immortalised pink Chanel suit. That iconic footage was accidentally captured by Adam Zapruder as he watched the cavalcade go by on that fateful day in Dallas, Texas. It was November, 1963. He was unwittingly to become one of the first examples of citizen journalism. For the young or foggy of memory here is a reminder… https://youtu.be/TpicOfFajNE

The world changed that day. A president died, a new form of reporting was born.

Since poor JFK met his end, more and more tragedies have been captured by regular people. The first plane hitting the Twin Towers. Bali bombings. Recent acts of terrorism close to home in Melbourne. Of course it’s not all gloom and doom. There’s always plenty of footage of some Kardashian without underpants or a politician shooting their mouth off after one too many beverages on a publicly funded junket.

I’m guessing the question is, where does one draw the line? What can we really film with our ethics intact? Presumably with the aim to either peddle our story to the mainstream media or ‘release’ it ourselves via the juggernaut that is social media. I’m thinking it’s a personal call.

Princess Diana met her end speeding away from a bunch of paparazzi in 1997 and the world was outraged. Smartfones were yet to come into being. Fast forward twenty two years and the world has changed yet again. In our own way we are ALL now collective paparazzi, each carrying the means to record footage that may change history. (Or at least earn unexpected cash when a drunken celebrity falls out of a cab in front of us). Without question it has widened the pool of material for mainstream news outlets. Conversely, it has created a vast, unreliable pool of ‘news’ stories that turn out to be bogus. How many times have we heard someone died, checked our sources and in fact they’re alive and well and making a public statement to that effect. Anything can be edited or photoshopped. That’s the power of the internet.

I’d use the term ‘fake news’ but that’s a WHOLE other blog article.

In 2019 we can all be a journalist if the opportunity arises and we choose to be. We carry a smartphone, we have the internet and we have a massive amount of platforms on which to be heard. Back in 1963, poor Adam Zapruder was so horrified by what he filmed he gave it to the television stations and didn’t even keep a copy of his history making footage. Adam would have had a very different experience these days. My advice would be stick with what the proper journos dish up and don’t believe everything you see.

I’ll still whip out my iPhone if I see a Kardashian though. I’m not THAT ethical.

What is Citizen Journalism – Definition and Examples (Summer Stuart)
<https://study.com/academy/lesson/what-iscitizen-journalism-definition-examples-hotml>

JFK Assassination Live Dallas TV – YouTube
<https://www.youtube.com/watch?V=TipicofFajNE>

Is social media reality?

Social media is a tangible part of our everyday. Hands up who doesn’t look at Facebook and Instagram on the train, bus or waiting in line at the supermarket. (My hands are firmly by my sides). Hands up who hasn’t had a quick look at how many ‘likes’ they got on a particularly fabulous photo when they’re bored at a meeting, at a dinner table or even at a party. (Where you took the selfie, and should actually be speaking to the people IN the photo instead of looking at your phone).

The amount of social media options we have are growing rapidly. The fabric of our society, and even our psyches, are adjusting to accommodate a form of interaction that is still relatively new. Yet changing everything from chatting and dating to marketing and finding a new job.

It is undeniable that social media has some wonderful benefits. Instant connections, networking, sharing experiences long distance with friends and family. Many, many articles are written regarding the various dangers for children and teens. But what about us older folk? Amongst all the evident benefits, what is the downside of this new age?

I am personally a fan of hiding in my pyjamas with my three pomeranians and avoiding humans (unless I’m in a chatty mood). However, from behind my computer I can still summon up a sparkling personality and the mental image of a champagne sipping social butterfly. It can all seem so much easier than putting on a frock and facing the ‘real’ world.

Liraz Margalit of ‘Psychology Today’ gives a good insight.
“One of the distinctive attributes of human social cognition is our tendency to build models of other’s minds, which helps us make inferences about the mental state of others. When interacting with other people we automatically make inferences about them without even being consciously aware of it. We cannot help but ponder what they are thinking about, what their facial expressions mean, what their intentions are, and so on. This predisposition is what makes social interactions so demanding”.

In other words, it’s easier to sit in your pyjamas on Facebook not processing all that exhausting info. The daunting alternative is being face to face at a dinner listening to someone talk about their latest holiday or their cat. You can’t scroll on past and you have to process all those pesky facial expressions. (Plus control your own if you aren’t a cat person).

Here I am having a social evening in my pyjamas. GUILTY AS CHARGED.

I guess it’s logical to offer here that social media is making the unsociable even more so. It is also making the inadequate feel worse, when they are hiding in their fluffy slippers at home on a Saturday night. Shyly viewing fabulous people doing fabulous things.

“Part of the reason Facebook makes people feel socially isolated (even though they may not actually be) is the comparison factor. We fall into the trap of comparing ourselves to others as we scroll through our feeds, and make judgements about how we measure up”. (Alice G. Walton).

IS social media reality? From my own perspective, the answer is no. It’s a part of our lives and it can be wonderful part. It’s a tool for connecting and sharing and staying in touch. It’s here to stay, and I for one can be very content to be in my dressing gown looking at photos of European holidays and dog memes. Or surreptitiously checking if that witty quip I made on a post got the likes it deserved. But in the end there’s no genuine substitute for face to face communication. We should endeavour to keep that a reality and social media in its own sphere.

Otherwise you miss out on sitting about with your friends, hearing their voices, hearing their stories in person. Unconsciously processing all that pesky real life social interaction. Here’s one I prepared earlier.

We had such a great day being fabulous people doing fabulous things.
Of course I immediately uploaded the image to Facebook.

The Psychology Behind Social Media Interactions (Liraz Margaht, Ph.D)
<https://www.psychologytoday.com/…/the-psychology-behind-social-media-interactions/>

6 Ways Social Media Affects Our Mental Health (Alice G. Walton 2017)
<https://www.forbes.com/…/a-run-down-of-social-medias-effects-on-our-mental-health/>

To Blog? Or not to Blog?

It’s the word of the moment. Blogging.
I was a few years late getting on the Facebook train, and even later jumping aboard Instagram. At last I am succumbing to 2019 and ladies and gents……. I’m a blogger.

Let the blogging begin.

My name is Vanessa. I’m ready to blog and fill cyberspace with my words of wisdom.

Step one (I have been informed) is to have a platform.’What do you have to tell the world? What are your interests?’. Brace yourselves.

Well, my first love is my dogs. Three little pomeranians who take up most of my time and all of my heart. Bunny, Bear and Diva. You’ll want to meet them right now because as a proud fur parent I presume everyone is besotted with doggos.

See? Adorable. You’ll want to follow me just for the dog stories. There will be dog stories. (Please inbox me now if you want to pay me thousands of dollars to put them on a pet product because I’d love to retire).

Let’s push on with the summary of my interests which will hold my audience enraptured. Like most ladies I have a thing for SHOES. Meh. I was Carrie Bradshaw long before SJP burst into my living room in SATC (forever making me obsessed with New York and Chris Noth). I don’t have her walk in closet but it’s not a bad effort. Here’s a preview. I’m a size 36 and no, I didn’t buy all of them on sale. It’s a dirty, filthy habit but I’ll never quit.

There’s a lot more where these came from.

In the mould of a shoe wielding, dog doting woman it follows that I also don’t mind the odd drink. I come from a long line of teetotallers (first fascinating fact) and had my first swig at 29. I was a slow starter but I’m a determined finisher. A Cosmopolitan swigging, Manolo wearing woman clutching several fluffy dogs. I think you’re getting the gist now.

Blonde woman armed with alcohol.
(Wedding rings in this photograph are now defunct).
Currently SINGLE blonde woman armed with alcohol.

So what DOES a blonde, dog obsessed, recently divorced (may as well go there), shoe collecting lady do with her life?

I love to write. It’s a form of entertaining. Writing can amuse, educate, transport and change us. The writer and the reader of the words go on a journey together. It can be a long or a short trip. Life changing, or just a moment in a day. One of the reasons to start a blog. The power of the written word. Plus, I get to talk about myself. Who doesn’t love to do that. Another way to release the Narcissist within.

First blog done.
Nessieshoes over and out. xx

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