Widow with a Drill

The wood store is coming along nicely, albeit held together with some dubious black plastic ties. I am, nevertheless, getting to grips with the electric drill and have managed to screw several bits together...(HA! It's the only screwing I will be doing)!

I now need to contruct a 'lean-to' roof and have been down to the local DIY store where a nice man who has been smiling at me for the last two years, called me 'my love' as he handed me my change. All uplifting stuff to a middle-aged woman dying for a screw or two! Did I really just say that?

Back to the Wood Store... various brackets hold bits of wood in place and I now have some plywood for the roof, along with some roofing felt. The whole idea is to let air circulate whilst providing a little shelter from driving rain. I'm getting there, despite not having a clue regarding woodwork, carpentry or joinery, and with no book of instructions available. It will be a 'cobbled together' work of art when it's finished, and as long as it does the job, I don't mind if it's not perfectly correct according to standard practice of the Guild of Master Craftsmen. This is a job for Oxfordshire Widow Without Funds... or OWWF, (come to think of it, my next door neighbour is a joiner, but I can't bring myself to ask him for help...hmm!)

I've been offered a job today... providing tea and cakes for the local cricket team every Saturday from September til April. It's not what I had in mind, and will not pay me enough to help me over my financial crisis. It will also get in the way of my Saturday Green Gym sessions where I shall be co-leader. Mind you, it lifted my spirits, just as the man at the DIY did. I may not be quite so useless and invisible as I first thought. I just need to earn about £500 per month to be reasonably okay. If only some of the colleges had replied to my earlier letters regarding my application to train would-be teachers. It's something I was good at and thoroughly enjoyed. Perhaps I should write again. There must be something out there for me...

A bucket load of men

What good responses I've had to my last post - my dilemma regarding a need for a good old rogering! I admire those of you who can talk to your grown-up children about these matters... I can't; not because of their reaction, but because of my not wanting to embarrass them or myself. For me, it's a delicate matter, best discussed with other women.

Last night, while sat in the hot bubbling jacuzzi, I got talking to a new member of the Gym; a tall, well-spoken man somewhere in his forties I'd guess. It was good to talk without there being any underlying sexual agenda. Person to person. Little amorous man was nowhere to be seen last night, nor was he around tonight when I again saw my newly-found friend who talked to me whilst we languished in the Jacuzzi. He spoke of his children and wife etc, and I told him about my Dry-Stone walling course. We laughed and were relaxed... so much better than being wary of sexual advances.

I came away from the Gym wishing I could find a man like that who was interesting to talk to, normal, pleasant, funny and devoid of self-importance and pride, who also was attractive - it's just a pity he was too young and married.

So, I have now come to the decision that should a man be the right age, unmarried and just as pleasant as my new Gym friend, then he can bring on the sexual advances in bucket loads... I'm ready!

Desperate or what?

I had a long telephone conversation with a long-distance friend today, primarily on the subject of men! I am in a dilemma concerning the attentions of little amourous man at the Gym; he has increased his smiles and is now saying hello and nodding at me at every opportunity. I nod back and wonder what I should do. You see, I am now 'gagging' for some kind of physical attention - yep... good old sex! It's not easy to admit this. But there is a problem, which I discussed at length with my friend... I am not usually promiscuous and have actually only 'known' two men in the whole of my adult life. While I have a 'need', I don't want to hurt anyone, or use anyone, or make myself more vulnerable by inviting someone into my life. Heavy Gardening, Green Gymming, and swimming til I feel sick, are no substitute. So, what do I do?

I sit here writing about it, having my two cubes of dark 70% chocolate, a small glass of wine - unusual for me as I don't like it very much, and a handful of mixed nuts... pondering on what I should do.

There must me thousands of women like me... of all ages, who have a 'need' but are too refined and shy to do anything about it. Where are all the bloody, good-looking, fit, intelligent and caring men that we women so desperately need?

Dead?
Married?
Gay?
Non-existent?

Is there anyone out there who can provide answers????

Having said all that, I was dressing in the Gym tonight when I overheard two women talking about their husbands... all in their fifties. One said her husband refused to come to the Gym to try and shift his overhanging beer belly. The other said her husband said that if she didn't lose some weight, he would leave her. They went on at some length about the failings of their husbands which made me glad that I was single... but then my husband was neither of these and he was always complimentary, caring, tall, sexy and adored me. The two women should re-think their relationships, because they certainly don't have what I had.

In conclusion, I think I shall never have what I had with my husband, so should I just accept the attentions of amourous little men? Or, should I just give up wanting some kind of sexual relationship and find a chemist that supplies bromide?

Rain and Reading Articles

It's a damp, quiet and lonely day in my home. Feelings of aloneness are more acute today as I look around for things to read in order to avoid doing the ironing.

According to an article in today's paper, I am too old to wear: a) mini-skirts (why would I want to?); b) pussy-bow blouses (I never have); c) banana flat shoes, (ugh); d) spaghetti strap maxi dresses (so unflattering); or e) anything that shows a cleavage (I prefer to keep my bust covered, with or without an ill-fitting bra)!

No doubt of surprise to some - (in the Trinny and Gok camp), the majority of us have a good idea of what suits and flatters us, even if we have to shop at low-budget stores.

I read the article and thought, it really doesn't apply to me anyway... I don't go anywhere, so prefer to wear jeans or trousers and usually a T-shirt or cotton blouse (without a pussy-bow - whatever that is)!

Then I read another article that said, 'Latest research has shown that by the time women reach 48 they are the sadder sex, while men start to enjoy the best years of their lives.' The article went on to give a variety of reasons, one of them being widowhood and they qualified men's apparent enjoyment in middle-age as being due to earning more and having a good married home life. No comment!

Isn't it about time the media celebrated women of a certain age? We now look and feel younger than our mothers and grandmothers did at the same age; we have confidence, knowledge and sophistication as well as earning power. Articles on smart, elegant and ageless dressing would be good... without stereotypying us maturing women and giving us tips on dressing for our age! Style is Style, whatever the age.

I feel better for having had my say... even though just a handful of people may read this... if I'm lucky. So I gaze out of my window at the pouring rain and the patio table that hasn't had it's parasol unfurled all summer, thinking wouldn't it be nice to dress up and go out somewhere for once? Preferably with a man who is content but, not married.

The science of Bra Making

The bras I bought a few weeks ago don't seem to fit me anymore... have I changed shape? Or did they not fit me perfectly when I first bought them, or have they changed shape in the wash?

So off I ventured again; buying bras in the size I think I am; namely: unusual and unique... in white cotton with adequate straps that can support a seemingly ever-changing pair of mammary glands.

I tried on nine bras in the fitting room and came away with one. I bought two of the same and came home; changing into one along with a new T-shirt. After half an hour, I was chafed and uncomfortable and just took the thing off. Is it me? Do I have ever-changing bosoms?

There must be a way of replicating my one and only well-fitting, fifteen year old, black lace, balconette bra. The science must be in place, surely? It was an M & S bra, which they don't seem to have reproduced at all. If I were famous, like Jeremy Paxman who managed to get Marks and Sparks to review their men's underpants upon his complaint, then they would no doubt listen to me. But who am I? Just an ordinary middle-aged widow with no clout. It all reinforces my current low self-esteem and frustration with my lot.

A well-fitted bra would not only lift my tits, but lift my spirits too.

Dry Stone Walling in the heat

A two-day course in an exquisite expanse of Cotswold countryside in heat of over 31 degrees was exhausting, sweaty, mind-numbing, but satisfying when you look at the results. A team of three women - we did our best! Not a job for the hottest weekend of this year, nor is it recommended for anyone physically limited, weak in stature or for those who hate jig-saw puzzles with the picture missing! I now know how to build a Cotswold Dry Stone Wall; a handy skill if ever I should have the opportunity to build one. In short - an excellent course, just a pity the weather was so relentlessly hot and oppressive. There was a written test at the end for anyone who wanted to gain a certificate. Our team declined as we staggered to our sun-baked cars where the smell of melting plastic and foam engulfed us as we opened the doors. Our brains were not at their best; due to heat exhaustion and sun stroke, no doubt.

During this last week I have also constructed a large wood-store with the help of my two grandsons. We moved large pots, wood pallets and a small shed in order to begin the construction. It's not bad... despite my snapping a drill bit while trying to screw holes in the thick tannelised wood; despite having to use plastic ties to join pallets together, and despite my lack of skill at using an electric drill. I can see a definite change in the shape of my biceps, and my shoulders seem to be bigger. How feminine.

Another month nearly gone, as I edge closer to the third anniversary of his death. What have I achieved, apart from dry stone-walling and building a wood store? Bigger muscles? Making a few friends with the Green Gym? I think that what I've gained most is inner calm, less anxiety over what will happen to me and a feeling that if I never, ever again find a really nice man to fall in love with, I can at least, survive reasonably well, physically and emotionally. I will somehow have to get used to the loneliness.

Headbutting is no cure

I know how she feels... my cat Banjo will be ten years' old this September, while the new addition - Pebble, will be just one year old. Just when Banjo thinks he has calmed down and she can wash him thoroughly without him swiping her with his immature paw, he attacks her playfully and being an elderly cat, she hisses and growls until he backs off. It's not easy for her and I admire her patience with him. He is confused as to how he should behave... he wants to 'rough and tumble' and chase her upstairs and in the garden while she prefers a more sedate existence.

I, on the other hand, wouldn't mind a bit of 'rough and tumble', or being chased upstairs... or, come to think of it, even the garden would be good! Enough of that!

I've been looking again at the courses on offer at Oxford College of Continuing Education... and there are three possibles; archaeology, psychology and epistomology - the latter being something I know a little of, having studied how people acquire knowledge, whilst doing my Masters in Education. I just need to work out my finances so that I could possibly do all three courses. As for finding a job, well I've scoured the papers again this week and there's nothing I can do... not unless I have an NVQ in English, Media Studies or Caring for the Elderly. Each week I feel more and more useless. You'd think that someone with an armful of qualifications, years of experience and a trunkload of training certificates could find something!

Little amourous man was swimming in the pool alongside me yesterday; powerfully doing the crawl, muscles rippling in the water, glancing at me now and then as I tried to powerfully do the breast stroke alongside him. I got out of the pool and languished in the jacuzzi, looking out of the window at the ducks on the little man-made lake. Why doesn't he get the message? As for doing the breast stoke; I have been to 'Bravissimo' to try and get a proper fitting bra. Four years' ago a woman at M&S measured me and said I was definitely a 38B. So having spent a fortune on lots of bras that don't fit, I wasn't surprised to learn that I am in fact, a 34DD. So now I have spent more money on bras that fit me for five minutes and then seem uncomfortable. I think I shall just burn the lot and go 'free', in the hope that I don't frighten the horses!

Just to add to my feeling of becoming useless, old and invisible, I read today that women's nipples shrink once past fifty-ish! So going bra-less won't be a problem - even in cold weather!