It’s like this now

…and how are you going to deal with it?

Words by Lama Marut

Again, it’s all in the attitude.

Happy nows. Enjoy it to its fullest, because it won’t last.

Crappy nows. What the heck, because it won’t last.

Wise words.

I just wish I could live by them.

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It really is all about attitude.

I had decided to maybe grow out my hair, if I could stand walking around in public showing my silver strands of awesomeness. As I have dyed my hair a rather smashing red for the last – wow –  many years the transition would definately be brutal. Because, and I might as well tell the truth sooner than later, there’s not much of my regular (younger me) hair colour left. It’s grey. All grey. Light and dark. But grey.

In previous times, i.e. before my decision to go grey, I started recoiling at my reflection in the mirror after about one week after dying my hair. Yepp, my hair grows with the speed of Speedy Gonzales. 3 weeks and I should definately do a touch-up. 5 weeks and I was feeling I looked as old as Methuselah.

I think I might have been in a constant state of denial about my age, as well. I don’t feel old. I don’t think like I thought old people should think. My body doesn’t feel old (most of the time). And then it hit me: my brother is turning 50 this year! I’ll be 48 this year!!


Who am I trying to kid?

Not that I am going to buy myself a rocking chair and dig out the crochet needles, but maybe it was time to get real. AND I am sick and tired of dying my hair. AND am getting more concious about chemicals in food, beauty products and the like. Even though I have lost my sense of smell, I still remember the eye-watering chemicals in many of the dyes that I have used previously. Now that can’t be healthy.

Although I did have a few conversations with hairstylists about dying my hair a final time to make the transition a little less obvious. One wouldn’t take the job, one said “cut it all off” and some said it will be very difficult to get it to look good. Sooo….

Anyway.  I am now 7 weeks into my no-dye situation, and frankly I couldn’t care less. Buuut, I won’t be wearing my hair down for a while. The skunk stripe isn’t really a fashion statement. Or maybe it should be. “Look at me, not giving a f#%&”

7 weeks in

7 weeks in

week 7

week 7

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Like the rest of the world

I would like to take this opportunity to set goals for the new year.

There really is so much that ought to change in my life. 

The main goal is to get up and out of my sofa. I need to get some hobbies. Get to the gym. Socialize. Purge and down-size. Eat healthy.  Get a life, to put it bluntly.

But, my first challenge for 2015 is a no-spending challenge of 30 days. Just the essentials. Food. Fresh food. The goal being to use up most of the stuff in my freezer and cupboards. No purchases on sale. No new clothes. No entertainment. Any boozing will have to be from my well-stocked cupboard.

One more thing that MIGHT be on my to-do list: going grey. I am sick and tired of dying my hair. I love the red, but having to refresh it, preferably, every 3-4 weeks is just too much hassle.Beautiful long grey hair!

Oh, and way up there on the dream-o-meter is building a tiny-house in my front yard, rent out my apartment and live tiny. That would force a few of my other goals for this year.

So here’s wishing everyone a happy, prosperous, active, sexy, productive and well-written

New Year


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For beginners?!

Yoga. Fitness. Excercise. At times these are like unknown words of a foreign language.

Today, however, I did roll out my mat and give it a go. I’d recently read somewhere, Elephantjournal I think it was, about ashtanga yoga not being so popular or something. Hard to stick to, maybe even a tad boring. So guess what!! I had to give it a go.

Ashtanga yoga. Hell, yeah!!!

Youtube is such an amazing place. I found an Ashtanga 30 min INTRO class and thought, in my folly, Easy-peasy.

Whilst doing the 5 Tibetan rites I had noticed that my body-proportions might not be the best suited for yoga. Really, sitting with my back straight and pressing shoulders down I am still missing about 5 mm before my palms touch the floor. Come to think of it, I might have noticed this before: when I cross my arms I sort of have to ease my forearms under my boobs. And NO, my boobs aren’t that saggy. I have previously thought it was just because others that didn’t have to do this were just stick-skinny.

According to this chart the elbow is idealy level to your bellybutton. Mine are a good 6 cm above. Hence the boob-lifting situation. The wrist is supposed to be even to the crotch. Nope, not mine. 4-5 cm above, there as well.

Down-dog, archer, cobra; all these I can manage fairly well. Taken into consideration morning stiffness….

So far, so good.

But then…..

Cobra, down-dog, (yepp, am keeping up) step or hopp to seated, (suktha?)(which means going from down-dog and jumping through your own arms landing seated with stretched legs. Whhhaaaaaaaat?????? Sitting down (dundasana?)

Float back to shwatari? You’re losing me, lady. Float?! Shwatari?! What the hell??

“Desha (?), cross your ankles and pick up anything that will come up”. Ummmm. not a damn thing is lifting, because of, you know, like I said before: too short arms.

I think, maybe to gather up the stragglers, it gets “easy” again, bridge and boat. Aaaaaand it’s time to stretch. Bend one leg up to the groin, other leg stretched out in front of you, breath in, breath out and streeeeetch towards your ankle or shin og whatever – use a towel to grab on to. Fair enough. But SHE is grasping her wrist under the sole of her foot AND doing the yoga-fingers-thing. Now THAT’S just showing off.

For a nice and easy position to end our introduction to Ashtanga yoga; Let’s do a headstand. Pfffffff……

What I am beginning to understand is that I might have misunderstood. Intro to Ashtanga might not be the same as Ashtanga for beginners. This intro has to be aimed at people that already are well yoga’ed, but are new to Ashtanga.

That must be it.

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I am. A magpie

And christmas is THE worst season of them all.


Last years' Christmas tree

Last years’ Christmas tree




Would loooove one of these in my garden. Maybe several :-)

Shiny objects galore

It starts, bigtime, as soon as the shops start displaying their Christmas goods.

“Oooooooooh!!! Look at that!! Shiny! I want that!……… My precious!!!”

Sadly, it is not just a Christmas thing.

Going clothes shopping I look through all the clothes racks …….looking…..looking….OOOH! a sparkly top. A sequined dress.

Shoulder to toe gold sequins!!!! How cool is that??!!!

Honestly, in my day-to-day life I am more comfortable with earthy colours with maybe a splash of pink or purple or bright green. But it gets me.

Every. Single. Time.

I am drawn, helplessly, towards anything that sparkles.

#lights #fairy lights #lanterns #arbor #pathway #prettyLove this!!

And NOTHING is more romantic than a garden lit up by LOTS of fairylights.

2015 will be all about embracing and accepting, whole-heartedly, my magpie-ness.



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Tie Dying

I’ve never done any tie dying before. And just to be on the alternative side of things, I thought I’d do it au naturelle.


Cabbage. T-shirt. Pot. Oh, and ph-neutral soap.



Aaaaand the result is……


That was just one of todays projects, and I must say, I’m feeling very pleased with myself.

Maybe something dyed in tumeric next time?

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Ghost of Christmas past

Or lover past, as in this case.

Once upon a time, many, many years ago, I met a man. It happened after a divorce and a year of living in solitude. We met via an adult website.  Our first meeting was a hit, and we met on a regular basis from then on. Both were in agreement on the purpose of our meetings.

A year or so into the “relationship”, woe oh woe, I had to let him know that things had changed for me. “Oh. This is not what I had in mind at all”, was his response. But still, he kept me dangling. Hoping. Hoping. That maybe he would change his mind. His sole intention, as per our aforementioned agreement, was to keep busy during the week-ends.

The folly.

After years, yesToon-NotPiningHim-web….years, of torment, pain, agony, disappointment, tears, depression, utter heartache trying to forget this man, I thought I might finally have gotten him out of my system – so to speak.

It needed an act of “stalking”, but I thought that I finally, finally had done it. That I could think of him as fun times had, an experience, a lessonstalking learned.

At this point it is just under 2 and a half years since I had last heard from him.

One dark and rainy Sunday evening, whilst sitting in my living room watching tv, I hear my bottle-opener-tone of a text message from my phone.

“Hi, do you remember this number?” “Still alive?”

And that’s IT.

No follow-up answer to any of my questions.


So…why? Why this tap on my shoulder from the past?

Because yes, he still had the same gut-wrenching effect on me as before. My heart raced, my brain went in to overdrive with wondering, “Why? Why now? What for?”

So. Here I am, 2 weeks later. Still nothing. And again I wonder.




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