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So, that’s how it is, is it?

Rosie and Tina Nov 2013

Nov 2013. I do this a lot and other days hardly or not at all. I’m not in bed just under cover, resting, furry attendant on hand.

Just like to start off by voicing my sincere appreciation and delight to all those of you who have taken the time and trouble to read my rubbish and actually enjoy it. Thank you. Much appreciated. And profuse apologies for not being able to reciprocate and therein lies the crux.

Where I’m concerned it’s not so much a lack of time although that is an issue as my days can be very short. Part of my concern has to do with energy.

Okay, what am I going on about now?

Well, put it this way. Can you hoover or vacuum without too much trouble? Yes, I know, it’s no problem you have Ethel come in twice weekly. How about washing your hair? As in the bath or shower? I could go on with a list of questions but as I’m not a masochist, I won’t.

When I’m in the bath and I’m not getting X-rated here, I sit down with the shower hose in my hand, I rest my head on my drawn-up knees and simply let the water run over my hair as it is too painful to raise them in order to rub at my head.

It’s always been the arms. The arms always get it. Hoovering can sap what strength I have and so can brushing my hair, the latter of which can be a pain because of the action of lifting my arms up. And the severity of that depends on if I am having a good day or a bad one.

I have what I call Malaria-like attacks. That’s the easiest thing I can relate it to for easier understanding, although, every day is never free of pain be it in my back, my legs, arms or head, but I’ve learnt to live with that and just get on with it. No problem but it’s there.

I also have a limited amount of energy be it mental or physical so I have to be careful how I use up that parcel of energy. Do I use it up on cooking myself something to eat, cleaning up cat sick, or attempting to write or read something or simply getting out of bed? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve held full-time jobs down in the past. Just to confuse the issue.

Well, there’s nothing wrong with you then!

Actually, I don’t know if I’d refer to it as something “wrong” but I do have ME or ME/CFS or CFS call it what you will as it comes under all those terms.

How can you work but not wash your hair “normally”!

It’s all to do with putting all my energy and concentration on the job in hand be it my full-time job (I’m talking late nineties) watching television, whatever really which leaves me with nothing left over for anything else. Any activity no matter how simple it may appear but both physical and mental activities can be a pain of a strain.

If you’re that sick you can’t do your job properly you should be in a wheelchair!

If anything I do, or did, it better! Purely because with the ME you have to be methodical, extremely so, and because you are acutely aware of your “quirks” you pay extra attention to the job in hand. When I worked all my energy went on my job I led a strict life (I still do) and I had nothing left over for anything else. But I wasn’t complaining. I see it as nothing to complain about. I re-charged my batteries over the weekend ready for Monday and getting through each day the best I could. Which was pretty good considering. I might go a different route to most other people but I get the job done and I get it done to a high standard and simply because it’s done differently doesn’t make it wrong.

This is only touching the surface of ME/CFS. I haven’t even approached the subject of diet and allergies or stress, the mitochondrial, or how I can be quite well (at least for me) one minute when the next I look and feel like I’m auditioning for a part in a zombie film. For all I know I haven’t done a great job in explaining it. I appreciate it is truly hard to understand. I find it so although not so much these days I’ve lived with it for nearly 25 years, and I’m the one who has it! What’s going on here then! Oh, right, yep, it’s only my old friend, ME.

So that’s it really. I’m blogging to keep my hand in. Blame my old tutor! Not old in age old as in an ex-tutor. She was disappointed to learn I wasn’t writing much these days so I made the effort and got two blogs up and running (one is for Wolf Black my male alter ego) aspiring to getting my impetus and energy enough with which to finish my autobiography. On top of getting my jewellery out there. And if anyone enjoys my blogs whilst I’m at it that’s really cool, that’s fantastic, and I’m sorry I can’t keep up the pace and buzz about and reciprocate.

Just wanted to let you know.

Take care, be well, be happy.
Rosie

Wolf Black blog:
http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/

Working website:
http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

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Posted by on February 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Say what you mean and mean what you say, say what?

dinner dance lookalikes

You can look twice but that is not Marilyn Monroe snuggling up to Charlie Chaplin and neither is it Joan Collins looking sultry standing next to Clint Eastwood doing what Clint does best. They are lookalikes appearing at my company’s biennial dinner dance 1999 courtesy of yours truly. At the time I was a PA to a bigwig director and part of my duties included arranging the dinner dance. Nice one, Joanie.

The other day I was asked a question which I did my best to answer but as I found it rather amphibious it resulted in my waffling a bit, I know as hard as that is to believe, before realising the word I was looking for was in fact ambiguous. But then again considering the nature of the question it may well have been deemed fishy.

What question! What answer!

It was to do with my jewellery.

What jewellery!

I’ll get back to that. Talking of ambiguous I am guilty of this. Of being ambiguous I mean. When in 2012 I took my A-level equivalent in creative writing, my tutor had to pull me up a couple of times by my ear lobes when she deemed I was being vague. And quite right she was too. Simply because I follow what I’m talking about doesn’t automatically mean everyone else will. Take for instance when in a recent blog I spoke of vegan cheese and how I should be congratulated for at least trying it. Oh yes, the Vegan Trying It medal. This was way, way back when eating vegan cheese was as pleasant as having a red hot needle poked in your eye. Unlike today. One could be forgiven for thinking I simply went back to eating cow cheese. Wrong! I continued to go without but I failed to make that crystal clear, didn’t I!

I apologise for being an amphibian.

And there’s another instance too. Good grief, was I on drugs? No, but I did have a hangover and not an alcohol-induced hangover a caffeine overload hangover (if you can call two cups of espresso an overload). I referred to a white milky-frothy-so-it-looks-just-like-clouds coffee as a farty latte as in arty-farty because let’s face it, they are, and I figured my meaning was clearly evident. Or? Although farty could be appropriate too, I mean, coffee can have that effect on one. Baked beans does it for some.

So, what jewellery?

Well, I took it upon myself to design and create a range of jewellery. Personally, I’m not that into jewellery but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate nice stuff and neither does it affect my aim to make others happy with my designs. I am not a girlie girl. I don’t particularly enjoy shopping, gossiping (well, sometimes) and throughout my life my closest friends have always been male. Platonic male friends. Apart from a couple of very, very dear and long-suffering females with whom I am incredibly lucky enough to connect.

I only hope they feel the same.

On that note, I wish you well.

Best wishes and ttfn,
Rosie.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Blue Deep Ocean.
Jewellery Mizuki by Rosemarie

Ninja windowsill

Ninja at home, 7 Swallowfield Gardens, Theale, Berkshire, 15 June 1997. Beautiful, funny, incorrigible, intelligent, liked sleeping on heads mine in particular. All gone now. And I am being purposely amphibious.

 
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Posted by on February 3, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Playboys, hangovers and The Queen Mum

In last week’s blog I promised you this week’s entry would be shorter. I’m not one to go back on my word. Absolutely not. As if. I said it would be much shorter and short it shall be.

Bye then,
Rosie.

Rosie as Wee Willie Winkie and brother Richard dressed as a beauty queen Pontins Jersey 1966

Mid-late ‘60s. Jersey, Channel Islands. Guess which one is me! Not the pretty one in the bikini that’s for sure. That happens to be my brother. Picture taken by Dad, professional photographer, ex-ice hockey player, yachtsman, skier, playboy. By the time this photo was taken all that rollicking was way in the past and nothing but a cold memory. Particularly the ice hockey except for one permanent reminder. My father’s shins had faint but permanent bruises on them until the day he passed away. Nice thing to remember about your dear departed dad. His psychedelic shins.

Yes, still here. Can’t get rid of me that easily.

Actually, to be honest, I’m sitting here nursing a hangover and before you start tut-tutting it’s not like that. I braved the elements this morning wrapped up in white oversized jumpers and doing a fine impersonation of a Michelin Man in the process, for two reasons. One, to flog my jewellery and two, to meet an old and dear friend I haven’t seen in ages also called Bach. I’m Bach by birth. I only added the “Holzer” on getting married as I steadfastly refused to relinquish my Bach. Since my divorce in 2001 I’ve been seriously reconsidering in reverting back to my maiden name. Indeed, some things I don’t do in a hurry.

Where does the hangover fit in?

Being sociable, as that’s what one has to be when mixing with friends, apparently, we met in a café where we, Bachy, my ex and I, caught up over a hot chocolate, a farty latte with bells on and an espresso. The latter being mine and on reflection not the wisest of choices. Two espressos later I was jumping out of my own skin. My fault entirely as I should only drink decaffeinated but I told myself it’s not every day I do this; be sociable and try to flog my jewellery.

What jewellery? If I may, I’ll divulge next time. But before I say ta-ta I have a question which has nothing at all to do with young boys impersonating young girls (he won first prize in the fancy dress contest), purple-coloured legs or desperately trying to think of something to talk about whilst trying valiantly to disguise that fact. Question: What do Britney Spears, The Queen Mother, and I have in common? Can you guess? Got it yet? No? Shall I tell you? Nothing! Absolutely nothing. But talking of The Queen Mum, if you haven’t seen “The King’s Speech” starring Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush and Helena Bonham Carter, and you’re stuck for something to do, rent it, you won’t be disappointed.

Signing off, best to you,
Rosie
x

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Posted by on January 27, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Maggots, great-grandfathers and stinky alleys

Ajax and cows

Lintig, Germany, back garden, circa 1983. I think I should name this picture “Spot the Cat”. He’s there. Look closely and you’ll see facing the cows two shadowy grey ears. His name is Ajax. Beautiful boy. Intelligent. Played fetch with his ball. Bless his soul. Always in my heart.

Hello fellow bloggers and I hope this finds you well and blooming in all the right places. A few years back… no, more like in the area of 17 years ago, argh! Slow down, do. Parts of me are still lodged in the 20th century. I can’t catch up. And gone off the subject, as usual.

Err, cheese.

Yes, cheese. Not your stinky, ripe old blue where maggots are practically crawling from it cheese. I’m serious. My maternal great-grandfather used to guzzle down blue cheese (and whatever inhabitants in it at the time) so ripe I am practically related to a fly. Anyway, in the mid to late-nineties and for a couple of years I became an absolute vegan and never felt better. Absolutely. And I did it in my own inimitable way (some would call it obsessive) of going the whole hog. Didn’t eat animals or their by-products and neither did I wear them. I would buy my footwear from a great charity called Animal Aid and my handbags from “Stinky Alley” in the heart of Reading, Berkshire.

Yes, so-called because this particular alleyway always ponged a bit.

A curious mixture of Domestos, raw meat and incense sprinkled with unidentifiable aromas would assault your nostrils whenever you were in the vicinity. Reading, for those who are unaware, is made up of old, delightful, narrow cobbled alleyways either side of which sit various shops. And one such establishment was an ethnical type of place that sold material bags made from velvet and anything else as long as it didn’t once have a pulse. Opposite and on the corner to the ethnics with supplies direct from India and Africa and the proprietor’s auntie from Bethnal Green who was a dab hand at sewing, sat a butchers which was the main contributor.

To the pong, I mean.

The smells emanating from his shop were delightful. Blood, fat, raw meat all mixed together with that most beastly of bleaches, Domestos. Hadn’t he heard of Ecover?

Anyway, bear with there is a point. I could never get on with vegan cheese. Frankly it was hideous. I tried. Give me a gold star for trying but honestly I’d have been better off melting the plastic packet in which it came and pouring that over my cauliflower.

And here’s where my ex-husband enters the picture.

Profuse apologies if you are finding this entry to be an elongated waffle. Next week’s will be shorter. Guarantee it.

Congratulations to aforementioned ex-husband for recently discovering a vegan cheese which tastes DELICIOUS! No thoughts of “Why did they bother this stuff is horrible” and “Good grief they must be joking I’m expected to eat that?” even remotely entered my head. Brilliant to see at least one thing has improved in the 21st century. Vegan cheese. Lovely jubbly.

Um, in case you are wondering, I lapsed. At least for the moment. No longer can I claim to be a vege not when I’m sitting here with dead Antipodean sheep gracing my feet otherwise known as Kiwi Ugg boots. And something else too. All vegans and vegetarians reading this cover your eyes. Eating the odd piece of fish. I know, I know, and yes, I have seen “Finding Nemo” maybe I should watch it again. Sorry, not proud of it but each to their own. Live and let live. Make the choice with your conscience. At which point I can’t help but wonder if there’s such a thing as an inverted type of VA? Vegans Anonymous.

Best, best.
Rosie.

PS. I mentioned the elderly woman in a previous blog let’s not forget the mature gentleman who lives alone at the end of your street. Why not take him out to your local for a pint? He’d like that. And you’ll feel none too shabby either.

Skip over to my counterpart as below to read more daftness about insects the size of a small country and their relationship to cooking utensils.

Wolf Black blog:
http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/

Working website:
http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

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Posted by on January 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Ballet and tap.

Bebe2

Bebe 1

Guernsey, CI, circa 1978. It’s a poodle. Yes, it is, no, it’s not a mouse wearing a bear suit on his way to a fancy dress party it really is a poodle puppy. Called Bébé. And what a character she was. A right handful of incorrigible brown curls. Bless you, Bébé. However, should you prefer your canines the size of a small vehicle I aim to please. Simply hop over to my counterpart at http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/
and meet Rex.

It could be my ten years studying classical ballet that… sorry? Oh yes, just call me Rosie Fonteyn why don’t you, anyway, it could be my ballet training that is so installed in me that my posture is such that I stand as straight as a ramrod. Or, at least that used to be the case. Nowadays thanks to my decrepit well-being in general it’s more like a ram’s horn. No, I exaggerate. But my shoulder blades do tend to stick out a tad if I don’t make a concerted effort to stand up super straight and pull my shoulders back.

And there’s the thing.

When you stand as such it automatically makes your chest stick out and considering my cheekbones are the sum total of anything of mine that comes in pairs that can actually be considered prominent, you could be forgiven for thinking this is a beneficial move. Quite possibly but it feels silly but then I’d rather feel it then look it. I mean, who wants chicken wings on their back. I’ve done the yellow canary hair and that’s as far as I care to go in my emulation of anything ornithological as much as I adore them and animals in general.

Except snakes.

And to end on a familiar note. You are now acquainted with the electronic singing choir in the Rosie household? Well, to add to this list I now have a tapping telephone. Yes, my telephone taps, although, it could be described as a tick. Tap… tap… tap or tick as I can’t quite make up my mind, and then a pause, and just as I’m beginning to relax, another tap. What next – a whistling kettle that doesn’t?

Best to you. Tap, groan, chirp, miaow! That was the cat. And quite an acceptable response too when a hasty ex-husband treads on her tail.

Rosie
x

Working website:
http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

Sally and the Sign People by Rosemary Bach-Holzer

 
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Posted by on January 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Spanish athletes are feline

IMG_0002 (2)

Mum’s poodle, Meg, Guernsey, circa late 80s. On her return from the poodle parlour. That’s the dog, not Mum. Yes… do you reckon the stylist was having a bad day or something because I never knew they gave short back and sides to dogs.

Yesterday I couldn’t make up my mind if I was feeling hot or cold. The heating was being turned on and off so many times it looked like I was attempting a Morse code message with my Calor gas flame. Ah, well, at least I’m not on the receiving end of any birds knocking at the window which is always a good sign although the other day there were a couple of chaffinches flitting about in the naked tree pecking away on something only visible to birdy beady eyes.

Tina, the cat, spied them and instantly began a one-way monologue.

Tina is a little strange which has nothing to do with the fact she’s from Spain. I’m sure of it. Like all good Spanish she’s a superb athlete and loves playing with her squeaky mice, catnip mice and my supply of Labellos. She lobs the flying toy back and forth with such skill you could be forgiven for thinking you are in the middle of a tennis match. Or she’ll jump with both arms raised to intercept the flying offender in a move that any goalie would be proud to emulate.

The weirdness comes into play when she attempts to scale my back like Edmund Hillary.

As I’m sitting upright at the time I can only surmise she’s stuck flypaper to the soles of her feet in her hope to scale the summit and plant a Spanish flag on the top of my head. Well, it would make a change from a tin of organic tomatoes flavoured with basil.

I think I’m a little weird so the cat is in good company so to speak.

She’s a rescue cat from Spain hence the flag of her country. I trawled through all available cat rescue shelters to find her as company for my ex-husband. So he wouldn’t miss something weird and catty muttering about the place when I’ve returned to the UK. And that’s weird in itself, I mean, who stays with their ex-spouse? Does any of this ring a bell with anyone out there or is it just me?

Talking of which… all right! Bear with, bear with! Let me get my little plug in. “Cat Tales” is continuing to do well on Nook. Three excellent reviews. Well, two and one with five stars but no comment. Probably lost for words. Thank you kind readers for your input whomever you are.

Well, back to it.

Happy New Year to one and all, and just a thought, say hello to that old person down the road who lives all alone. Maybe even offer to help with something or pop in for a cup of tea. One day, that could be you. Or me. Oh, nice! What an inspiring note on which to finish. Can’t do it. Think on. One is never truly alone when one is in the company of good music, good books, and a good dog (or cat)!

Best, best,
Rosie x

Additional blog:
http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/

Working website:
http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

Cat Tales by Rosemary Bach-Holzer

 
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Posted by on January 6, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Starting off with all good intentions

Feline falling

Lintig, Germany, mid-1980s. I snapped this right at the moment the kitten fell off the edge of the couch. You can see his little feet caught on camera with their soles pointing north. On the left is Paul, a good friend from Devon, who made a valiant attempt in trying to catch the falling feline. Alas to no avail, however, two nerve calming tablets and a strong, sweet tea soon put things right. I mean me!

As we go forward into a new year I wish everyone out there a great 2014. I’m looking back with fond memories and some not so… such as the time I had on my head the entire contents of a tin of organic tomatoes flavoured with basil blinking furiously as it ran down my face and into my eyes, in a pathetic attempt to correct my hair colour which had gone disastrously wrong. Yes, brilliant, I always wanted to look half human half yellow canary.

May 2014 be happy and healthy and full of fun and how about those New Year resolutions, hmm? I’m going to borrow this bit from Wolfie’s blog. What! So shoot me! I’m bloody exhausted. Yesterday I was working all day on my six websites. My eyes still look like those of a cartoon character after he’s been hypnotised whilst somewhere along the way my brain was swapped with mashed potato at which point this occurred I can’t say for sure. And all morning I’ve been doing battle with my juicer. It won. Say no more.

Yes, I will be nicer to next door’s cat even if he does relieve himself all over my roses.

No, I won’t swear and wish horrible things on the driver who nips in front of me without so much of a flash of an indicator instead of waiting patiently in line like everyone else.

Actually, cut that one. As for the first resolution personally I have no problem with any animal in my garden but I do wish dog owners would clean up after the poor thing has done its business in public. The animal would if it could and whilst dog owners have this ability many choose not to exercise it.

And finally, yes, I will endeavour to stick to my New Year resolution list for at least six months if not the whole year.

And I have one more to add to that. Why not make it your resolution to read more? And I know just the books telling of hair disasters and a pawnographic cat! These and other daft real-life essays can be found in Musings Amusing… what! Again? So double shoot me.

Happy New Year to one and all and let’s wish the same to everyone else.

Peace and Happiness.

See you in 2014.
Rosie. x

Working website:
http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

Additional blogs and websites:
http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/
http://rbachholzer.wix.com/rbachholzer
http://rosemarybachholzer.weebly.com
http://rosemarybach-holzer.yolasite.com

Musings Amusing by Rosemary Bach-Holzer

 
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Posted by on December 30, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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