Whip It. Whip It Good.

When I was a young lass my parents gave me a pair of roller skates. They were white, with two red stripes on the boots and glittery red wheels, and from what I can recall, they were permanently attached to my feet.

I don't actually remember learning how to skate, but clearly I must have gone through the process because I do remember being very good at it. I could skate forwards and backwards, do crossovers around tight corners, fly down ramps, jump over steps, and zoom around the rink with all the cool people during the speed skate (because in the 80s you could do that kind of thing and still be cool).

I owed part of my talent to the teachers at my primary school, who let my best friend and I bring our skates to school and roll around the yard during recess and lunch. But most of my skating ability came from living next door to a church hall and knowing where the keys were kept.

Roller skating remained a part of my life well into my teenage years. Probably a little too far in, actually. For my 16th birthday, when most kids are sneaking alcohol and trying to cop a feel of each other, I took my friends to a skating rink that played predominantly Christian music. While the details of the event are a bit hazy (despite the total lack of alcohol), I imagine I requested some songs. I imagine I then sang along. I also imagine I couple-skated to Michael W Smith's Friends are Friends Forever. Because those are the kind of things I did when I was 16.

Over time my trips to the skating rink became less frequent. I flirted with the idea of Rollerblades when I was 19, but I was wobbly from a lack of practice and the "in-line" thing was a whole new skill to learn and I'd just left home so I had better things to do with my time than learn it.

Years have passed, and apart from crashing the occasional skate party my children go to, skating, for me, is over.

At least. I thought it was over.

Until, about a month ago, I discovered this:

Coincidentally, it was also at this time

that I discovered my camera

did not have a 'high-speed' function.

One of the local newspapers ran an article on the Geelong Roller Derby League and I was instantly besotted. I showed the article to Deloceano, we checked out their websites, befriended them on Facebook, and marked the next bout, The Mad Smasher's Tea Party, on our calendar.

As luck would have it, a week or so after the article appeared I saw an ad for Whip It. It looked very much like the kind of movie I would normally have waited to rent on DVD, but since Roller Derby had been my all-time favourite sport for at least seven days, I had to go see it straight away–which was good because it explained the rules so I could actually understand what I was getting so excited about.

After Mad Smasher's Deloceano and I did some discussing.

We discussed the idea of me joining the League.

We discussed the idea of me being crushed to death by the League.

We put that thought to one side, and I emailed the League.

It is suddenly rather important for skating to be a regular part of my life again. I'm going to need to be good at it if I want to make it into the League in January.

File Under 'True Blood'

I'm tired.

Not in a "I was up partying all night" or a "I've just run four laps of the beach" kind of way, but in a "I slept for nine hours straight, I'm on my fifth cup of coffee and I still can't muster the energy to do the dishes" kind of way.

Although, that probably has more to do with my aversion to housework than fatigue.*

I've never been good with food, I wouldn't eat if I didn't have to, but living with a foodie means there's a well-balanced meal on the table every night and cooked breakfasts on the weekends, so I'm eating better than I have in years. But I'm still so tired.

I thought walking the dog along the beach every day would elevate my fitness levels and bring with it a sense of well-being, but after two months one long walk can still wipe me out for the rest of the afternoon.

Why am I so tired? How can such a small amount of exertion knock me out like that? What's with this constant brain-fog?

These are the questions I took to my doctor a couple of weeks ago and we had a chat about various things, like anxiety, Buddhism, spiders and Johnny Depp. You know you've found a good doctor when your appointment includes a conversation about Johnny Depp.

He sent me off to pathology for some blood tests and I went in again last week for the results.

He said this: "Your blood count is fine, your kidneys are fine, your liver is functioning well and your B12 is normal. Your iron levels, however, are ... interesting."

Here we go, I thought. Another conversation about red meat. I've been through this a million times. He'll say, "Eat it." I'll say, "I'm vegetarian." He'll say, "Eat it anyway." I'll say, "But it's really, really gross ... you do realise it's dead flesh, don't you? Eewww." He'll say, "Don't think about it, just do it." I'll say, "I can't help it, it's a very disturbing thought for me. Can we talk about Johnny Depp again?"

But we didn't go down that path. Instead, he said, "Your iron levels are way too high."

"Um ... what?" I said.

Turns out I have something called Haemochromatosis.

I Googled it when I got home and came across a Haemochromatosis Society website. The home page offered a little bit of basic information "to help you understand the condition and put your mind at ease".

It said, "Haemochromatosis is a disease that causes iron to gather in your liver, heart and pancreas, causing serious damage."

Oh my god.

It said, "It is a genetic disorder that leads to premature death."

OH MY GOD.

It said, "For more information, read 'Haemochromatosis: The Bronze Killer'."

OH! MY! GOD!

So much for putting my mind at ease.

Fortunately there are a lot of other websites on the topic, so I did a bit more research. The non-dramatic explanation is that normally, the body absorbs whatever iron it needs from food and then gets rid of the rest. With Haemochromatosis, it absorbs what it needs and then just goes right on absorbing. Once it's absorbed, the body has no way of getting rid of it, so it sticks it in body tissues and various organs to get it out of the way. If it is diagnosed early you can begin treatment and avoid organ damage. If it is diagnosed a bit later you can begin treatment, and in some cases, reverse organ damage.

So, no iron-related premature death for me.

Dietary information is a funny thing. And iron is the biggest point of attack on vegetarians. All my life I've heard that you can't get enough iron without meat. If you're not going to eat red meat at least three times a week then you'd better take a supplement because you'll never meet your body's needs otherwise. You have to eat a tonne of spinach because you won't find iron elsewhere, etc.

Based on this 'information', I asked the doctor if decreasing my iron intake further would help. He said, "No. If you ate meat I'd say cut back a bit, but there's not much you can do with diet. Iron's everywhere. It's in everything. Whatever you eat, your body's going to absorb iron from it."

Only a week ago I thought iron was a precious rarity and I had to scrounge to get it. Now I find it's impossible to avoid and I'm drenched in the stuff.

Fortunately, treatment is available.

It's also totally cool.

It's vampires.

Or at least, vampiresque ... I need someone to drain my blood.

My preferred method would be to become a regular at Fangtasia, but the problem with that is it's all the way over in Louisiana. Also, it's made up.

I'm ready for my treatment

Dr Pam and Dr Eric

Due to the fictional nature of vampires it is best to rely on another form of treatment. All you need to do is donate blood on a regular basis. "Regular" can mean once or twice a week for a while, until the iron levels in the blood are within the normal range, then three or four times a year to maintain it. It's the only known disease that actually benefits the whole community.

Without all that iron in my system my energy will return, the brain-fog will dissipate, and other symptoms I thought were anxiety-related will ease. Plus, now whenever someone discovers I'm a vegetarian and tells me to eat some meat I can say, "Get stuffed."

Now, if only the release of season two of True Blood on DVD would hurry up. I reckon I'm medically required to watch it.

*Apparently my aversion is completely justified. During a recent visit to the pathology clinic I was informed by the nurse that housework makes you ugly. She's a nurse ... it must be true!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

An entire decade of staring at the walls has done little to prepare me for the ridiculous amount of life I've been living lately.

Not so long ago, if I had a phone call to make on Tuesday and a dinner to go to on Saturday I'd be saying, "It's such a crazy week! There's just so much to do!"

Yes, two things used to be my definition of "crazy".

And then everything happened at once.

I met a man. I got a dog. I got engaged. I left my job. Then I packed up everything I owned, except for the things I no longer wanted, and moved to a beautiful town by the sea. Now there's a new school for the boys, new people to meet, new surroundings to discover, new work to find, and a new house to make our home.

I guess I'm not going through any more change than the average person, it's just that, usually, the average person experiences it at a relatively constant rate. I was beginning to think I'd never experience it again, but it turns out that during my wall-staring years change was lurking in the distance, building, moving, gathering speed, and suddenly ten years worth of the stuff has

come screaming over the horizon, smashing into my life and shattering the walls of my comfort zones.

Which is exactly what I was hoping it would do.

My children and my love have taken to our sea change as though it's something we do every second weekend. One of our cats, on the other hand, is completely traumatised. He spends most of his day hiding in a bookcase and refuses to even sit near a window, let alone venture outside.

I think I might be somewhere in between. Sometimes I venture outside and I'm blown away by the scenery. I can't believe how lucky I am to be with such an incredible man in such an incredible place.

Other times I drive around saying, "How can the pet shop not be there? I was sure it was on this street. There's not that many streets in this town! How is it possible that I'm lost?! I don't know this place! I don't have any friends here yet! Oh my god, I'm unemployed!"

And then I come home to hide in a bookcase.

It can get a bit overwhelming trying to deal with so much change all at once, but I am adjusting. And adjusting doesn't seem so hard when you're only a few minutes' walk away from this:

File Under 'Point And Shoot'

I have a new camera.

I also have an old camera that works perfectly, takes good pictures, and because it's shaped like a fancy SLR it makes me look like I know what I'm doing.

Unfortunately it's also quite big, so more often than not I would look like someone without a camera because I couldn't be bothered carrying it.

Then I discovered that my friend Della had a near-microscopic camera that she carried around in her bag at all times. And not only did she manage to turn every moment into a photographic opportunity, she also took incredible photos.

So I did some extensive research (read: asked Della what kind of camera she had), hunted around for the best deal (read: went to the local camera shop to see if they had one), and skilfully negotiated the price with the salesperson (read: pointed to the camera and said, "I want that one, here's my money").

It immediately became my favourite thing ever and slotted itself seamlessly into my walking-out-the-door checklist:

Purse. Yep.
Phone. Yep.
Keys. Here.
Camera. Got it.

And because I now photograph almost everything I see, I thought I'd share some of it with you in blog format. I will continue to write, ramble and haphazardly post here at File Under 'Miscellaneous', but I will also be posting photos on my new blog, The Illustrated Melody.

Feel free to wander over, look around, and tell me what you think.

File Under 'Early'

My son qualified for the cross country run this year, which is all very exciting.

Except on Thursday mornings when we have to get to the local lake by 7:45 for training.

Today was the first time we managed to get him there on time. There was no yelling at him to hurry up, there was no cursing of slow cars and red lights, and there was no racing to catch up to everyone else.

Unfortunately, there was also no training today.

Never mind. It was a nice morning for photographs.

And it was good to get a little leash practice in with Puppy.

Clearly it went well.

We didn't spent a lot of time at the lake which meant I was running early for work. On the rare occasion that this happens I sometimes find myself stuck behind a truck that puzzles me. The photo is a little blurry because as I was taking it I was also trying not to crash and die, but you can still read the words of warning.


But I thought vegetables were good for you.

File Under "Secretarial Thrills"

I did a bit of photocopying today.

But only for about, say, FOUR HOURS!

I had every intention of starting and finishing it yesterday. Considering the size of the task I estimated it would probably take me about an hour, plus an extra half an hour to collate the bundles, stick them in envelopes and send them on their way.

But I'd forgotten that the auto-feed was out of order. That was annoying. Over 100 pages and I was going to have to copy them individually. Never mind. It should only take another half an hour or so.

In order to be as environmentally friendly as this kind of paper-hungry job can be, I needed to make double-sided copies of everything. That's fine. I can scan them in one at a time, then press 'store' and the machine prints them out for me, collated and separated, ready to go. Easy.

Except the photocopier was somewhat less cooperative than it has been in the past. Maybe it was grumpy that nobody had bothered to fix its auto-feed. It copied about eight pages before giving me the message: Mishandled paper. Remove cover 9. Lift levers 2 & 4. Release latch 5. Remove paper.

I figured out what 'cover 9', 'levers 2 & 4' and 'latch 5' were and did as I was told. There was a clanking and a whirring and a flashing Copier warming up, and then a Press 'start' to resume copying.

I pressed start. I got three more copies. Then I got: Mishandled paper. Remove cover 9. Lift levers 2 & 4. Release latch 5. Remove paper.

This pattern continued for quite some time. And every single time it jammed I had to remove origami fans of destroyed document from three different places. Sometimes four. Instead of being environmentally friendly I was making whole rain forests cry.

That was yesterday.

Today I dumped the photocopier and turned to the fax machine for comfort. It didn't let me down. Much. It did take its own sweet time however, and left me standing by the stationery cupboard watching my copies ooze slowly, p-a-i-n-f-u-l-l-y s-l-o-w-l-y, onto the out-tray. I then had to collate everything myself. Lazy fax machine.

One of those companies that leaves a box of books for people to browse through and hopefully purchase had just made a delivery. While I was waiting for 26 copies of pages 18-24 I read the first chapter of the Michael J Fox autobiography. Later, in another book, I found a nice recipe for a mushroom and zucchini loaf. Then I kept collating.

The stationery cupboard just so happens to be right next to the snack cupboard. I don't usually visit the snack cupboard, but with all that standing around next to it I ended up buying a packet of Cheezels and a Boost Bar. Both were disappointing.

I finished photocopying just before home-time, which was a shame because it meant I didn't have time to have a cup of tea before coming home to have a cup of tea. Plus, less importantly, I didn't have time to divide the tower of paper and put it all in envelopes. I will have to face it tomorrow.

After a cup of tea.

How Much Is That Doggy In The Window?

I have a dog.

This is an extremely unusual thing for me to have. I've never had one before, I've never wanted one before (except perhaps for a week when I was twelve), and I hadn't planned to have one in the future.

Y'see, usually when I think of cats, I think of this:

And when I think of dogs, I think of this:

I'm just not a dog person.

And yet...

I now have a dog.

The people who know me best have responded to my new state of dog ownership with both surprise and concern.

My best friend said, "I was thinking only yesterday that I wanted a friend who had a dog I could play with and take for walks. I just never thought it would be you!"

Another friend said, "Now, about the dog. I mean, he's the most adorable little thing and all, but ... are you OK?"

As it happens, I am OK.

The handsome and clearly very persuasive Mr Melody loves dogs, and over time he managed to convince me that a dog needn't be something that only happens to other people. It was just a matter of finding the right one.

So we looked online and went to shelters and pet shops. This one was too big for me, that one was too small for him. This one wasn't good with children, that one liked to eat cats. We gave each other the power of veto and I quickly became known as the Veto Queen.

Then one Friday afternoon, with very low expectations, we walked into a pet shop.

Just for a look.

And looking back at us was a gorgeous blue-eyed Samoyed.

He's been with us for two weeks now and he can already come, sit, drop and wee on the carpet–although, we're trying to get him to stop that last one. As a cat person I was scared we weren't going to bond, but I actually really like the little guy. I like coming home to him. I like watching him play. I like being a part of that whole strike-up-a-conversation-with-strangers thing that seems to be unique to dog owners.

I must be becoming a dog person.

Now when I think of cats, I still think of this:

But it's hard not to melt a bit with this around the house: