Rhonda Bracey: At Random

A good friend of mine and her business partner have taken on another business — one that you wouldn’t normally think of, and one that some people might feel uncomfortable about discussing in their 30-second ‘elevator pitch’.

Their new business is Moon Pads (http://www.moonpads.com.au), and they make and sell washable menstrual products (or ‘feminine hygiene’ products as the advertisers would like us to say, demurely). Their products don’t use chemicals for absorption, are reusable, last for years, and don’t go to landfill.

Well, I was chatting to Suzanne via instant messaging today (she’s based in Tasmania), and we were talking about her new business and how it was going. She also sent me a prototype of their new brochure for my opinion. And I got to thinking about this chemicals-going-to-landfill thing with respect to the commercial, disposable menstrual products that Western women (at least) have been using for the past 60+ years. And I started to think about some statistics. And it was scary.

There are some 6.5 billion people in the world, but for ease of calculation, let’s make that 6 billion. Half of them are women (3 billion), and of those a good proportion are between 12 and 55 (again, I’m using these ages as approximations for the onset of puberty through to menopause). As I don’t know what women in places like many African nations, India and China do about menstrual products, I’m going to assume that they don’t use the commercial, disposable, chemical things those in the so-called developed countries do. That removes some 1.5 billion women from my estimates (1 billion alone from China and India, and I’m guessing another half billion from Africa). Let’s remove another half billion of those left to account for those who are under 12 or over 55.

What we’re left with is approximately 1 billion women of reproductive age in the so-called developed world. Now it gets interesting…

Let’s assume that EACH woman in that 1 billion cohort:

• has 12 periods per year
• has her period for 5 days per month
• uses an average of 4 tampons or pads per day of their period
• has periods for approximately 40 years of their lives

So, each woman will use some 9600 disposable tampons or pads (12 x 5 x 4 x 40) over their menstrual life.

Over 40 years, and assuming 1 billion fertile women from the so-called developed nations, that’s 9600 BILLION disposable tampons and pads that are sent to landfill or incineration for the chemicals to leach out into the earth’s groundwater or pollute the earth’s atmosphere. That’s some 240 BILLION per year!! And I think my numbers are conservative. If you add another billion to represent the fertile women of Africa and India and China, double those figures.

This is BIG business — and it has terrible environmental consequences.

From Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Menstrual_pad):

The materials used to manufacture most pads are derived from the petroleum industry and forestry. The absorbent core, made from chlorine bleached wood pulp … with the addition of polyacrylate gels …. The remaining materials are mostly derived from the petroleum industry, the cover stock used is polypropylene …, with the leakproof barrier made from polyethylene film. The extraction, production and manufacture of these plastics contributes nitrogen oxide, sulfur dioxide and carbon dioxide – ozone depleting gases; human toxins that lead to cancer and birth defects as well as chemicals that cause the acidification of trees. The high plastic content of these products ensures they remain in our environment for centuries as they are neither biodegradable nor recyclable. Disposal of used sanitary products by either flushing out into the oceans of the world, incinerating or depositing in landfill creates various pollutants including dioxins deposited in the sea through sewerage waste and air pollution from incinerators.

No wonder Suzanne and her business partner have taken on the production of reusable, washable menstrual products. Even if only a small percentage of fertile women switched to cloth, the environmental savings would be enormous. (And yes, I know that various chemicals were used in manufacturing the cloth used in reusable napkins. But this would be nowhere near the amount of petrochemicals used to produce the commercial, disposable products.)

And then there are the savings to your wallet. A package of around 12 pads costs between $5 and $6 here in Australia. Assuming you used two packs per period, that’s some $10-$12 per month or $120 to $144 per year. Cloth pads from my friends’ store (http://www.moonpads.com.au) average about $15 each, so to cover two days’ worth, you’d need about eight ($120). But this outlay covers you for many years of use, not just one year.

Maybe it’s time women stopped being conned by the ‘health’ industry into thinking that they have to use these highly-manufactured and environmentally toxic products and that there aren’t alternatives.

I’ll try not to think of the other disposable things manufactured with lots of chemicals that we can’t live without these days, like tissues (when I was a kid, we all had cotton hankies — when did tissues become the ONLY thing to use?). I’m as guilty as anyone of using tissues, paper towels, and similar. Perhaps handkerchiefs and cotton hand towels need to make a comeback?

We left our last location to get away from the threat of bushfires and the smoke from controlled and uncontrolled burns. So far, so good. Until 5 days ago. That’s when we started smelling smoke — just a little to start with. Two days ago that little became a LOT.

The local shire is doing a lot of controlled burns in the region at the moment, and the smoke is really bad. We’ve had the windows closed totally for the past 3 days, but still it wafts in. The mornings are the worst as the cool night air puts a blanket over the thick smoke and won’t let it escape. Add to that little or no sea breezes for the past week, and the smoke just keeps hanging around.

Usually by the afternoon, it’s lifted a little. And we’re getting the most spectacular and colourful sunrises and sunsets. However, I’d just like to open the windows or get on my bike and get some fresh air. I feel really sorry for those who have respiratory conditions — this must be a really bad time for them.

I took the pictures below while driving home from the shops at noon today. They give just a hint of how this smoke is hanging around.

That line on the horizon? That's the sand dunes on the other side of the inlet -- they're usually clear and sharp enough to see the dunes poking above some of the trees

Smoke haze through the trees

See also: Local news report on these controlled burns with pictures taken in the morning of the Bunbury Port shrouded in smoke: http://southwest.thewest.com.au/regionals.aspx?MenuID=334&ContentID=165573

Picture from http://southwest.thewest.com.au/

Saw this in Spotlight’s most recent catalogue (Crafting with Mum), advertising yarn and offering a free project sheet to make this outfit. Great outfit — if you want to look like a POODLE!

I think was from a recent ‘Saturday Night Live’; I got it from a Twitter friend:

“When your body looks like a dirtbag’s binder from 7th grade metal shop, it doesn’t bode well for your character.”

Love it!

It’s Seattle. It’s raining. The owner of the bike has carefully locked it and put a plastic bag over the seat. But there’s something not quite right with this picture…

Picked it yet? The helmet is totally exposed to the rain!

When I was very little, I got a teddy bear. I was so young, I have no recollection of not having it. I still have it. I loved that teddy to death and even played hairdressers on it when I was about 6, giving it a bit of a haircut! (Update 2017: I’ve been scanning some old photos and have found a picture of me aged about a year old with my bear.)

I’ve never seen another bear like it, and had no idea where or when it was made. I figured it wasn’t a Steiff bear, but its identity eluded me. Then two weeks ago on ‘The Collectors’, they did a segment on a doll hospital and at the end of the segment the panel discussed the value of several bears — including a bear that looked just like mine! I was so excited!

Thanks to ‘The Collectors’, I’ve now found out that my teddy is a Berlex Bear, made in Melbourne from the 1930s to the 1970s, and the value is around $300. Value is irrelevant as I’d never get rid of my ‘Ted’.

‘The Collectors’ episode that featured ‘my’ bear is Episode 4, 28 February 2010 and you can view it here: http://www.abc.net.au/tv/collectors/segments/s2824604.htm. The segment discussing the bears starts around 5 minutes 10 seconds in, and goes to 7 minutes 48 seconds.

Here’s a screen shot from the video, showing ‘my’ bear:

Berlex bear

And here’s *my* bear:

And me with my Ted way back when:

Update October 2020: I’ve now had Ted restored back to his handsome self: https://rhondabracey.com/2020/10/21/my-teddy-went-to-the-teddy-bear-doctor/

(A friend sent this to me — I don’t know its origins so I can’t acknowledge authorship. Enjoy!)

When I was a child in the 1960s the bathing suit for the mature figure was boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift and they did a good job. Today’s stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.

The mature woman has a choice – she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney’s Fantasia or she can wander around every run of the mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of florescent rubber bands. What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which give the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected from shark attacks as any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.

I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place, I gasped in horror – my boobs had disappeared! Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib. The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups.. The mature woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.. The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap.

As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, ‘Oh, there you are,’ she said, admiring the bathing suit. I replied that I wasn’t so sure and asked what else she had to show me. I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two piece which gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.

I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan’s Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day. I tried on a black number with a midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.

I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.

Finally, I found a suit that fit…a two-piece affair with a shorts style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.

When I got home, I found a label which read – ‘Material might become transparent in water.’

So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I’m there too, I’ll be the one in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!

We’ve been getting some electrical and other trades work done.  The reason for this little rant is the experience we had last week with the two electricians, who we’ve called the ‘bogmasters’ (the name will become obvious soon…), and some other tradies.

1. Answer your phone

If the only phone number for you in the directory is your mobile phone and I call it during business hours, I expect you to answer it, or for it to at least go to voice mail so I can leave you a message. If you don’t answer your phone, I’ll call someone else. At least two plumbers lost potential work because their mobile phones rang out.

2. Turn up when you say you will

If you say you’ll be there at 9:00am, mid-morning, noon, mid-afternoon, whatever…, then I expect you to turn up then. I don’t expect to wait until 2:00pm if you told me you’d be there at 9:00am and you haven’t called me to tell me you’re running late. In fact, if you’ve told me 9:00am, then even 10:00am is pushing it without explanation. The opposite is true too — if you say you’ll be there late morning, don’t call me at 9:00am and say you’re waiting outside and I’m not home!

3. Control your bodily fluids

The ‘bogmasters’ both sweated — a LOT. Understandable. It was a hot day, they were doing physical work, and were in and out of the extremely hot roof space. Yes, they are going to sweat profusely. But please have a towel or something to wipe it up. Don’t lean on my sofa, don’t lean on my car, and don’t lean over my bed linen while the sweat is dripping off you or is still plastered to your shirt. If you want to do any of these things, grab an old towel to protect my stuff from your bodily fluids — hell, if you’d asked, I’d have given you an old towel for the purpose. I was not happy having to clean up your sweat marks and watching drips of sweat hit the clean bed linen as you were working on the lights in the bedroom.

4. Control your bodily solids

Don’t come to my house and expect to take a dump — do that in your own house. And if you really *do* have to have a crap, then clean up after yourself — there’s a toilet brush there for a reason. I don’t leave skid marks on my loo, and I don’t want you to either. Oh, and when you finish, you’d better make sure I can hear you wash your hands in the bathroom. Three Four dumps in two days by two guys (the aptly named ‘bogmasters’) was three four times too many.

5. Respect my property

I’ve paid you good money for your services; the least you can do in return is respect my property as you do the job. Don’t drag cables across my polished floorboards — it scratches them. Don’t stand on the edge of the sliding door frame — you can bend it or knock bits of brick work off. Clean up after yourself — bring your own vacuum cleaner/dustbuster; don’t expect to use mine. Put your rubbish in the bin — don’t leave it where it lands. Cover the area where you’re going to work if it has stuff underneath it that bits of brick and plaster dust might affect (e.g. clothes hanging in the walk-in robe). Wash your hands often — dark handprints on the white painted manhole cover aren’t pretty.

6. Smoke away from the house

If you are going to smoke, do it outside and well away from the house and any prevailing breeze that might waft your stinking smoke into my environment.

7. Speak my language

Both ‘bogmasters’ were originally from The Netherlands, and both had been in Australia for 30+ years. Both spoke English perfectly, with a little bit of an accent. Both spoke English to each other while they were working on the job. But occasionally they spoke to each other in Dutch. When you revert to a language I don’t know, I start to make assumptions — were you making risque or derisory comments about me or my husband or our house? had you screwed up something you were doing and didn’t want to let me know? (the “Oh sh*t!” moments)

I’d hire any tradie in a heartbeat who follows my simple rules. It basically comes down to respecting my property and my time.

Anyone else have tradie pet peeves they’d like to share?