Shoes-ing

After approximately 25 wardrobe malfunctions, I found the dress. One that fits and will (please God) stay in place throughout the ceremony and reception. Then my step mom, Marilyn, called "Now you have to get shoes, clutch and jewelry." What!!! There is more to this? I am not a shopper by any stretch of the imagination. It is safe to say that I hate it. I own a small collection of jeans and a large collection of yoga pants and t-shirts. I am content to wear boots fall and winter, tennis shoes in the spring and bare feet all summer but off I went to find shoes. Summer, dress-up, big girl shoes. Because I have some of the worst toes ever made I am unable to wear anything strappy which narrows summer time options. I am short so i wanted heels but not wedges or platforms or "the dress looks great it's a shame she can't walk in the shoes" shoes. 
So after Penney's, Kohls and Bergners, we found the perfect pair at Macys...the shoe I would have made if I had time, talent and materials. This week they remained in the plastic wrap and box they came in until someone mentioned that I should probably start breaking them in. Ah! yes...the breaking in of the new shoes. I recall very vividly a day in the late sixties when my brother Bruce and I returned home after a day of neighborhood shenanigans to find our mother, Pat, breaking in a new pair of pumps. Her hair, damp and  full of bright pink, sponge curlers held securely in place by plastic clips and a sort of large babushka like scarf. Her attire consisted of pedal pushers, a cotton, sleeveless blouse, knee high stockings, a brand new pair of high heeled pumps and a fly swatter. She wandered aimlessly throughout the house swatting at flies as she went and breaking in the new shoes. We thought it was hysterical. We laughed until we cried.   
Fast forward to 2011 - I sit at a laptop in a pair of cutoff sweats, t-shirt, face slathered in wrinkle cream and, yes, high heeled, big girl shoes for the wedding.A cellphone has replaced the black rotary desk phone that sat in my parent's home. I use a laptop instead of a typewriter.  A microwave does a large majority of my cooking as opposed to the large dutch oven my mom used daily. A hot curling brush instead of those wonderful pink-sponge rollers. So many things are different but at least one thing remains the same, then and now, the only way to break in a new pair of shoes is to put them on your short stubby hammer toed feet and wear them. 

To tan or not to tan

Not tanning is out of the question. I have to have some color for the wedding so the issue is whether or not I will acheive the glow by 1. Lounging on a tri-fold recliner in the yard  2. Applying a self tanner.  3. Lying on a tanning bed.
 I know what you are saying...only one of them is an acceptable option given what we know about skin cancer but I have wedding photos to think about! So lets's discuss the options.
1.The days of my pink candy striped bikini, iodined tinted baby oiled "laying out" days are well behind me. As I have mentioned, I live in the midwest, for those of you who do not, it is possible that you have not heard of the dreaded buffalo gnat. They began to appear a few years ago in the spring. They are tiny and pack a ferocious bite leaving large welts primarily on face and neck. Nothing really helps. Vanilla is the prescribed repellant and I have found that it helps to a certain degree but only when there are a few and never when surrounded by a swarm so lounging in the yard has become hazardous.
2. Seriously.....I can't do it. I've tried. I always wind up with orange palms, streaked legs and indescribable pools of mottled skin and orange colors under both breasts.  I don't know how anyone can do this alone! Legs ( not knees, ankles or heels) arms (not elbows, wrists, or palms) butt ( I don't have a clue...I can't see back there) torso and breast ( even underneath breast which, if you have big boobs( I do)  entails lying down.) Then the waiting for everything to dry before you get dressed or risk staining your clothes and, quite frankly I don't care if I have nothing to do, I don't have time for that!
3. Once upon a time a tan meant that your husband made enough money to take you to far off places like Mexico or Cuba or Florida. Glistening, bronze skin was the equivalent to an Armani handbag except you never had to switch the contents to match your outfit. Along came tanning salons making us all Floridian look alikes and leveling the field (especially if you go before 10 when you are guaranteed the bed of your choice and you pay only half price). I don't enjoy the tanning bed experience. I have a bit of adult a.d.d so I literally drum my fingers against the plexiglass sarcophogous as i wait for the minutes to tick away. I am also a bit claustrophobic ( the sarcophogous term might have given that away) so I try never to let the lid close completely. I have often imagined the lid not rising as the timer buzzes and I am stuck inside yelling for help and the only help to arrive is the young, sweet but haplless overly-tanned girl ( cuz it's free for employees)from the front desk who will be responsible for dissasembling the chamber of torture in which I now lie naked and wondering if they really clean the beds or if my ass is lying on what was left by the last ass that lay here. She will listen as my muffled voice attempts to explain to her the difference between a flat or phillips head screwdriver and threats that I will never be back or at the very least I expect free tans for a while. 

So...there are my issues. Thanks for listening. Talking about it has helped. Tomorrow morning I will grab a gym bag, a towel, tan accelerator, a handkerchief to cover my face and a sticky note to attach to the outside of the burning bed upon which I will write;
 Dear Hapless, There is a phillips screw driver in my bag, Thanks for helping. 
      

Television boycott

Ok...boycott may be too strong a word but I have begun to notice that ever since I closed my piano studio and began teaching from my home afternoons and ever since my husband brought home a 52" projection tv, my rear end has begun to conform to the size of the wing backed chair I find myself sitting in all too often watching...crap! Seriously...crap! Except for Mad Hungry with Lucinda Scala Quinn who has inspired me to begin cooking again (I even bought her cookbook!) but otherwise just re-runs of shows that I have memorized and commercials that are either trying to convince me that the twinge I felt this morning is cancer and I need to call a cancer treatment center immediately or that if I use their product I will almost instantaneously look like Diane Lane who by the way when I have seen her on other programs where she isn't selling wrinkle cream....HAS WRINKLES! I don't believe that anyone really cares about toilet paper and I have never ever met anyone who cleans empty containers before throwing them away. I don't get the new Dairy Queen commercials at all. I don't know who their target audience is or why anyone would find the commercials amusing or send them running for a blizzard but maybe that's just my age. I am a child of the sixties and while my mother did the washing and cooking the constant murmuring of a soap opera on the only tv we owned was heard generally between 1 and 3 and the commercials were about, well...you know...soap.
So I am turning off the tv during the day. I am recording Mad Hungry for later viewing and, if I don't have a student at 4:00, I will be watching Jeopardy, but that's it.  
I need for you to understand how difficult the first couple of weeks will be. From the first moment that my tiny little toddler hand was able to grasp and pull the the "on" switch on our 12" black and white television, I have been hooked. I waited with baited breath every morning for Miss Nancy to look through the magic mirror and see me or my baby sister. Never once did she say Kristy or Katey but that's ok, we watched anyway. We stomped around the living room in makeshift romper-stompers my mother made from cutting holes in old shoe boxes. Soon to follow was Gilligan's Island, the Brady Bunch, the Partridge family and oh! the glorious dancing of Bobby and Sissy! Evenings meant that our dad had control of the programming. I don't remember most of those shows but rather buttered popcorn, pepsi and just being together and if I tired of the evenings pick, I had my room with books and music.
TV was a treat, a reward, not a given. Chores and homework had to be completed before we were allowed to watch our "programs". I moved out of my parent's home in the late seventies and there was still just one television, a larger floor model, of course, but still just one. In our home there is a tv in almost every room save the kitchen and the bathroom although if I am really interested in something I just leave the bathroom door open. It has become a distraction so it is time to turn it off. Time to walk, time to stretch, time to plant, time to read and time to write. Even as I write this I see the small red light glowing on my dvr as it records an already seen too often episode of some silly sitcom. So...goodbye Will, Grace, Jack, Karen, Frasier, Niles, Old and New Christines. See you later Lucy,Ricky,Ethel and Fred. I'll catch you later Andy, Barnie, Aunt Bee and little Opie (unless a station starts running the old black and white episodes because no matter how many times you see those, they are funny!) 
Wish me luck...I'm gonna need it. 

STAKING CLAIMS

I live in the country so finding a space to walk is not a big deal for me. I teach piano from my home in the afternoons so finding time is not a big deal for me. The spring time wind up on the hill can be kind of a big deal but not this morning. Picture perfect although a little bit chilly so I dug through the bag of winter clothing I had placed on the attic stairs and retrieved some under amour and a skull cap to wear under my sweats. Sunglasses, visor, lip balm and a Gold's gym weight vest with 8 pounds tucked into the pockets, my black lab, Murphy and I set out on our usual trek with a little more determination than usual. Her mission was to find out what animals have taken up residence in the culverts along our country roads and mine was to firm anything that jiggles.
We walk down a road that rarely sees traffic. A hundred years ago it was simply a dirt road to give easy access to a farmers field but after time it was paved and remains so today. During the summer it is well hidden by corn fields, currently the corn is just beginning to poke it's stalks through newly turned dirt so we have a clear view of miles and miles.
The first culvert gives us no hint as to this years inhabitants but as Murphy burrows into the second one a friendly warning scent wafts through the air confirming a family of skunks has laid claim to this one. The expected clamor from the black birds who lay yearly nests in the only tree left standing on the road goes on overhead as they remind us that we have invaded their space and then...a surprise.
Up ahead, maybe a half mile or so, a really big coyote runs through the field, across the lane and into the next field. I am certain it is the same one who lived in these fields last year. He is much bigger than the others and he is always alone which is rare for coyotes. It is also rare for them to be out during the day...but there he is. He shows no interest in us now. I assume he is probably feasting on spring time bunnies and ground squirrels but later in the season he will show himself to us in the hopes that Murphy will unwittingly follow him into the field.
It is unnerving and miraculous and beautiful and kindred. The posse of black birds who have been sent to follow me join in my vocal welcome and warning. Murphy works furiously to leave as much pee in as many places as possible, weaving back and forth through the fields.
I am truly happy to see him. I am relieved to know that he made it through a particularly cruel winter finding enough to eat and avoiding the farmers shot guns. He'll stay away from us for now and wait until the corn affords the element of surprise he enjoys so it will be awhile before I actually look into his eyes.

"Let's go Murph!". "See you soon Mr. Coyote! I won't bother your nests Mrs. Blackbird. And please, skunk family, not under my front porch this year...seriously...that was a baaaad thing!"     

Love, Marriage and extra breasts

My youngest son is getting married in a month. June 11th at 1:00 in the afternoon to be exact. He is marrying the only girl he has ever dated and loved since junior high. He is 21 and she is 23. Two young people who are more certain of their future than I have ever been! They purchased a home together a year ago while both of them were still working and in school. She, an elementary school teacher at the small town school she attended and he, a history major with a minor in secondary education. My son has been coaching junior high basketball since he was nineteen. Incredible people who knew what they wanted, laid out a plan, checked off the list one item at a time and are now preparing for the final thing on the list, the wedding. Of course a new list will begin soon after that; jobs, bills, kids...scares and thrills...sickness and health but I have faith that they'll figure it out. 
But this isn't about them.
It's about me...more specifically the grey hair on the back of my head, the crows feet that frame each eye and whatever the hell that was that spilled over the sides of my V.S angel bra when I got dressed to go to dinner last Saturday. This flesh that appeared from absolutely nowhere and I am not exaggerating. Bra off; not there. Bra on; OMG this wavering blob of extra breast tissue. Arms down; not there. Applying mascara; there it was, tagging along after my hands as they dipped the wand and lifted to lashes, happily jiggling with each brush stroke.
 I had decided when I turned 50 this year to grow old gracefully. I have never been any good with hair and makeup and all of the other things that go with girldom so that plan worked for me.
Then the engagement was announced last July but I wasn't worried. I looked cute. Tan and slim in white capris and flip flops. Sun flecked hair that masked the grey. All was well. 50 came in october, then the holidays and a new year with good intentions. January 3rd: START WEDDING SHAPE UP PLAN. Feb 1st: WEDDING DIET AND EXERCISE March 1st: START SIT UPS AND STOP MASHED POTATOES! No entry in April, I thought maybe I could just sneak up on it but after a brutal mid-western winter spring whispered and then summer whistled and i found myself lying in the sun in a bikini that could not quite accommodate the numerous cups of gravy i had ingested to soothe the sting of ice and snow. MAY 1ST: SERIOUSLY!!!!!
Now I have my own list: Cut down on carbs, walk 3 miles every day, use resistance bands and do stomach crunches. Actually open the wrinkle cream you bought in January and apply it to your wrinkles!
Now, I realize that following this routine would be a miracle but that's ok...I believe in miracles. After all, my son and his fiance had a check list that included fall in love in junior high, graduate from college, buy a home, start careers and plan a wedding. I figure the least I can do is try to look good for the pictures!
(note to myself: resistance bands and miracles aside...get a bigger bra...seriously, I don't think there's any fixing that)