Comfortable in Our Own....Shoes

The last few weeks have been filled with all things shoes and feet. Not sure why – maybe my feet are telling me something.

“I have come to an age where I am comfortable in my own...shoes!” My friend proclaimed. We were walking down the street and a woman 3-inch heels teetered by.

She further exclaimed “Get it? Instead of saying ‘I’m comfortable in my own skin,’ for me it’s ‘I’m comfortable in my own shoes!’”

Although I did agree with her, I thought of how I often longingly gaze at all the pretty too-high-for-me shoes in the stores and magazines and wish I could wear them. Yet I know deep down I have likely missed the boat for uber-fancy shoes: I have no practice wearing them (‘better late than never’ shoe-fashionistas everywhere would say), and my body/back/legs wouldn’t be able to handle anything other than what I typically wear now.

We were wearing our trusty, comfortable, flat, loafer-like shoes. Trendy yet still ‘in style,’ our shoes are best for us and our lifestyle; we are always on the go. We don’t need 3-inch heels to trip us up or slow us down. And yes, I know there are women who can go for miles all day in their heels, and I’m not saying those who do are less busy, but those angle-twisting ‘ways’ are not for us, not anymore. We used to wear those, back in the day, we reminisced, but we’re happier with who we are and what we wear, now.

But I still secretly long for those days.

But these days, I don’t have time to be worrying about my heel catching in a crack in the pavement. I’m busy! I have stuff to do! Being comfortable, safe and secure without risk of tripping and falling (mind you, I can do that even without heels) is what’s important to me. Sure I love little kitten heels, glamorous uber-expensive high heels, and I long for the days when I could get away with wearing cheap barely-there flats, like I did in my teens. But time and necessity has changed my needs and priorities.

All this shoe-enlightenment came on the heels (yes, pun) of my months-long struggle with a sore foot and quest for finding better shoes. On a Friday I was told by a doctor it was likely plantar fasciitis, and on the following Saturday, I tripped and fell, twisting both ankles and spraining the same foot!

Great, just great. I REALLY don’t have time for all this, I moaned as I limped home. It was putting a cramp in my style, a limp in my step, and a pain in my butt (literally, as my limp was aggravating my sciatica).

In the end, I had to rest my sprained/plantar fasciitis-plagued foot for a few days, and after the black-and-blue bruising faded, I was somewhat good as new.

Good thing my shoe closet doesn’t consist of only heels.

Two weeks later the city was abuzz with overnight snow warnings. We ended up getting only two centimeters, but my tendency to trip and fall and seriously injure something, even without snow, had me pulling out my trusty hiking boots. My dad bought them for me for a group hiking expedition up when I was 14 years old. I know those mathematically keen will figure it out my age.

The boots have been everywhere – through the interior of BC, to Alberta, and to the many Gulf Islands. Oh, if these books could talk…

They’re comfortable, dry, sturdy, and dependable. I’ve never had a blister with them, I’ve never twisted an ankle with them, and I’ve never tripped and fallen with them.

And with my foot being ‘challenged,’ the boots worked out fine – no problem.

So to say I am comfortable in my own shoes – or boots, as it were – is an understatement. I truly am happy with me, who I am, and what I wear. I'm not out to impress, I'm out to have fun - and be comfortable!

Maybe all these shoe/feet issues/enlightenments/encounters mean something. Maybe I need to slow down and take better care of myself (yet again, another reminder). Without happy, healthy feet, there is so much I would miss, otherwise. I got stuff I gotta do – things to see, places to go!

And maybe I, too, have come to a point in my life where I am comfortable in my own shoes, or boots, and forget about the heels.

And keep going......

(My old trusty hiking books - approximately 28 years old)

Thanks for reading! Lisa

Hobbling Along with Perspective

It’s the Christmas season.

It’s not just a day – but a season.

And really, the generosity, good-will towards men, gratitude and counting of blessings should happen year round, but this is life. We get busy, we get caught up in other year-round activities, and we sometimes forget to remember – a lot of things.

As so often happens (sadly) at this time of year when everyone is in a rush, I witnessed exchange of heated words the other day between a young guy who apparently ‘stole’ a parking spot and a grandmother seated in her car, shaking her fist through her window.

“Come here and say it a little louder so my grandson can hear you!” she shouted at the young guy who apparently said something horrific I couldn’t quite hear. Her three-year-old-ish grandson would later follow her out of the car.

“Bring it on!” responded the young guy as he chuckled at her threats.

And it went on and on, back and forth.

Wow.

All that over a parking spot.

I relayed this story to two cashiers in a store shortly after.

“Perspective, people, perspective!” They both chanted. We all got on such a rage about the whole thing, I was sure pitchforks and torches were about to be raised.

I would only later realize I need to apply those ‘perspective’ thoughts to myself.

Previously, I had been moaning about my lack of writing time and all the incidents and challenges that threatened my writing time over the last two past months. I moaned and groaned and slumped and whined. But determination stoked a major fire under my butt, and I have been writing like a madwoman ever since.

And then I tripped and fell, twisting both ankles and spraining my foot. The same foot that, only the day before the fall, I was told had plantar fasciitis – the cause of pain and limping that had been slowing me down for months and months.

Argh!! Why? It’s been a year of weird (relatively insignificant) health issues! If it’s not one thing, it’s another! Just when I got my writing on track!

Feeling a tad sorry for myself, I limped home from the hospital following my x-rays and carrying a note from the emergency room doctor excusing me from work. Yes, many would jump for joy at this notion, but not only was I worrying about what my place of employment might say, but I was feeling kind of defeated. This was just ‘one more thing.’ I have stuff I gotta do! It’s Christmas! I can’t laze around all day!

Mid-limp, however, I stopped. Wait a second. This isn’t so bad. This is ONLY temporary. This is NOT life-threatening. I am fortunate to HAVE a job. I am fortunate to HAVE a home to go to. I’ve been through worse before, I will get over this, too! This is NOT major. And all this time I have been moaning about the fact that I don’t have time to write – well, NOW IS THE TIME!

Bad: gimped foot.

Good: time to write.

Talk about silver lining.

Perspective, Lisa, perspective.

There are much greater things in this world to moan about – things bigger, greater and well beyond my busy/chaotic/stressful little world of cooking, cleaning, working, being a mother, and dealing with silly little gimped feet. I have it easy. I forgot to remember that I have the wherewithal to write – the freedom to write what I want – in the first place. Why let another little hiccup in things ‘trip me up,’ so to speak.

Things don’t always go as planned, but it’s about gaining perspective and an attitude change that gets us through the challenges that seem huge at the time. A ‘stolen’ parking spot, a gimped foot....these are little things. Bigger things would be not having a foot at all. Bigger things would not have a car to drive.

Bigger things would be.....would be too many awful things to mention.

When bemoaning terrible atrocities of the world, many folks say “at least we have our health.”

And it’s true.

I have my health - and I can write about it.

Thanks for reading!
Lisa

Just Keep Writing, Just Keep Swimming....

I had a plan. I had a goal.

But things just didn’t work out the way I had intended.

For those non-writers out there, November is NaNoWriMo, aka ‘National Novel Writing Month.’ Writers buckle down and commit to writing a 50,000 word (or more) novel from start to finish within the month. In the end they have the notoriety of saying they are a ‘NaNoWriMo’ winner, and have a completed novel in their hands. The NaNoWriMo’s website has sections where you sign-up and log-in your daily word counts, along with online forums offering support, and links to other writers in the area who have signed up for the infamous writing month. On November 1st at 12:00am it’s READY, SET, WRITE, and you don’t stop until November 30 at 11:59pm. Word counts are logged and ‘winners’ are proclaimed. Public accountability is a great motivator, never mind having your own conscience pushing you on.

Yes, a novel can be written any time of the year but committing that month, along with others, to getting something done that most people only dream of doing has worked for many. Just look at the acknowledgements section of many books; they started out as NaNoWriMo books.

I had heard about this before, and the concept of being able to commit to something I am passionate about, writing, for a whole month, without distraction, was a bit of a challenge for me. I’m a mom, a wife, a full-time employee outside the home…I’m a busy momma. I always had the dream of ‘one day’ I would do it.

I had decided this year I was gonna do it – come hell or high water. I could juggle kids (who ARE getting older), home life, work life, and everything else that could come my way. I had broken down how many words I would have to write each day – whether writing five or seven days a week – to reach my 50,000 word novel goal. I plotted, planned and organized. I planned to take a day or two off from work, just for me and my writing. And I knew I would have to let things slide. Sacrifice, having a no-pain-no-gain attitude, and staying focused were all going to have to come into play. Writing takes time, commitment, drive, dedication and sacrifice – and I love it.

But I decided to start early, and made my goal to have my book – a humorous women’s fiction - I started in October finished by November. It wouldn’t be a true NaNoWriMo ‘entry,’ but it gave me a goal – a deadline. I was going to have my own ‘NaNoWriMo,’ but it would be over two months, instead.
But it didn’t happen.

What did happen was ‘life.’ Life happened; reality struck. To say the timing wasn’t right in relation to the stage of my life I am at right now is not an excuse. It’s reality. It’s the way it is, and was.

Some days I could write, some days I couldn’t. Family, health and a whole whack of other things had put a wrench in my plans – my schedule – and I was miserable. Self-doubt crept in, and I beat myself up about it – big time. Some might say I CHOSE to let that happen – that I CHOSE to let external forces get in the way of my one month of writing. Say what you will, but it was my reality.

I have a writing buddy – a mentor, if you will. She was, and still is, encouraging and supportive. She knew about my great plan, and whole-heartedly encouraged me. And the fact that I had told someone meant I was further committed. I couldn’t let her, or me, down.

And when the middle of November came and went, and only a quarter of my book was done, I was miserable. I tried and tried, but the calendar was counting down the days faster than I could write. I wouldn’t meet my November 30th goal. I admitted defeat and confessed all in an email to my writing pal. Despite how hard I tried, my own NaNoWriMo wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t giving up, but my dream of having it done by the end of the month was disappearing faster than the days flying by.

But I hated admitting defeat. I hated writing that letter to my pal. I wasn’t done. I wasn’t going to let anything get the best of me. So what if a month had passed? Big deal. So what if I wouldn’t get my book written in that tight timeframe. Books get written all the time, YEAR ROUND. So what if things didn’t go my way, when and how I wanted?

But I was wasting time beating myself up over my failed attempt, and I was mad - mostly at myself.

And when I get mad, I get busy.

So I started writing – like REALLY writing.

I had set daily writing goals when I was planning my NaNoWriMo, but this time was different. I had a fire under me, and I was being more realistic. When I had previously planned my writing goals, I think – no, I know - I was a bit overly ambitious. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I hadn’t expected the life-challenges I would have during that time.

This time I had doable goals. I put my writing buddy, the calendar looming over me, and everything else out of my mind. I wrote and wrote. One day I met my goal, and then the next. And the next goal I surpassed. And the next. And the next. Some days my writing sucked, and other days it flowed. But I kept going.

Then, to take it further, I advertised my goals on Facebook. All is said was: ‘Today’s writing goal – 1,500 words’ - that’s it. I’m sure that non-writing folks were wondering ‘What the heck?’ I had to put it ‘out there’ to make me even more accountable for my plan. But the comments and ‘likes’ I soon received not only from my writing pal but from others – writers and non-writers – was much needed. I was doing this for me, but I had to save face by honestly fulfilling my goals.

After this post is done, I will continue with my days’ goal of 1,000 words. And if I don’t make that word count – that’s OKAY. I will keep going.

But I learned a lot from my own so-called NaNoWriMo. Firstly, not to be so hard on myself.

Sure I didn’t finish my book on time, but I don’t consider myself a failure or a ‘loser.’ I consider myself….human. ‘Life’ happens to us humans. We can’t control what happens. But what we can control is what we do after all that stuff called ‘life’ happens. Like Dory from the Pixar movie, ‘Finding Nemo,’ says: ’Just keep swimming…just keep swimming.’

Just keep writing…just keep writing.

Thanks for reading! Lisa

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Just Us Girls - Book Release

They finally arrived!

My story 'Two Girls And Their Dream' is included in the newest Chicken Soup for the Soul release, 'Just Us Girls,' and after much, much waiting, my contributor copies have arrived! As the book is all about women and their friendships, my story is about a....ahem....'experience' my friend, Janelle, and I shared, and with a horse she used to own.

A bit more about the book:

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Just Us Girls - 101 Stories about Friendship for Women of All Ages

A woman's friends are the family she picks for herself. Whether it's about something funny or serious, our friends are the first ones we think to call. They are a constant source of support and encouragement. This collection of 101 touching and amusing stories celebrates all that is special about the bonds that women share with their friends — the unique spirit of female friendship. You'll love reading and sharing these stories with your friends.

Thanks for reading!
Lisa

Oh What a Guy!!

We waited, and waited, and waited some more; for five hours, in fact.

But he was worth it. My own marriage aside, it was well worth the wait for my new secret crush.

Hint: he’s only been (back) on earth for six months, he’s one of the most celebrated sought-after Canadian/astronaut/author/all-round-great guys, he plays a mean guitar, he’s worldly, his mom lives not too far from me, and he would give me the moon if I asked (at least I think he would - he DOES have connections, and all).

If you’ve figured it out, I guess it’s not a secret anymore. Col. Chris Hadfield, back on earth for six months after being away for five, is my new….crush.

My friend Elizabeth and I camped out in the middle of Hillside Mall, Victoria, BC, armed with chairs, snacks, and things to do. Our un-cracked, un-read copies of, ‘An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth’ by the outer-worldly Col. Hadfield sat ready and waiting for signing – as we were so instructed. With at least 1,000 people waiting in line to meet the Canadian spaceman, time was of the essence when it would come time for the actual signing. There would be no time for chatting, or staged-photos, or flipping-around-of-pages in the book; “Have the book open to the correct page for signing, step up to the desk, have book signed, and move on” were our instructions.

After waiting 2 ½ hours, unlike many others who had been there since the crack of dawn, it finally came time and the line started to move! Carrying our chairs we shuffled along, following the ropes guiding the lines. Shuffle, shuffle, stop. Shuffle, shuffle, stop. We did this for another hour and half. Luckily we had each other to chat with and people to watch to pass the time - not to mention our warm juice boxes.

Finally we were escorted into the store where we waited in another line, 20-people deep. As we shuffled along some more, soon I could see the top of his head, and then before I knew it, the trademark mustache!

It was HIM! The man from the moon! The guy from outer space! The astronaut who stole our hearts and enraptured kids everywhere with what happens in a spaceship!

Finally it was my turn to step up to the now-retired astronaut. My book was taken from me and presented to him for signing. With the amount of people, assembly-line-book-signing was needed.

But wait! Was he shaking hands? He was! My friend and I each wiped our sweaty palms on our jeans, checked each other’s teeth, and I quickly powdered my nose.

Being away for 6 months, and not just out of the country but out of the earth’s atmosphere, has meant he has a lot of catching up to do. And not just with his family, but with humans far and wide. And maybe the earth’s gravitational pull has been too much for him but he sure didn’t listen to instructions that day. Despite what we all were earlier told – no visiting, no chatting, move along quickly - he chatted and spoke to everyone.

I sidled up to the table, and with a grip sure to squeeze the gravity out of me, Col. Hadfield shook my hand, looked me square in the eye, and after we did the formal ‘how are you’ rally, he thanked me – ME – for waiting in line so long. And of course, the polite person I am thanked HIM for being there.

We broke the rules. We had an interlude. We had an exchange. We shook hands and chatted.

I watched those who came after me in line and sure thing, he shook hands and chatted with every single person. Despite the waits. Despite the instructions. Despite how many people he had yet to meet. I guess he figured that we waited for him, so the least he could do was give us each a personal moment.

What a guy. Where I was charmed by him before, I was now hooked.

As we left carrying our books, giggling at the 13-second experience we had waited five hours for, we passed the last person in line waiting so patiently with her book, and knew, just KNEW, he would shake her hand, as well. No matter how long it took to get to her.

Later, exhausted yet elated, with his book on my lap I took a deep, contented, smitten sigh...and promptly nodded off. My secret crush was just too much for me.

Thanks for reading! Lisa

When I Was 'Cool'

This Halloween was a momentous event for me. One of my kids thought I was ‘cool.’

Finally.

If only for a day.

Halloween has always been a big thing for us – two kids in the house has always made it fun. Decorations are put up and costumes are carefully planned and thought-out. When they were younger, I sometimes dressed up for work, and usually in something tame and generic. I was eager to foster the Halloween ‘spirit’ for my kids, but as my own age increased, dressing up for work faded away.

But with my kids getting older and trick-or-treating slowly becoming a thing of the past, I am anxious to hold on to the fun of it all – for my sake and for theirs. Who says you still can’t have fun, no matter how old you get?

So a few years ago I started dressing up, but only for giving out treats at the door. Sure it was just a silly mask and hood, but when it’s dark, everything is that much scarier. I do a whole ‘hunched-over-scary-monster’ act, complete with grunts and growls. The ‘macho’ kids are determined not show their fears, especially in front of their friends. But when a scary face peaks through the crack of the door, only to have the door flung open at the last moment highlighted with a roar, those tough ones crumble.

But after the last trick-or-treater leaves, the silly mask is put away for another year only to be pulled out when the next years’ first trick-or-treater rings the doorbell.

My kids have been impartial to it all. They think my antics are ‘neat,’ but mostly roll their eyes at me. I have been doing this for a few years, even when they were still doing their own trick-or-treating with their friends. For the most part they had been unfazed by my high jinks. I suspect they were slightly embarrassed (but that never stopped me).

But this year where I usually have restricted my costume-wearing in the evening, I decided to go all out. The ‘circle of life’ and all that has had me assessing and contemplating a great many things this past year, and I am determined to have fun; not only for myself but for my family. My kids are getting older and I am desperately trying to hold on to....everything.

In the early morning of Halloween while everyone was still asleep, I got ‘ready’ for work. I wore one of the kids’ past ‘zombie’ outfits, out came the ghoulish face paint, and with a bit of hairspray and back-combing of my hair, I was transformed. I ‘zombied’ my way to the bus stop, and ignored the stares and curious glances from other bus riders. Feigning obliviousness to my appearance was the most fun I ever had on the bus.

Throughout the day many didn’t know it was me. I had great fun seeing folks’ reactions, and was told I was recognizable only by my voice and smile.

I have to work on that for next year.

But I was more anxious to for my family’s reaction later that evening. Would they roll their eyes at me? Would they be embarrassed (like they usually are)? Would they care? With a house of teenagers, you never know.

So when I arrived home that night, my zombie make-up and huge hair still intact, all of them were....shocked. And impressed. And surprised. And in awe. And couldn’t stop staring at me.

But my day’s fun was nothing compared to the compliment the 17-year-old gave me. As I recanted stories of folks’ reactions, my son stared at me in awe and with a smirk said,

‘That is heat!’

My heart filled. I had no idea what it meant but I knew, just KNEW, that whatever it meant was a compliment. I would later find out that it means the same as what we used to say in the ‘olden days:’ ‘rad’ or ‘awesome.’ I wasn’t IN heat; I was JUST ‘heat.’

Underneath my zombie make-up I was glowing.

I was cool. I was ‘heat.’ And I was the happiest mommy-zombie ever.

Thanks for reading! Lisa

The Great Pumpkin Patch

Someone should have told me both times they handed me a tiny newborn baby boy in the labour/delivery room there would be battles I would one day lose.

It’s all part of being a minority in my house of three men, I guess.

Halloween has seemed to be a good measure of my two boys’ growing years. First there were the early years where I could dress them up in whatever cutesy Halloween costume my heart desired. Then came their own costume choices often influenced by trends, friends or TV. Then as the teenage years rolled around and they had one foot in their childhood and the other inching its way towards adulthood, trick ‘or treating became something for ‘babies.’

It seemed like there would never be Halloween at my house again.

But as each year goes by, each boy making ‘alternate’ Halloween plans that have me biting my finger nails in angst every year, I am determined to keep the novelty alive. I hand out treats at the door – in full, scary costume – and I carve pumpkins and ensure the outside is fully decorated.

But never in a million years did I expect to have a Halloween ‘decoration’ such as our new addition to our family.

As well as watching Halloween costumes change with their ages over the years, my young men’s desires for certain pets have changed with each year, as well....

A cat has always been a staple in our house. Even though the boys never chose to have a cat as we had cats before we had kids, I felt it only fair to the cat to include her in the historic list of family pets.

Then there have been fish of all shapes, sizes, breeds and life spans. Presently, we have 15 tiny fish of what breed I have no idea, some ‘Kuhli loaches’ who look like tiny eels, and a baby snail called Bob Dole (don’t ask me why).

There have been caterpillars kept in an aquarium, safe from the annual tree spraying.

Then there were ants – however unwelcomed and ever-growing in our garage, we considered them one of the family. How could we not?

Then came the scorpions. Despite my protests, it was a battle I lost, and it served as a reminder of my minority status in the house. At least the clawed predators have fostered communication between mother and son, something many mothers worry of losing - “Mom, can you stop at the pet store for some crickets on your way home from work.....? I’ll pay you back....” So the two scorpions live on, well fed by unsuspecting crickets.

And now we have a new ‘special’ addition to our family (and here I was worried I would have no ‘Halloween’ in my house!)

Behold the Pumpkin Patch Tarantula.

Yes, the little darling, or ‘sling’ as baby tarantulas are often deemed, is just a wee lad. Orange and black-spotted, this little guy from Columbia who is barely bigger than my finger nail right now, will grow at warp speed and soon outgrow the take-out condiment container he is currently residing in. He’s a ‘dwarf’ version, so whether he grows to have a leg-span of three to four inches typical for the species, I don’t know.

I’m looking forward to finding out.

Presently, non-poisonous ‘Sling,’ as he (or she – I have yet to check) has been named, resides in his/her condiment container in my son’s bedroom beside the fish tank.

I don’t think the cat has figured out what’s in the container, the same container that has me realizing I will never look at take-out tartar sauce the same way, again.

So as Halloween gets closer and I longingly look at all the kids’ Halloween costumes on the racks in stores while hoping I can drag my teens out to the pumpkin patch just one more year, I can actually be happy......

I have my own in-house ‘pumpkin patch.’

And who knows, trick-or-treaters might find a cricket in their goody bags!

Thanks for reading!

Lisa