My Ankles are Showing

I turned on the radio the moment a well-known “fashion guru” stated that Capri pants are essentially an abomination. What? A quick judgement of these pants worn by literally everyone I know. Perhaps he never wore these gifts of god, their cooling comfort embracing of the calf – I could live in them, and do during warm weather. Does this mean I am a little off in my fashion sense? Well, yes, and no.

Reminiscing about my (many) faux pas … which in one case was an embarrassing, fashion wise, social situation. It began with an active day out in public oblivious to the length of my pants. No one said a thing –  not even those near and dear friends who joined me on this fun day.

When festivities were over I went home, still oblivious, and glanced in the hallway mirror, my focus immediately gravitated to my pants, which were easily two inches above my shoe tops. I groaned as recounting the numerous gatherings I participated in and could only hope (and pray) that observers enjoyed a chuckle over me and my goofy pants.

Capri pants would have solved the day.

Seriously, to be so pre-occupied over high-water pants is sad, of so little value and importance in the scheme of life. So what if I wore high-waters - they were comfortable. 

Running over finish line with cousins

On a hiking trip, I saw an older woman walking the trail wearing even higher high-water pants.  Smiling, I thought how cute she was and felt a kinship.  Why I focused so much time in how fashion-challenged I had been … and yet found high-waters charming on another … is a mystery. Seeing her and experiencing a comradery made me feel better.  Not cool - but better.

I suppose I have learned to embrace my nerdiness and loudly protest the “expert” fashion guru as he so arrogantly maligned Capri’s. For me, they are perfect to wear for a rainy, windy day along the shores of Lake Superior … or anywhere for that matter. So there!

I am an Olympian

I deeply believe, to a point, that hidden memories can sometimes be crucial to good mental health. Perhaps the brain shuts down to protect you from the good, bad and ugly. Or, maybe not. 

When a memory erupts through our consciousness - a period of quiet focus follows with either pain, delight, tears or a smile.

As a child, my dream was to be an Olympian – I ran barefoot through the school yard … fast. I entered races, ran the track at the local community college, and was tireless. But, alas, a “true” Olympic caliber runner would be able to circle me at least twice and still easily beat my time, but I could dream. No one could take away my dream, except for me.

Years passed with an occasional heart tug at how quickly my goal of the Olympics was extinguished, perhaps through lack of support, environmental or monetary issues, or my own abilities. But, I did think about what my life would have been like as an Olympian and figuratively kicked myself for not working more diligently toward that goal. In reality, it was unattainable as my body was not of the lucky "fast twitch" type, but in my heart I was on the starting line.

One day I shared this regret with one of my daughters. I'm sure I admonished her to grab hold of life and she could do anything she set her heart on, yada yada yada. She blurted out, rather defensively if I remember, that I had been an Olympian.

Huh?

In the flash of a nano-second, the memory surfaced - sharp, clear, real - I had been an Olympian.

For my entire tomboy life, I was deeply in love with fast-pitch softball, living and breathing the sport, even having the honor of being voted the "Most Valuable Player" multiple times.

One day I arrived home to a mailed invitation - I was selected to compete on a softball team in the Mid-Michigan Olympics. Of course, I did compete, played shortstop - my favorite position - and don't remember if we won or lost ... another deep memory hidden. Nevertheless, I was an Olympian, not in running as I thought but achieved my dream. 

It is a mystery to me exactly why my memory shut down on that particularly exciting achievement, and not just for a short time but for years. Memory sure is a puzzle, isn't it? What memories could you be hiding?

Solar Eclipse and Moon Bubbles

The Solar Eclipse 2017 was yesterday and although we were not located in its direct path, excitement over this event was extreme throughout Michigan and in our house. Two of my brothers and a good friend live on opposite sides of the United States and were in the "Path of Totality" - how wonderful is that? I planned to walk during the eclipse and convinced my daughter that it would help her remember the moment of the eclipse if she joined me - which she was more than happy to do. Sans NASA approved glasses, we assured each other we'd not look directly at the sun.

Waiting for the Eclipse

I shared with her my thoughts that when an event as pure as an eclipse occurs it is as if a new beginning for each of us has occurred. We have a clean slate from that day forward to: make changes, start a new path, try something different.  As in New Years where we make resolutions/goals, or a birthday when you might reevaluate your path - we can view these events as a start to change or an embracing of  current life choices. I shared that I felt a newness or adventure in myself and hope she will be open to ruminate what these events mean for her.

I've been exploring Art Journaling and purchased two notebooks for this purpose the evening before. Eclipse Morning I met at a favorite coffee shop with two friends, one of whom is an artist, who told me about a class being held at her gallery this Saturday on, wait for it ... creating an ART JOURNAL! - and in the timeline of the Eclipse. I signed up immediately. Although art is not, most definitely not, my gift or talent, I've always carried a predilection or desire to be an artist of sorts. So, trying something new, different, challenging seemed the ticket to post-Eclipse direction. I look forward to learning about this method of expression and also have some ideas of my own.

• using quotes which I've collected from movies, books, other media
• adding pictures cut from magazines or old photos
• embellishing the pages by writing short thoughts about it
• discovering techniques for adding color
• exploring my abilities as an art journal-er

I shot this picture with my iPhone 7 on our 2017 Eclipse walk after my daughter showed me the unique shadows from the sun/moon effect - and explained why they occurred. The scattered and numerous moon beam shadows were everywhere ... surreal. I call them moon bubbles ... what a celestial gift.

 

Blogger's Block

I'm at a bump in the road with Blogger’s Block – an uncomfortable condition where ideas, thoughts, and even words are struggling to be placed on “paper”. I researched Writer’s Block and learned that a change of environment might help - so am visiting a new coffee shop where my large white cup is holding a bold, black brew, and am listening to contemporary folk music … my large table (a great find) is clean and free of distractions. Two professors are sharing the other end talking about their upcoming classes but find this as white noise in the background. A Garmin can passively lead us to our destination – but I’m now in the writing driver’s seat with no GPS, on my own, literally. So am brainstorming various thoughts to help loosen up my grey matter and my fingers to see if that breaks the chains of this oppressive block.

I take every possible opportunity to drive the roads less traveled. Often great adventure is around corners: hidden gems, undiscovered shops, stunning scenery. To balance out the good, occasionally we have found ourselves hopelessly lost. My husband and I would calmly chat as if we knew exactly where we were and try to end this little adventure of the lost, attempting to distract our brood by telling stories or sharing, what my husband and I think are leg-slapper jokes.

I own nice cameras but prefer to take pictures with my iPhone 7. I’ve taken photography classes, belong to two photo clubs, and yet, my realm of comfort lies with my mobile phone. Having “experts” share how they photograph scenery, sports, flowers, nature, landscapes … the hours spent looking for a perfect shot … the F-stop, aperture, shutter speed, sun and moon conditions …. blah blah blah! I have spent countless wasted hours silently comparing my (lack of) expertise to these photographers. My level of interest went down as I knew I’d never measure up or to be taken seriously as a photographer/blogger. Not being a passive woman and to distance myself from comparisons, I plan to leave these clubs and begin a comfort with myself taking “good enough” shots with my iPhone, occasionally shooting with a camera. All are synced to my iPad for easy editing, posting, and developing. For my emotional health - the right choice.

I read books about people who love books, bibliophiles, women's true adventure stories, and the stories behind recipes in cookbooks. My collection of these genres is ever-expanding. Give me a comfy chair, coffee, and allow me to vicariously live another's life for an hour in the comfort of my home, bookstore, or coffee shop. Through my reading adventures, I discovered a town in England where bookstores are around every corner. Sixpence House by Paul Collins takes place in the Welsh countryside in the village of Hay-on-Wye, a Town of Books, boasting forty bookstores. In Deep Water Passage: A Spiritual Journey at Midlife by Ann Linnea, I kayak around Lake Superior with her during a summer of cold, wind, rain and sleet. I sit transfixed on the edge of my figurative kayak imagining her battle with heavy winds while safe shore is unreachable in this frigid, people eating lake. A Year By the Sea by Joan Anderson is inspirational in a strange way as she takes a year away from family living by herself in Cape Cod. Although I’m not planning to take a year away from my husband, I love reading about the insights and freedom she experiences in this daring move.

Cooking is not (yet) my gift. Owning a plethora of cookbooks and food magazines, I think like a cook but without the expertise or desire to create these recipes. I’d like to train myself to take a chance and am inspired to when finishing my “Where Women Create” magazine. In my head, my kitchen is magical and I find myself planning new designs for this very tiny, galley room. I’m blocked by previous cooking experiences with crockpot liver stew, putting orange juice on All Bran for breakfast, mushy meats … but, there is always hope. One of my favorite movies, Julie & Julia, has Julie Powell cooking each and every recipe in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in a year’s time. Julie began documenting this experience in a blog, which led me to begin blogging. So, in a way, I am a cook.

I save fun words and unique sentences. I enjoy the spiciness of what others have written to me over the years … and I save these gems – and clip your unique way of speaking and writing. Yes, I am a plagiarist of you as you are blindly creative, and your word treasures feed my muse … are at times fun and blog worthy.

Panic Around My Birth

Looking up from my bassinet into the mask-covered faces of white-clothed people I saw concern blanketing their eyes as my bed was moved into a lone room where I would gurgle at the sickly green walls and single lit bulb most of the day. The door opened to crying noises as a person with a funny hat entered my solitary room holding up a long skinny shiny “toy”. She fooled me as it caused a sharp pain in my thigh making me wet myself. A masked woman with kind but worried eyes would visit me frequently. She seemed to know who I was, picked me up with her soft and gentle hands, and sat carefully in a moving chair. The lady would pull a couple of bottles from her shirt and offer them to me. Eagerly sucking away the hungry tummy pain I tasted the fear-laced nourishment while searching this kind person's eyes for an explanation.

July 18, 1953 was a day of comfortable temperatures ranging from 60-82 degrees in Marquette, Michigan, and was a day of panic in the community. A celebration of a new baby coincided with a massive polio epidemic.

("Poliomyelitis is an acute infectious disease caused by the poliovirus and characterized by fever, motor paralysis, and atrophy of skeletal muscles often with permanent disability and deformity and marked by inflammation of nerve cells in the anterior gray matter in each lateral half of the spinal cord - called also infantile paralysis." Merriam-Webster Dictionary)

"Paralytic poliomyelitis, or polio, held a reign of terror over this nation for decades. But unless you were born before 1955, polio may seem to be just another ephemeral disease that has been nonexistent for years. Those born before 1955 remember having a great fear of this horrible disease which crippled thousands of once-active and healthy persons. This disease had no cure and no identified causes, which made it all the more terrifying." (Fear of Polio in the 1950s © 1997, Beth Sokol)

Beth Sokol continues and references Jane Smith's, Patenting the Sun: Polio and the Salk Vaccine (New York: William Morrow and Co., Inc, 1990, p. 34) "When polio struck, movie theaters were shut, camps and schools were closed, drinking fountains were abandoned, draft inductions suspended, and nonessential meetings were canceled until the epidemic appeared to be over for the time being."

Over the years I grew into a tomboy who delighted in the creepy crawly, presenting my slimy treasures to mom - the kind lady with the bottles. She had an abject fear of anything wiggly and especially rodents. I often wondered if she looked back to the terror of my birth and did it cross her mind that she wanted to put me back. 

But, I am thankful our family can celebrate birthdays relatively healthy because of the sacrifices of countless people. Medical research needs to continue, funding is crucial in a plethora of diseases and conditions.

I’ve fairly recently been diagnosed with Sjögren’s Syndrome (“SHOW-grins”), “a systemic autoimmune disease affecting the entire body. Along with symptoms of extensive dryness, other serious complications include profound fatigue, chronic pain, major organ involvement, neuropathies and lymphomas.” (Sjögren’s Syndrome Foundation)

It can take over 3 years to diagnose Sjögren’s which affects mainly women. It took 10 years for my diagnosis – I had two doctors who dismissed my symptoms … but was lucky to “flare” in front of my new primary doctor who sent me to the University of Michigan Hospital where a diagnosis of this autoimmune disease was confirmed. Unlike polio, many people have never heard of Sjögren’s, which may affect over 4 million Americans.

My rheumatologist tells me that I am one of the lucky ones – so far. I’ll hold this close and be comforted in her assessment. And as everything … so it goes!

Adventure Board Workshop

An evening set aside to create adventure (vision) boards - I looked forward to this activity, my third annual one, and spent a couple hours shopping for the perfect color board (poster vs thicker), placing one in my basket only to go back to the selection and replace it with another, more than once. Finally choosing a gray/blue slightly thick board. Satisfying because feel color matters in the long run to my end goal.

Arriving in the intimate office space I claimed my seat, one in which I didn't have to turn my head often, and looked around at this new meeting place. A plethora of magazines were scattered on all available surfaces, glue sticks and scissors stuck out of a plastic box on the work space; treats and wine were enticingly set out in a smaller office across the hall.

The leader began our experience with an exercise of guided imagery, having us close our eyes, breathe, and visualize comfort places. Soft music played in the background during this portion of our evening.

I'd spent hours clipping quotes, pictures and anything that grabbed my attention from my own reading materials and had them neatly secured in a plastic binder. I also journal my goals each year and check off what I was able to complete or accomplish ... a little OCD but fun to look at on future occasions. 

Fighting my being the oldest in the room

I was the oldest woman by a good ten years but settled into the activity fairly comfortable in that we were all working toward the same end. I had taken a picture of my current goals and looked at it for a bit before sorting my clippings into use or not use piles. This technique works for me and after completing the process a clear idea was formulated. Grabbing a glue stick I worked effortlessly and with direction while sipping on sweet wine. Unfamiliar rock-type music played in the background with some women singing the lyrics, accentuating our age difference, others silently focused, sharing intimate thoughts, with an occasional bout of laughter filling the air. It was a good night. 

An explanation of the boards

If you are not familiar with dream (vision) boards they are:

• Created with magazine pictures, sayings, quotes, anything that speaks to you.
• You can either paste or use double-sided tape to secure these clippings onto small, medium or large poster boards. 
• The goal of these workshops is to create a dream scape of what you either intend to accomplish or wish to do for the year, or longer if you wish.
• At the end of the workshop, each person is asked to share their board and what in them was significant to them.
• More often than not, what is created surprises the "artist" and is usually an encouragement.
• These boards ideally, when completed, should be set up in an area of your home to view and keep you on task.
• Also, in my experience with dream (vision) board workshops, treats, wine, and music are integral parts to make you feel relaxed and cared for.

I am pleased with my board - and recommend this creative process for those stuck in a rut, wanting a little more direction, or plainly for the fun of a small gathering with similar-minded people.

Peek-a-boo

My girlfriend's eyes widened as she leaned forward on the table when I sat across from her and her husband at a local eatery during a lunch break from work.  My husband arrived and sat beside me.  Karen said, "did you know you can see through your blouse?"  Then she smiled and her husband chuckled, while I looked down at my shirt.

Story of my life in fashion - I have no life in fashion, never had, most assuredly never will.  From an early age of being a Tomboy, blue jeans and a t-shirt were my chosen clothing.  PF Flyers or Keds wrapped my feet protectively - I adored how my "outfit" made me feel: like a cowboy, Indian, explorer, hunter, athlete.

My parents had seven children and, even though mom always dressed beautifully, she most likely did not have the time or patience to teach me how to dress.  Our family struggled financially and money for clothes were doled out carefully.  I was not only not interested, but also rather clueless about clothing and was not going to ask my mother for new outfits when mine were nice and worn in.  I also knew we were poor and hated asking for something when it was obviously, to me, a burden to their pocketbook.

One year, though, junior high to be exact, I had one outfit to wear for the full year.  It was a lime greenish skirt and sweater, which I wore almost every day as my clothing choices were pitiful.  I became increasingly uncomfortable with wearing the same thing as peer pressure to be cool was a "thing".  Thinking about this difficult year of school - I have no clear understanding of why my parents did not intercede or show concern and take me shopping for a new outfit - but know they were overloaded with responsibilities themselves ... and I was number three of seven.

There have been since junior high school embarrassing times where my choice of clothing was, well, less than glamorous.  I had adopted a carefree attitude toward dressing and learned to have no fashion sense, but also did not seek assistance.

Two less than ideal experiences that stick out, among many, were:  my husband and I were invited to our good friend's home - we thought to visit as we often did - but when we arrived it was a somewhat formal party, and I was dressed very very casually.  I could have climbed into a corner and died of humiliation - but smiled my way through the evening, even through some shaded looks from the revelers.   Then, I was at work when my long skirt (my Bohemian wanna be moment) got caught in the wheels of my chair and could not extract myself - so had to call my boss into my office to help.  I've never worn a long skirt again as feel the "chair gods" were giggling.  My boss and I did have a good laugh over this event, and for that I will always be grateful to him.

Back to the day of the see through blouse.  I was working full time in a psychiatry department and had no opportunity to change this shirt, or go home due to the work expectations.  So, after laughing with my friends and husband and eating lunch, I returned to work knowing without a doubt, that my body was exposed to these psychiatrists ... u n c o m f o r t a b l e.  Imagine what they could have said about me behind their closed door.  I was well-liked in the office, a bundle of energy effectively and successfully working on special projects I was assigned to, but again, clueless.  If they knew my back story, would it have made any difference?

So, if you see me walking about town or see me on Facebook and I'm wearing my striped shirt with flowered pants, pink socks with yellow and white shoes, smile.  I'm still and always will be Connie - my mother's unique child - I love me ... and isn't that what life is all about?