Defensive Walking 101

Over the past few months I have been trying to walk on a more regular basis. Dr. Oz and my own doctor recommend some type of exercise each day and since I have my 35th High School reunion fast approaching and since the recent results of my blood cholesterol were disappointing I have made a commitment to walk for a minimum of thirty minutes each day. This should be doable - no fancy gym clothes needed, no need to drive to the gym, no excuses - just open the front door, pedometer in place and walk.

I have been walking for over 50 years so how difficult could this daily walking routine be? Making sure that my sneakers are tied tightly so I don't trip I set out. There are no sidewalks in my community, no traffic lights ~ just plain paved road. I follow the rules of walking, always walking on the left side of the road so the oncoming traffic can easily see me. I would be hard to miss. I am often pushing my grandsons in their stroller. An orange stroller. A double wide orange stroller carrying my twin grandsons. I start out pushing the boys down our country road when a gray Honda approaches. I expect that the driver is going to slow down and veer around me out of common courtesy. That's what I do when I see a pedestrian,horseback rider, or bike rider - I show courtesy and respect their space on the road. The driver of the Honda made no attempt to slow down or to veer away from me. As a matter of fact, she appeared to be almost playing a game of chicken with me. I pushed the stroller into the grass and raised my fist at the driver of the car. I stomped my sneaker on the pavement in anger. The health benefits of walking seemed to be diminishing.

I have continued walking and could write forever about the near misses I have had with vehicles who speed by me coming dangerously close. I shake my fist, I yell at them to slow down. I now wear brighter clothing and make sure my invisibility cloak is removed before I start my walk.
I refuse to hang up my sneakers so I have developed a few defensive strategies to protect me when I hit the road.

1. I have a walking stick which I often carry. When a car approaches I put the stick on my hip so that if the car gets too close they could lose some paint off of the side. Back away from the stick. I am considering putting a nail on the end of the stick so that it will guarantee a scratch on the car.

2. I have wondered what happens to a car's paint if I spray it with mace? Or Silly String? How silly would that be?

3. I frequently carry my camera with me when I walk so I can capture the perfect sunset but I also can capture license plate numbers. I just aim my camera at their car and snap ! Might just start a blog listing dangerous drivers.


Of course, I probably wouldn't really practice any of these defensive moves BUT I certainly have been tempted on way too many occasions. What I would really like is for all people just to be courteous as drivers, as walkers, as humans...and to share the road with this middle aged grammie who is walking to stay healthy.

Wordless Wednesday

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Fashionista ~ Not !

I have often dreamed of being a fashionista. Daydreams are filled with visions of stylish colors, textures, accessories fitting and matching perfectly – no lumps, no wrinkles, no mismatched tops and bottoms. Whenever I spot a well-dressed human I come to a stop and try to soak in their fashion know - how. I go through a mental check-list so that the next time I have occasion to get dressed up I will have stored the knowledge I need away for safe keeping.

As a child I gave no thoughts to what I wore. I grabbed whatever was at the top of my bureau drawer, threw it on and went out to play or else my mom would tell me what to wear and I wore it, no questions asked. As long as I was comfortable and could run, jump, and ride my bike, I didn’t even think about what I looked like.  I became more aware of clothing and fashion in my early teens. When I was 13 we moved to a new town and I had to go through the  process of making friends. I just wanted to fit in and be liked – how difficult could that be? I met a girl who lived around the corner from me and she spent that summer helping me learn the ins and outs of my new community.

We spent a great deal of time discussing the first day of school and wondering what to wear. I daydreamed about entering the sacred halls of junior high, people turning to watch us as we walked in, rushing to meet the new girl in town. My organizer would be filled with names, addresses, and I would be overbooked with invites to slumber parties and dances. The golden glow of my daydream quickly vanished and a dark cloud moved in with my new reality. My new friend and I , after much discussion, had decided to wear plaid skirts with crisp white blouses for that infamous first day. I even convinced my mom to let me wear a training bra. A training bra ? What the heck was it training? Okay, girls, sit up and look perky ! At 13 I didn’t have a lot of perky. Who named it a training bra ? I can only guess. Then there were the legs. This was before the days of pantyhose so mature women wore garter belts and stockings. So while I convinced mom to let me wear the ‘training’ bra, there was no way she was letting me wear a garter belt. Now my legs at that point in my life were  thin super skinny, very shapeless, really pale. Many a heated discussion was held with mom about what my leg coverings would be and she assured me that she would find me the perfect socks. Trust me, she said. So I did. And off I went to my first day of junior high with my pleated plaid skirt, my crisp white blouse, training bra hanging around waiting to train and my little white ankle socks. Yep. White ankle socks.  My golden glow quickly disappeared when I noticed that many of the girls were wearing fishnet stockings. As hard as I tried to make my legs invisible it didn’t happen. Red fishnets, green fishnets, even black fishnets…and my brilliantly white ankle socks. And while I have repeatedly tried to erase the memories of that day, I have not been successful. From that day forward I was a marked target. My label had been cast in stone for the rest of my school days. And my label was not fashionista.

 

So now flash forward. For the last thirty years I have been busy raising children, teaching, playing, and my closet is full of blue jeans, t-shirts and sweatpants. I have my ‘teacher clothes’ and fancy dresses for those special occasions. On a day to day basis I dress rather plain jane. Until now that has not bothered me but maybe it is my age, maybe it is THE menopause, maybe I just need a change but I am starting to think that I want to be a fashionista. I want people to take a second glance when they notice that my blouse, skirt, sweater, and shoes all match. My accessories will be  the perfect finishing touch. My grandchildren will be proud and never embarrassed.

So January 2010 seemed like the perfect time to begin my transformation. I have been more mindful of what I am wearing and have started to weed out my closet. I have been studying fashion magazines and looking closely at women who have already attained the status of fashionista. I can do this. I am capable. I will finally be able to wipe out all memories of that disastrous day in September 1969.  Last Monday was to be the unveiling of Fashionista Debbie. I went to the gym first thing in the morning because I think that is what fashionistas must do. I sweat just a minimal amount, trying to move with grace and poise on the machines. I am not the most graceful of exercisers so this was a taxing situation. And I was really missing my baggy old sweatpants which I had retired. These new black too tight spandex yoga type pants were giving me a wedgy and since mirrors surround the gym I was stuck with it.  After a not so rewarding workout I went to the locker room to change. So maybe the gym experience hadn’t gone as planned, I now could proudly display my fashion abilities. My maroon skirt, jacket, with silky black top accented with my snowman pin pearls,finished off with my sexy black leather boots. These boots were a treat to self, a splurge, part of the white ankle sock healing process. I pulled the boots out of my gym bag and went to put them on. I then stopped breathing for a second or three. I furiously reached for my gym bag and pulled everything out. I swallowed hard. I had two different black boots. Not a pair of black boots. I felt like I was on Sesame Street playing the ‘one of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn’t belong’ game. I sat down on the bench. I regrouped. Crying was not going to help me in this situation but that was my first impulse. I could wear my sneakers but I just kept wondering what would a true fashionista do? I really had no clue since this whole fashion thing was now giving me a friggin’ headache. I looked at the boots.They were both black, both had zippers, one had a silver buckle, one had a stiletto type heel, one had a chunkier heel..I don’t even know who belongs to the stiletto heeled boot – I don’t have too much experience walking in stilettos. How often do people look at my legs or feet? My guess was not very often so…screw it. I am wearing these mismatched boots. I would pretend I was doing a social experiment. How many people would mention to me that I had two different boots on ?  So I put them on and then started to do what I always do when I am nervous, I giggled. I then took a deep breath and entered the locker room. Whoa. I had not taken into consideration that walking in boots with different heel lengths could be challenging. I strolled casually around the locker room trying to establish a gait which felt normal. I looked in the mirror at myself walking and my nervous giggle erupted. I looked like the horses on a merry-go-round. Left side up, right side down, my hips were getting a workout as I attempted to be graceful. I ventured out of the locker room which is on the second floor of the gym and approached the stairs with hesitation. I took the first step and made the necessary adjustments with each step. Clip, clop, hang on tight to the rail, slowly I approached the first floor landing. I found a bench and sat down. This social experiment was turning into a physical challenge. I made it to my car without making a scene and no one commented on my boots. I had planned on stopping at a store before heading to the office and for a second I considered nixing the plan but is that what a true fashionista does? No way. So into the parking lot I pulled, stepping right into a huge slush pile upon exiting my vehicle. Stiletto heels do not maneuver well in slush and I am thankful that I had one chunky heeled boot on since it saved me from an embarrassing fall. My hips were starting to ache from the uneven up and down stride but I kept on walking. A man in a walker passed me, head down and then, his head abruptly lifted and he made eye contact with me. I smiled. He looked down at my boots again. Eye contact again. I smiled my best fashionista smile, and choked down the giggle which was working its way out. He shook his head, smiled and we continued on our path. I entered the store and found the tiled floor to be a bit slippery. My stiletto heel slid out of control to the right. Chunky heel held his ground, and my thigh muscle tweaked. I had grabbed onto the store shelving to balance myself and I slowly regained my composure. I looked around to see if anyone was watching and found a true fashionista staring at me. Go ahead, I thought, say it, you know you want to. She glanced stared hard at my boots. I begged her to talk to me, to make mention of my mismatched, wicked uncomfortable pair of boots. I wanted to tell her that I knew where she could get a pair just like mine! But she said not a word. She shook her head quietly in disbelief. I started to giggle.

I finally made it safely to the office, pulled my boots off and went barefoot for the rest of the day. I filed all dreams of being a fashionista away. I filed away September, 1969.   I am finally comfortable with who I am.

Look Who Came Over For Breakfast !

Happy New Year !

I surprised myself when I came to visit my blog recently and saw the date of my last post ~ September 8th, 2009. Four months have disappeared since last writing. Almost 120 days since writing about the life and times of a 52 year old menopausal woman. A woman who recently realized that she graduated from high school 35 years ago. That was a sit down and take a deep breath moment. A woman who realized she can no longer explain away her belly fat by telling people she just had a baby - her baby will be 25 years old this year. A woman who is thinking that maybe she should seriously consider getting a wig since her thinning hair issue doesn't appear to be connected to the fact that she just had a baby since said baby will be 25 in September. A woman who has decided to write a 'to do' list for 2010 ~ included on that ever growing list is conquering her fear of making a gingerbread house; to be able to walk successfully in stilettos; to attend the Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington DC, and to go on more dates with her wonderful husband of 31 years while wearing stilettos. The list is always growing, constantly evolving, just as this woman of 52 years is. Lists are what keep this woman organized, moving forward and she often must keep lists of her lists. It is not for loss of memory ~ it is because of the depth and extent of thoughts which bounce around in her gray matter. The joy of being a grandmother to 11 month old twin boys and a five month old granddaughter ~ celebrating and cherishing their lives each day. The amazement and satisfaction of watching her four grown children make choices and decisions in responsible and independent ways. The fear of watching her dad battle cancer while living so far away, not ready to say good-bye. The worry about her mom and how she will hold up. Anger and confusion bumps off the gray matter cells as the 52 year old menopausal woman tries to understand why people are sometimes so cruel. Desire to be surrounded by family and friends who are loving and caring, trying to stay connected. And it is that need to be stay connected which has brought her back to her blog. To resolve to write so she may stay connected. So on her 'to do' list she adds one more item ~ * Remember to Nourish Your Soul each day.

Guess Who Came to Dinner?

In a recent post titled 'Baby Love' I wrote about how much my grandsons enjoy the book 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar' by Eric Carle. In that book there is a cute little caterpillar that eats his way through a variety of foods as he prepares to turn into a beautiful butterfly. Cute little book which I have always enjoyed reading. Until now. Until a very hungry caterpillar, or two or three or more, ate their way through my tomato plants. Here are how my tomato plants looked at the beginning of August. I could taste the salsa. I could smell the spaghetti sauce.

And then....the caterpillars arrived. They are officially called Tomato Horn Worms. I have my own special nickname for them which I will just keep to myself.

If I wasn't so mad at them I could write about their great color and markings and how this one almost looks rather cute hanging upside down as he enjoys MY tomato.

Guess I will be buying Ragu spaghetti sauce this winter but for now I will enjoy the colors and shapes of the tomatoes I saved from the jaws of the very hungry caterpillars.

In the beginning...

In the beginning...I started my blog as a way to journal about the trip to India my husband and I were taking to attend our oldest daughter's wedding. I have lived in NH my whole life and had not had many traveling adventures so this was the trip of a lifetime and I wanted to document all that I was seeing, feeling, hearing, tasting and smelling. My blog also allowed me to communicate with our friends and family who were not able to make the trip with us but who wanted to stay connected to the activities. I recently reread my oldest posts and it was a trip down memory lane. I was taken back to the weeks leading up to the trip including the series of inoculations I had to get beforehand. My post 'Typhoid in My Belly' just might be my favorite post. And funniest.

In the beginning... I had no idea what it meant to be a blogger. I just wanted to journal about my travel adventure. I wasn't even sure if I was going to continue blogging when we returned home. What would I write about after India? I live in a very small town in a small state. There are no Dunkin' Donuts in my town. No traffic lights. No pizza delivery. Lots of cows and horses. Lots of trees. Lots of deer and coyotes. What could I possibly write about in a blog once my India adventure was over? Who would want to read anything written by me?


In the beginning... the only people reading my blog were close friends and family. If I got two comments on a post it was cause for celebration. This blog has allowed me to not only have written memories of my adventures but I also have written memories from the people who left comments. As I reread my oldest posts recently I found the comments left for me from my brother-in-law, Dan. I had forgotten that he had even taken the time to read my blog. I had forgotten that he took the time to leave comments on my blog. It was rather unnerving for me to read his words since he passed away in April at the age of 49 years old from lung cancer. I don't think I have any other written memories from him ~ I am glad that I have his comments written forever on my blog.


In the beginning... I had no idea about blogging protocol and it took me awhile to learn my way around the blogosphere. For awhile I lurked around, reading the blogs of others, trying to find blogs of interest. I started going back again and again to certain blogs and tentatively left a comment here and there, nervous about whether I would be welcomed into the blogging community. And then...slowly but surely...people started leaving comments on my posts. I was pretty sure that I knew how Jodie Picoult, the best selling author, must feel and I started preparing for the movie version of 'Nourish the Soul' and wondered who might play me. I have been told that I look like Sandy Duncan so I guess that is a possibility.

In the beginning...I had no idea how blogging would change my life and the friends I would meet. One day I tumbled into Patti Digh's blog, 37 Days, and the rest is history. Her book has changed my life AND Patti came to my community and spoke to a group of sixty people at our local cafe AND stayed at my home.I don't think that would have happened without blogging. It was an incredible adventure from beginning to end. I have 'met' so many other wonderful people through blogging ~ true blogging friends. I am in awe of Daryl over at 'On the M104'. Her photography is creative and if she doesn't exhibit it in a gallery soon I am going to have to become her agent. Daryl allows this country mouse to see the Big Apple through her lens. And did I mention that I love her sense of humor! Then there is Akelamalu who is one very busy lady but always takes time to welcome me with open arms. If I ever make it over the big puddle I hope to connect with her someday. For now she is my virtual blogging tour guide since she travels frequently. Marg and I have so much in common - love of family and basketball are at the top of our list. If we ever meet we will be hiking, cooking, laughing and talking lots. Willow is my very patient and talented friend from the West Coast who is willing to teach me to knit. Many people have tried but Willow seems to be up for the challenge. Now that cool weather is on its way I plan on sitting down and paying attention to my knitting mentor. Willow's blog also often reminds me to slow down and enjoy the small everyday wonders. Beverly is my blogging friend from down South who checks in on me and makes sure that I am okay. I appreciate her kindness. I have enjoyed watching Pink Dogflower evolve as a writer. She writes in a concise manner and paints a picture with her words. She is a thoughtful blogging friend, dedicated mom and I always enjoy my visits to her blogging home. She is always a welcome guest over at my place. And then there is my friend, Louise, who writes with refreshing honesty and candor. She is one very busy lady but does a nice job juggling it all. And her photography...if National Geographic doesn't hire her soon, it is their loss. I am convinced that someday I will be saying, ' I knew her when...' and I hopefully will get an autographed print before they all sell out. David McMahon is a blogging guru. He is a talented photographer but more importantly he has created a blog where many people want to hang out. Five days a week he lists "Posts of the Day" and to be mentioned there almost guarantees a new reader or two or at least at heady feeling of accomplishment and pride. David's blog is like a clearinghouse of blogs...and I have meant many of my blogging friends from hanging out at David's place.

In the beginning...I didn't know any of these wonderful people but blogging has opened so many doors for me.

In the beginning...I never knew Shaye or Jeni or Maggie May or Chapati or Cheffie Mom or Shrinky. All of these blogging friends write from their heart. I find myself wondering how Tsannie's garden is growing. And whenever I go to visit my new friend, Brian Miller, I bring a box of tissues with me. Not just one tucked in the waist of my pants. Oh, no...a whole box because Brian is one talented writer who grabs my heart and my soul with his words and I so wish I could write with his creativity and passion. I would be remiss if I didn't mention Sandy Carlson who is a powerful blogger who reaches out to her blogging friends with her pictures and words. And one of my newest blogging friends is Kim who actually lives only twenty miles away from me. We met at the Patti Digh book event and the rest is history. Kim is an artist and I am always inspired when I stop in to visit her blog. And the comments she leaves for me leave a smile on my face which last for hours. Natalie ,who live 'Down Under', writes with total truthfulness and humanness and I often wished she lived closer. Sandi is an inspiration to many in the blogging world since she recently published her first book. And then there is Diane who is not afraid to tackle any subject with respect for the opinions of all. She recently became a grammie, as did I, so we also have that in common. Diane recently wrote a post where she 'recognized' many of her blogging friends in a post so I must give her some credit to her for the direction of this post.

In the beginning...I had no idea that blogging was so addictive, so time consuming. A writer at heart, I could spend hours in the blogosphere. I have had to take blogging breaks because I need to focus on other hobbies or annoying things such as housecleaning or bill paying. But I always come back for more. I find myself wondering what my blogging friends are doing and if they are okay. It is not that I am nosy, well I might be a little bit, but I truly have come to care for my blogging friends in a blogging sort of way. People who do not blog do not understand. But a wise woman named Daryl basically told me to do what I want and ignore the naysayers. She might have actually used more colorful language but you catch my drift.

In the beginning...I never thought I would have a site meter. I now have a site meter which tells me over 10,000 people have visited my blog.

In the beginning...I never thought I would write 100 posts. I have now written 115 posts.


In the beginning... I didn't know where this blogging adventure would take me, I still don't, but I do know that I am truly enjoying the ride.

In the beginning...I wasn't sure where this post was headed but now I do...I just wanted to say thank you to all of my blogging friends for enriching my world, for opening my eyes and for a unique friendship that is only a blog away. Thank you.

And if I forgot to mention you, I apologize. It doesn't mean that I don't appreciate you or your comments. It means I am menopausal and I am prone to spells of forgetfulness. Honest. If I forgot you, let me know and I will dedicate a post to you. Promise.