Sunday, March 29, 2015


All my winter boots are good for the garbage. They sort of all crapped out at the same time, mid-February, at a time  when stores are willing to sell you their discounted stock of winter boots if you're a size 6. I'm a size 10.

The hiking boots I'd been wearing as winter boots for years, my hiking career having become a bittersweet memory, need to be re-soled but the leather is cracking, so re-soling = pointless. My really old winter boots....let me just provide you with an image: black suede meets road salt. And the middle-of-the-road Sorrels (tough enough to manage a Canadian winter but decent enough to wear to work) I've been wearing for maybe the last 4 years also need re-soling. They take on water. They look worn and truly, I should not be wearing them to work anymore. Except, see paragraph above.

My shoes are not much better. My everyday work shoes are this pair of italian leather black, mary-jane style shoes I bought in 1995. That's not hyperbole. I've had them worked on several times: I love those shoes and cannot let them go. I bought them while I was still residing in a psychiatric hospital, in treatment for the awful eating disorder that ruled me when I was younger. The shoes represented a new life I was starting. And it was one of elegance, genuineness and strength. No wonder I like to wear those at work. I like to wear my black, upper-calf height riding boots, the ones I bought at Macy's in Seattle, as a treat for finishing writing my dissertation in late fall 2010. I wear those a few times per week. They are starting to wear down in the heal. I have a few pairs of flats, one that are much too worn out to really be wearable at work, and the other one decent, but flats can't be worn with everything. The newest shoes are a sweet pair of Fly London black high healed I-am-a-force-to-be-reckoned-with shoes that I bought to wear to the interview for the job I have now. I like to say that the shoes got me the job. The heels are slightly higher than what I'm comfortable with everyday, and so I have to feel particularly brave or in need of a specific boost in confidence to wear those.

The last paragraph can be summarized into this:

I need new shoes.

And if you think this is a metaphor, you are right on the money. The footwear I already own will come in handy to walk the path ahead. But I am walking on a road I didn't think I would need to travel on, one which is going to require new footwear. And since every crisis/life change requires a soundtrack, I have been playing  this song  on repeat.

There is more I would like to write, but it should probably not be in a public venue. I am wondering about going private with this blog, or leaving it and migrating to another space. I will keep you posted.

Sunday, March 1, 2015


Just like that, she turned two. She wore a tutu. She ran around with her friends and squealed when we sang happy birthday. She liked the balloons (which she called baboons). And just like little gorilla (thank you so much, Adele), "everybody came and everybody sang. And everybody still loved him (in this case, her)."

There are many trite statements I feel compelled to make. Time. Speed. Growth. Astonishing. You know them all. Let me just wipe a tear and gather myself together. My baby is….not a baby.