Footwear

Not too long ago, I vented my thoughts about the clothing available to short, chubby, late middle-aged women. Today, I'm going to visit the shoe department.

Young women with strong muscles, young feet and little common sense, have the availability of a huge assortment of flimsy, strappy, non-sturdy shoes. There are thick-soled, round toes, and dainty flats with pointed-toes. There are stilettos, and chunky heels, both of which could break an ankle with one wrong step. There are crocks and clogs and slides.

Every time I go shopping, I look for a new pair of shoes. I've been wearing the same shoes to church for years. Why? Because they are the only comfortable pair I own that actually fits properly! I try them on in the store, I do the diligent check as to feel and fit as I walk around on the carpet. I bring them home, do the same careful examination as I walk on our carpet, only to find myself returning the footwear within days of the purchase.

Shoes are just NOT made for my feet. They pinch at the toe, they slide at the heel. They're not the size seven they claim to be, they're either too large or too small. The width normal width is either too wide, or it's too narrow. I know enough not to even attempt wide-width or narrow sizes. Shoe shopping is a futile chore for me.

I don't like flip flops because of that thing between the toe that causes a blister. I like open-toed strappy sandals in summer because it almost feels as if I'm barefoot. Well, it would feel that way if the straps were just a half inch longer so that they didn't suffocate my instep. I like dress boots, but with calves like mine, a knee-length boot is impossible for me to find. I'm suffering from a falling arch in my left foot, so a high heel is not feasible for me, and besides, I feel a little like the toe-dancing ballerina hippo in Disney's Fantasia when I'm stutting my stuff in high heels.

I'm not any more wild about bulky shoes than I am about bulky winter coats, so wearing work boots with my jeans doesn't thrill me. I used to wear clogs, but now I'm more comfortable in a lower 'slide'. I think crocs are quite comfortable, but equally as ugly. I'm not six years old, so little flat 'mary janes' is not an option for me, though I've seen other, younger women wearing them.

So, I continue to shop for shoes....most especially a nice pair of brown ones for church. As for every day, I wear a well-arched workout shoe, most would call a sneaker. Oh, and that brings up another topic of contention...sneakers. But don't let me start that one now, or I'll be here all day.

Past Lives for The Present Ones

As I sit here looking at piles, no...mountains, of photographs to be creatively placed in my grandkids scrapbooks, I find myself wishing that my family members before me had been as enamored with the history-keeping. Oh yes, we've got some photos, glued with something like "Liquid Nails" to the black pages. One or two of the pictures have been labeled, but the majority of them are not, so unless we recognize the faces or the places, that history has been lost.

In my feeble attempts to keep up with my hobby, I not only adhere my loved ones faces to lovely, acid-free papers which in some way coordinate with the visual aid, but I date them and pen a brief journaling of what was happening to whomever is pictured there. If the story is longer, I generally type it out on the computer and give the story a page of it's own. This is my way of sharing past lives with the present ones....and preserving ours for future souls.

The kids love to see their own pictures, as well as each other's. They laugh at the clothing they were wearing or grimace at the way their hair was done. They enjoy remembering the events or asking questions about people, places or things. I enjoy spending that time with them, as we turn the pages of our lives, reliving our histories and those of our ancestors. I feel that they should know who their fore-family members were and how they lived. It is a history lesson, but it doesn't 'feel' like one to them. They are curious about life the way it was before the technologies that they live with entered our world. They want to see the faces of the people who they call Great-grandpa, and his parents, and their parents, because they were gone before the children were born.

There is so much to do, so many things to share, so much that I have to tell. It is a joy for me! I do, however, have an aching within my chest to know more than I do about the every-day details of those who were gone before I arrived. No one can give that to me now. I must work with what I've got and fill in the blanks with assumptions that their lives were lived in much the same way as others of the time period. I learn from those who did not leave those facts to me, however unimportant. I will add as much detail about 'today' as I can find time and thought for.

As I look toward that mountain of photos, I think it's time for me to leave this writing, and get busy. It will be a race for time as it is, and there's not a minute to waste. I'll see you later.....

Shopping

When I was younger and about three sizes smaller, I loved to go shopping for clothes. These days, I abhor the activity.

Why is it that 'designers' don't make flattering clothing for short, chunky women? Once a body enters out of the 'junior' sizes, everything becomes dark and 'frumpy'. When you've had a few children and you're subject to family genes which tend to be only those which cause fat to stick to the bones, you have little choice in clothing styles.

Well, I suppose that's not altogether true. If you have a hefty wallet, there may be hope for you. But if you're living on a budget and still want to be stylish, it's tough. The garments created for short, curvy women seem to be made for women of an elderly age. Even at the age of sixty plus years, I'm not ready to dress in black with fuller skirts and longer length....looking like I'm about to attend the funeral of my oldest friend. I also don't care to look as if I'm trying to fight old age. If the designs are made in lovely prints and colors, they seem to be made for fourteen year olds. I don't want to wear necklines cut to the navel and hemlines cut to the upper thigh. I don't want my waistband to meet my hem, either.

Is there no sweet medium between funeral attire or baggy britches and skin-tight high schoolers duds? Is there no one out there with a pen and a drawing board and eyes that see women as we really are? I'd be happy to show you a true body-type, and to collect the many others around me who have the same complaints. We are young at heart, well-endowed women who want to look nice, and still stay within our financial boundaries.

Come on, Fashion designers, you're ignoring a whole segment of society. Take a look at us, and fill the stores with something we can actually buy and feel good wearing.

Winter

As I wait for our short winter to end here in SC, I think back to those NY winters. I spent my whole life there until I moved here nearly three and a half years ago. I know about winter weather, and I like it....for a short while.

Unlike today, when the schools close at the first report that snow is coming, when we were kids, schools would be open, and remain so, until there was a good amount on the ground. Since we lived within the 2 mile bus limit, we had to walk home. I didn't mind, most times, but I remember a couple of times when I'd arrive home, bone-chilled, with tingling cheeks and knees and wet, chapped legs. School dress codes said that girls had to wear dresses to class, so unless there was notice of snow coming, the pants were not available for wearing home. One particular day, by the time I'd walked from the school on Newtown Lane, to the end of Conklin Terrace where I'd cut through the vacant lot to my street, the snow had gotten to mid-thigh height on me. It dropped into my boots, wetting my feet and I thought my legs would fall off before I made it home. But, make it I did, and lived to tell about it.


As kids, we'd spend a good deal of time playing outside in the snow. There were times when we'd go sledding...always at 'the Orchard'...the hill at the farm in Amagansett on Stone Highway. It was a good clear hill, and steep enough to get quite a ride. It was a gathering spot for most of the kids we knew, and we'd often have races to see who'd get the farthest distance in the fastest time. If we weren't sledding there, the neighborhood kids would go over to the hill behind the Mott's house on Cedar St.


There was much fun to be had at Town Pond, too. Sometimes we'd walk to the pond, but since we were nearly frozen by the time we arrived, more often one of the parents would drive us, and sit in the car, waiting, with the heater running. Some of the girls in the neighborhood had skating skirts of cordoroy, which were worn it warm tights and heavy socks. There were other 'musts' too, for the skating outfit. We all had pom poms for our skates, and hoods for our heads, with long ends, like scarves, to wrap around our necks. We were dressed...and ready to hit the ice...
which is most often exactly what I did! I had as many failed attempts as I had successes, but it never dimmed my enthusiasm.

There's not enough snow and never ice strong enough to skate on where we live now. I might attempt sledding, even at my age, but my skating days are done. I'll spend my winter days remembering those teenage years when the muscles hurt from the winter activities, but the joys etched themselves into the memory.

Flashbacks

Meeting up with old acquaintences and friends on Facebook has certainly sparked some memories. Like sleeping dogs and babies, some things are better left alone, but there are other, long buried remembrances which are pleasantly rising to the surface.

As I came into contact with a former schoolmate, I thought of the school dances and they way they were done when I was a student. All of our dances were held in the gymnasium at school. A committee of students and a few teachers would form and plan the event. The gym would be decorated in the theme they'd chosen, and the fun would begin.

The girls wore short semi-formal dresses, better than church wear, not as long or as formal as the prom attire. The boys would wear jackets and ties. Proper attire was required, or there was no entry to the dance. The boys would buy corsages of flowers to be worn by their date, and the girls would buy boutonniers for their escorts. I enjoyed dressing in a way more 'glamorous' than usual, and I'm glad that we had dress codes during my school years.

Proms were for the Junior class, and the Senior class had a 'Ball'. Underclassmen had dances, too...the Sophomore Hop and the Freshman Frolic. These dances were open to other classes, and tickets were sold. I don't remember any trouble ever occuring at these events because of interaction between the different age groups. Music was provided by bands generally made up of our own local students. When we became Seniors, we had the Senior Ball in the gym, as well as a Banquet which was held at an off-school site. This event was only for Seniors and their dates and was somewhat more formal. Tickets were more pricey, as the venue, music and dinner had to be paid for.

There were no limosines rented in those days. Some students drove themselves in the family car, or parents would drive us to and fro. In my case, my high school boyfriend and I walked to the school dances and then walked home again, unless it rained, and then my Dad would be our chauffeur.

Things have certainly changed since my school days, when things were simple and far less expensive. There was no drinking, at least not in my circles, and there were curfews set by parents which all of us, but the very rebellious, met without question.

I'm happy to say that I prefer the way things were done when I was young to what happens these days. We had good fun, we dressed neatly, and we lived respectfully. Having the boundaries, rules and adult supervision kept us in line at school, at home and in life.

New Project

This new year finds me involved in a new and challenging project. It's one that has been lying on the surface since 1971, and it's just now begun. It's not something that I procrastinated about. It's actually a project which belongs to a friend of mine whom I met in that year. Since that time we've talked about it from time to time, and for many reasons have put it on the back burner. It isn't one that I could have taken on alone, but it is something I am willing to give every ounce of my being to in assisting her.

So it has begun....the search for her birth mother. With very little information in her possession, we step out in faith that our efforts will fall in the right places, and new clues and facts will show up. We've already found just the right person, a volunteer 'angel' who has knowledge and experience about how to go about these searches and the agencies and folks out there who should be contacted. She has had successes in finding birth mothers and birth children. So this trio of women go forth with confidence and hopeful that things will result in good things.

We are about to begin opening doors to the past. That is a bit scary for my friend. When one opens the unknown, it could go any which way. Since she's not, at the moment, concerned about meeting her birth mother, but wants to know other information for health and heritage reasons, it isn't as frightening for to enter this endeavor, knowing that she could be rejected. But, there is always a possibility that we won't find her answers, which would be a huge disappointment. On the other hand, there is a real chance that we will find answers! There is an assortment of "what if's " associated with that scenerio, as well. There could be genetic or health issues that might not be what one would hope for, but would still be very important knowledge to have.
The also might be siblings that she has on idea of right now. She finds that to be an interesting thought, but again is not sure she wants to meet or know them. These potential relatives might not be people she would care to know.

The search is on, and we will progress as we can. Hopefully my friend will be able to ride out the emotional roller coaster until the end of the line. I can't imagine the depth of her trepidation and her excitement. She was brought up in a home with loving adoptive parents, but there's always been the question about who she really is. Noone shared her birth information with her, and had she not stumbled over the name of her birth mother and the hospital in which she was born, she'd be forever in that state of limbo. Her adoptive parents have both passed away, and the files and paperwork that they might have owned was destroyed by her stepmother.

This will be a challenging effort, and hopefully one that has a happy ending. In any event, our reconnection through a social network, after years of being physically distant has been a great thing. We can "speak" every day, and working together on this project has brought us into a new level in our friendship, drawing us closer. We wander into this 'unknown', holding on to each other for encouragement and support, and I'm glad to be sharing this with her, no matter how it turns out.

Heating Systems

Having lived in a variety of houses in my lifetime, I've experienced quite a number of heating systems. Some were efficient, some provided more than the required heat to be comfortable, and some not enough, but each one seems to have had its own distinctive traits.

My grandparents little house was heated by a huge furnace which sat in the living room and was fed by kerosene that flowed through a small tube through the wall from a metal barrel. I remember being warned to stay back from the monster machine, so I imagine it was hot to the touch, though I don't recall. My other grandmother's house had a large wood/coal stove for cooking and heating in the kitchen. Above it was a small iron grate with a pretty swirl pattern. The grate protected the whole in the ceiling, which allowed the heat to access the second floor bedroom areas. I was awfully young, but I remember that stove. We moved from East Hampton when I was four years old, and returned when I was seven, and during that time central heat was installed.

The house I spent my teen years in had a floor furnace. That was a horror. This rig was hung on the basement ceiling, with a hole in the floor above it which was covered by a grate. In our case, the grate was approximately 2 1/2 feet wide by 3 1/2 feet long, and it was located in the small hall area in front of our bathroom door. I don't think that was the best location, but I personally wouldn't have had such a dangerous thing in my house if the choice was my own. When it was on, it blew hot air and heated the home. But, it also caused the metal grate to get so hot that it would burn grid marks into the soles of our slippers, so we quickly learned to wiggle our way around the edges, without stepping on the metal. If we were really cold, we'd do our best to straddle it, allowing the hot air to penetrate our bodies until we were warm. The trouble with that was that the minute we walked away from the blowing hot air, we were cold again. Another problem with the floor furnace and grate was that things were always being dropped through the gridwork, and it sometimes wasn't obvious until there was the odor of a burning plastic toy. My parents later put in and oil fired furnace and hot water baseboard heat.

After I was married, we spent our first year in an apartment which had old steam radiators. They worked fine, but were noisy, with water banging and hissing and bubbling through the pipes. There were covers over a few of the iron units for safety reasons, as they would get awfully hot.

When we built our first house, it had an oil-fired furnace in the basement with a blower that sent hot air through ductwork in each room. At the age of twenty, what did we know about heating systems? We built our second house two years later, and being not much wiser about machinery, ended up with the same type of system in that residence. After living there awhile, we discovered that it wasn't as efficient as we'd like. It blew warm air when it was heated, but it blew cool air while it was 'revving up'. It was dusty, and it blew dust with the air. The small grates in the floor were intriguing to children, who liked to deposit coins or other small things through the slots. It was a constant job to clean those grates and keep them free of baseball cards or the like.

At some point, we attached a large, cast iron, custom made enclosure to our wood burning fireplace. It was very efficient in its provision of heat, but it was very dry and very dangerous with five small children in the house. Also, we discovered that it actually burned so hot that the brickwork on the exterior of the fireplace (but inside the iron box) had actually cracked. I think we used that system only rarely after one winter.

We lived in a log cabin when our kids were teens. There was a rectangular, iron woodstove set in the open room used as our living room and dining area. We used the stove a lot, as it was efficient, sending out enough heat to warm the whole, two-story place. The surface of the stove was such that we could place a kettle of water on top to combat the dryness.

When we moved south, we purchased a house with heat and air conditioning. There are two heat pumps which are outside and duct work in the ceilings of the house. Though I'd vowed to NEVER have a forced air system again, guess what? The house had just that, with the grates in the ceiling. It's wonderful in the summer, for the cool air comes from the ceiling and falls toward the floor. But, we all know that heat rises, so in the winter, it's not as efficient as we'd like. The living room is where the thermostat is located, and it's the coldest room in the house. If we set the temperature at a level of comfort for the living room, then the rest of the first floor is unbearable. So, we've got a small electric fireplace in the living room which brings the temperature up about four degrees, just enough. While I'm still wishing that I had a wood burning fireplace in this house and, perhaps hot water baseboards rather than blown air, I am pleased to have the air conditioning in the summer. The fact that this entire house is electrically run makes it less expensive than other heat providers. The square footage of the house is more than twice the size of our old house, and our highest electric bill for heat, hot water, cook stove and two electric fireplaces has never been higher than one month's oil delivery bill in NY.

I guess I've seen it all, regarding heating, with the exception of space heaters and that very expensive under-the-floor tubing. As far as I'm concerned, each system has it's annoyances or dangers, but I can overlook them, as long as they do the job they were intended to do...provide heat when asked.