The Right Shoes

The Right Shoes

69 days to go. Oy. Every day seems to go by more quickly now. I get a little twinge of panic when I realize how close this wedding is. I think of what has to be done. Tonight will be Lindsay’s first fitting. Last night we picked up her veil and headpiece. It is just what she wanted at half the price of the one we originally had the deposit on. She even likes it better because it has more “bling” on the veil. The vision of my beautiful daughter as a bride is becoming clearer now, when I dare to imagine it. I see myself looking at her, but it’s hard to picture what I will look like. I do have my dress, it’s hanging in a white plastic bag in my closet. I didn’t make an appointment yet for my alterations because I hadn’t gone for shoes yet. Lindsay has two pair of shoes for her dress because she couldn’t make up her mind and fell in love with both. Shoes are a big deal for a woman. You have to find something attractive and comfortable at the same time. This is no small feat- pardon my pun.

The day that I picked up my dress, my friends, Barbara and Roselee, were with me. I tried it on for them and they enthusiastically approved. Afterwards we went to lunch. In the car, we started to talk about the right shoes for the dress- silver was the best, we all decided. I was sitting in the back seat and then the bickering began- Barbara and Roselee’s bickering; I just sat in the back and like a tennis match, my head went from Barbara to Roselee as they argued about the shoes I should wear.

The Tennis Match:

Barbara: “They should be stylish. High, silver, with straps.”

Roselee: “If they’re too high and they kill her feet, she’ll be miserable, trust me.”

Barbara: “Roselee, what do you want her to wear- “old lady” shoes? She has to look elegant.”

Roselee: “If her feet are hurting, she won’t look elegant. Comfort is more important. At Michelle’s wedding, I wore the most comfortable shoes. It was the best decision I made.”

Barbara: “You’re taller than Jeannie; she needs something to give her height. Believe me, it will add to the glamour of the dress AND it will make her legs look good.”

Roselee: “She has to walk around in them for a whole day, not to mention dance in them. If her shoes are hurting her, she’ll be sorry. It won’t matter how glamorous they look.”

And on and on it went. I didn’t say a word, even though they were talking about my feet and my shoes. I think they even forgot I was there. I decided, to myself, while they were squabbling, I would go on my own for a pair of shoes. However, I kept procrastinating. A dozen or so coupons came for the discount shoe stores- DSW, MJM; they all expired. I was “dragging my feet”-pardon my pun, again. But, in my defense, I have a problem with shoes. I buy the wrong shoes much too often. I couldn’t even count how many pairs of shoes are in my closet. Many of them go unworn- because in the shoe store they seem perfectly comfortable, then when I wear them for one day, I either get blisters or I become somewhat crippled. I don’t have a good track record for shoes, in spite of the fact that I have a lot of them. I also have bad feet. Hammer toes. I probably need surgery. But every time I considered having the surgery, I had an occasion coming up. The thought of wearing one of those grotesque boots on one foot and a flat shoe on the other did not appeal to me or my vanity, so I opted to suffer the pain.

In the ‘70s, I used to wear those huge platform shoes. It gave me the opportunity to be 4-5 inches taller than my original 5 feet. Once I learned how to walk in those shoes I was happy to have a taller image, except of course, when the taller girls would wear the same platform shoes and it all would be relative and spoil my illusion. My dad, peeking out from the newspaper he was always reading, used to shake his head and say, “The men who invented those shoes must hate women.” I would just shrug off his comments and click my tongue at him. “You’re going to kill yourself in those shoes!” he would yell. I did break my foot once from a pair of shoes, but those were my Aerosoles and they were low heeled and practical. My foot just turned in a hole in a parking lot; I could hear the crack in my fourth metatarsal of my left foot. Six miserable weeks in a cast only confirmed my decision not to go for foot surgery and have to schlep one of those boots around while I healed. The whole broken foot experience has always left me a little bit shoe-shy, nonetheless, because if I could break my foot in a sensible pair of shoes, who knows what can happen in a high pair of “lady-hater” shoes?

My best shopping is always done when I least expect it. Take my puppy for example; I had no intention of buying him. We were in the Delco Plaza shopping center by my house, intending to go to the pizza store. We took a short detour to the pet store and four hours later there I was carrying Sonny out to the car. We never did get to have pizza that day. This past Thursday, my 32^nd wedding anniversary, I went to Delco Plaza. My intention was to go to the card store to buy Mark a card. This time my detour was Shoes, Etc., a little boutique that has a great selection of shoes, clothes, bags and costume jewelry. I’ve bought a lot in that store, so I decided to check it out to see if my shoes for my dress would be in there. Immediately, when I walked in, the owner asked me if I was looking for anything special. “As a matter of fact, I’m looking for a silver pair of shoes to wear to my daughter’s wedding.” Remembering, the exchange between Barbara and Roselee, I added, “They need to be stylish and comfortable at the same time.” “Okay,” the owner said, “I have the perfect pair for you.” And after disappearing in the back of the store, he came out with a box and took out these sparkly silver gorgeous pair of platform heals. There were rhinestones everywhere, even on the three-inch heel. “They’re lovely,” I said, “but will they be comfortable?” “These are the most comfortable shoes, I promise you,” he replied. “I’m a little suspicious about men who tell me high heels are comfortable,” I told him. “My father warned me about them,” I added. “I promise you. Try them on.” I sat down. He removed all the tissue packing and put the shoe on my foot and even buckled the strap. This was unusual.

The several last pairs of shoes I bought were in either DSW or MJM- a warehouse for shoes, they call it. And that’s the way it feels. You walk in and there are countless aisles of shoes that make you dizzy and lightheaded. You have to walk down all these aisles in search of a shoe and then find your size. Usually there are at least ten other shoeboxes piled on top of the shoebox with your size on it, if there is a shoebox with your size on it. Of course you have to put the shoe on yourself once you find a place to sit and then find a mirror to check out how they look. Then you have to take the shoes with you, if you are considering them, as your search continues down all the other dozens of aisles. Naturally I am the klutz who can’t manage carrying the shoeboxes gracefully in my quest. I’m dropping the box or the lid to the box. One of the shoes goes rolling down an aisle. I look like a world-class idiot. That’s when one of the 15 year-old people who work in the store comes over to offer me one of those netted bags to carry the shoeboxes in. Then I really feel like an idiot. But they never offer to find me my size or buckle my shoe for me. Ever. That’s why I have been putting off shoe shopping and that’s why Shoes, Etc. should be the only place to buy my shoes from now on. A shoe store should make you feel like Cinderella. Not only did the owner of Shoes, Etc. buckle both my shoes, he even got another size for me to try on and buckled both of those, too. And he got me a cushioned insert when I told him the ball of my feet hurt a little. But what really “swept me off my feet” was when he said, “A beautiful woman like you needs a pair of shoes as beautiful as this.” He happened to be right about them being comfortable because the platform balanced out the high heal. Just in case, though, he told me to take the shoes home and wear them around the house for a week to make sure they’re comfortable. He would take them back and return my money if I’m not happy.

So I found my shoes on my 32^nd wedding anniversary. It was also the day that there was speculation that a possible tornado touched down on Great Neck, Long Island, where Mark works. I will always remember this because Mark kept calling me while I was in the shoe store to give me updates- this also reminded me to get him an anniversary card, the original reason I went to Delco Plaza in the first place.

I have been wearing my shoes about a half hour every day in the house, as recommended. Today I even danced in them while Sonny watched me curiously. The first day I felt a stab of pain in my right pinky toe, but today, there was no pain at all. I think I’m going to keep them. 69 days and one step closer….

Spring Shower

We are bidding farewell to spring, 2010. It’s a sad farewell because this past spring was just about the loveliest I will ever remember (except for Lindsay’s hospital stays). The weather could not have been better, summer-like days, few rain-showers. And one big shower- the bridal shower that we threw for Lindsay- that turned out as picture perfect and charming as any I could have imagined. I could look back on that day with a smile and a sense of accomplishment.

It was a mild Sunday morning in the beginning of January, one of the very few, that Kim and I traveled from east to west, then west to east on Jericho Turnpike to search for a venue. We began in Floral Park- the Queens-Long Island border. My friend, Dorothea, recommended the first place we went to. The minute we walked into it, Kim and I said simultaneously, “This is it.” With its coral painted Tuscany- styled ambience, an outdoor garden and nostalgic brightly colored paintings, including one of the “Little Rascals”, it just took our breath away. It was named after the Little Rascals’ teacher. How serendipitous is that? I was a teacher. Kim is a teacher. Lindsay is a teacher assistant. I couldn’t have dreamed a place more perfect. And they served brunch! That’s just what I wanted- a bridal shower brunch! (Although, Lindsay did say afterwards that she’s really not a breakfast person- who knew?) Kim and I went through the motions of looking at other places on Jericho Turnpike, even though we left a $100 deposit, immmediately; it was just for something to spend the rest of the day on. Not one place compared and not one place served brunch. It was settled.

Lindsay wanted a surprise shower. We kept the secret very well. We even showed her the invitations, at her insistence, covering the date and the place. She had no idea- she thought she was going to her cousins’ graduation party. Her aunt even sent out faux e-vites. And then someone blew it, with a slip of the tongue, a week before. We came so far and then one sentence just ruined the whole surprise. Lindsay was quite upset, naturally. I was almost relieved- first, because I was not the one to slip, then, because I didn’t have to conceal everything anymore. Then Lindsay said- I want everything else to be a surprise- the decorations, the games, the centerpieces. Centerpieces? Did she say centerpieces? What centerpieces? I had decorations- I put together a wishing well, which Kim and Lindsay’s friend, Jaime, decorated beautifully. Jaime also made a cake, which was gorgeous beyond all expectations. Best friend, Lisa, had all the games planned. Sister-in-law, Michele, had a special poem planned. What centerpieces? And then Lisa told me she’s doing the centerpiece game where someone at each table wins the centerpiece. I knew the restaurant was putting vases with fresh flowers at each table. I doubted they would allow anyone to take them home. I had to, now, in one week, think of what to do for six centerpieces that someone would want to win, no less. Back to Michael’s, the craft store. Back to the Styrofoam aisle, and the scrapbook section and coming up with different ways you can use pipe cleaners and decorative foam hearts. I went to sleep, each night, trying to think of ideas. And then it came to me in a discount store a block away from my office. I spotted bracelets- six of them- exactly the same as the one Lindsay and Scott brought me home from Aruba. That would be a nice prize. As if there was a muse placing a symbolic light bulb above my head, I thought of THE CENTERPIECES. Each table had a vase, filled with sparkling rocks, with one of the bracelets wrapped around it. Coming out of the vase were pipe cleaners with foam sparkling hearts and in the center, was a Styrofoam heart, covered in a sparkle foam sheet of either gold, white or silver and bearing one of the theme words for the ingredients to a happy marriage- Live, Love, Laugh, Dream, Trust, and Faith (also Lindsay’s middle name). The place cards, instead of having the boring: Table 1, 2, etc., had Live, Love, Laugh, etc. It took me one night to design and decorate the centerpieces. What a relief, then I realized I never wrote a speech.

I googled “Bridal Showers” for inspiration because I couldn’t think of what to write for Lindsay’s speech- me, the writer, or writer wannabe. I found out some interesting facts- like showers began in 1890 for girls who were too poor to have a dowry. The intention was to “shower” the bride with gifts to fill her home. I needed the muse that helped me think of the centerpieces to return and inspire me to write a suitable speech to give to my daughter on the day of her shower. Kim and my mom became my muse and assisted me with writing the following poem:

To my daughter, Lindsay, on her Bridal Shower:

Showers

On the day you were born, I loved you so,

I showered you with kisses from head to toe.

As a baby and a toddler you were my bundle of joy,

And I showered you with all kinds of toys.

Quickly you grew and clothes became your passion,

I showered you with things to wear in the latest fashion.

When you became a teen and outgrew all your toys,

I had to shower you with caution about all those boys.

And now your wedding day is almost here; soon you will be a spouse,

So, we’re showering you with gifts to fill the rooms of your house.

May married life ahead be bright and sunny,

And your days be showered with love from your honey.

And whatever showers come your way,

May the love in your heart be the sunshine to brighten your day.

Holding a glass of champagne punch, I toasted Lindsay after reading her poem, above. A delicious brunch was served; although, my bride-to-be daughter had a special dish of lobster ravioli prepared just for her, because she’s not a breakfast person. She can’t even pronounce the word “breakfast”- it comes out “brefixt”, for some strange reason. We tease her about it all the time. Ironically, as I write this on father’s day morning, Lindsay is cooking pancakes for her dad.

Lindsay’s shower is a beautiful distant memory. Everything turned out as wonderful as we had hoped. The games were a success, the food was delicious and the cake- was the “belle of the ball”. Even the weather cooperated. Thunderstorms were predicted all week, threatening the use of the outdoor garden, but thankfully they didn’t come until after all the gifts were packed into the car and we drove away, tired, relieved and ecstatic all at once.

I thought of all the stress that proceeded this important event in our wedding journey, how at one point, I even said, “I can’t wait for it to be over.” But when I was in the moment, looking at my two pretty daughters smiling and my beautiful mother kvelling*, I wanted to freeze time. My friend, Roselee, said to me- “We stress over all these occasions and it all works out in the end and then they’re over in a minute, and you say to yourself now what do I do?” She was so right.

The next day on Monday, I worked with a group of teachers. One of them just had her wedding that previous Friday; I could tell when I looked at her perfectly French manicured nails with a line of silver glitter on each one. She looked almost sad when she talked about her wedding. “I feel like I didn’t even get to enjoy it and now it’s over,” she told me, dolefully. It was a quick reminder of how we have to live in each moment and a caution to me about making sure how we all must thoroughly enjoy the wedding yet to come.

*kvell- (Yiddish) to beam with pride and pleasure

Moon Over Mumbai

Sounds soothing and romantic, even a little mysterious, right? It’s actually the name of my nail polish. Well, not even nail polish- my new soak-off gel lacquer. It’s the latest fad in manicures- stays on for two weeks, doesn’t chip, protects your nails and lets them grow without ruining them. If you don’t want to continue, you just soak them off and you are free of any future obligation, if you so choose. I chose to continue- the cost is a little more than a manicure, but it lasts longer. And now I have ten equally long, beautifully manicured “Moon Over Mumbai” nails. Prior to this, I had been neglecting my nails for a while. With the wedding approaching, I had to think about covering all the bases. I went through the whole acrylic period and wrap period. This entailed commitments, which were more time consuming than the soak-off gel lacquer. Add that to my commitment to touching up my roots and I was a slave to my appearance. And then you have routine visits to the gym, of which I am a shameful slacker. In the summer, you must get pedicures, lest anyone sees your just plain feet. Oh and I failed to mention all the hair removal requirements. The curse of being a woman is working hard to improve every detail of your body, while your body constantly has its own agenda.

Of course, when you’re in your fifties, you get a slight break with menopause when you no longer have to worry about your friend, “Flo” showing up. But then, the side effects are the hot flashes, which cause the $50 dollar make-up that you just scrupulously applied to hide all your wrinkles and discolorations, stream down your décolletage. As you are trying to salvage whatever make-up remains, you notice a whisker, dark and daring jutting out of your chin. You swear that whisker was not there two minutes ago when you were putting on your makeup. That thing never would have missed your eyesight, even though your vision is getting weaker. The whisker is disgusting. At the beginning I had taken to naming each one- after the seven dwarfs- “Grumpy”, “Bashful”, “Dopey”, etc. Now, I just name them all “Godzilla”, after the beast that they really are. I scrounge through my drawer to locate my tweezers to remove Godzilla. Naturally, I can’t find the tweezers right away. I curse in frustration; but my determination takes over because I will never leave my house knowing that beast is hanging onto my chin. Do you know what the most essential beauty product is? Answer-a good pair of tweezers- yes, that’s it. I have a pager for my cordless phone, which I am constantly losing. I need a pager for my tweezers, because they are more important. While anxiously digging through my cosmetics drawer, stuffed with things I don’t have any idea why I keep in there anymore because I haven’t used them in years (bobby pins, for example), I notice my lovely “Moon Over Mumbai” nails. I stop to admire them. My instant calm brings on good karma and I spot my tweezers sparkling under an ancient pot of lip-gloss. I raise the tweezers to pluck out the beast- he is thick and bold, but I win, with the help of the magnification side of my makeup mirror. Like a surgeon, I carefully remove this persistent, unwanted growth. Beauty conquers the Beast.

It’s a battle, a constant battle to maintain your beauty. But in that battle you still need to preserve your sanity. That means finding the right places to assist in your beautification regimen. That’s a job in itself. You need a place that is not a factory and that makes you feel special. My hair salon is perfect for this because there’s cappuccino, which the assistants will bring to you. And there’s my hairdresser, Teresa, who is also my quasi-therapist. We were using a nail salon, that didn’t look like the typical nail salons. It had a huge rock garden landscape with water cascading amongst tropical plants. The whole ambiance was aesthetic and relaxing; however, it was located in a strip mall with a very popular grocery store and the parking lot was a nightmare. By the time you got a spot, and got into the salon, you wanted to bang your head against the rock garden.

One weekend, Kim and Lindsay and I drove around searching the neighborhoods for other nail places. There was one on each corner, sometimes even two, but none of them offered the atmosphere of the one we were using. Until Kim, on her own, discovered a new one, just opening, five minutes away with a much better parking lot. There was no rock garden, but there were comfy couches, dark wood floors and it looked like Architectural Digest inside. As a matter of fact, amongst the magazines to read, there were several copies of Architectural Digest. The owner explained that she used the magazine to decorate. She wanted an atmosphere to relax her clients and keep them feeling that this is a time for them to pamper their bodies. When you get your pedicure, it’s in a bamboo bucket and the huge cushioned leather chair reclines all the way as they give you a fourteen-minute foot and leg massage, included in the price. Kim did good. This is our new place for our manis and pedis. We even reserved the date for the whole wedding party.

Getting beautiful and pampered simultaneously. Who needs a battle all the time in the quest for beauty? If you have to spend so much time on your appearance, why not do it with tranquility? I’m even thinking of cancelling my gym membership and joining a yoga studio. I just need to find one that charges only $10 per month.