Category: Shoes

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Matching Hurts Me A Little

It is no secret to y’all that I have a bit of a problem with matchy fashion: colors, styles, themes, textures, and so on. Wearing a hodgepodge of attire I like is more in line with my true self than matching is. I am an eclectic gal in all things, from music to food to books. I felt like wearing flip flops this afternoon. I felt like wearing cowboy boots this afternoon. Flip Flop Tie o’ the Day made it possible for me to wear both. Being not-matchy gives me the best of many worlds, all at once.

As you know, I have never owned a purse until I saw The Saddle Purse in the SLC Airport in March. It spoke to my soul, so I nabbed it. The Saddle Purse reminded me I’ve been on the hunt for cowboy boots for the last few years. If you’ve been reading this post regularly, you know I found “the” cowboy boots o’ my dreams while we were in Arkansas recently. Was I happy to finally find the boots? Not exactly. Why? They “match” my Saddle Purse.

When Suzanne took me into the boot store she ran onto in Mountain View, AR, my eyeballs less than five minutes to become glued to what were to become my cowboy boots. I tried to look away. I tried to find fault with them. I tried to focus on other boots. These boots would definitely “go with” The Saddle Purse, in a very matchy way. Oh, no! I did not want my boots to match The Saddle Purse. But it did no good to try to want a different pair. I was smitten with these.

The same boots came in a smoky rose color too. And I tried to make myself love that color more. They were purty. They wouldn’t have been anywhere near as “matchy” with my Purse. The smoky rose boots would have been so much more my clashy self. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t love the smoky rose-colored cowboy boots. They were the same, but they were not the same. Alas! I went with the boot color I loved deepest. I learned something about myself: in some things, love is more important to me than clash fashion. Don’t ever quote me on that though.

BTW For every post photo in which my white legs show, let me apologize right now. Before I got ancient, I tanned easily. That doesn’t happen to my legs anymore. No amount of sun alters their profound whiteness. It’s just their color. I suggest you keep sunglasses handy for when my leg whiteness appears in TIE O’ THE DAY posts. I do not want you to go snowblind, er, leg-blind.

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The Bigly And The Not-so-bigly

At the end of our Blanchard Springs Caverns tour, we had to be taken by bus back to the entrance and visitor’s center parking lot. Our tour guide and the bus driver told us we MUST visit the nearby waterfall. We didn’t even know the waterfall existed. They assured us it would be worth our time to drive there because it was spectacular. They let us know we could even swim and walk under and behind the waterfall. They had me wishing I had worn my stripey, old-timey swimming suit that day. We listened carefully to the detailed directions they gave us, and we left the parking lot determined to find this scenic, watery wonder.

We found the ‘fall, as shown by the photo. The waterfall’s not-so-bigliness is not a trick of photography. We are standing about 20 feet from it. Even magnetic, wood polka dot Bow Tie o’ the Day was disappointed. Suzanne and I just kind of stood there for a few minutes, stunned. We knew we were at the right waterfall, cuz other tourists were there gawking at the thing, but… I have a difficult time thinking folks in the Ozarks– or tourists to the Ozarks– think this is a breathtaking waterfall, so I’m mystified about what makes it visit-worthy. Is it just the ONLY waterfall in the Ozarks? Well, I know that can’t possibly be the case. We left that sight pretty quickly, then drove to Mountain View to grab some lunch, and window-shop before heading back to our condo in Fairfield Bay.

[Mountain View ended up being an unexpectedly memorable place for me. It’s where Suzanne found a cowboy boot place she thought I’d be interested in. She wrangled me in through its door, and I found my cowboy boots. More on the boots, in a future post.]

The lawn chairs photo shows the entrance to the resort where we stayed in Arkansas. The chairs are as oversized as the waterfall was puny. In fact, I think the chairs are taller than the waterfall. I’m estimating the chairs are around 9 feet tall. I should have placed bow ties on them, or sat on one myself before taking the pic. That way you would have a more accurate idea of the chairs’ size. I’ll be honest with you though: when I stopped to take this snapshot, I was grouchy. It had been a long day, and I was hungry, tired, and needed to pee. All I wanted to do was get back to the condo. I slept like a baby that night, but I ran out of vacay time to go back and stage me and the bow ties on the chairs for proper photos. I guess I’ll have to go back so I can get those shots for y’all. Arkansas is a do-over for me.

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Traveling Home In Style

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I just flew in from Arkansas– and boy, are my new cowboy boots tired! Yup, Suzanne dragged me into a boot store in Mountain View, AR– where this pair o’ boots found me. They didn’t fit in my suitcase, so I had to wear them with my shorts through the Little Rock, Atlanta, and SLC airports, as well as on the planes home. The shorts-and-boots combo is a snappy one I’ll repeat.

I’ll post about the Arkansas adventure, starting tomorrow. Now I’m gonna snore, unpack, do laundry, then snore some more.

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A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Fashions

I soooo wish Mom and I had been wearing Bow Ties o’ the Day like these when this photo was snapped in front of my kidhood house. I think Mom’s holding my nephew, Jeff. He was her first grandchild, and he is certain he is her favorite. Check out Mom’s hair. Once again her hair looks like it just got did. What a put-together broad! Mom has always been a hair-done-once-a-week-whether-it-needs-it-or-not woman.

Guess which photo star is I?! I chose today’s photo offering as evidence that I have always had my own style. I have always been fashion-forward. I wish I still had these cowboy boots. I would bronze them like parents used to bronze their babies’ first pair of shoes, and then display them on an important shelf in their living room for visitors to gaze upon. I remember riding my bike in these boots. I remember walking up to the outdoor Delta pool twice daily in my swimming suit and cowboy boots. I wish I had a snapshot of that.

It was a sad day for me when I outgrew my cowboy boots. But I got over it pretty quickly when I discovered saddle shoes. (The saddle purse had not yet been born.) And after saddle shoes, I moved on to Hush Puppies, then Earth Shoes, and I am sure you’re aware that recently my feet have walked a mile in my many Sloggers. You think my middle name is Eileen? Heck, my middle name has always been STYLE.

I have shown you my Sloggers garden shoes collection in some of my post pictures over the past couple of years, and I have loved them so. I have worn Sloggers every day since I discovered them, but I am Sloggered-out. I feel the need for the changin’ o’ the footwear. I now want a different style of shoes. My Sloggers are pretty hashed anyway, so it’s a practical matter as well as a fashion move.

Perhaps a fancy pair of cowboy boots is in my near future. Now that it’s summer, I can recreate the style I exhibited in this photo every day. Shorts, boots, and neckwear. And, of course, I will add a touch of clash, which is my signature. A total ensemble like that strikes me as my next personal style trend. I hadn’t even thought of dressing like my 6-year-old me before I just wrote it. Now, I’m excited for the boot hunt!

Suzanne will roll her eyes, but enjoy every minute of my new-old style phase. It’s what she does. Somethin’ ain’t right with that girl.

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Right Place, Right Time?

All through our thinking lives– especially during the tough moments– we sleuth around to find meaning in what we do, and in how we’ve decided to live. Pink Panther Tie o’ the Day (it’s just a squirt gun he’s packing) sometimes assists me in my sleuthing to figure out how it all fits together. I’m a puzzle piece, and so are you.

When I parked my car at the TMS clinic this morning, there was one parking place left– just for me. As I swung open my car door, I realized the cow Sloggers shoes I was wearing matched the car right next to mine. It’s not a paint color you commonly see on vehicles. In fact, I believe this is the only time I’ve seen this sea foam color on a car. [Trust me: the color is not light blue, it is sea foam.]

Anyhoo… You could call it a mere coincidence, and that’s probably all it was. It was just a car and a pair of garden shoes, sharing pigment. But what if this minuscule meeting of the colors was something more than coincidence?

That would actually help me out. You see, I’ve been feeling like my TMS treatments haven’t been accomplishing their purpose of jump starting the mood section of my brain, so I can level out my depression. I haven’t felt the change I expected to notice by this point in the series of treatments. I’ve been doubting. But what if the simple meeting of these off-beat colors is the universe trying to tell me I’m doing the right thing? Maybe it’s a sign I’m right where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly the right thing for my stoopid bipolarity. That might be stretching the idea of “signs,” but maybe it’s not. Maybe we should look less for bigly signs and answers, and look more at the small things we come across in our everyday existence. How is believing in the “messages” of small things a sacrilege?

In the final analysis, it doesn’t really matter if the universe is speaking to me, or if I’m speaking to myself– about the TMS treatments or the meaning of my life or whatever. If thinking I’ve experienced a profound encounter– whether I have or haven’t– gets me through a day, that’s a good thing. If it’s just made-up meaning but it makes me a better person, what’s wrong with that? What’s the problem if we all do that?

And do you know what? After today’s treatment ended its pounding– after I’d completely forgotten about the car/shoe thing– I felt the first twinge of peace and hope. I hadn’t even left my treatment chair yet. It was only a tiny blip of peace and hope, but it was there. I’m not making it up just to make this a better story. It happened.

Once I left the clinic building, I saw that the sea foam-colored car was gone. But I remembered it had been there. Its earlier presence meant something, if only to me. I carried my little ray of peace and hope home with me, and I’m thinking I’m one step closer to fitting myself–the puzzle piece I am– into the cosmic puzzle. How is your puzzle piece doing?

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Sealed With A Lipstick Kiss (S.W.A.L.K.)

As opposed to regular ol’ S.W.A.K.

Here’s the same bigly, jumbo-ly Bow Tie o’ the Day as this morning’s post photo offered up. In this snapshot, my hairs and I were getting ready for today’s TMS treatment. In fact, it was my TMS technician, Tenzin, who finally mentioned the lip print I had on my cheek. Doh!

When Suzanne told me goodbye as she headed out to work this morning, she told me to NOT forget to wash the goodbye lipstick off my face before I went out into the world of neuropsychiatric treatments. And what was the first thing I promptly forgot to do right before I, myself, left the house for my appointment? Yup. Off I went, feeling just slightly more loved on my left cheek than on my right cheek– but unable to come up with the reason for the strange imbalance I felt.

Vonnegut Grace Vibe was gas-less, so I gassed her up before hitting the freeway. The woman I chit-chatted with at the 7-11 gas pumps didn’t point out my cheek’s lip print . Jack, the dude who seems to work at the Centerville 7-11 24/7, didn’t clue me in about it either– even as I stood at his register gabbing with him and buying a bottle of Diet Coke. The two office assistants I spoke with in the reception area at my TMS clinic spoke nary a word about it either. Finally, Tenzin commented on it.

Looking back, none of these folks seemed fazed by what was on my face. Clearly, you don’t have to know me well to figure I must have meant to do whatever I did, fashion-wise. To know me even a little is to expect to view an odd style. I decided to wear the lip print for the rest of the day, and the people who assisted me as I got a new phone at the Apple Store didn’t bring it up once.

So far, nothing unpleasant has happened to me or my cheek. In fact, the whole lipstick faux pas is generating ideas about what else I can get away with putting on my face– causing people to notice, but not tell me about. I see it as a new challenge. And I think Suzanne needs to invest in a bunch of much brighter lipstick than she already has. Like she says, “If you’re going to wear lipstick, make sure people see it.” Amen to that.

I’m positive anyone who saw me noticed my smooch print, but I think they were jealous. I was lucky enough to have a kiss on my cheek, while their cheeks were kiss-less. I think the red remnants of the kiss I received actually made some people feel unloved. Sorry. But not.

Hey, humans, kiss your people goodbye each day as they go out to conquer the world. They are going out there for YOU, you know.

BTW   Yes, I do have another pair of paw print Sloggers just like this at home.

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Hairs Thursday #9

Mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day. Sasquatch Socks o’ the Day. And animal print Sloggers o’ the Day. The Hairs o’ the Day are doing the front-ponytail-through-a-backwards-baseball-cap thing.

[I haven’t quite finished writing the post I promised yesterday, about why TMS treatments are a good choice for me. It is coming.]

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The First Of Two Things

Check it out: I believe my shirt collar is a bigly bit too large, since my face fits in it. Tie o’ the Day is a lovely purple, silver, and gray kids’ tie. The sun was bright as could be outside this morning when I snapped the washed-out photo. I got to my appointment early and just hung around listening to tunes in the car– and taking washed-out TIE O’ THE DAY pictures. You can at least see the short length of Tie. Its colors pop out at ya in the photo of me and the TMS equipment. You know– if I flipped the electromagnetic gadget on its side, it would look like Mickey Mouse ears. I’ll try to capture a pic of that.

Behold! Sloggers o’ the Day are not my faves. I doubt My Saddle Purse is fond of them either. The shoes’ print design is not even close to my style. The design and colors remind me of Momo (my grandma Wright), whose style was always elegant and impeccable. But her style is not mine. I think I decided on these Sloggers simply because they make me think of her. That’s reason enough to wear them.

First today, I have a gripe. Our dryer died over the weekend. It was at least twenty years old when we inherited it, and it’s been one of the family for the past twenty years. Its efficient longevity is amazing, so it deserves to rest now in Dryer Heaven. I do not begrudge the dryer for giving up the ghost.

Suzanne did her consumer research and decided on the best new dryer for us. It is now bought and paid for, as they say. Unfortunately, it can’t be delivered and installed until next Friday. By that time, we will have lived without a dryer for TWO WHOLE WEEKS! That ain’t right. We are growing the dirty clothes piles to prove it. I can dry clothing on the deck if we get desperate, but that would result in a costly fine from the Homeowners Association. Perhaps we could use this unfortunate event as an excuse to buy more clothing, cuz you can already tell I don’t have enough to wear.

And second, …… I will save the second topic for my next post. Meanwhile, I assure you that my TMS treatments are safe. Worry not, friends! I will ‘splain to you why this is a good thing for me to try. 7down, 29 to go.


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It’s Downright Shocking

Bow Tie o’ the Day “enjoyed” a round of electromagnetically attacking my Brain o’ the Day. 6 Down, 30 to go. I will make it. My skull might not, but I will.

Here I am with the electromagnetic coil stuck against my head. It looks like an innocent reading lamp, which it is certainly not. Each daily treatment lasts only twenty minutes, which doesn’t seem like a long time– until you understand it’s twenty minutes of painful pulses almost continually bombarding your noggin. I get a few seconds of rapidly repeating shocks, followed by fewer seconds of PAUSE, then back to the pulses, and so on. When the coil sends the shocks through my skull, it sounds exactly like a sewing machine needle going up and down. It feels like it too. See, you learn something from my posts every day.

And here are my Sloggers ankle-boots. I only have one pair. I’m not really an ankle-boot garden shoe kind of girl, I guess. Y’all seem to like my Sloggers, so I’ll show ’em to ya. I don’t know if any of my Sloggers like my treatments, but they’re going with me anyway. They can stare at my purse with me for twenty minutes.

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In Praise Of Taxes

I’m wearing my IRS Tie o’ Tax Day, displaying a cartoon icon of the poor guy who is left with only a barrel to wear after he paid his taxes. At some point this afternoon, I’ll switch to my paper money Tie o’ Tax Day. BONUS! Here’s a gander at my chicken Sloggers, as I wore them in my TMS treatment chair this morning (5 treatments down, 31 to go). Who knew garden shoes could be so clever?!

Anyhoo… Yes, it’s that time again. It’s my annual, boring Tax Day post, in which I declare that I get more for my tax dollars than for any other dollars I spend. Don’t get me wrong. I gripe about paying taxes too. But when I remind myself to look at the larger picture I get a grip on my griping. My perspective and attitude always change when I look beyond li’l ol’ me and my personal bank balance. Ultimately, I guess you could say I’m happy to pay my taxes. I even feel sort of blessed to do so. (Don’t faint about that last sentence.)

Blame my dad. He’s the one who prodded me to seriously look around at what my taxes pay for. He’s the one who made it clear to me that there is no way we could have the things we need/want without substantial taxes. He’s the one who showed me we get more than our money’s worth when we pay our taxes. Dad really, really, really, really hated paying taxes, but it didn’t stop him from understanding how much we benefit from what we pay.

We do pay a ton of taxes, but we get a ton of goods and services. Without a complicated combination of city, county, state, and federal taxes, we wouldn’t be able to live our free and secure lives. Think of just some of the “gifts” we get, just for doing nothing more than being born in this country: schools( complete with bus drivers and crossing guards); libraries; parks; sports facilities and programs; roads; bridges; infrastructure (water, sewer, landfills, and more); the military; police officers; EMT’s; firefighters; Medicare/Medicaid; etc. We get services we don’t even know we get– like super secret national security programs that secure us and the communities we have created. I could list more– on and on and on, I could yammer. There is no way I could pay for everything I use. My check helps keep me in neckwear. And it helps keep my family fed and clothed and entertained, but it’s sooooo not bigly enough for me to build an elementary school.

Are some of our tax dollars wasted? Yes. Do some people not pay their fair share of taxes? HELL, YES! We need to work on that stuff. Will I continue to gripe about paying my taxes? Yes, I will. Will I get over it? Yes.

And now I’m off to drive on a road I couldn’t possibly have afforded to build on my own.

End of patriotic preaching.