Sporty Calves

I love shoes.  All shoes.  But in particular, I love boots.  Combat boots, riding boots, sexy over the knee boots - I love them all!

Five years ago, I decided it was time to replace some of my old boots,  My Mom offered to buy me a pair for my birthday.  So off we went to enjoy our favorite mother/daughter bonding exercise - shoe shopping!

Unfortunately, this was not the happy fun time it usually was.  See, it appears the weight I had put on after having two kids and not really paying much attention to my eating habits had caused me to have what the fashion industry had dubbed "sporty calves".

I had never heard that term before and since I had never played more than one game of softball outside of gym class in my life, I had to only assume that sporty = fat.

My legs were too fat for regular boots.

After a few tears and a glass of wine, I accepted this and we did find some boots.  My Mom felt so bad about the experience that she actually bought me a pair in black and one in brown that fit my "sporty calves".

This experience is one of the things that drove me to loose 40 lbs. four years ago.   I remember going into Charlotte Russe, anxiously pulling on a pair of spike heeled mid-calf boots and feeling giddy that not only did the fit properly, they were loose enough for me to put them over my jeans!

Apparently, I did not learn my lesson.

I have gained back 20 lbs. of what I lost.  And when I went to replace my black boots this year, I bought two pairs before I finally accepted the truth - the sporty calves are back.

I am not happy about this.  But I needed boots, so I went ahead and swallowed my pride and bought wide calf boots.

I inadvertently bought ones that look a lot like ones I had in high school (the chain was not so prominent in the pictures online).  Ones that made me feel strong and sassy when I wore them.  Ones that gave me a swagger when I walked.  Maybe they'll help me find that swagger back and slim down these sporty calves once again.

Hail to the Chief Sausage Maker

I have always been awed by the peaceful exchange of power that occurs every four to eight years.  It is something that fills me with pride.

I am still fiercely proud of this as we face the inauguration of a new President tomorrow.  But I am also fearful.

My fear and trepidation comes from many sources.  I don't agree with many positions our incoming President and his cabinet appointees have taken. Some seem down right dangerous in my opinion.

But the thing that has bothered me from the minute he won the Republican nomination is his lack of understanding of how to govern.

There is an old saying: "Law and sausages are the two things you don't want to see being made."

Eating sausage is vastly different than making sausage.

Following the laws is vastly different than making them.

Now, I know that there is the argument that because his businesses deal with government regulations the President Elect understands how government works.

No, he does not.

He knows how to manipulate the laws.  He knows how to get around the laws.  He knows what , happens when he is caught breaking the laws.  Heck, occasionally, he even knows how to follow the laws.

That doesn't me that he knows how to make them.

I do not believe that our new President understands that he is not an autocrat.  He can not say "I am going to build a wall" and *POOF* there's a wall.  He can not say "We're not going to participate in NATO" and *POOF* we're out, consequence free.

He does not understand that the world does not revolve around him.  Maybe everything in Trump Tower did but now everything revolves around our great nation.  The Trump Brand, Saturday Night Live, CNN - these are distractions from what should be the President Elect's main focus - us.

Please know that: 1) I accept that tomorrow, Donald J. Trump will legitimately become the 45th President of the United States 2) I want nothing more than to have all of my fears and concerns to be proven wrong 3) I love my country and pray for it's success and prosperity regardless of who is leading it.

Donald Trump has four years to show us what he is made of - hopefully, it's not what we have already seen.

DVR Melt Down

Last weekend, our satellite DVR crapped out and erased everything on it.  53 hours worth of programming - gone.  And I cried.

Now, I know that sounds incredibly pathetic, but those 53 hours represented more than just entertainment from the boob tube.  They represented the last 6 years.

There were the episodes of  "Fanboy and Chum Chum" that Finn watched obsessively at all hours of the day or night.

There were the holiday specials that the kids liked to watch when they were feeling cuddly whether it was December or July.

There were the news casts with that Elwood's class was featured in - one on cursive writing and one on teaching about 9/11 in school.

There was the morning program when Todd and several of his friends got up to be on TV at 5 a.m. to play music and promote Happy Slapowitz.

There were things there that I can find on Netflix and things I can't ever get back.  And it made me cry.

It made me sad to think that I can't just turn on that episode of "Mighty Bee" where she writes "Running with the Rainbow Unicorn" and hear both boys giggle like the did the first time they saw it.

I can't slow down how fast time is moving.  I can't get back when the boys were little and all they wanted to do was cuddle on the couch with a blanket and watch silly shows.   The loss of those shows felt like the loss of being able to recapture those moments.

My head knows that this isn't true - but for a while, my heart didn't.

For Carrie...

On my 42nd birthday (an incredibly important one for any sci fi geek), I vowed to begin blogging again.  Not for anyone but myself.  I even wrote two blog posts but they never made it past the first draft.  I decided they weren't important.

And then last week, as I was in the car on the way to the cemetery to bury my father's wife, the word came that she was gone.  Carrie Fisher, my idol and hero for as long as I could remember, had passed away.  Suddenly, there was a tear in the fabric of my childhood that could never be mended.

Everyone who knows me knows of my deep an abiding love of all things Star Wars.  I wear it on my sleeve like my Irish/Italian heritage.  It is part of who I am.

What many don't know is what Carrie Fisher, the writer and the person, meant to me.

I vividly remember reading her first three fiction books.  I remember where I was and what was going on in my life when I read them.  She was bitingly funny and brutally honest.  When she moved on to nonfiction, she bravely laid bare EVERYTHING, using her writing as therapy to exercise whatever demons were lingering within her.  She wrote for herself - it was a plus that so many loved it.

She was a woman and a daughter and a mother - three things I am and could, in a small way, connect with her on.  She was also a writer and an actress - two things I have always wanted to be.  Most importantly, she was fearless - something I aspire to be.  She never shied away from discussing her mental illness.  It was part of who she was.  Her trials in life were far beyond anything I have ever faced, but her willingness to be completely open truly inspired me.

So, as I sit here on the first day of a year that so many I loved and admired did not live to see, I write. I write for me.  I write to sort out my feelings.  I write to preserve the moment.  I write to let it go and to keep it near.

2016 felt defeating at times.  Family deaths, personal trials, political insanity, Bowie returning to his home planet, Prince fading into a purple mist, and so much more piled on and on until yesterday.

I know that today is simply symbolic.  Bad things and sad things and insane things will continue to happen.  Nothing is truly different from yesterday.  But the idea that I have a new chance to right last years wrongs and fix what needs to be fixed is sorely needed this year.

So this year, I will write.  I will find my exercise and diet motivation again.  I will work to be more patient with my husband and children.  I have a couple of other resolutions that for now I will keep to myself.

But mostly,  I will have hope for better days and I will try to be fearless.

Like Carrie.

Sean Lennon posted this picture that he took of Carrie and her beloved dog at Rufus Wainwright's wedding.
 If that's not the coolest sentence ever typed, I don't know what is.