Don't Misinterpret My Kindness For Weakness

Have you ever just heard something that you just had to stop and listen? And you knew your life had changed direction a bit.

Happened on the tennis court. In the midst of an intense rally, Linda punched the ball for a winning point. The moment she said those words, I knew I would learn a lot from this woman. For years I was kind and weak. Life has toughened me up a bit. I'm still kind, but certainly not weak!

We are playing doubles together, learning how to ebb and flow, holding back and going for the juggler. The strategy is so different than playing singles. I've always been a singles player. Its hard for me to rely and trust someone. I'd either win or lose on my own shots. It can be a lonely game. No one to share in the highs and lows. But not doubles. There is a constant chatter of encouragement and strategy that feeds my competitive nature and nourishes my need to share what I do with someone.

With laughter and joy we are becoming friends and a winning team.

Thanks Punch!

The 50's Style

I loved turning 50. I loved all the celebrating and the fuss. It was my day, and I embraced it with everything in my being. Trying to dress like a mature person is another matter. I just can't seem to find a style that portrays the new me. If I just go with comfort, then the discussions ends right here - jeans. I'm trying to come in to the new me with an artistic flair, with classiness and edginess. I wish clothing store layouts were different....I can wander in the Misses section, find things in the Junior area, and sneak into the Plus aisles. I wish it was Artsy, Classic, Comfort, Snooty, Anything Denim. Then break it down by decades. It would help. I wouldn't have to wonder if I looked good in low cut butt crack jeans, and cropped tops.

I'm taking a trip overseas soon. I'm going to a foreign country where no one knows me, and I want to dress wild and artsy. To the department store I went, with my teenage daughter. She has a wonderful sense of style. It helps being a size one, and no stretch marks, and a bottom that hasn't gone south.

We combed the sales rack with diligence and determination. I would hold up something, and I would know in an instant if it was a keeper or not, by the look on her face. "This is great, but not for you" "Do you think I would look good in this?" "Step away from it mom, no way." "Mom, you've got to try this...even if its a size 6" Yeah right. We got the biggest dressing room to hold our armload of potential "looks". She layed them out, and started handing them to me. Some worked, others we had a good laugh. I needed help getting out of the size six. An hour went by, and we narrowed it down to three great "new look" outfits. As the clerk was ringing it all up, my daughter, who has helped me find a new style that won't embarrass her if we are seen in public together, sighs, "I need some chocolate" Now, that is a seasoned shopper.

Cross My Heart

God did not bless me with big boobs. He has blessed me in many other ways, but mammaries are not one of them (or two of them for that matter). Cross your heart, was as a child, making a promise. I promise to say the truth. Why a bra was named for such a truthful expression is beyond me. Cross your heart for an uplifting look, or cross your heart, padded and they appear bigger. That's not telling the truth. We would cross our hearts, and hope to die if we lied.

"Be your own ideal. Cross Your Heart's signature criss-cross lift elevates you and your self-image, with beautiful shaping that's still true to you. For a flattering, confident silhouette that keeps you looking your best. Watch out, World." —Playtex

My first bra was a "Cross Your Heart". It did not elevate my self image, or make me feel like I was looking my best. Watch out, World. I was a young girl, with this elastic contraption strapped to my chest. I could hardly raise my arms, let alone breathe deeply. I don't think it fit, but I never said anything.

My daughter wore her first bra to second grade. I mentioned it to the teacher in case there was a problem. Her body didn't need one, but her wanting to be a big girl did. God has blessed her now, in ways He didn't bless me.

I enjoy watching her in cheerleading. It is a new way for her to elevate her self image. Mine, on the other hand, got lost temporarily in the parent seating area. I turned to the lady on my right. We exchanged names and nicetees. The small waisted woman with long blonde hair was very blessed. I don't think my God blessed her, I think that she paid someone for her blessings. The lady on my left was blessed the same. Even the owner of the place was blessed. Their bottled blonde hair was no match for my natural gray/white. I tried not to stare, or even laugh at the comical scene. I kept wondering if they could raise their arms, and still breathe.

That's the truth....honest....cross my heart.

The Cane

I've decided if I ever come to the point in my life, that I need a cane, it would not be just an ordinary, Walmart variety. I would have to paint it, decorate it, do whatever I could to make it a part of me. Maybe even find a stick, and carve my initials in it. If I could figure out how to put blinking lights on it, I would. I would decorate it with the seasons, and celebrate each spring with a new color scheme.

My dad has come to the point in his life that he will need a cane. He is loosing his ability to do even the simplest tasks. The bracelet on his wrist, given to him by his kids for father's day, has his name and where to return him, if he gets lost. At first he was thrilled, and then he wanted it off. No one could figure it out for him. No one knew how. The one good thing about his Alzheimers- he forgets quickly and moves on. Now he is limping and he looks like he might fall at any moment. He can't tell us if something hurts, and my mom doesn't know if he has gout, or he needs a cane.

We all use canes everyday. The physical ones are easy to spot. The people that walk with me every day, are the canes I carry with me now, until the day comes, and I get my glue gun out and start decorating one. I have friend canes, and family canes. I have dog canes and food canes. Anything I lean on becomes a cane. I used to have a huge Starbucks cane, and then one day, two weeks ago, I woke up and the thought of drinking coffee, turned my stomach. I don't use that cane anymore. It's the stranger cane, that I find most interesting. It's that brief moment during the day, when someone, whose name I don't even know, does something that touches my spirit, and helps me. They'll never know, they were a cane.

I saw two elderly ladies the other day, walking arm in arm. Something tells me, that if they walked unattached, they would be wobbly. They were each others cane. I have many elderly friends and their spirit and wisdom, playfulness and grumpiness are wonderful canes. Their canes come out to help them recover from their latest illness, and then tossed aside as they get their strength back.

I'm going to see my dad in a few months. I think he'll will be walking with a cane. He will be surrounded by his family of canes, and I'm going to put my name on his. Right below his initials, carved deeply in my heart.

Dark Rimmed Glasses

You are what you wear! I've learned how to get a bit of edge when I go on the tennis court. A killer outfit. It goes with a killer attittude and a killer serve. Somehow strutting helps and bouncing a ball. A good pair of dark rimmed glasses helps to hide the nervousness, and frustration. They are also good at hiding tears. These are the behind the scenes lessons that I have learned in life. Look better than you are. Look the part. When I first got invited to play tennis after many years of "doing other things", I just had to have the right outfit. There was no way I was going to show up in something that would not bolster my flimsy self confidence. It didn't matter that my timing was off, and I hit everything out. At least I looked good hitting it out.

I stood in a pool today talking with a dear friend. No killer outfits, just our swimsuits. Can't hide much there. He's my friend, and a therapist. He told me about a time when he tried to look the part of a really smart shrink - the three piece dark suit, power tie, wing tips. Even a pair of dark rimmed glasses! When his daughter was young, she overheard him on the phone with a client. "Daddy, you were using your doctor's voice" It was a turning point for him to be just who is he is.

I went to the theatre the other day, and a whole busload of ladies showed up wearing purple dresses with red hats. I like that poem "When I am old, I will wear purple" I read it many years ago when I was younger. I sent it to my mother, with a photo of herself that I had retouched and made her shirt purple. But I think their missing the point. The point is not being like everyone else, and being comfortable in your own skin, not looking like 100 other old ladies. There is a whole industry of "Red Hat" paraphernalia. So much for being unique!

Now, when I hit the tennis courts, my outfits don't quite match. The blues are a bit off, and I don't really care. I'm more concerned with how my timing is that day, and if the serves are going in. My game is back, and my confidence is soaring. I exited the pool with much to think about. I said goodby and as I glanced back, I noticed that he was wearing dark rimmed glasses.