Spring Sneaker Look

Harper's Bazaar April 2018

Two years ago, in March, I was out on a lunchtime walk when I hit a patch of black ice. One foot went forward when the other went back putting me down on the pavement in splits. When I was going down, I heard a snap, but it all happened so quickly that I didn't remember that moment until months later. Lying on the ground in pain, I wondered how I was ever going to get up off of the ice and back to work. I was walking along a quiet, residential street, and no one was around to help me up. It took a minute, but I was able to stand and limp back to the building. The next morning, I was stiff. Two days later, my right ankle swelled up, and I couldn't walk on it. I called in sick and went to the doctor. Naturally, as the appointment was later in the afternoon, my ankle unswelled, and I was able to walk in the doctor's office. He told me on my reporting that I had probably suffered a mild sprain.  Many months later, realizing that something was not quite right, I decided to go to an orthopedic surgeon. He told me that I had probably tore one of the ligaments in my foot which supported my arch, which he could fix with surgery and up to a year recovery. When I went to the MRI appointment and was nearly situated on the shelf to go in, I backed out. Shouldn't it hurt more? Shouldn't I be completely unable to walk if my foot/ankle is so bad? Nah, I can't do what he was suggesting. The fellow, who saw me first, explained about the arch, ankle, calf connection and hoped for me that I could avoid surgery and work to improve the strength of the ankle and calf to support the fallen arch. I decided to follow his program and have worked for the last year and a half to do just that. 

One of the major adjustments that I have had to make is my shoe apparel. Especially for that first year, I could not put a heel on. It was just too painful. I wore my joggers to work for a couple of months, but soon began picking up fashion sneakers to wear. I've always been a dress and heel wearer to work, so it was a major move for me. I had started a new job, and no one there knew that I wore heels because, especially in the beginning, I only ever wore my New Balance. But as I started to rock the more fashiony footwear, my colleagues began to take notice. I started the trend of rocking a Michael Kors slip on sneaker with my already existing wardrobe of dresses. Hey, if Victoria Beckham can step out in sneakers with fashion, why can't I? 

It's been two years now, and (knock on wood) my arch and ankle are much stronger and not nearly as painful. I've even been able to wear a stacked heal in a boot, which leads me to believe that I will be able to go to a heel ... for special occasions. This page from Harper's Bazaar reminded me of my new look ... a sneaker and a skirt. It's interesting how this forced changed has sort of given me a new clothes personality. In Spring purchasing, I've been looking for ... well, cool sneakers to wear with a new dress that I've bought for Spring. 

The sneaker has put a new lightness to my step that has moved up to my way of thinking.

Jesus Christ Superstar

Last week, a woman at work said that she's been a fool for love many times. It was like a dare to me and, not one to turn away from a dare, I told her that I could do better, many times over. Naturally, she challenged me. I decided to go easy on some of the really silly things that I've done when it has come to love and picked a fairly pedestrian tale.

A few years ago, I  went with a group of friends to watch a screening  of the original "Jesus Christ Superstar" film. When I was hanging out with the Doyle girls down the block when I was in junior high school (I have spoken of several times as the catalyst for my love of music), we listened to the  "Jesus Christ Superstar" album in their basement a lot. I don't know quite know how to explain this, but the music and movie, which I had watched with them, sort of scared me. Well, maybe not scared, but definitely haunted me. Today, I still can't figure out what that was, but I can remember it as if I were 12 and feeling the uneasy feeling that I had while listening. As an adult, reintroduced to the film and music, I was mesmerized once again.

After seeing the movie, I couldn't get the song, "I Don't Know How to Love Him," out of mind. Besotted at the time with what would prove to an inconvenient, more unavailable, man, I found the song to express exactly how I felt. And I needed to tell him ... I always need to tell man how I feel whether he wants to hear it or not ... which is a charm, so. Always putting hair brained schemes into action, I burned the song, just the one song, to a CD and mailed it to him. I may have written a note that read: listen to this. Apparently, when he received and opened it, he did. And he did so in front of his college aged son, who wondered what it was all about. When I asked him if he has received the package, he said something to affect of 'what the hell' and 'my son thinks that you're nuts.' That was not quite the response that I was looking for. If only I had been embarrassed. I wasn't. I expressed exactly what I had intended. The act made me happy.

The woman at work listened to my story and said, 'well, you were a lot younger, right?' Oh, no. This happened just a few years ago. And that is just the start of me and my bright ideas to express my love to the men that I love. Compared to her story, I was the clear winner. And I didn't even have to try very hard.

And this weekend, I was able to see most of the live "Jesus Christ Superstar" broadcast. My favorite song ... "I Don't Know How to Love Him." Not Mary Magdalene's singing of it; rather, Judas. I'm still on my "Call Me By Your Name" kick and was more moved by a boy singing it to Jesus than a girl. Wow. I get it.

Call Me By Your Name

Call Me By Your Name

Oliver leaves Elio.

I was late to all of the Oscar nominated or buzzed about films this year and have been catching up. It was, in my estimation, a good year for movies. This one, "Call Me By Your Name," devastated me and brought to surface memories that when called are as fragile and raw as it appears to be for Elio here in this frame from the movie as he clutches at his throat because, obviously, his heart has moved there and no words are expressed as Oliver climbs on to the train to leave Italy. Leaving him behind.

When I first saw the movie, I was distracted. I saw the novel that the film was based on in the store and picked it up. It wrapped around me and made me feel like I was writhing in deep, warm, sea water- drowning, but quite alive at the same time. The novel moves beyond the film in time, so I read the ending twice. In the same day. And as soon as I had the chance, I watched the movie, alone, for a second time and am left wondering how many times it will take to the point that I can't watch it anymore.

Sometimes, movies, small, quiet ones, capture me and hold on through several viewings until I am able to walk away from them. When I first saw Parker Posey's "Broken English," I watched it on three successive evenings. One, I love Parker Posey. Two, a Frenchman was involved. And three, a trip to Paris ensued. The quiet of the film allowed for the character, Nora, to explore the general malaise that she felt and the disappointment in not fulfilling what she thought was to be her life by the deadline that many of us impose upon ourselves. Nora's inner dialogue that runs through the movie could be what goes through mine on any given day. Nora figures it out. And lucky for her that the figuring had something to do with a Frenchman and Paris. If only!

Another small, quiet movie that I got caught up in recently was "Sophie and the Rising Sun," which was set in a beautifully filmed South Carolina circa 1941. Sophie is adrift, without family or opportunity, and crabs to make ends meet. She is an artist and paints the gardens that are prolific in her small town.  A Japanese-American man comes to town under mysterious circumstances, and Sophie is drawn to him. Theirs is a bittersweet story- two vagabonds who do not fit into the lives that have been given to them. Fortunately, the sun rises and they find each other. The cinematography is stunning. And their quiet passion is heartening. I watched it three nights in a row.

And now for Oliver and Elio. I know this scene at the train station- leaving, separating, not knowing if or even when they'll ever physically be in the same place, understanding that emotionally, they'll never part. Their youth and the overwhelming surprise that love could take over every cell in one's body makes for the perfect storm of joy, grief, and wonder. It reminds me of the boy I loved, love, who would take me to the airport after heady days of wandering around his city, each other, in quiet and not so sure how to be together. On leaving, he would buy me magazines and gum, stick a twenty in my pocket, and my heart would swell one hundred times its size, catching in my throat blocking words. I wonder about the people who would sit next to me on the plane and how they felt about having this huge, blubbering heart sitting in such close proximity. Of course, this may be why this film resonates with so many. Who hasn't had their heart swell so large that words could not express its feelings. Oh, Elio. And Oliver ... I'll certainly watch this film again ... and again.

Serena Williams

Vogue February 2018

Perhaps, the cover of Serena Williams for Vogue would have more appropriate for March, not February, so as to celebrate Women's History Month. Clearly, she is representative of what has become the real struggle for women today- balancing a career and family, especially when one's career is at its pinnacle and the baby comes, and for Serena, changes the game for Serena's continued dominance on the tennis court. How can a baby not change the psyche and certainly, the body of an elite athlete. The wonder will become not how many grand slam titles Serena won before now, but how she won them after when she's had to regroup, retrain, and figure out to be selfish in her pursuit while being selfless in her new role as a mother.

The key to her and what is provocative to me is this from this article: "'I remember ow stressed I was about getting to Grand Slam number eighteen, tying Chrissie and Martina," she says. "I had lost every Grand Slam that year. I was in the U.S. Open, and Patrick [Mouratoglou], my coach, said, 'Serena, this doesn't make sense. You're so stressed about eighteen. Why not 30? Why not 40?' For me, that clicked. I won eighteen, nineteen, and 20 right after that. Why would I want to stand side by side when I can stand out on my own? I think sometimes women limit themselves. I'm not sure why we think that way, but I know that we're sometimes taught to not dream as big as men, not to believe we can be a president or a CEO, when in the same household, a male child is told he can be anything he wants. I'm so glad I had a daughter. I want to teach her that there are not limits."

I can identify with her coming to the realization that she needed to focus beyond the immediate goal of achieving someone else's record when her conditioning, practice, and dominance suggested that she could far surpass the records. And she did. But her limits ... I suggest that we have put 'man limits' on us when we need to determine what the limit or expectation or expanded goal should be based on what it is to be a woman in the pursuit. Raised in the era when the movement took a real hold on society, I was raised to believe that I could do anything that a man could do. The only limits that I had were socio-economic, which is another argument, but I was able to achieve, within my group, anything that the boys did. I suppose that was the first step, but as time moves forward and more girls are are doing just that and surpassing them in many ways, I think that it is time to stop comparing ourselves to boys and work it out for ourselves as girls. And girls alone. Not the same as boys.  Or better than boys. As we are.

Serena is the greatest. And now, she'll show us how great she is as she climbs back to the level of play that she beat everyone with. I expect that this period of her career will be her biggest challenge and her greatest.

@coco_pinkprincess

Elle March 2018

These are the best pages in a rather standard issue March edition. Miss Coco is soooo fash-on at only seven. Her parents own a vintage store in Japan's Harajuku district, so Coco has been raised in the store, which to me seems only fitting that she has absorbed the vibe of her playpen to make a distinct statement of her own. My sister's eldest children, in particular, were raised in their physician father's office and want to be doctors themselves, so why wouldn't this tiny tyke not take on fashion as she lives among it. As customers noticed Coco's bold choices, her parents created an Instagram account for her which now has 432,000 followers. Noted in the article that part of her success is in the Japanese's own obsession with 'tiny houses, tiny food, and toddlers in tiny versions of Oscar gowns.'

My youngest niece is now nearly 14- about twelve years ago when she must have been about 2, we traveled to  Lake Louise, Canada. On a snowy afternoon, grandma and I stuffed her in her red snowsuit for a walk around the lake. She was quite confident and navigated the snow packed path well. Along the route, two young men, who were Japanese, stopped us and asked if they could take her picture. I didn't mind, and she was unaware. Of course, huge lenses came out and they 'snap, snap, snapped' her like fiends. It was so strange ... but my niece was adorable and her dark hair was cut similarly to Coco's here. My niece also had beautiful, slightly coco tinted skin that was flawless. I supposed at the time that the guys thought that she looked like an anime character. Because she did ... look like an anime character.

Of course, little Coco here is beyond that ... 

God Awful Small Affairs

Driving home late on a Sunday evening, the radio played a song, "Persephone," by the Chicago band "God Awful Small Affairs." I liked it. I liked it so much that I was able to remember the band's name and song title forty-five minutes later when I arrived home. The DJ of the new music hour, found the band on Sound Cloud, where I was able to find them. The band lists themselves as 'femme-fatale space rock,' and I saw somewhere that they also identify as folkish. I like the sound, but my thought isn't so much about them as it is about radio.

A week ago, I happened to catch the last broadcast of The Loop, a rock station staple in the Chicago market for more years than most would imagine, before it moved to a Christian rock station. I was surprised by this as I had not read anything about the sale, new ownership, or change of format previous to listening to the last show. And since then, I have read that many radio stations in this market and across the country are struggling to continuing to make it. Apparently, the various and assorted platforms for streaming has severely impacted the economic viability of traditional radio. The country is getting Pandora'd. And, to me, that is bad news. I don't mind listening to streaming radio ... I have friends who regularly listen to this or that band station. The choices pulled to support the selection of one band makes sense and is easy to listen to for a couple of hours.

But how will one find NEW music?

I still listen to CDs in my car. When I get an album, okay ... CD, I listened to it over and over so as to get to know it. In the fall, I was heavy on repeat of LCD Soundsystem. And when U2 released "Songs of Experience" on December 1, I've not listened to much else for 3 months. It was just a matter of time until I would be comfortable enough to pull away from that one CD to see what else was going on. I moved to the radio. And I don't listen to one station ... I listen to many. I'm always looking for the next obsession, I suppose. When I did this, I found God Awful Small Affairs. This band doesn't have a release, except for the seven songs on Sound Cloud. How would I have heard of them if not for the radio program that focused on new music/sound that was sent in by local bands.

I know that my nephew is big into seeking out new music on YouTube, but I wonder how he does that? Or has the time to surf it. The car is the perfect place to find it, especially as I live in a big city and always seem to find traffic. Listening to the radio was the activity for the car, and it was the reliable outlet to find new music.

It's a god awful state of affairs ... everything is changing, and I wonder to what good- especially in this respect.