Shoe Shopping With Girls

I am not a high maintenance girl. At least I didn't think I was until I went to buy shoes for work. I'm on my feet eight hours. I lift people who weigh twice as much as me and in some cases twice as me plus. Comfortable shoes with good traction are a requirement. I could try finding cute shoes but really what's the point? I headed to Lady Foot Locker in Kenwood Mall to buy sneakers. 


I was immediately drawn to a pair of hot pink Reeboks. Cute, girly and comfortable to boot. Sold. I left the store with my head held high. Hot pink kicks on my feet, the smell of Starbucks in the air. All was right with the world. (See? Low maintenance.) For about ten minutes. That's how long it took me to realize something was amiss with my awesome new footwear. My little one looked at my face and asked, "What's wrong?" "I think I got the wrong size or something." "Well, go exchange them."...The logic of children astounds me. Take back my pretty pretty shoes? Never! A few more minutes of walking in them I decided her idea had merit. I went back to Lady Foot Locker. The two sales associates had different opinions on my dilemma. The male tried convincing me I shouldn't go down a half size, the girl said, "Honey they're your feet, you know what feels good." Solidarity sister! I got the smaller size and again wore them out of the store. Fifteen minutes later, with my head hung in shame, harboring the sneaking suspicion that I may not be as low maintenance as I'd always thought, I walked back in to Lady Foot Locker. The male associate said, "I told you." "Yeah, yeah." I replied, "You don't have to gloat about it." He laughed and after a dissertation on toe boxes gave me back the original size. 


We strolled through the mall a while longer. I was sipping a coffee and contemplating buying some really decadent cookies when I had to admit the terrible truth. I hated those shoes, no matter the size, no matter the hot pinkness of them. They hurt my feet. My daughter naturally found this amusing but I was having a true crisis! Go back to that store a third time and admit I don't have a clue what feels good on my own feet? I don't think so! I'd return them tomorrow. Tomorrow...When neither of these folks would be working. Great plan. Until I walked in the next day and found the male associate working. Sigh. He was a great sport about the whole thing. I tried on about eight different shoes. I finally settled on the above pair. They are extremely comfortable and I've gotten more compliments on them than any other shoes I've had. In case any of you other high maintenance girls posing as low maintenance are interested they're the Nike Free Run 2.

A Beautiful Day

Traffic sucks. It just sucks. A drive that normally takes ten minutes took me thirty. It was Christmas time and I was driving near a mall so I don't know why I was surprised. So there I am, stuck in traffic and getting frustrated because I was going to be late for work. I look out the window at the December sky and above is what I saw. Sunlight. Gorgeous beautiful sunlight. Who can be upset looking at a sky like that? So I'm going to be late for work...nothing I can do about it. So I can't move more than two feet at a time but I can see my exit up ahead, taunting me. I have one of two choices here. I can fruitlessly waste energy being mad over something I have no control over or I can enjoy the sun. I chose option B.

Co-Workers

I've been a therapist for ten years. My first job was in a school system. I worked with disabled children scattered throughout ten different school buildings. (This is where I fell off  the tricycle in case anyone was wondering.) I was the only therapist in each building and I pulled kids out of class for therapy. No co-worker interaction. When I left the school I started doing home health. All therapy is done in the patients home. No co-worker interaction. The first time in my career I ever had co-workers on hand was when I started at the hospital. Co-workers everywhere...everywhere. Smiling and helpful. It was a big adjustment. I felt like a monkey being rehabilitated into its natural environment.

Lunch was a hard transition, how sad is that? In the schools I ate alone at my desk so I could catch up on paperwork. Doing home health I ate in the car in between patients homes. But at the hospital everyone sits down and eats together. This was a foreign concept to me. I ate with them the first few days but felt like an intruder so I tried eating at my desk the next day. Brandon, the lead PT on the rehab floor, looked at me like I had three heads. "Are you really going to sit in here by yourself?" I sighed. "Is there a way for me to eat in here and NOT  look like an antisocial bitch?" "Nope." I joined them. By the end of my three months there I looked forward to having lunch with them. 

Having extra pairs of hands was the biggest and most exciting adjustment. I was walking a patient through the rehab department. She was unsteady on her feet so I had a death grip on her, she had an oxygen tank, an iv pole, and I needed to have the wheelchair right behind her just in case. That's a lot of equipment to manage! So there I was trying to arrange all this equipment into the safest configuration when I hear a voice. "D'ya maybe want some help?" Brandon was sitting on a mat bemusedly watching me struggle. Help? You mean I don't have to juggle all this stuff? Hot damn! 

I think that's what prompted me to look for a new job after I got settled at home in Ohio. The home health company I'd been working for happily took me back but I'd gotten spoiled having people around all day...I even missed Skippy. (You'll have to go back and read about the hospital to fully appreciate the magnitude of my missing Skippy.) Guess Barbara Streisand was right about people needing people, huh?

A Very Short Story

I have a friend with a habit of sending emails with curious subject lines. After receiving about ten of these emails I decided to write a story using his subject lines. Here is the result. Enjoy.

Splendid yet squalid was how she liked to describe the neighborhood. Splendid because she thought she could make a difference here. Squalid because it was brimming with the downtrodden dregs of society. How did the down and out know they were supposed to end up here, she often wondered. Was there a newsletter posted somewhere? Maybe in the bathroom at Crazy Achmed's Ale Emporium? She'd stopped in for a quick cup of coffee to warm her soul before going back out on the streets. It was one of those grungy almost forgotten places where you hope you've stumbled on to a gem. A diamond in the rough that has the best burgers in town or makes a killer napalm sauce. But no. Sadly Achmed's stayed true to the queasy squalor of the rest of the block. The mix of cigarette smoke and grease from the fryer was so thick you needed to swipe the air to see three feet in front of you. “Hey Tom, can I get my usual?” She said as she sat down wondering not for the first time who the hell Achmed was. Tom grunted and started struggling to get up from the stool that groaned almost as much as he did. She suspected the stool was groaning in pleasure having temporarily been freed from the weight of the morbidly obese man. She'd long ago stopped feeling guilty for making Tom rise. It was clear every step he took was painful but she couldn't change that. Stopping in for coffee was sometimes all that kept her going. She had chosen this job just as Tom had chosen his. “Saving souls tonight are you Darcy?” Bud, one of the regulars of Achmed's liked teasing her. She returned his question with a nod and a smile. She liked eavesdropping on the conversations of mixed metaphors the regulars had. It was like someone had taped this conversation years ago and kept replaying it. Tom set the coffee and her three creamers down without a word. “Thanks” she reached for her wallet while Tom grunted and waved his hand. Predictable. He never charged for the coffee and she left a three dollar tip. He'd warned her when she'd first come that what she was trying to do was going to get her into trouble. “You're not going to be welcome here, girl. They'll see you as a badger in the ointment.” Tom was gruff but she suspected he secretly loved what she was doing in his neighborhood. She dumped the cream into the coffee then blew on it to mix it up. Trusting the cleanliness of the mug was one thing. There was a chance she may put her lips on a part of the mug that had never been touched by someone like Bud's but a spoon...all bets were off. She looked fondly at Bud as he continued his loud conversation with his buddies. Poor mostly toothless Bud. She sipped the coffee wondering what his story was. How did he end up here on this barstool. Maybe Bud was from Wall Street and his current situation was a result of cheap chicanery like what befell Dan Akroyd's character in Trading Places? Maybe he was a Russian spy and it was one molotov cocktail too many. Most likely Bud was just beaten up by life, much like the kids in the neighborhood. Bud was almost more tragic to her. Hopefully the kids were impacted by the work she was doing. Maybe a few of them wouldn't end up here in whatever incarnation Achmed's held in the future. She finished the last few drops of coffee and pulled her usual tip out. Bud let out a raucous laugh and she paused then tossed a five on top of that. “Get Bud another beer.” Tom grunted. She took a breath then stepped back out into the cold.

Settling In

I've been back in my Ohio home for around 6 months now. 6 months of chaos and upheaval. 6 months of battling that damn depression goblin. My return was abrupt, my daughter was in the hospital. (that's her tale to tell, all that's needed to know here is that she's okay now.) My child was in the hospital and my house was in ruin. Seems my oldest son saw no point in mowing the backyard...for three months. Even more upsetting was him taking to heart my request not to leave the dogs crated too much. Translation, they were never crated and my house smelled...bad. All my frustrations were released in what I like to call "The Great Remodel of 2011". I ripped up all the carpet and laid a new tile floor, painted every wall, every surface I could and bought all new furniture. I briefly considered buying a herd of goats to tackle the backyard but decided mowing would be the smarter way to go. My house smells good and I'm not ashamed to admit has a lot more glitter and sequins. 


The job front. I'd planned on starting my new job search a few weeks before my return but the urgent need to come home didn't allow for that. I had to go back to the same job I'd left. I'm grateful my bosses allowed me to come back but it wasn't a job I wanted anymore. After a bit of searching I've found a job I love with coworkers I love.


And speaking of love...I've found that too. More on that later.


For now. I'm happy. This winter has been incredibly mild, it's supposed to be in the fifties tomorrow. My house is beautiful, I've found love, I found a job I love and I'm going to be a Grams...or Nana...Mimi?...hmm. I'll have to think on what this little one should call me for a while.


Suggestions?