The Vortex live

Sucked back in time once again.  The phone call.  35 years later, I get to hear that Boston accent.  Hear that voice, the laugh, the humor, the heart that is my friend.

Did 35 years really pass?  Didn’t it seem like yesterday?  Are you happy?  Are you healthy?  Tell me about you and tell me you are OK.

All is well, everyone is healthy, happy, and the friendship is still right there.  I’m so happy to have reconnected, and got to hear him again.  It was like we were never apart.

He tried my phone the night before, but had a migraine and was heavily medicated.  The call didn’t last long.  We tried again today and it started something like this:

Bill:  “I’m so sorry that I had that migraine.  They come on suddenly, and the medication is like barbiturates! After we hung up, I felt much better.”

Me:  “So it wasn’t the sound of my voice that gave you a headache, and you felt better after talking to me?  I’ll take that!”

Big laughter.  We were on a roll after that.  So much fun.

But Wendy, aren’t you married?  Aren’t you worried about what your husband would think?  Not to fear,  I got his blessing before the call.  I’ve never stood in the way of his long term friendships, and he was just as gracious with me.

Bill and I were never romantically involved.  I dated his friend.  He did tell me that he had been in love with me.  I was so flattered, and somehow nostalgic that we never took the chance.  I wasn’t the kind of girl who could date a friend of a former boyfriend.  I never gave us a chance.  But that’s they way it was supposed to be.   His wife, Karen, sounds like an amazing woman, and I hope I get to meet her some day.

I think that’s how you know that you truly love your friends.  When you are happy for their happiness, even when it has nothing to do with you.

When we reconnected, he said he had been thinking about me, and when I found him as the suggestion on my LinkedIn it was perfect timing.  I guess in the wild expanse of the universe, we were just on the same wavelength.

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From the Feet up #4

Shoulders.

Although I’ve had the Frozen shoulder issue, Adhesive Capsulitis, it’s thawing, and I’m gaining better range of motion, and am back at yoga.

Shoulders, what can you say about that complicated, seriously interesting joint?

Today, as I think about the strength of shoulders, what they represent for responsibility, and hard work. Shouldering burdens….shouldering and sheltering are terms that could be used interchangeably.

I like my shoulders. They are strong, and they’ve held great responsibility, and provided shelter for my children. I love the memories of their little heads on my shoulder, cradled in my arms.

Shoulders are great for hugging, and snuggling. I like hugging and snuggling. 😁

The newer fashions of ‘cold shoulder’ shirts, sweaters, blouses show off just enough skin, and that’s the skin that stays firm the longest on a woman, her shoulders.

Scars? Oh yea, I bear the mark of the Small Pox vaccine. I can still remember when I was a little girl, I believe it was kindergarten or 1st grade, we were ushered in our little line into the gym. The school nurse pushed up our sleeves, and shot us with a gun shaped, multi pin, needle contraption. I couldn’t leave that spot alone, and now I’ve got quite the Doosey of a scar. That scar tells the story of inoculations in the late 1960’s, when schools could administer required shots, and parents let them. Can you imagine that happening today? Nope, not a chance. Too much liability.

From the Feet up #3

From the feet up posts are my overt actions at making peace with my over 50 self, cementing my confidence, and finding gratitude for a body that still works.

My hands. I’ve got my Dad’s hands, nail beds finger shapes, palm shape.

My fingers are not the tapered, slender digits of a piano player, but they have been known to pound out a tune on the piano, and strum out something fun on the guitar.

I have nice nails, I keep them short because I’m always doing something with my hands, typing, gardening, cooking. I stopped having my nails done professionally when they got over Dremeled last year, and burnt from the Gel polish that I liked. I think they have grown out well from the damage.

My hands don’t show my age too terribly. There are no age spots, or arthritic knuckles.

They are strong hands that hold me in plank during Yoga and TRX. They are hands that have held my babies, clapped for them at their sporting events, held their sweet faces for loud, sloppy mom-kisses, patted them on the back when they did well, stroked their hair when they were not happy, felt for fevers when they were ill.

Scars? There are only 2 little scars on my hands. When I was 8 I had a Gerbil that decided that he didn’t want to be held any more and bit me. The middle finger on my left hand has a little line of scar along the nail bed from me getting a little too aggressive chopping veggies, and I sliced the side of my finger almost off. I grabbed a big bandaid, and kept going. I probably should have gotten stitches, but I’m not too into doctors. It healed nicely without infection, all’s well that ends well.

Making peace with myself is an odd thing. Being conditioned since age 12 to self deprecate, or find fault, or be dissatisfied is a deeply imbedded habit to break.

I’m grateful for the health that I’ve enjoyed, the strength that I need to get about and participate fully in life, and the time to change some old, and terrible habits so that I can appreciate where I am in my journey now.

From the feet up 2

Legs. I’ve never been a fan of my feet or legs, maybe that’s why I have had a hard time making peace with them.

Little known fact, I won a legs contest in college. My car had broken down, and I knew the guys working at the club who were in charge of the “legs contest”. I danced my heart out hoping to win that $200.00. They were kind to me, I won and tipped them big. I was able to fix my car, but I almost got booted out of my sorority over the incident.

Now, like my feet, my legs are like every other female’s on my mother’s side of the family.

Strong legs, I have very strong legs. Like my feet, they are serviceable, and not for show. They work hard getting me from point A to point B. They are not hairy, I’m very fortunate to not have to shave them. They are very limber legs too. Yoga has helped me get back into the splits, and I can still high kick. That’s not really in demand anymore, but it’s still nice to have the highest kick in Zumba class. 😂

Both knees are scarred from a very daring skateboarding trick that I had to try multiple times when I was 12. I was a terrible skateboarder, but boy I didn’t want to quit and my knees show it!

The biggest scar is on my left calf, it runs from the base of my Achilles to the bottom of the calf from my Achilles reconstruction in 2013. My left calf is 30% smaller than my right, so I don’t indulge in dresses very often as I’m quite out of proportion.

So I’m making peace with my strong, sturdy, hairless and smooth, serviceable legs.

The scars on my legs tell a different story from the scar on my foot. They tell a story of a scrappy 12 year old who didn’t want to give up on the skateboard, and surgery that helped me keep walking.

From the feet up

Gratitude. Confidence. Making Peace with myself from the feet up.

Starting with my feet.

My genetics have dictated my little square feet, little square toes. Solid footing, good arches, and the source of my balance and strength.

I don’t have the Thoroughbred delicate feet. I have the Shetland pony style feet. Solid, sturdy, and strong. They can walk for miles and miles. They don’t let me down.

They have a little history. My left foot still has a nice scar from when my mother ran me off the road on her way to tennis. I scraped my left foot along the new asphalt road and had to walk my bike home and our neighbor saw me and helped me get cleaned up. Again with the left foot, I had Achilles reconstruction in 2013, and that was a really long recovery. My left foot is still changing, and getting stronger all the time.

Today I’m grateful for my little square feet that walk, dance, point, and keep me moving.

I’m also very grateful that my feet are not hairy, broken, or fungus-y. Just healthy, strong, and painted red toes.

A Year Since the Big Flood

We’ve come along way in the Year since Harvey hit. Where we once had lines of trash and debris trucks stretching for miles and miles carrying away the flood damage, closed freeways, damaged levy’s, and a community coming together to help each other. There weren’t lines for hand outs, there were lines of people waiting and more than willing to volunteer to help their neighbors, their friends, their city. #HoustonStrong

Today I’m grateful to be in a City that knew how to come together after a major catastrophe, and the wonderful recovery we’ve enjoyed because we went to WORK on it, we didn’t wait for the Government to bail us out.

Going gray, a transition

About a year ago, I talked to my hairdresser about going gray. She laid out a plan that would help me grow out my color without having to shave my head and wear a wig while waiting.

Step 1 was the blond highlights.

Step 2 was the short hair cut.

Step 3 was the grow out.

A year later, here we are. Silver sparkles everywhere.

I don’t know that I love it. I don’t know that I don’t.

But I do know that it’s mine, and authenticity is a good thing.

As for gratitude. I’m grateful to not color my hair. I’m grateful to be my age, and have energy and vitality. I’m grateful to just be, whatever that means right now.

Not changing my clothes

A couple weeks ago we went to see ELO.  https://wendysharesathought.com/2018/08/11/elo-the-jeff-lynn-tour

Wardrobe……clothes…..decisions…….being a girl……..

It was a great night, a great concert, a much appreciated time away from work, house, dogs, bees, etc.  There was just one little hitch that made made me a little upset with myself.

I got myself ready to go to a Rock Concert.  I hadn’t been to one in quite a few years, and I wanted to look, ‘rockin’. So I got myself together, and came out to join my husband and son and got this:

And this:

And Silence…….until my son nudged his father, and said ‘way to go dad’. ‘Say something nice quick.’

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

It was a little too late at that point. I went and changed. Then I was mad at myself.

I should have worn what I wanted. Mainly because Boys are dumb.

That’s it for the mature assessment of the situation. 😆

Next time, I’m not changing.

Cheers to getting my confidence back.

My Over 50 Rockin Look. Ta da.

Keep a Little Soul

I’ve always been a Tom Petty Fan.  I kinda grew up with him.  Like the Eagles, or ELO. or any of the Classic Rock bands, he was on the radio during those High School years where everything had a song associated with it.

Songs you got dressed to go to school, songs that you listened to on the way home, songs you played while doing homework, songs that sang you to sleep, songs you cranked up while riding with the windows down on a summer night.

I heard an unreleased song the other day.  My Sirius XM radio is continually on the Tom Petty Channel.  Keep A Little Soul.  I was surprised to hear that a new Album of his is coming out on September 28th.  Posthumously, Tom Petty is still rocking out, and fans are still hanging on.

God Bless you Tom Petty.

 

 

 

Idioms, secret languages, inflections are important.

I love language.

The intricacies, the inflections, the understanding, the assumptions.

Language isn’t hard, it just takes practice. It takes listening, listening, listening.

Then talking, talking, taking.

Being a speaker of English, studier of English, and lover of all the forms of English. I have an admission:

Shakespeare gave me fits: Until I understood the humor and politics. Keven Branagh’s renditions helped me to understand the strange words on the Shakespearean page.

I couldn’t understand Jane Austin until I saw A&E’s version of Pride and Prejudice. Until I could hear the intonation, and inflection the book was lost on me.

So for all of you who are challenged with inflections, idioms, or local customs of Texas, I thought I would share some Texan inflections of two words. As of Today, there are 1000 people a day moving to Texas, and they have no clue what we are talking about. Here is a sample.

You Good. It means many things here, and if you are ever traveling to the Republic of Texas, here’s how to translate these two English words while in the Republic: YOU GOOD.

Image from Pinterest.

And there’s my contribution to society for the betterment, wellbeing, and understanding.