From the feet up #5 and final

The eyes.

It was a debate. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to speak of my eyes or my skin. The skin was too general, so the Eyes are #5. To finalize things on my gratitude journey and work on accepting my 50 something self.

As I mentioned in a previous From the Feet Up post, I’d been conditioned from a young age to look at the faults, and to compare myself to the media images. Well, I’m not a media image, and the war going on with what I look like now, and the image I have in my head has got to come to an end. I’m going to make peace with myself, even it’s peace, piece-by-piece.

To sum things up, or in conclusion based on the facts previously laid out. I have a very strong frame. My sturdiness, muscle, strength, and solid form have served me very well. I can walk for days and days on strong feet and legs. I’m flexible, and well able to keep myself strong through my regular activities. I have fine health, every scar and every part of me tells a story, and every single part of me has fond memories that are centered around my family and children. That visualization alone helps me to parlay peaceful terms with myself.

To finish things off, #5 on the list are my eyes.

I’m a Brown Eyed Girl. I’ve never been a big eye make up aficionado. Too much and I look like a weird, demented owl. No Smokey eye for me.

The brown is a sort of Whiskey color, with a strong green ring around the outside of the Iris. The depth of the brown will change depending on what I’m wearing, or how much time I’ve spent in the sun. Some people say that’s Hazel, and I guess they are right, but they are Hazel Brown, not Hazel Green. I’m kinda happy I’ve got both Brown and Green in my eyes.

I have my Grandfather Thorne’s Eyes. My youngest son Zach has them too. We all have the smattering of freckles on our noses too. Angel Kisses as my Grandfather used to say. He’d call me his “little brown berry”. I got his Olive completion and I get very, very, very dark with just a little bit of sun.

I’ve been told that I have very ‘sharp’ eyes. They can slay, that’s for sure. In a meeting a few years back, one of the SVP’s of our division was saying something very offensive, and against everything that our group had proposed. He kept looking at me and clearing his throat, very nervous. He finally said, ‘Wendy, please stop looking at me like that, you are scaring the S#17 out of me.” I just said ‘good’. The right eyebrow will arch and intimidate as well.

Scars? Yes, I have a scar in the corner of my left eye. It was quite pronounced when I was little. The OB who delivered me told my mother that since she was so petite, that I was curled up with my toe next to my eye, and that caused the scar. He said that she was very fortunate that it hadn’t gone into the eye, or that would have caused some significant developmental damage, it could have cost me the sight in the left eye or the whole eye.

I am very fortunate indeed.

Peace takes practice. Thank you all for your indulgence on this journey. I know it’s going to take time, but now I have some strong visualization I can use when doubt creeps in. I am strong, not just intellectually or emotionally. I’m strong from my from my feet up.

From the Feet up #4


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.