If These Shoes Could Talk: A Closet Full of Clothes and Nothing to Wear

It's Monday! That means it's time for "Conversations from My Closet"...

I woke up this morning in a mood. I wasn't exactly hating life, but I wasn't loving it either. Everyone was annoying me and everything was bugging me. I hadn't even left my room or spoken to a soul, but this was my reality nonetheless. It didn't take me or anyone else I live with too long to figure out I was suffering from P.M.S. Or rather, everyone else was suffering from my P.M.S. because it really wasn't bothering me all that much. Then I made the mistake of trying to get dressed. I had a closet full of clothes and absolutely nothing to wear. I hated everything. I didn't have the right shoes, the right clothes, the right anything. That is when my P.M.S. started to bother me.

My husband has figured out that there is a direct correlation between the severity of my P.M.S. and the length of time it takes me to find something to wear. If he walks into the bedroom and the bed is covered with discarded clothing, he knows he better run like hell! I have been known to try on about 20 articles of clothing making various ensembles, changing variations, shoes, accessories, even underwear trying to put together something on that doesn't make me cry, scream or cringe. This process ultimately ends up with me wearing one of my go-to schlump outfits of baggy shorts, a baggy dress or baggy sweatpants. This is not a good thing for anyone.

I had one of those days today. My closet had little or nothing to say to me. It was silent in its disapproval of both my mood and my outrageous expectations. Isn't it amazing that once P.M.S. kicks in I suddenly have the need to look like Cindy Crawford? Funny how once my hormones become completely out of whack I can't stand any of my physical flaws. I also don't have any sense of humor about any of them. Without a sense of humor, my closet has little or nothing to say to me. Come to think of it, without a sense of humor, no one has much to say to me. Could it be the red horns protruding from my forehead and steam coming out of my ears?!

After giving up in frustration, I stomped to the kitchen for breakfast. Today's breakfast consisted of a half of a Twix candy bar, a chocolate chip granola bar, a few diet cokes over ice and a blood pressure pill. After Tim took in that breakfast scene, he loaded up the boys and headed for the hills. Literally. They went for a hike and I went back upstairs for a nap. I'll wait until I regain my sanity, sense of humor and hormonal balance before trying to resume any sort of conversation with my closet.

See you back here next week. In the meantime, you can find my family somewhere in the White Mountain National Forest.

Personal Responsibility: My "AHA" Moment

We are each responsible for the energy we chose to project.

I have been struggling with articulating a lesson I think that my children need to learn. I am often troubled when I believe their attitude is less than positive. I had occasion lately to give lectures (that sound more like sermons) on the reasons why they should feel privileged, grateful, blessed and happy when they appear to be acting in ways that demonstrate selfishness, impatience and entitlement. I have felt these lectures are less than effective in cutting through to the heart of the matter. I know they are young, and this is a tough life lesson to really get. It often takes age, wisdom and years of experience to understand how good we have it when we feel in the momement that we don't have it so good at all. Then I had an "AHA" moment. I am not always living what I am preaching.

I spend a great deal of time and energy trying to control my environment. I have a busy, noisy, chaotic household of four boys and the busy life that accompanies them. I set schedules, cajole, herd and manage just about every aspect of life that occurs around here. Because of that, I am often harried, stressed and distracted. I would estimate that about 60% of my time with my family is spent with furrowed brows, hands on hips and sighs of exasperation. The energy I am putting out is what is fueling our household. My energy, more often than not, says, "Hurry up!" and "Do it right." I am responsible for these messages. I chose what I project in each given moment. How can I expect my children to understand this lesson when it has taken me 43 years to understand it?

I have mastered the life lesso where I feel blessed. I know I have a fulfilling, happy life full of love and life. I have been actively focused on understanding and receiving this message for many, many years. I felt that if I could move beyond the feeling of unworthiness that had dogged me for most of my life, I would find myself in a place of peace. As with all life lessons, I didn't know that this was only the starting place. Now that I understand my blessings, I have to project them. It isn't enough to know that my life is good, I have to project that understanding into the space that I inhabit to really make a difference. To understand something intellectually is very different than making it part of my daily living. Because I spend much of my life and energy trying to control things, my energy is often not positive. I need to let go a bit. I need to smile more. I need to live what I now know; I have a good life.

Just today I have put up a new frame in my kitchen. In it are these words: "Please take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space." It my new mantra for living. It is a reminder for me to live my life lesson. It is a reminder to teach what I know to my children. It is a reminder that what I bring to the space I inhabit creates my reality. My energy will be more positive, more calm and more loving so I may teach these lessons to my children. I am grateful I have finally both received and heard this message.

Now, you can make a difference. Take this into your heart and pass it on.

Bridesmaids: A Movie Review

Raunchy, Hilarious, Sweet, Silly, Touching, Cringe-Worthy,

Pee-Your-Pants Funny, Sad, Lovely, Nostalgic,

"Was I Really That Stupid Once?!?"

Miss Some Lines Because Everyone Around You Is Laughing So Loud,

Groovin' Soundtrack,

Squirming In Your Seat Uncomfortable,

Diet-Coke-Squirting-Out-of-Your-Nose Because You Are Laughing Too Hard,

"God, I Miss My High School Girl Friends/ Bridesmaids/Sorority Sisters,"

Romantic, Slapstick, Gross-Out,

"I Really Need to Get in Contact With (insert name here) Because I Haven't Talked To Her In Ages,"

Totally Worth the High Price of a Movie Ticket, and Truly Authentic...

Just The Best Damn Chick Flick Ever Made.

Farewell Oprah Show and Farewell To the Oprah Show Contests

Unless you have been living under a rock, you know that Oprah is ending her 25 year run as the queen of daytime talk. I am going to miss her show, as it has inspired me, uplifted me and entertained me over the last 10 or so years since I became a devotee. I have participated in her book club, her Debt Diet and her web casts. She inspired me to think more about my spirituality, my level of compassion and my everyday thankfulness. I keep a gratitude journal and I embarked on a year long Giving Project because of her. I didn't always love every show she did, nor did I always agree with everything she said, but I find her authenticity, earnestness and compassion very compelling. There isn't anyone else like her on the small screen and I wonder who, if anyone, will fill the void when she goes off the air. There is far too much reality, tabloid and plain ole' bad t.v. out there, so the void will be obvious and immense indeed.

The one thing I will not miss is the contests. Contests you ask?! If there was a contest associated with the Oprah Winfrey Show in the last 8 years, I entered it. I entered about a dozen contests to meet her, go to a spa with her, to get tickets to her show and to travel with her. I wrote letters, designed collages on postcards, sent photographs and penned poetry. I would get myself worked up into an anticipatory excitement at the mere possibility of winning a coveted spot in whatever contest was underway. Every single time I was shut out. I never got so much as a courtesy reply in return for all this energy and enthusiasm. I have to admit, I was getting pissed off right around the time she picked about a billion ultimate viewers to fill the Chicago stadium for her last shows. Of course, I was not chosen. Then I had an "Ah-Ha" moment while watching part one of the grand finale.

I was sitting on my couch, remote in one hand, Kleenex in the other watching the 3rd to the last Oprah episode. It was a grand spectacle that rivaled an Oscar production; replete with badly written dialogue, splashy song and dance numbers and a full orchestra to cue us in on the really emotional stuff. It was working and I loved every minute of it. I was more than a bit veclempt watching everyone send Oprah off with heartfelt farewells. What really captured my attention was a segment on the children who grew up watching Oprah. One child said something to the effect that because of her, she realized that she was not to blame for the abuse she suffered. Whoa. That was very powerful. Oprah reached into the life of a child, one she had never met and thorough the power of her show changed this child's life. That child was more than an ultimate viewer. She is an ultimate survivor. There was much more to this than Hollywood-type production. This was about the power of one and paying it forward.

Because of this segment, started paying closer attention to the people featured in these last shows and in the accompanying articles in O Magazine. One woman's life was saved because she watched a show on what to do during an abduction. Never let them take you to another location was the message. She got it and fought like hell when an abductor tried to do just that. It saved her life. Another women was able to stand on the precipice of despair without falling into the abyss when her 13 month old daughter died. All because of a show she watched about that very same thing. The rawness, the compassion and the openness of dealing with the death of a small child on Oprah's show was all that tethered her to her shattered life. Then Oprah told the story of how she was stopped in a grocery store and was told because of her show on physical abuse, this woman stopped beating her children. She told Oprah it was all she knew. She had been beat. Her mother had been beat. Now that she stopped the beatings, she had different children and wanted to thank her. Stories like these go on and on. Oprah really did change people's lives, one person at a time.

I realized, after taking all of this in, there was a reason I never won one of those contests. I was not deserving. By that I mean, I was not deserving in the way that so many of these stories illustrate what it means to be deserving. There are thousands if not millions of people out there that needed to win these contests so much more than I did. I have a wonderful life and very few real struggles. The few struggles I have, I have weathered with the help of family, friends, self determination and strength. I have not lost a child, a spouse, a home, a job or a limb. I have not been beaten, raped, discriminated against nor left to survive alone in this world. I am not barren, cancer ridden or brain damaged. I am blessed. Sure, I would love to meet Oprah and experience all the accompanying excitement that goes with winning one of her contests. But my well being doesn't depend upon it. I hope that the winners of all those contests that I lost were people who really needed to win. I hope their lives were made just a bit better by the winning. The thought makes me smile. Wasn't that the whole point of the show? We all need to be more compassionate, to be more grateful for our blessings and to understand each other's stories. I know I understand my own story just a bit better from watching Oprah and losing all those Oprah contests.

Thanks for all those lessons, Oprah.

If These Shoes Could Talk: Shoe Shopping in NYC

MICHAEL Michael Kors

Seaside Wedge Sandal

New York City

June 2009

It's Monday! That means it's time for "Conversations from My Closet"...

I am a girly-girl to the core. There is very little I love more than quality girl time and shoe shopping. When you mix the two, I am in girly-girl heaven. Once a year, I try to plan a girls weekend. Lately, I have been lucky enough to have such a weekend more than once a year. I have been planning a "sister" weekend for Christmas shopping with my sister and 5 sisters-in-laws. We are all great friends, so this counts as a girls weekend. My oldest and dearest girlfriends are all far from me, two are about a hour away the other two are in California. It is a real treat to plan a weekend together. The last weekend was in New York City in June of 2009. I hadn't visited there since I was pregnant with my first child, and it was also a visit with my girlfriends. I was so excited to see my friends and explore the changes in the big city.

Patti and I arrived from the East coast and Kelly came in from the West coast. Instead of waiting for our West Coast friend in the hotel bar with a cosmo, we threw our stuff in the room and headed straight to Macys in Union Square. There are at least two floors of shoes and that is where I made my bee line. I was determined to find something that I couldn't buy in New Hampshire. I soon found that my taste did not match my wallet and that my taste did not match my lifestyle, so I took my expectations down a notch. I bought a the pair of Michael Kors sandals pictured above. I could afford them and I could actually wear them in my N.H. life. What I love about these is that they say, "You are both practical and fashionable." They conjure up images of cabanas and drinks with umbrellas, but they are perfectly acceptable to wear on the playground or the soccer field. These say, "You love fashion and it has a place in your everyday life." This is not always what I am looking for in a shoe, but this is what I spoke to me on that late June afternoon in NYC. I'm glad they did because I love them.

I had a wonderful time reconnecting with my best girlfriends. We did drink cosmos in the hotel bar (after shoe shopping), we wandered Greenwich Village (we found it is no longer the "cool" place to be- that is now the Meatpacking District), we ate fabulous Italian food, Mexican food, and vendor food (a girl's gotta eat when shopping). We watched the Cuban-American Pride parade (such people watching I have NEVER seen), we wandered in and out of shops on 5th avenue in which we couldn't afford a used hankie, we watched a fabulous off Broadway show called "Love, Loss and What I Wore." W got really crazy and saw a midnight showing of "Sex and the City 2" where people actually talk back to the characters on the screen. (BAD movie, by the way...very disappointing but entertaining with a NYC crowd.) We packed in all that we could during our 48 hours pass from reality including the most important thing; staying up and talking until the wee hours of the morning. It was just what the girly- girl soul requires every year or so.

I have my fabulous summer NYC flip flops to remind me of that wonderful weekend. Now when I wear them they say "You have fashionable taste, great friends and good times." They sure as hell beat a NYC snow globe as a souvenir. I am looking forward to planning a girls weekend in Chicago this fall. It has been two years since we have all been together and I am positive that I will find renewal, connection and another pair of absolutely fabulous shoes. I can't wait!

All Politics Is Local

Over the last decade or so it feels to me like American politics has become a swampy mess of incivility. We have all heard the name calling, the personal attacks and the outright lies shot back and forth across the right and left bow of the electorate. When the last presidential election cycle was over, I was so relieved to see the end of the nasty, tiresome political ads. They exhausted me with their simplistic messages and personal attacks wrapped up in a patriotic red, white and blue bow. It would be so is easy to pass this off as"Washington" as usual, but it is not. It is a symptom of a much larger problem. Each "side" has their political pundits who make a living off of cheap shots, distortions and mean spirited jokes. These pundits are celebrities with thousands, if not millions of fans and followers. The messages of intolerance and outright hate have become so commonplace that were rarely pay much attention to them anymore. The deluge of this type of discourse is taking its toll. We are slowly devolving into a culture of angry, intolerant, plain old mean people. How do I know this? Just take a look at my local school board.

I pride myself on living in a well educated, literate community. There are professors, doctors, lawyers, business owners and every type of conceivable professional living within the confines of my community. I see many kind, interesting people at my elementary school, the sporting fields and the local farmers' market. As in all politics, local, state and national, a big controversy cropped up. It began brewing for a while and them then it boiled over. I don't know all the intricate details, nor do I need to for the purposes of my point. I do know that things got ugly. Not just run of the mill, "we are no longer friends ugly," but criminal prosecuting, threatening ugly. I have been told that members of the school board have been threatened with physical harm as well as told their homes would be burned by angry and disgruntled citizens. This to me is absolutely inconceivable. What happened to educated, literate community in which I live?! I am convinced it is a direct result of the times in which we live. It is a time when it is easier to send hate thorough a laptop than it is to actually sit down with someone in a room and have a civil discussion. It is a time in which children send mean, nasty messages over a website or in a text message instead of standing in the hallway at school and looking each other in the eye. It is a time in which it is easier to hate someone without knowing them. It is socially acceptable. Just turn on your local t.v. or radio news channel and listen to the commentary.

What is this doing to our community? It is creating rifts, fear and anger. There is no getting around the fact that some issues are going to push emotional buttons. That doesn't change the fact that everyone in this community are in the same virtual boat. We all live here. We all want a safety, security and peace. We want our children to be accepted, to be educated and to be happy. We want to walk down our small main street or through our local market and have the people we recognize say hello, be friendly and be polite. The only way we can accomplish this is with civility. All of us that are involved with local politics are adults. We sit at the big kids table. We pay our taxes, we raise our children, we care for our elderly parents. We know right from wrong. In the words of every kindergarten teacher that ever taught, treat people the way you want to be treated. Just because someone is an elected official, it doesn't give anyone the right to threaten them, harass them or instill fear in them. It is our right, our civic responsibility, to question each and every person we elect on any issue we find troublesome. It is also our moral obligation to do so with civility. It takes much more strength to see someone we don't agree with, even someone who makes us boiling mad, as a human being with the same aspirations, frailties and needs as we have. When we do that, a real conversation can take place. We can understand each other's point of view, yet still disagree. We can compromise, or decide we cannot. But at least we can have the discourse that would make our mother's, our children and ourselves proud.

In the end, it is up to each and every one of us to decide not only the type of community we want to be a part of, but the type of America in which we live. Freedom of speech is a precious, God-given right, but it does have its limits, for a very good reason. We need to live together. We can't get around that. We need each other. If you don't think so, think back to 911 and Hurricane Katrina. Did anyone care to which political party the victims belonged? Did everyone question the voting record of the dead before lighting and candle in our windows or wearing a ribbon on our chest? Did we stop and decide if we liked everything about those who lost everything before donating money, time and effort to rebuild those who were destroyed? No. My America is that America. At the very least, let's all try to remind ourselves of that at the next school board meeting.

*more information on this topic can be found at:

"Speak Your Peace: The Civility Project"

www.speakyourpeacewc.org

"Do You Light Up?" A Life Lesson On Motherhood From Toni Morrison

"Do You Light Up?"

We see ourselves reflected through the light of the ones we love.

I just heard the most important question any mother can ever ask herself. I, like most mothers, think that my kids know I love them. I kiss them goodnight, I hug them goodbye, I make sure they are washed, fed and clothed and I go the extra mile for whatever they might want or need. I thought that this was enough to convey the message that they are loved and wanted, that they are important and special, that they are enough just by being them. That's what I thought, at least until now.

I was watching an Oprah episode today on my DVR. It seems like it would be interesting enough, as it was about all the most important lessons from her 25 years on the air. My breath was taken away by this little snippet of a conversation between Oprah, Toni Morrison (Pulitzer Prize winning author) and a room of other women whom I didn't recognize. The conversation seemed to flow like a million conversations we have all experienced before as women. The topic was gently but naturally turned to the unexpected. Toni was describing how when her children enter a room, she would check them out from head to toe: is their hair combed, is the fly up, are the socks on, etc. This is an act of love and care from a mother. She knew instinctively that is why she was doing it, after all, if she didn't care she wouldn't bother. Somehow she thought that was the instinctive message her children were receiving. Nothing could have been further from the truth. What her children would see would be her "scrutiny" face. The message they would receive from this once over is, "What is wrong and how do I fix it?" They would not be feeling her love or her caring, only her judgment. The ultimate message they receive is that they must meet some standard set by mother to be validated. This was never the message she intended to send, but it was sent nonetheless.

I have spend 40 years on a quest to accept myself as enough. I had a breakthrough in 2009 during a retreat at Kirpalu. I saw, in a meditation image, as clear and real as anything before my eyes now, a divine message that I was enough. Just being alive, just caring for my family, just having a heart full of love and compassion, was enough. I didn't need to be saving the world, earning a great deal of money or completing thousands of impossible tasks. I didn't need to prove anything to myself or anyone else. I was enough. That moment of clarity has given me much need validation, comfort and peace. It is a message I had never heard before nor had I ever really believed. I do not know why that was the case, is just was. Knowing that I am enough has shifted my life perspective, changed how I see myself, and what I want from this life. If I could wish one thing for all those that I love, it would be this divine knowledge.

I am a very stressed mother. I have four boys and they keep me running from one thing to the next with little time to breathe in between. I do four or five loads of laundry each day, prepare at least three meals (take out counts!) supervise baths, homework and clean-up, provide rides to activities, referee disputes, kiss boo-boos and read bedtime stories. I am exhausted at the end of each and every day. Sometimes the kids don't listen. Sometimes I a sick of all the bickering. Sometimes I just want to hide under the covers because I do not one more person asking me to do something, find something or fix something. I am often edgy, grumpy and snappish because I feel like I am moving at a million miles an hour and getting nowhere. I often wonder how my stress level is affecting my children. Do they only see Mom as harried, nagging and tired? Do they know that I am killing myself with all of this because of how much I love them? Maybe. Maybe Not.

So, the question becomes, "Do I light up?" Toni asks us if when our children enter the room, do we light up? Does the light in our eyes shine for the children we have brought into this world? Is it clear that we are happy to see them? Do these little people get the message that they are enough just by being present in our lives? If we can save the judgment, the stress, the tasks for only a few seconds, until after we "light up" we can give them the world. We can save them from a life long search for validation because they will know that just by being they are enough. More than anything else we can provide for them, this is the most important thing we can give our children. More important than new clothes, more important than running around to sporting events, music lessons and play dates, more important than cutting their fingernails, cleaning their faces and tying their shoes. We can light up for them.

We see ourselves reflected through the light of the ones we love.

Light up for those you love today.

Do I Really Want to Go Back to Work?!?

I am a lawyer. I worked my ass off in college (ok, the last 2 years) and in law school. I worked even harder to pass the bar. Lest there be any confusion, there is absolutely no relation between the two. I was never so proud of myself as I was in the moment I found out I passed the bar. I was a lawyer, damn it! I had a license to kick your ass in a court of law if you crossed me. It was a feeling I cannot adequately describe. It was one of power, prestige and accomplishment all rolled into one big hot fudge sundae. Never mind that I didn't have a job at the time. I was a force to be reckoned with.

I finally did get a job. I worked as an indigent criminal defense lawyer. I worked as an appellate defender. I worked as a divorce lawyer. I worked as a criminal prosecutor. I even ran a domestic violence unit as a prosecutor. It was hard work; time consuming, emotionally draining, frustrating and totally exhilarating. I was a tough lawyer who loved the adrenalin of the courtroom. I couldn't image doing anything else, well, except for being a buyer for Saks.

Fast forward to today. It has been an unbelievable eight years since I was a practicing lawyer. I have been through all types of emotional phases since then. I worked through denial; Yes, I am am home with the children, but I am a lawyer. I worked through anger; Why the hell am I at home with these kids? What the hell did I do to myself? I worked through embarrassment; I used to be a lawyer (i.e. I'm really smart and I want you to know it because if I didn't work it into the conversation, you wouldn't be impressed with me as a stay-at-home mom.) I am now in the acceptance phase; I have chosen this life and I am relatively content with it. It took me two trips to the yoga retreat center, a healthy medicine chest and more than a few retail therapy trips, but I am here and accepting. Yet, in the back of my mind, I am often questioning why it has been so difficult to get back to work. I want to go back to work, right?

I recently offered to help my sister with a sticky employment situation. After all, I was a tough lawyer. If she couldn't negotiate her way through it, I certainly could swoop in and fix it all. As she signed a release for me to talk to her powers that be, my husband commented that it was my license to yell at people on her behalf. We all laughed. Who knew how prophetic those joking words would become.

I was absolutely shocked with the condescending, arrogant manner in which I was treated while trying to iron out the situation for my sister. In the eight years that have intervened between my last job and that moment on the phone, I had totally blocked out the down side of being a lawyer. I'd forgotten how contentious it could be. I didn't think about the lack of collegiality, common courtesy and simple human kindness that accompanies many attorneys when facing off on opposite sides of an issue. To come to my current state of acceptance, I have worked a great deal on the idea of kindness and compassion as the foundation for a happy life. If happiness is what I am truly seeking, I'm not so sure I will find any shadow of it in returning to the practice of law. After hanging up the telephone upon the conclusion of this latest conversation, it took me two hours to calm down. I was furious! How could someone talk to me that way?! Who the hell did she think she was?! On top of it all, I couldn't even fix the problem for her. I was a running buzz saw and God help anyone who crossed my path!

Then it hit me. She probably talks to dozens of people that way every week during the course of her job. She is a product of what she does and how she goes about doing it. I am not her, God willing, I will never be. Did I really want to get all worked up over ever little legal battle? Did I want to spend all my time and energy arguing over small details, nuances and shades of meaning? I knew in one of those "A-Ha Moments" that Here is much better than There after all. I'm sure that is why my job search has not born fruit. I am not meant to go back to that at this point in my life. I am content to wait and see what I am meant to do. I'm sure it will hold intellectual stimulation, a sense of accomplishment and most importantly, the pursuit of happiness.

If These Shoes Could Talk: My Super Great Knock-Offs

The Christian Louboutin Leather

Platform Pump $795

My Talbot's Platform Heels: $38 in the Talbot's Clearance Outlet Store

It's Monday! That means it's time for "Conversations from My Closet"...

I have a thing for fashion. Duh. I like to read "In Style" magazine to see what all the rich and famous are wearing. About 2 years ago, I came across an article on Eva Longoria. What caught my eye was a photo of her in her shoe closet. My oh my. She had ceiling to floor shelves filled with Christian Louboutin heels in all shapes, colors, seasons, fabrics; you name it, she had it. She was wearing a pair of the platform pumps pictured above and I absolutely fell in love with them. They are gorgeous, impractical and very stylish. I have not one place to wear them, but I wanted them, none the less. Forget that they retail for $795, they were the "it"shoe of 2009.

A year or so later, I was flipping through my latest Talbot's' catalogue. I was impressed to see a very clear knockoff of my beloved Louboutins. The years' fashion catalogues were full of platform knockoffs in the "nude" shade, but this was just about an exact match to the "cuoio" shade (i.e. an expensive way to say tan in Louboutin language) that were available in the C.L.'s. The price tag was still a bit out of range for a woman who had nowhere to wear them, as they were $148. I thought about it though. In the end, practicality won out and I didn't buy them.

I shop online quite frequently and I check out the clearance selection on the Talbot's site often. After Christmas, these pumps were offered at half price. I went to order them, but they only had a size 11. I have a big appetite for shoes, but, hey, I'm not a drag queen. Once again, I was not meant to own these.

In March, I went on a weekend shopping trip for my sister's 40th birthday. No trip south of Portsmouth is complete without a stop in the Talbots' Clearance Outlet in Woburn, Mass. As I was looking through the shoe racks, I heard the "Hallelujah Chorus!" The shoes I have been coveting since 2009 (or the exact replica) were there in my size for $38!! I tried them on and pranced around the store for about 10 minutes admiring my totally impractical choice. Then the work I have been doing on myself kicked in. "Do you really need these?" "You have no where to wear them." "It's silly to spend money on them when there are so many other things that you actually need to buy." I put them back on the rack and began to patiently wait for my sister. Then my real voice kicked in. "ARE YOU CRAZY?!?" "Go back there and pick those back up before someone else grabs them!" WHO CARES if you have no where to wear them. Buy them NOW!!" Who can argue with that? I bought them.

I have worn these twice since. I wore them out to dinner with a group of friends for my 43rd birthday celebration. I could barely walk in them and I certainly had a great deal more difficulty walking in them when the dinner party over. I didn't care! These shoes say,"You are fabulous, in a current, sexy sort of way!" That's what the shoes say, but I don't know if that's what the whole package is saying when I am tottering around, barely keeping my balance.

I also wore them to my one and only court appearance in the last 8 years. I was helping someone with a ticket and I was dressed to be the killer lawyer. It turns out it was totally unnecessary, as the officer who issued the ticket dismissed it before I was able to dazzle him (and/or the prosecuting attorney) with my high fashion lawyer look. It was a waste of effort. I happily stopped at the grocery store and stumbled around the produce section feeling very satisfied with myself. Too bad there was no one there I knew to impress.

The shoes are back on a shelf in my closet. I will wait patiently for another occasion to wear them. Hopefully, when I do have people to impress, I won't fall flat on my ass wearing them. Do you think Eva Longoria ever feels that way during her photos shoots? I doubt it, but it makes me feel better imagining that she does.

If These Shoes Could Talk: My Manolo Blahniks

My 40th Birthday Gift to Myself:

Red Patent Peep Toe Sling Backs

The Manolo Blahnik Boutique

31 W 54th Street, NYC

It's Monday! That means it's time for "Conversations from My Closet"...

I have been a shoe addict ever since I can remember. My earliest shoe memory is when I was a wee toddler and picked out my first black patent leather shoes. I would love it when my grandparents would visit from New York because that meant we would go shoe shopping. I picked out a pair of flat black patent leather shoes with ties that went all the way up my ankle. Even then, Mary Janes were a no go; too conventional. My shoes had to have flair. They couldn't be common place! I have photo of myself around 5 or 6 years old, sitting on a bed. I have my legs crossed, my hair in a bun, a short skirt and those fabulous shoes tied half way up my leg. I thought I was a princess. That feeling brought about by fabulous shoes has not changed since then and I hope it never does.

Before I turned the iconic age of 40, I decided that the one thing I wanted to buy for myself was a pair of the famous and outrageously expensive Manolo Blahniks. How could a self respecting shoe diva not have a pair in her closet by the time she turned 40?!? For the love of God, I needed a pair!! I was like a woman possessed to find some I could afford. I finally found my pair: a gorgeous pair of hand made Italian red patent leather sling backs. I bought them on eBay because the exact same pair were for sale at Barneys, Saks and Neiman Marcus for $695. My husband loves me, but I think that if I paid $695 dollars for anything that didn't have a motor, I would be putting our marriage in serious jeopardy. I won't tell you what I paid, but I will say it was an amount that had him choking, but not seriously.

When these came in the mail, I thought I would have a heart attack! I ripped open the box and ran upstairs to my room like a lovesick teenager. I immediately tried them on and felt like I died and went to shoe heaven. There is nothing like the smell of rich leather, the feel of total butter soft, leather lining and the mark "hand made in Italy"that puts a shoe diva over the moon. I don't remember what I was wearing, but I do know for a fact that it was an embarrassment to fashionistas everywhere. I didn't have on any makeup, I didn't have my hair done and I didn't even have a pedicure. I was a frumpy, mommy mess and I didn't care. I felt like I was walking the red carpet.

Of course, I had to wear them to my 40th birthday party, after all that is why I bought them. I looked down and mentally ticked off the list: professional pedicure, siren red polish, almond cuticle oil, peppermint foot cream. And, what to wear? I spent several days combing stores finding just the right outfit that would set off my shoes. I had to listen to the shoes to find the proper outfit. These shoes say, "You are glamorous in that expensive yet dignified way." These shoes say, "You have exquisite, timeless taste." These shoes say, "You paid waaaayyyy to much for shoes!" These are all the things I wanted my shoes to say on the day I met 40s squarely in the eye. I don't know what my shoes said to everyone who looked at them, but I do know I drove everyone CRAZY with my "look at my Manolo Blahniks" mantra. I was lucky I wasn't rendered unconscious with my own shoe by a well meaning but sick of hearing it party goer!

I have had the occasion to wear these only a few times. I know I shouldn't save things for special occasions, because life is too short. Still, somehow I can't wear these during the course of my regular life. $695 shoes do not belong clomping on the laminate tiles of my local box chain, grocery store or mall. I have worn them in a limo when my sister, Becki, won that ride along with tickets to the local "Sex In the City" movie premiere. This was quite fitting as Carrie Bradshaw inspired my insane obsession with Manolo Blahniks in the first place. We drank champagne and we took turns taking photos of our fabulous shoes resting up on the bar near the champagne bucket. I then wore them to a beautiful country club wedding with my husband. I had no extra money at the time to buy a dress, so I borrowed one and it wasn't what I wanted nor did it do my shoes justice. I had waayyy too much to drink and nearly drove my husband's cousin insane admiring my "Manolos." I remember her vaguely saying something like, "you are quite pleased with yourself and your shoes"or something to that effect. I also remember thinking that I really should tell her that I'm not this shallow, but, in that moment, I have to confess, I was.

Speaking of shallow, I went to NYC last summer. It was a wonderful girlfriend's weekend full of shopping, cosmos and live theater. I dragged my friends about 20 walking blocks to find the Manolo Blahnik boutique. There is one other in the United States, that I know of, in Las Vegas. Otherwise, you have to go to super high end department stores in large cities, the Internet or Europe to find them. After walking all over hell in the summer heat, we finally found the store. It was tucked between 5th and 6th Avenue. All that marked it's spot was a very discrete bronze plaque and a small locked glass door. After ringing the bell and having the security guard let us in, I hardly noticed that my friends were reluctant to even enter. This was not a tourist attraction. This smelled of money- lots and lots of money. We were dressed respectably, but we looked like hillbillies compared to what usually entered this place. I tried not to care and I'm sure my friends were even more uncomfortable. I drooled like a starving child in a candy store at the million of dollars worth of shoes, handbags and accessories. I swore to my friends that I was trying on whatever I wanted in there, but once I got a look at the very cold, very beautiful, very leggy 20-something sales clerk, I quickly changed my mind. I practically bowed while walking backwards on my way out. I never felt so out classed or out of place in my life. All because of the price of a pair of shoes. How stupid.

What I realized after this shopping trip is that these shoes really say to me, "This is the life you think you've always wanted." With my 40s, I have realized that my fantasy life is nice for a fantasy, but I'm quite happy with the way things have turned out. I thought I wanted to be a high powered lawyer who saved the world, made a ton of money and lived in a brownstone in New York City. A husband and one child would be an accessory that didn't really take up too much time. The ton of money would buy me the high priced designer wardrobe and envy I so craved. I know now that my reality is so much better. I am raising a big, noisy family with lots of love, plastic toys, a minivan and the one pair of dream designer shoes. Although I am reminded of movie stars, CEOs and fashion models- my fantasy life- when I look at my Manolos, I prefer my the here and now. Its a fun fantasy, but I wouldn't trade my sneaker wearing soccer mom life for 100 pairs of Manolos Blahniks. My happiness cannot be found on racks or shelves of designer fashion. My bliss is here in a cul-de-sac in New Hampshire with all the mess, noise and mid-range sports wear. I just need a warm, sticky hug or a huge gaped tooth grin to remind me now and again. In the end, that is what these shoes have been telling me all along.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom

My Mom:

Sandi & Tinkerbell

Disney Family Adventure

(All Sixteen of Us)

June 2010

Things I've Learned From My Mom:

Laughter is always the best medicine;

You are never to old to be a kid at heart;

Christmas is the most magical time of year;

Cold pizza is a perfectly acceptable breakfast;

If you mean it, you can never say it too loud or too often;

Mom usually is right, now matter how annoying the manner of the message;

The secrets to a long and lasting marriage is damn hard work, forgiveness and a

sense of humor;

Crying does not necessarily diminish the importance or sophistication of the message;

Everyone has an interesting story to tell and is a potential friend for life no matter where you meet them, what they look like or now much money they have;

Worrying about your kids never ends no matter how old and independent they get;

Saying what you mean rather than what they want to hear is easier on everyone in the long run;

Going to all the sporting events, plays, award ceremonies and field trips is much more important than getting the laundry done and cleaning the house;

"What You See is What You Get" is not only a saying, it is an authentic way to live your life;

Holding new grand babies is just as beautiful and exciting as holding your own newborn;

Just because we have an argument, it doesn't mean you have stay mad at each other;

If you have the time and money, you should see as much of the world as possible;

Never save the furniture, dishes and/or jewelry for special occasions;

All the things about motherhood that drive you crazy now will make you

laugh (your ass off) when you are a grandmother;

Loyalty and Truth are indispensable, essential traits in a true friend;

Compassion is blind to religion, color and sexual orientation;

Saying "I Love You" doesn't have to wait for greeting cards;

It's okay to say "No" when you really don't want to do it;

A birthday is a special occasion worth celebrating;

A good nap can cure whatever ails you;

(Almost) Everyone wants harm hug;

Family means everything.

Happy Mother's Day.

Thank your today Mom for all the lesons she taught you.

A Lesson From the Third Grade

"Our Stories in Pictures and Words: Immigration Now & Then"

Art Exhibit at UNH Manchester

Joshua shares his family history, his immigration story of his great-great grandfather coming from Russia, with Roshan, a recent immigrant from Nepal.

My third grade son, Joshua, asked me to chaperon his field trip to UNH in Manchester. After moving mountains to get child care for my 5 year old son, I was able to say yes. I am so glad I did because it was an unexpectedly moving and enlightening experience.

My son's third grade class at Moharimet Elementary School worked for months on a joint venture with third, fourth and fifth graders at Manchester's Webster Elementary School. What makes this joint project so unusual, is that these children are all recent refugees and immigrants. None have English as a first language and none were born here. These children came from all over the world: Nepal, Afghanistan, Iraq and Sudan just to name a few. Before my son's class started their project, they read the stories that these children told about their experiences that brought them to the United States. These stories were full of fear, fear of the violence of their homelands; full of sadness, sadness at leaving their homes, friends and family; and hope, hope for safety, freedom and a future in America. It was very moving and sobering to hear the stories of these young children and even more so with the vivid illustrations they provided. They were full of emotion, energy and life. It made the reader very aware of their struggles, sacrifice and ultimate strength.

After reviewing these stories, the class then got to work putting together their own immigration stories. All the stories from the American children were about generations gone by who came to this country from familiar places: Ireland, England, Germany, Russia and Poland. Because, for the most part, there was no living relative to interview about the journey they undertook, the children were required to use their imagination in providing a narrative. The stories from the recent immigrant children were an obvious jumping off point, as all the children described the fear and sadness at leaving one's homeland while excited to start a new and promising life in America. The stories were constructed just as the stories of the recent immigrant children- a narrative accompanied by beautifully constructed illustrations.

Upon reviewing the art exhibit of these children's voices- the mixture of the past and the present, the privileged with the struggling, the native with the immigrant- I was struck by the powerful similarities. Unless we are Native American, we are all immigrants to this country. We all have a family story of fear, sadness and immense hope. The thread of pride that runs though each story, no matter who wrote it, is that it something special to be here in the United States. No other country in the world inspires so much hope for the future.

In the current climate of "The War on Terror," we all but forgotten the fact that we have all come from somewhere else to claim our place in the America we now live. It is easy to look at the "others" and fear them, be suspicious of them, to wonder if they are here for ill or good. If we look far enough back in our own personal histories, I am sure that the majority of us were the "other" at one time or another. This is not to say that we should not be vigilant in securing our borders and maintaining our safety. What we should never forget is that the reason this place, our America, holds such allure is that we safeguard our freedom, our civil liberties and our autonomy like no other. If we give them away in the name of "security" we cease to be who we are and who everyone else aspires to be. It took the collaboration between elementary school children to remind me of this valuable and important message.

My Journey to Yoga: Yes, A Shoediva Can Do This!

These are the books that led me to Bikram Yoga.

Camel Posture:

It only took 20 Classes for me to do this once!

My Dad wants to know if I've "gone crunchy." This question leads me to believe that I must be on the right track of whatever I'm looking for.

I've been on a conscious spiritual journey for the two years now. Looking back over the course of my life, I have been on a spiritual journey for most of my life, I just didn't know it. I'm not sure if it was the fact I grew up in a home without any religious instruction or belief or if it is a natural progression of my curious mind. It really doesn't matter why I have been on this journey, only that I continue until I have found the peace for which I have been searching. My journey has been a curious one. I certainly never envisioned myself finding happiness in the 105 degree heat of a yoga studio or the retreats at Kripalu, but I have. If I can find my way here, just about anyone can.

My journey started with the nagging questions we all have. "Why are we here?" "What is the meaning of life?" "How can I find happiness?" I searched for these answers in many places: higher eduction, the racks and shelves of new designer shoes, the bottom of a wine bottle, and everywhere in between. It wasn't until my late 30s that I realized I wasn't looking in the right places. I tried organized religion, but I can't warm my heart to the exclusionary nature of any of them. Jews are the "Chosen People." Only the "Saved" get to heaven.I got the message that if you don't belong, then God doesn't bless you. I feel, in the well of my soul, that that cannot possibly be the case.

After taking stock of my obsessive need to spend, I realized that I was trying to buy security, comfort and peace. I was only making myself miserable and financially unstable. I began looking for something else to keep me busy so I wouldn't shop. I turned to my great other passion: reading books. I stumbled upon "Eat, Pray, Love" because of its prominent display at the bookstore. I fell in love with its message. To find yourself you have to find yourself. Huh? What I understood from reading this was that the only way to find any peace and meaning in this life was to be still and find out who I am. The author did it by eating her way through Italy, praying her way through India and finding love in Bali. I can't very well do that with a husband and 4 boys in tow, but I can be still. That started me thinking which led me to "Women, Food and God."

This book helped me see that any change I need to make in my relationships; my relationship with food, money, family and friends, has to come from being present in each moment. I have to stop and appreciate where I am right now and stop my obsession with the past (which is over and done with) and my obsession with the future (which I have no control over.) The only thing I ever have is this present moment. The book lead me to a retreat at Kripalu where the author, Geneen Roth, was instructing. That retreat introduced me to meditation. I had a powerful moment of "the Presence of God" while meditation on the topic of what love looks like. My overwhelming vision of love and the presence of God in that moment transformed my thinking from the abstract to the concrete. I learned that my search was not futile and that I was on the right path. I learned that "God" was inside me, inside each of us if we look hard enough.

I read, in succession, "Expecting Adam," "Buddha: A Story of Enlightenment", "Devotion" and "The Art of Happiness." "Expecting Adam" is a memoir that helped me realized that the most rational, educated, non-religious person in the world can find everyday magic and spirituality in just about anything without even trying to find it. "Buddha" was to satisfy my curiosity as to this spiritual figure, but what it did was open up the possibility that spirituality was not necessarily something to find in a church, a mosque or a temple. It confirmed for me that which I instinctively felt when trying to find a religion to belong. "Devotion" confirmed my suspicion that to find stillness, and therefore, to find answers, I needed to find a way to make yoga and meditation a part of my life. Finally, "The Art of Happiness" capped my belief that the Buddhist traditions are worth learning much more about.

In the midst of all this, I went thorough one of the worst depressive episodes of my life. My friend and neighbor tried to help by getting me to exercise. She was pushing me to try Bikram Yoga, the yoga that is practiced in 105 degree heat. I told her I was willing to try, as I had never tried yoga (not even at my trip to Kripalu) but I didn't tell her the thought scared the hell out of me. I hate the heat. I turn my air conditioner on when it gets of 78. I hate to sweat. I hate that sticky, breathless feeling of high humidity. I pretended I was sick when we were set to attend my first class. Thankfully, she persisted and I was dragged off to my first class in March.

It was both harder than I anticipated and easier than I imagined. The heat was very uncomfortable but after it was over, my body felt great. I was in better shape than I thought but so much less flexible than I imagined. I wanted to pass out and throw up that first day, but when it was over I was both exhausted and energized. At the end of my first class, I started to cry. Cry?!? What the hell was this? I was crying because my spirit was so happy that I had found this place. I felt a huge well of sadness, lethargy and depression let loose and rise up. I was where I needed to be and I knew it.

For those of you who don't know, Bikram Yoga is a yoga practice that demands the repetition of 26 postures and 2 breathing exercises. The class is 90 minutes long and it opens and closes with breathing. The 26 postures are done in successive pairs and these postures never change no matter how many times you do it. Class #1 is exactly the same as class #100. The idea is that these 26 postures work every muscle, every organ, every system and every cell in your body. The heat relaxes the muscles and allows for the more efficient release of fatty acids and toxins. I don't have any idea if this is true (I'm a lawyer not a doctor!) but I do know that the pain in my lower back is incredibly diminished, my depressive symptoms are currently nonexistent and I have slept through the night on a regular basis for the first time in over a year. Whatever this is, it is working miracles on my mind and body.

Since March, I have attended 22 classes. The owner, Sara Curry, is my favorite instructor because she has a wonderful sense of humor but she is very serious about teaching. She drives us hard, and we hate her in those moments, but are grateful when it is over. She doesn't let anyone get away with anything. "There is no try, there is only do," said Yoda. It could have just as easily been Sara who said that. This isn't to say that I haven't learned a great deal from the other instructors. Bridget has reminded me time and again that the first object is to breathe. I have no doubt that this lesson is so hard for me to learn because I have spent most of my life anywhere except in the present moment. It's easier for me to hold my breath and worry about the next posture than it is to slow down and breathe through the one I'm in. Andie got down on the floor and corrected some of my more troublesome postures. I was amazed at how a subtle adjustment of my hand or hip can change my entire body's response to a posture. Mike calls out the postures in a voice that just sounds "happy" to me. When I don't want to do one more thing and my mind is screaming "Just quit, for God's sake!" I hear joy in his voice. It makes the "quit" voice stop and I feel just a tiny bit happier too. In reflection, each instructor has given me a different piece of the puzzle. These are all the lessons of yoga: patience, persistence, breath, precision and joy.

As for that damn camel posture, it turns out that this is the posture that specifically helps heal the lower back as well as stave off anxiety and depression. I tried and tried and tried to do it and for the longest time my mind rebelled. I felt nauseous. I felt dizzy. I felt anxious. I was scared to do it. My mind was fighting what my body needed most. When I finally got into this pose, I thought, "This is it? This is what I have been freaking out about?" Funny how that happens. "Never underestimate the inclination to bolt" is a piece of wisdom in which I firmly believe. If you don't want to do it, pay attention, it is something you need very much indeed.

My intent is to continue with this yoga practice and add to it a practice of quiet meditation as well as continuing to learn more about Buddhist thought and tradition. I have learned that intent is one thing, moving through each moment, one at a time and paying to it my full attention is quite another. I am curious and excited to see where this journey of the spirit leads me next.

Dad, if this means I am "crunchy," than I guess I am okay with that. But don't worry, my designer shoes will still stay designer and with heels. I have yoga now to straighten out my back...

If These Shoes Could Talk: Conversations from My Closet

If my shoes could talk, oh, what a story they could tell! If you have never seen it, my closet is a shrine to my approximately 100 pairs of shoes. I have them displayed on racks and shelves by type, color and expense. I have a very modest walk-in closet but you can find me sitting on the floor (about 10 feet x 6 feet) just taking a deep breath from all chaos and admiring all my shoes. I have no idea why shoes make so happy, but I think it has more to do what they represent to me rather than the function they serve. I'm sure a shrink would say that the shoes in my closet represent the life I want rather than the life I have. Maybe. But for me, shoes are a way to express myself and my sense of style without having to worry about how much weight I have put on or how much time I have to spend on putting an entire outfit together. There is a reason so many women are shoe crazy and I think this is exactly why.

Since it is a Monday and it started out as a particularly crappy one at that, I thought I would cheer myself up by reflecting on my favorite topic: shoes. Each Monday, I will pick a pair of shoes that speak to me and tell the story they want to tell. This idea was suggested by my fabulously talented friend, Julie, who can make anything beautiful with a spot of paint, a tool box full of beads and glue gun. I have a bit of talent as well, and my favorite one is my ability to accessorize. With an unlimited budget, I am positive I could make this world a perfectly stylishly accessorized place. Tim Gunn and Stacey London would be proud.

I love the "Fabulous" Michael Kors. I cannot say his name without the "Fabulous" added to it. I became a big fan when I undertook "Project Runway" as a pseudo religion. He is a handsome, gay, Jewish man from Long Island. In another words, he is my fantasy best friend. He has a wicked sense of humor and killer taste. His designs are clean, fresh and timeless. There isn't much you could purchase from his collections that will look like you have indulged in a fad. I am of the firm belief that once you have reach the age of 40, you better live in Beverly Hills or Miami Beach and under the care of a plastic surgeon if you want to dress in the latest fad. A few pieces here and there are fine unless you want to look like a desperate middle age woman trying, and failing, to look 20-something.

Because I love the "Fabulous" Michael Kors, I was particularly excited to spot these summer wedge sandals last year. White is hard to find and even harder to find in something that doesn't scream "nurse" or "dowdy." These say, "I love the beach with a glass of fine Pinot Grigio, a large floppy straw hat while seated in a lounge chair with not a child in sight." Needless to say, I snapped them right up. They came out in March when it was still cold and begged my family to contribute to my shoe addiction for my April birthday. My wish was granted. Because the combination of white patent leather with straw is both timeless and gorgeous, I became obsessed with finding a matching bag. Mind you, the "matchy-matchy" thing "out" or a "don't" but in this case, I don't care. The combination says "lets enjoy the hell out of the warm weather and look great doing it." This is an enormous comfort to me while buying groceries at MarketBasket or pull ups at Walmart. Hey, a girl needs something "fabu" to get through the day, right!?!

It is just about time to pull these out of the closet. Currently, they are lovingly covered in their dust bags on the appropriate summer themed shelf. Before I pull them out, I will give myself a perfect pedicure of ruby red or white french and slip these on to welcome the warmth of spring. I only hope that I don't need to kick them off in a panic to make a mad dash to save a child from an oncoming car, a fall out of a tree or some other impending disaster. No matter how hard I've look, no top shelf designer has made a pair of shoes that can help me do that in heels. Maybe that is the next big marketing idea in shoes...I may be onto something.

Have a beautiful Monday. Go get yourself some fabulously stylish shoes. You will thank me. I promise.