The Peonies on My Desk

I saw them out of the corner of my eye as I rushed through the automatic doors at Trader Joes. They were still snug buds with no hint of their showy over-sized beauty. Those were peonies and I had to have them.

As a child it was my Memorial Day duty to clip flowers from the row of peonies in the side yard and make bouquets for soldiers, friends and relatives no longer on this earth. I thought it was a rather morbid task, but I did so enjoy selecting just the right vases and ribbons, so the task was filled with more pleasure than pain. Even though the ants crawled up and down my arms as I carried the armloads of blossoms to the kitchen sink, I tried to stay focused on the positive aspect of the job.

Those bouquets were always lovely and I felt a sense of accomplishment as we left each one in remembrance and appreciation of a life lived.

As an adult, I realize what a valuable lesson my peony exercise was for me. Work involves tasks we would like to avoid but we do not get to pick and choose what part of the job we will do. Beauty is often intermingled with loss and pain. Life is transitory in nature, and like the peony blossoms it buds, blooms, withers and leaves a legacy of its own design.

History Books, Humanity and Happy Mother's Day

"Mom, why aren't there more women in my history book?" Years ago my elementary school age daughter asked this deep and probing question. I gave her the simple one line comeback. "Because women gave birth to and raised all those boys in your history book."

Yes, it takes a village to raise a child, but mainly it takes a mother. The job comes with no sick leave, it's 24/7 for eighteen years and then sporatic calls to duty on short notice. Job security is guaranteed until death. Although I'm fairly certain my mother is still on the job from above. She's certainly still in my thoughts. I see her parenting skills in mine and I watch with pride as I see my daughter using those same skills with my grandchildren.

The history books are filled with but a few mothers, but every person in history arrived on earth via a woman, a mother. That is very important work in the big picture of life.


Go ahead and smell the roses; you've earned it.

Happy Mother's Day.

Peep-toes, Slingbacks and Stilettos Where Did You Go?

I cleaned my closet last weekend and I noticed a disturbing trend. My peep-toes, slingbacks and stilettos are being replaced by Crocs, flats and Dr. Scholls. As I looked at the line of shoes on the closet floor it was clear to me I am aging from the feet up.

My shoulder length hair is colored and as close to my natural blond as a dye can come.
Heaven knows I've spent hours exercising to keep the body humming along decade after decade, but the feet are simply demanding to be comfortable. It takes a lot of energy to walk on your tiptoes all day, and shoes that hurt your feet make the task of walking to a co-worker's desk so unpleasant it is simply easier to send an email across the room.

At first I felt a sense of loss as the pile of high heels grew into a small mountain. There were the shoes I danced the night away under the desert stars. There were the three inch heels that allowed me to masquerade as a five foot ten conqueror of the career world. Then again, there was the pair that gave me a memorable blister and another pair I often carried more than I wore. Yep, time to listen to my feet.

For me, comfort is the new sexy.