This larger-than-life size statue of actor John Wayne at the John Wayne Airport in Irvine, California is massively impressive. Not only was I awestruck, I was also filled with patriotic pride.
I’m certain all Americans, Democrats and Republicans alike, are proud to call him their hero. What he represented on film, readily transferred to real life. John Wayne was, and still is, an All American Hero.
My personal sculpture would be one that’s been in the carving process the last 27 years.
Even now tweaks are made,
updating the piece,
bringing it ever nearer to perfection,
realizing that may never be accomplished,
and being fine with that.
…giving without question,
…expecting little in return,
…loving the shared moments,
…of laughter, sadness, doubts, fulfillment.
Upon my headstone…
…she was the best she could be…
I’m sitting in the midst of a mess, because my daughter’s bedroom underwent a remodel.
Meanwhile, outside the skies grow darker earlier, and remain that way until later the next morning.
I’ve started turning up the heat to stave off the chill indoors. And when walking the dog…I’m all bundled up.
I don’t think I’d want to go backwards to the sunny days of summer.
That’d only delay the onset of winter…and beyond…the sweetness of spring.
I might have felt differently had this mess not occurred.
Now that the remodel is done…I’m excited…
…to have friends over for the holidays!…
I must admit to having been a “clothes horse” during my college years. Since I was on a couple of small scholarships and had to fund the rest of my tuition by working at the university bookstore, I had pittance left over for a wardrobe. Somehow I managed, although exactly how, I can’t remember. After all…that was over 4 decades ago.
When I got married, soon after graduating, I dabbled a bit in sewing my own clothes. I confess I was more of a seamstress in middle school and high school. I’d learned to sew while I was in elementary school, carrying my prized, portable sewing machine to and from the home of my Japanese teacher.
As a married lady with a heftier income, a combination of mine and my hubby’s, I began shopping for clothes at Liberty House. No longer around, it use to be THE place to purchase the latest fashions. Needless to say, they were pricey.
But hey! We have to look fabulous to keep our men, don’t we? Or is it that we have to outshine our peers? Or is it a reflection of our insecurities about ourselves? Or perhaps it’s a combination of all three. Will we ever know for sure?
Does it really matter…in the grand scheme of things?
Throughout my career outside the home, I obsessed over clothes. I’m sure I was no different than most working women. Although I might have gone overboard because I’d grown up using hand-me-downs, and rejects from the orphanage where my mom worked. Not an excuse, mind you, just an explanation for my laser-like focus on buying new things to wear.
Gaining weight can be a deterrent to buying clothes, or it can be the impetus to go out and buy clothes that fit…until we can squeeze back into our smaller-sized duds once again. Been there; done that. Now in my 60s…I’ve donated most of what use to fit to Good Will.
Chico’s has my patronage now that I fit into a size 2…1 1/2…and 1, depending on the piece. Did I forget to mention that Chico’s is very astute at marketing to more mature women. In other words, they’ve tricked us chubbier women into thinking we’re really smaller than the rest of the world thinks we are. The retailer has taken the standard sizes…4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14, 16, and 18…and morphed them into 1, 1.5, 2, 2.5, and 3. Pretty clever, huh? And women like me fell for the scam…hook, line, and sinker.
But you know what? Chico’s nudged me out of my comfort zone with blacks, browns, greys, and blues…catapulting me into all the colors of the rainbow, and some.
I didn’t only eat sherbert, I was wearing sherbert…colors.
As I’ve aged, I’ve toned my choices down a tad. No more teals and tangerines for me. However I have picked up some bling. I’m not over-the-top with it, just enough to turn a few heads, whether in admiration…or shock. Oh, well…
…vanity…thy name is (wo)man…
(p.s….did i mention i’m to blame for my daughter’s now being a “clothes horse?”…and needing more closet space?)