Since my 27 year old, newly married daughter started a blog, I decided I would copycat her and start one, too (but with a different-looking page layout, because the one she chose is surrounded by polka dots...which I adore...but I think I'm way too old to be loving them as much as I do).
At first, I imagined that blogging might help me stop crying each time I remember that she moved far, far away - to a galaxy called Seattle - a godforsaken place that takes two incredibly expensive plane rides to get to from here (Hartford, CT).
Then I told myself - hey, maybe blogging will light up my life (move over Debbie Boone) and make me famous, like I used to want to be when I was younger.
What I am finding out, though, as I type and edit and re-edit, is that I am spending so much blogging time revising and correcting that I'm incapable of writing any content, because I keep obsessively checking and rechecking for possible spelling and grammar errors. I hope I'll be able to cut loose, soon, and write something worth reading, like how I had a coupon at the New Balance store for a free foot exam and two pairs of socks, so I went there to try my luck at having my feet evaluated on what I immediately realized was a bogus foot machine. I let my needing-to-be-convinced grieving self believe that I should buy the very shoes the sales boy brought out for me. I'm not being ageist, but he was a boy, in comparison to 61 year-old-lady me. He assured me that this pair of shoes was the only pair that would make my high-arched, sore big toes feet feel like walking. He neglected to mention that they were also the most expensive shoes there, but I ignored that red flag and instead agreed with him that he was right - the shoes must be bought.
I am now wearing them so I can see if they hurt (even though sitting instead of walking around doesn't count as trying them out, does it?). So far, so good.
I just realized I bought them because my experience in the New Balance store momentarily sucked me back in time to my grief-free childhood, when I used to get my August back-to-school shoes (as well as those cancerous feet X-rays in the foot-measuring machine). The nice shoe salesman used to tie my laces real tight, like the New Balance salesboy did today. Even though I've been wallowing in daughter-grief all day, my memory floodgates opened up long enough to blind me for a nano-second. Buying shoes allowed me to close the gates and feel like I used to when I was young and daughterless.
Haggling for my two pairs of free socks (offered on my coupon) brought me back to reality, but what a relief it was to let grief take a back seat for a few minutes so both my inner Imelda Marcos and long, lost childhood could come out and play.
See, I told my recently-sad self, it's not necessary to let grief take everything away from you.
5 comments:
i like your writing.
as far as shoes go - from my experience (as well as my mom's whose feet are hard to please) - mephisto shoes are the best. Ecco is also nice. both are expensive but if your feet bother you - getting rid of pain is worth every penny.
So sorry about Amy's exile to Seattle. And I was feeling blue about my John moving back to Durham, 20 minutes away! This is your cousin speaking.
I think you meant Debbie Boone not Karen Carpenter. On another note, just back from Seattle, Victoria and Vancouver-great food, esp. Wild Ginger restaurant in Seattle...
See - I KNEW I'd make a mistake! Darn it all.
You're right - Pat's daughter (who had to grow up listening to dear old Dad sing Loveletters in the Sand) sang that song, not starving Karen C.
Yes, yes, yes. I know Seattle offers good food, but so do I...Go figure.
love it! blogging definitely suits you. sorry to hear about your grief. instead of buying shoes, though, how 'bout a transcontinental journey? come visit, we miss you! xo steph
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