Walking Each Other Home

Skirt so tight, her backside is a question mark. The question is will she be able to right herself? Her stiletto has caught the door mat! I’m transfixed! Will she be able to right herself? Truly curious, I stop with groceries in hand, to see how she navigates this unexpected challenge. The too tight skirt allows only teeny tiny steps. She looks like a cartoon figure or leaning pencil trying to keep her teetering balance. She manages it, but just barely. If a pursuer gave chase, he’d win. She’s a barely walking disempowered foot- bound female. Is this the new “sexy?” Is it a turn-on for a guy to have absolute power over someone who can’t even move? She’s a catch all right, all glamorous and squeezed, made-up and tweezed. Breasts pushed so high, cleavage hits your eye.

Been there, done that... showed cleavage where there was none. I would’ve done better painting it on with an eyebrow pencil. I wore shoes that made my feet say, “You want us to w-h-a-a-t-t?” I remember the feeling of too tight jeans being a turn-on in their own way, and of too tight bras making me feel pretty and held.

Not any more.

In THE ’60’s, I was brazen in my skimpy wardrobe. In MY sixties, I’m all about comfort. In my twenties, I was right on schedule with the wind of the biological imperative at my back. I primped and preened, wore way too much “alluring” make-up and too few, and mostly appropriate clothes. It was the time of the mini-skirt and Hot Pants. I could hear the hot, panting males in the ad agency where I worked and that suited me just fine. Now, I know that it was not only the cultural norm, but also my unique wounds of childhood that made me dress thus and act promiscuously. Evidently, the cultural and commercial sexploitation of young women has kept dress codes pretty much the same these past forty years, and the codes are probably rooted in wide-spread personal tragedies of women abused as girls. 

Once I found my mate, it was Birkenstocks and bra-burning. Poor guy.

If I’m currently so into comfort, why am I loaded down with thirty pounds of groceries on a hot August morning walking more than a mile home from Trader Joe’s? A slight detour may explain:

There was a brief story on the classical music station, of Joshua Bell’s extreme discipline. His violin prowess is extraordinary. When asked how he perfected his technique, he said he likes to set a goal and do whatever it takes to reach it. In High School, he got it into his head to throw thirty flawless free-throws in a row without a single miss. He kept at it into the wee hours of the morning until he completed what he’d set out to do.

I’m no virtuoso violinist. I’m mediocre at basket ball, but I do have the idea, if not goal, to stay as fit as I can for as long as I can. So, I walk... with two bags of groceries - as weight-bearing exercise, in the heat. I like to sweat. I like the feeling of my body working. Yes, it would be nice to shower and eat breakfast after the exercise, and before seeing my first client, but letting the glisten evaporate from my cheeks also works.  I haven't made time to do it all.

Making and drinking down a green smoothie feels bright, light and just right. Juice fasting for part of the day or all day feels good to me once or twice a month. 

Over all, I’m pleased with this aging process. For the most part, I like what I see in the wake of this ocean liner moving forward toward the unknowable horizon. Thank God for myopia... and hey, I sure as hell can’t turn this vehicle around!

As Ram Dass says, 

“What it boils down to is this, we’re all just walking each other home.” *

I’m grateful to the stranger in stilettos who walked me part of the way home.

*Thank you, Lynn, for the the Ram Dass quote!