To say I love clothes and shoes is an understatement. I actually somehow have two full, down from three closets, full of clothes. One of my closets actually has nothing but jackets which I never wear since I am now retired. I also have a surplus of skirts that I haven’t worn even one for over one year. When I go into a store I never try them on there as I hate to try on clothes. This does result in a few returns along the way, but it is what it is. I have to be comfortable or I will never wear the outfit again. Continue reading
I give quite a bit of thought to what I put on my body. One of my rules of thumb is that “life is too short to wear uncomfortable shoes”!
I always say I would go naked if I had the right shoes to wear! That may be a slight exaggeration, but I do love shoes. Continue reading
Sometimes there are just certain items of clothing or certain pairs of shoes that just have a special meaning to them or bring back a particular memory. I have a few things that do that for me.
Did you know that there is a day dedicated to “aprons” (November 24th)? I couldn’t help but reflect back on a very special apron that I have. I really don’t usually wear an apron, but way back in the day–like 1961–I was going with a guy (he is amazingly, still, my husband today) that had a surprising skill that changed the way I will forever view the humble apron.
Opening the top left drawer of my dresser in the bedroom, I need a fresh pair of underwear. However, the drawer is filled with so many items besides the needed unders. This is where I store 1/2 ream of printed emails that my husband sent to me in the year before we got married. It holds 18 old mother’s day cards from my three children, 8 bibs from races that I’ve run and 4 metals from three half-marathons and one full marathon that I ran, and 12 multi-colored headbands.
At first glance, it holds everything EXCEPT underwear. Do I not own underwear? Do I even wear underwear?
Have you ever given any thought to the idea that underwear should be considered when making a commitment to yourself about self-care? Well, let me tell you a story… Continue reading
Then, I went to the pharmacy yesterday to get a prescription for my dad. It wasn’t ready yet, so I had about 10 minutes to shop while I waited.
I grabbed a watermelon and some boxes of Kraft Mac&Cheese that were on sale. I was investigating the spices when someone said my name. It didn’t register that they were talking to me until they said my name again, “Lisa?”
I glanced up to recognize an elder version of a guy I used to drool over when I was 14. Eric was still about 6’5″ and his blond athletic self. He is/was 3 years older than I. (In High School, this seemed soooo important). Now, I noticed that he looked somewhat….faded…but he was still tall, and still blond, and…HE noticed me. Continue reading
Bras have always been a source of strife in my life – being one of those people that really doesn’t require one completely. (I’m the odd duck in my family in this regard)
Look at this picture!! I’m 18 in this picture and you can see – I have NO BOOBS!! Ha-ha!
Who the hell invented bras, and who the hell says we have to wear them????
Who likes bras? Well, I don’t know many people, women, who do. On two different occasions, maybe three, I have gone bra shopping with family and friends, spending many, many hours in dressing rooms, thinking that I have found the ONE. Then a couple of days later I returned all of them much to the dismay of my helpers. As you will note in some other Sidetracked Sisters’ posts I am not very popular in this department.
I recently needed a change. I was feeling blah and stale. When I looked in the mirror, my middle-aged face, clothes, and body all looked tired. I smoothed my hands over my face. I ran my fingers through my hair. I looked at my self straight on and sideways. Then I saw it. The “girls” could use a lift. They were looking rather blobby and rounded. I think the terminology is “uni-boob”. I decided that I would begin a mini-makeover from the inside out. That is, clothing-wise, with my undergarments–my bra.