A great shopping day?

Now there's an oxymoron if I've ever heard one! A "good foot day" is unusual; that's certain. But a good foot day shopping? Unheard of. But it's exciting news - even for a foot blog! Yesterday I had the best foot day I've had in a very long time. And I have no idea why. You know, having absense of pain shouldn't be a noticeable event. Unless, of course, you've become so used to the pain that being without it is an exceptional and unusual moment! I felt as though there should be a huge, flashing neon sign glaring from my shoes making a declaration of "freedom."  The pain-free block of time was indeed welcome but unexpexted and almost confusing. Since I have no idea what brought on the good day, how could I ensure a repeat performance?
All I know is that I went Christmas shopping for a few hours. On my normal foot pain clock, that's equal to about a week - barefooted and trodding directly on my avenue of broken glass! But it wasn't until I was loading packages into the back of my SUV that it finally occurred to me. What's wrong with this picture? Where is the pain? Why aren't my feet hurting? I sat in my car contemplating my good fortune, all the while trying to figure out "why?" But why should "why" matter? I urged myself to simply enjoy it. I had more shopping to do but I clearly didn't expect to do it on this particular day.
But I headed for my next shopping venue almost as if I were used to store-hopping at will. Granted, I parked very near the entrance of each store. I went in and took care of business and was quickly on my way again. I wasn't about to take my pain-free moments for granted and wanted to get in all the shopping I could before the inevitable returned. Each time I reached my car, I smiled, reaffirming the fact that I was actually out Christmas shopping without foot pain. What a beautiful day! 
I don't understand what caused it, but I'm here to tell you that I thoroughly, albeit somewhat apprehensively, enjoyed it. There for just a few hours, I stole a glimpse of what my life should be like. I didn't push the envelope by going for a nice walk or even cranking up the music and dancing in my living room - although I honestly felt like it!  But I didn't want to irritate the nerves and perhaps bring on a new wave of pain that may be worse than a normal day. So I simply enjoyed it.
A shopping day free of foot pain! What a gift!

My Feet Are Thankful!!

It's Thanksgiving Day and I'm sitting here watching the annual Thanksgiving Day Parade, thinking about the numerous reasons I have to be thankful. Since I consider my life to be rich and fulfilled, I know there would never be enough space to list all the things for which I'm thankful. I'll begin by saying how thankful I am for my deep-seeded faith in God, my awesome Catholic faith and the Blessed Sacrament. I'm so fortunate to be able to share that faith with an unbelievable faith family in my church parish and the incredible prayer partners who are my best friends in weekly adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Beyond that, I simply say that I have the greatest husband in the world, a phenomenal family that includes five fabulous grandsons, the greatest friends imaginable, wonderful neighbors, and a little puppy named Cody who gives me unconditional love and an occasional prize on the rug. Suffice it to say, it doesn't have to be Thanksgiving Day for me to know that I live a life of thanksgiving.
But with all this personal thankfulness, I realize that the theme of my blog encompasses the unwelcome challenges I face with my messed up feet every day. With this in mind, I realize that once again, I have so much to be thankful for. But think PAIN as you go through my list.

• I'm very thankful that I wasn't born to be a soldier in either the Korean army or the Chinese military. Just watching those guys do their fast-paced, precise, stiff legged, high kick, World War I, communist-looking march, makes my feet ache all the way to the roots of my teeth. Ouch!
• In fact, I'm thankful that I don't have to be military of any kind. Combat boots would not be my friends. I hear about soldiers who "run" through rough terrain carrying a 50-pound backpack and it's more than I can imagine.
• I'm thankful that I was never chosen to be a shoe model. I can't even look at the 8-inch platform heels without wincing in pain.
• I'm thankful that I never had the physical shape, the height, the talent or the desire to become a Radio City Rockette performer. Although I think they're the greatest, just seeing them, all in unison, dance and kick in those high heeled shoes is very difficult to watch. 
• I'm very thankful that I don't have a job standing on my feet all day. Imagine if I were a British soldier assigned to guard the Royal Palace and I would have to stand there motionless for hours until the changing of the guard. Yeah. That would undoubtedly mean more military boots and unbearable pain.
• I'm thankful that, although I've had a family of marathon runners, I don't have to join the Kenyan marathon team members who spend a lifetime running through rugged African terrain just to prove that they're the fastest in the world - and to get a medal.
• Most of all, I'm thankful that I can afford the not-so-fashionable comfort shoes, athletic shoes and orthotics that make my active life possible! I'm also thankful for my family and friends who are understanding of the fact that if I say I can't do it, I mean I can't do it! 
• Okay, okay! I'm very thankful to have both feet no matter how much nerve pain shoots through them every day! I'm thankful for an otherwise healthy body. And I'm ever so thankful that I can see the world from the back of our Harley without having foot pain.

Yes, I am very thankful to be me!

Dancing The Night Away

My parents were wonderful ballroom dancers and they really enjoyed dancing the night away. They belonged to dance clubs and were always on the "favorite invitees" lists of their friends. They practiced their craft often and well. So it was understandable that as soon as my brother and I were old enough, we were enrolled in local ballroom dancing classes. They were held in six-week sessions at the American Legion hall and we were enrolled in session after session, eventually moving up to the advanced classes. We learned the waltz, the fox-trot, the swing or jitterbug, cha-cha, rumba, samba, tango and other ballroom dances. At the end of each session, there was a "dance party" when the kids would dress up in party dresses and sports coats to show off the newly acquired skills to parents and friends. Oh how I wish I had videos of those dress-up parties!

The boys were expected to walk over and politely bow to the girls and graciously ask, "may I please have this dance?" I can't imagine how many lawsuits would be attached to making such a demand of kids these days. But the chivalrous boys asked and we danced for the duration of the party. As part of the celebration, there was usually a dance contest. As I recall, it was usually a waltz or fox-trot, but there could have been other contests as well. All I know is that my brother and I won several blue ribbons for placing first in our dance class. We were "cute" dancing together. We looked alike and were often mistaken for twins although my brother was two years older. I was very small for my age, so it seemed that the ability to follow my brother had come to a very small child.

Of course, our parents were extremely proud, certain that the "family dancing gene" had been appropriately handed down.

But I loved it. I enjoyed dancing and I enjoyed the fact that the boys' parents urged them to ask me to dance because I danced well and could follow any of them. The dancing skills stayed with us and my brother and I both continued to love dancing into our teens and beyond. But very soon, my brother gave up any notion of dancing with his sister. Dance with your his sister? How embarrassing! To this day he'd probably deny that it ever happened.

Fast forward to my teen years and the time when I was dating.  My mom and dad were still going dancing just about every weekend - as they did regularly until they they were physically unable to do so. In fact, they went dancing until after my dad started cancer treatments in his late 70s. And might I add that my mom danced in high heeled shoes until shortly before she passed away. And their skills and stamina seemed to improve with age. Oh how I loved to watch my mom and dad dance! Fast music or slow, it didn't matter. They were wonderful dancers and so much fun to watch. And I really enjoyed dancing with my father!

Which brings me to the point of this whole lifetime of family dancing. When I was dating, my mom was convinced that I shouldn't consider dating guys who didn't like to dance as much as I did. She insisted that if I were to marry someone who didn't like to dance, there would certainly come a time when I would want to go dancing and my husband would not. She then surmised that I would be ready to go out dancing without him. Certainly a recipe for disaster!

So when I met the cute guy that would eventually become my husband, I had no choice but to carefully scrutinize his dancing skills. He didn't pass the test. Obviously, his parents hadn't enrolled him in the academy of ballroom dance and boyhood chivalry!  I thought about my mom's advice but I really liked this guy. So I presented him with an ultimatum. Either he would dance with me or somebody else would. He explained that he didn't have anything against learning to dance but he'd never been taught. He asked if I'd noticed that most of the best dancers had older sisters or cousins who had taught them to dance. So the dance lessons began right away.  He was a willing student and I got my wish. My new boyfriend was my new dance partner. As it turns out, that boyfriend I had at age 17 is the husband I've had for the past 46+ years. My sweetie!

So here I am, so many years later, with feet that rarely allow me to go dancing. Even then, it's all I can do to dance with my comfort shoes, so there's obviously not the slightest chance I would consider dancing in high heels as my mother did all of her life.

I often think of my mother's advice and wonder "what if that advice now worked in reverse?" What if the man I married loved to dance so much that he'd now be ready to go dancing without me? As it happened, my husband likes to dance but he never gained enough confidence in his dancing ability to dance with anybody but me. Pretty slick on my part, don't you think? No worries about him ever going without me! So after all these years, I'd still love to go dancing every weekend just as my parents did.  But with my feet, there's no way it will ever happen. I'd give anything if I could dance the night away in high heeled shoes with my handsome husband. But in spite of all the blue ribbons we won as children, my years of dancing the night away were fun however short lived.

The mall is not my friend!

Today, I decided, was a good day to buy a new pair of athletic shoes. Although mine are fairly new and have lots of wear remaining, it often feels like my feet expand and grow bigger than my shoes. Maybe moving up a size would help. So head up high. Shopping face on. I'm headed to the mall. Oh heavens, I've come to hate the mall! Although I'd love to be an all-day shopper, my feet insist that the mall is not my friend. Since it's the middle of the week, I hardly expected that the parking lot would be crowded, but it was. Christmas shoppers, I decided. But my husband reminded me that a lot of people were off work for Veterans Day and they all decided that the best way to spend their holiday was to ruin my shopping trip by taking all the parking places.

My first surprise came when my favorite shoe store had vanished from its spot on the boulevard outside the main mall. Poof! Gone. It had simply vanished. I stopped at a nearby shoe store to see if they carried my usual brands. They didn't. They affirmed that my favorite store had closed and suggested a store on the second story of the main mall. I looked at my feet as if to ask an unruly child, "can you behave long enough for me to find this place inside the mall?" They scowled back at me in dismay. Of course not. They hate everything about the mall. They can't stand the thought of shopping.

But I put on my game face and headed up the boulevard, into the mall and straight up the escalator.  Since I needed hair products, I ducked into a store and quickly bought the cosmetic items. I asked for directions to the shoe store that had been recommended by the store on the boulevard. I made my way past several stores and, as I feared, the store didn't carry the brands I wanted. They suggested Dillard's which, of course, is the anchor store all the way at the other end of the mall. My feet scowled again and shot the intense pain signal pain to my brain. I scowled back and told my feet to get over it. We had a mission to accomplish.

Once inside Dillard's, I quickly found out that they stocked the usual brands of comfort footwear my feet demand. But their selection wasn't great. As I tried on a few pair of athletic shoes, a woman next to me complained of fallen arches and how limited her shoe selection had become. Privately, I joined my feet in a bitter scowl as I noticed that she was trying on boots with two inch heels. What I would give to wear boots of any kind, much less any kind of shoe with two-inch heels. Sorry, but I wasn't feeling sympathetic about her arches! Finally I found the shoes I wanted but they were a little too large. So the man offered to order my size and have them shipped to my house. That sounded great. But the man immediately disappeared and was busy helping other customers. While I mentally calculated the distance to my car, my feet ached even though I was seated. After waiting for the salesman far beyond what my feet would have allowed, I finally asked one of the other sales staff to tell my salesman that my feet had run out of time and I would order the shoes online. And off I went.

I stopped and rested my feet a few times as I made my way through the mall, down the boulevard and to the place where my car was parked.  After what seemed like miles, I was finally in my car and drove home shoeless and in pain. By the time I got home, it was dark and the ice was not a welcome remedy for my foot pain. But experience has taught me that it's the only remedy for nerve pain. I elevated, iced and went online to order shoes like the ones I'd found in the store. It's just too bad I have to try them on before I can buy shoes. The moral of my story?I should never try to by "comfort" shoes when my feet are in a bad mood!