BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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Smell

Today I’m writing to the prompt “smell” from Linda G. Hill as part of her Stream of Consciousness Saturday series. It may be rambling, so apologies in advance!

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When I think of smell, I automatically think of the aroma of food cooking. A memory just triggered for me, a memory from childhood.

I recall waking up one morning, entirely on my own, so it must have been a weekend. I was never an early riser, and had to be woken for school. I remember that the house smelled strange. Not bad strange, just unusual.

At first I couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but then, as the sleep cleared away and my senses began to sharpen, I puzzled it out. The aroma was meat cooking. My mother had a roast in the oven at that early hour and it filled the house with its rich, robust aroma. It was such a strange smell for first thing in the morning.

What a small thing to carry around in my memory for so many years.


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Oh Those Boots

The temperature has finally dipped below 80º (please don’t throw things at me), so it’s time to take out my favorite black boots. I’ve been waiting to wear these for several months, but I just can’t quite do it when it’s hot as Hades outside. Cooler temps call for different clothes, and those clothes call for boots.

I actually have two pairs of black boots, tall and short. They’re both low-heeled and surprisingly comfortable. The short ones are my favorites. They have three buckles on the outside and make me feel like a badass. I call them my motorcycle boots. I have never actually been on a motorcycle, but that’s beside the point. They also remind me of Star Trek inspired fashion. I don’t know why, but I’m pretty sure Lt. Uhura would dig these boots. Captain Kirk might too, I don’t know.

The tall boots are the same kind that everyone else has, the sort of equestrian inspired type, but mine are awesome because they actually fit my fat calves. They’re from Lane Bryant, as are the short ones, so they’re made for a bigger woman. Thank goodness. They’re super cute with leggings (well, so are the short ones) and even skirts.

I do actually have one other pair of boots, but I never wear them. Why? Because they’re hiking boots and when would I hike? I mean, sure, I live in possibly the most inviting place in the world to hike, and the rugged terrain makes the boots really handy should I actually want to hit a trail, but, no, I don’t use them. I should though, I can see that.

I used to wear boots all the time, with purpose. The pair I brought with me to the Valley of the Sun were a well worn pair of Timberlands. They were warm and sturdy and had seen their share of cold weather. Once I moved away from the land of ice and snow I never wore them again.

I also had a pair of L.L. Bean boots, the kind with the brown rubber bottoms and leather on top. They were okay from the point of view that I was a very preppy girl at the time and they were very preppy boots (I’m pretty sure they were even featured in the Preppy Handbook), but they just weren’t warm enough. Rubber, people, think about it.

As a little kid I had crappy boots. This was long before Moon Boots were invented. I remember that we called these awful boots “shoe-boots” because you wore them instead of a shoe, rather than over one. They were some sort of nasty brown plastic-y material with a fuzzy lining and a zipper that wouldn’t always work right. Before that, it was rubber boots worn right over the shoes. You would have to stick your feet in bread bags first, though, so they would slide in and out of the boots. Mine were red.

Naturally, as I got older I resisted the crappy boots and hadn’t yet discovered the “cool” L.L. Bean boots, so I eschewed boots all together. I would wear sneakers and even clogs in the snow. What an idiot. I remember the snow getting into the clogs over and over and forming ice patties under my heels as I walked to school. Like I said, a complete idiot.

I did actually have boots in junior high school, but I didn’t want to wear them in the snow because I didn’t want to ruin the leather. I had a pair of sweet Thom McAn stacked heel round toed boots, that I bought (well, that my Mom bought) simply because my best friend had them. They were ugly. Later on I upgraded to a pair of equally brown, also stacked heel cowgirl boots that were only marginally less ugly. What was I thinking?

That was before my foray into New Wave. Yeah, I didn’t really foray very far, but I did have a pair of tan “elf” boots. Nobody called them that. Just me. I’m a dork. In my defense, though, I don’t think I ever said it out loud.

Later on, I bought myself a really nice pair of Nine West cowgirl boots, low heel, butter soft leather, and a leather strap around the ankle with a silver circle holding it together. No zipper either, real boots. I loved those boots and wore them for years. *Sigh*

My other favorite pair, and really the last pair that mattered until now, were my “witch” boots. Again, my term. I may have said this one out loud. I was in college by this point, and I was a foreign exchange student in England. It was the late eighties, and my wardrobe consisted of genie pants, long pencil skirts, and oversized sweaters. Of course I needed these plain black lace up booties (again, no zipper, I was a purist). Those boots took me all over England, across to Belgium, Switzerland, and Italy, and then over to Portugal. I was undercover in those boots, I didn’t look like an American, and since I was traveling alone, that’s the way I wanted it.  I kind of wish I had a pair just like them today.

I hope you enjoy my favorite Karaoke song, “These Boots Are Made for Walkin'” by Nancy Sinatra. Fabulous boots, a fabulous song, and check out those backup dancers, wow!

 

 


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Why A Charlie Brown Christmas Made Me Cry

448e9b06a903fbbbc1b40cf165ce75b2So A Charlie Brown Christmas is 50 years old. It’s just a few months older than I am. Last night there was a lovely t.v. special about its history, followed by the show itself, so naturally I watched, being the Christmas fan that I am.

Now normally this particular show doesn’t make me cry. Oh sure, it tugs at the old heartstrings, but crying? Nope, not for this one. Until last night.

For some reason, when they were talking about some of the music and showing a scene of Charlie Brown and Linus walking down the street at night, it hit me. I was transported back to the winter of my childhood, and my own snowy street at night. My companion, however, was my father.

Most of my winter memories are of freezing cold, gloom, and inconvenience. I’m not a fan of winter weather, even a little. But last night, something shifted. As I watched those animated snowflakes fall, I remembered what it was like to go for a walk with my father in the winter, moonlight reflecting off the snow. I remembered the stillness, and the chill on my face. I remember him holding my mittened hand in his gloved one. I remembered the feeling that we were the only two people on Earth, and how much I liked that. I remembered the warm glow from the windows of our neighbors houses, and the fun of running ahead a few feet and sliding. I remembered snow angels.

I remembered that my childhood was full of simple, yet magical moments, and that I was loved. A few minutes of A Charlie Brown Christmas dislodged those memories from whatever deep freeze was holding them, and for that I’m grateful.