BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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Time for Some New Feet

Feet? What feet? Well the ones at the ends of my legs, of course. Particularly the one at the end of my left leg. That sucker has been causing quite a bit of annoyance lately. A little thing called plantar fasciitis has decided to take up residency there and let me tell you, it’s no fun. Long story short, it causes pain in the foot, but it’s not constant (thank goodness), at least not for me. It does mean that my fashion options, when it comes to shoes, have become quite limited. Either that, or suffer the consequences. Black Nikes it is, then!all black nike shoes womens-450bhl.jpg

These aren’t the only feet that have been on my mind lately. I’ve also been messing around with my sewing machine feet. I’ve dusted off the old gal (what a weird phrase, even if my machine is approaching its 25th birthday in a few days) and pulled out a few sample quilt sandwiches (if you don’t quilt, it’s just a few layers of quilty stuff put together) to do some practicing.

I have to thank Angela Walters for my renewed enthusiasm. I found her YouTube series The Midnight Quilt Show and became sort of hooked. Then, when bopping around on YouTube I found a tutorial from a quilt shop that showed a machine binding using an edge joining foot. It was beautiful. It was simple. It was fast. I wanted one. I needed one. Stat!

So, off to the quilt shop and sewing machine dealer I went. And lo and behold, there’s an edge joining foot for my machine, but it looks nothing like the one in the tutorial, and I’m pretty sure it won’t work. This left me feeling a little sad, but not totally discouraged. Maybe the other shop will have something that works.

Off I went to the other shop, the one that actually sells my brand of sewing machines, and I explain what I’m looking for. Cristy is on the case. She is bound and determined to find the correct foot for me. She brings one out and we pop it on a machine and give it a whirl. Nope, not quite. I need to get the needle over to the left position and this one only allows a straight stitch down the middle.

She’s not giving up, though. Out comes another foot. This one looks promising. Pop it on the machine, and… yes! This is going to work! Maybe not as cleanly as the one in the tutorial, but it will work. SOLD!

Of course I have to allow Mr. Google to have a crack at this quest, too. He comes up with three other options, the cost of all three, plus shipping, is less than the one I just bought. Well, what the hell, why not? SOLD!21wXYHysBIL._SX90_.jpg

One of them is gold. Not literally, but it works great. Just not for the purpose I intended, but no worries, I will use it plenty. It’s a quarter inch foot with an edge guide on it so no matter how sloppy I get I won’t stray from that sacred quarter inch.

The other foot has been sitting in my UPS box for the past couple of days. I’m looking forward to picking it up later and seeing what it can do.

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This renewed interest in quilting is fun! I managed to get the center section of a spider web quilt put together (finally, I’m calling this one “Decades”), and I finished up the binding on a little quilt that’s been hanging around for a long time. It feels good to sew, and it feels good to see myself improving my machine quilting skills.

If only human feet were as easy to replace as sewing machine feet, I would pop this one off and put on one that works a little more easily. A girl can dream, but in the meantime I think I’ll sew instead.


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Ode to Swollen Feet

I have indulged in something so sodium laden you had not choice but to react

I have stressed you beyond your limit

I didn’t realize it at first

Havaianas-Slim-Flip-Flops-Black-300x300But slowly, surely, you expanded bit by bit

Strange, you don’t normally look like puffy skin pillows with pink painted nubs at the ends

But there you are

Two gigantically swollen feet stuck to the ends of my legs, squeezed into flip flops because no other shoes will accommodate you

I have a secret fear that your skin is stretched so taut it will split under the slightest pressure

I take full responsibility for your pitiful condition

I’m sorry

 

 

 

 


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My Poor Aching Feet

k5286114The other night my dear mother took me out for a night out in honor of my father’s birthday. He passed away more than a decade ago, but we still celebrate his birthday. We ate a delicious dinner, then enjoyed the opera at Symphony Hall. It was a fine, elegant evening.

Here’s the thing, though, my feet are killing me as a result. We parked in a garage near the opera hall and walked two blocks to the restaurant. Two blocks. Not even long blocks. Short blocks. Tiny blocks. Hardly even blocks at all. It was fine. Not a problem. I mean, I didn’t walk quite as quickly as mom, but her heels weren’t quite as high as mine. At least I don’t think they were.

They aren’t really that high, those heels. I would call them a “moderate” heel. They’re a cute pair of peep-toe sling-backs. I’ve worn them on many occasions, and they dress up an outfit beautifully. I hadn’t worn them recently, though. Apparently the last time I wore them I was younger and lighter. Well, younger for sure, I’m not sure about lighter.

I began to realize that they might not have been the best choice as we descended the metal stairs from the fourth level of the parking garage. As I clanged my way down my toes began to feel a little pinched. No big deal, I thought, I can handle this. I was happy to arrive at the restaurant and take my seat. I didn’t give my tootsies another thought until we were on our way back to Symphony Hall. Holy cow, my mom can move for a woman her age. I did my best to keep up. How embarrassing.

We got there early so we milled around the lobby before the doors were opened for seating. Finally we headed inside the theater proper. Our seats were on the aisle, so we kept popping up to allow people to go by. By the time the lights went down I was ready to remove my shoes. I didn’t though, because I knew putting them back on would be worse. The good news is the performance was magnificent, and had my full attention.

Intermission, on the other hand, was miserable.  We hustled off to the ladies room along with every other woman in that theater, and stood in line. Fortunately it moved quickly, because by this point my feet just plain hurt. Normally my mother likes to wander the lobby. She often bumps into an acquaintance or two. These little exchanges make me somewhat uncomfortable under the best of circumstances, but add in achy feet, and I took a pass. I think mom was a bit disappointed, but she joined me back at our seats.

The second act was just as wonderful as the first, and the standing ovation was well deserved, if not comfortable. Then came the walk back to the parking garage and the climb up the metal stairs to the fourth level. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

I think I may have to swear off heels for a while, until there is less of me to support on the balls of my feet. My honey doesn’t exactly tower over me, so I usually choose flats anyway these days. Maybe I’ll send those heels packing. They have served their purpose, and they no longer meet my needs. Meanwhile, my poor feet are still aching. Tomorrow I think I’ll wear tennis shoes.