It Made Me Think

Today I read a story that kind of shook me. I don't think that was the intent of her story, but it did rattle my emotions a bit. I was taken into a journey of fond remembrance and then catapulted into the stark reality of today's world from my vantage point. It left me with all the feelings of losing the woman I once was...or at least a portion of that woman. I realized that I had resigned from being a sexual and passionate creature. I had put those desires to sleep when my husband left.

(Between that departure and growing older as each days passes, one might think it should not be a problem. And to be honest with you, most days I don't think anything at all of the whole idea of romance.)

But her story left me looking inside and finding a younger version of myself that I wanted to embrace like an old friend. It's true that this particular friend couldn't stay with me for very long, but I desperately wanted to live vicariously in her world for a few tender moments, savoring her stories for a sweet while, nonetheless.

The story was from our delightful, Denise E Lindquist...she often uses prompts from "Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones Deck." I'm including the link below that inspired me. The story includes two prompts that lit the spark in me and caused me to trip upon a sudden splash of self-awareness, like cold water in the face.

How could, 1) Tell me about a pair of shoes you loved AND 2) Tell me about a perfect black dress you had or wished you had...have caused me to spin in chaos?

The perfect black dress: I had one. It was made from crushed velvet and fit into every curve I had, clinging to me so that we were "one.". (That's when I had every curve where I needed it to be.) I wore black hose with it and a string of white pearls. The outfit was not one bit too much...not understated or overstated. It was perfect. So soft, so me. I felt like a glass of fine red wine when I wore it. I was completely a woman then. The statement whispered that I needed to be wooed and kissed. And wooed and kissed, I was.

The pair of shoes I loved: Those lightweight but sturdy, Italian-made beige sandal heels were love at first sight for me! Size 7 1/2 American-size. The way that the dainty straps wrapped on my manicured feet and emphasized my legs, shapely but muscled and bronzed from tanning bed visits, made me want to play and tease, and flirt all night when I went out dancing with friends. The shoes and I had so much fun together!

The shoes came first (before the black dress) and then came marriage before the dancing and the dinners stopped. And time kept ticking by. I had not wanted to lose the magic of the perfect black dress or any of the delirious laughter when I wore those crazy shoes, but I did.

I can't even try to recapture that woman that once wore them. I can only walk safely in flats or sneakers now. My curves have multiplied and sexy isn't a concept in my vocabulary. After all, I am seventy and don't wish to be vulgar. I don't desire another relationship in my life, either. I don't have the patience or temperament to deal with that kind of drama. But I will, unashamedly say that I was glad that woman came for a visit and that I had those times in my life.

Now I resign myself from the burden of youth and vanity and I am comfortable in my flats and loose clothes. I am happy to wear the color pink and feel feminine, put a splash of perfume on, and be my best version of a grandma and great-grandma, though!

But if you catch me smiling as my eyes wander off, I might just be chatting with that old friend of mine about the good old days and the fond memories we shared in that perfect black dress. Don't ask and I won't tell! I must confess that on occasion you might catch me in the kitchen dancing to the oldies, though. I might just be pretending to wear those sassy sandals...

It's my fondest wish for all my readers to live your life fully and enjoy every minute of it, dancing and romancing, feeling young and alive, embracing every stage of your life...no matter what your age.

Thank you for the inspiration, Denise. And to Natalie Goldberg! And pardon me if I have in anyway embarrassed your sensibilities by an old lady reminiscing an intimate part of of what was once her essence.