Girls Without Shoes

December 4, 2009

Another Year, Another Turkey

I will admit I have been a bitter turkey baker these last few years.  If you know me, you know that.  If you have read my stories, you know that.

Each year after the meal, I say bitterly, “Why did I bother?”  The meal lasts 5 minutes, then my mother goes and lays down, then complains later, while my husband just watches football and continues to make mess after mess in the kitchen throughout the rest of the day and night.  My married son has dinner with his in-laws and their huge family.  My daughter is in and out.

I am usually left with a huge mess, an exhausted check book, and extremely sore feet.  Exhaustion of my body sets in from the pre-holiday stress of shopping, worrying, cleaning, etc.  I usually feel a little “ruined”  for a couple of days afterward.

Each year, I put myself through all of this mind crap about how on Thanksgiving, all families except mine, look and feel like the smiling Norman Rockwell paintings. 

All families, other than mine, are surrounded by loving, laughing, fun family and friends, who share in the preparation and cooking of this huge meal. 

All families, other than my own, play board games, or go play in the snow together after the big meal, then decorate the outside of the house for Christmas, then sit in front of a nice warm fireplace and drink hot cocoa, or spiked eggnog together, talking and laughing. 

This year, I told my husband we are going out for dinner.  He did not want to.  I was determined, but then a turkey appeared, and I eventually decided, I would cook.

I had most of the dinner items by the weekend before, so my shopping was minimal.  When I got home on Thanksgiving Eve after a second round of shopping, I was looking forward to cooking a meal for my family. 

My husband had helped out tremendously by vacuuming and mopping the floors, thus eliminating big piles of dog hair.  I really dislike cooking with dog hair on the floor, (we have a long-haired retriever).

I prepared as much of the food as possible the night before and got to bed at a decent hour, rising to finish the rest of the meal in the morning.  It was the easiest time I had ever had fixing a Thanksgiving feast. 

It was only the 3 of us at dinner, and though a little sadness always creeps in as you remember your parents and/or other family members who aren’t there and long for times past, you realize that you actually enjoyed making this dinner for the people you love.

My husband tried to dive in without the blessing having been said, and I stopped him.   “Hey you, wait a minute!”  I tell him.  Though we don’t daily say a blessing before we eat, there are a few holidays that I insist on it. 

 I look at my husband and mother and say, “Well guys, they are dropping like flies around here, it’s just us.”  and we ask God to bless our food, family and friends and thank Him for all He has provided. 

I realize that I would indeed miss this feast of thanks if I canceled Thanksgiving.

November 11, 2009

A Dad Is A Dad

Filed under: non-fiction,short pieces,Uncategorized — girlswithoutshoes @ 9:57 pm

Your Dad is just your Dad, when you are young and don’t really have any thoughts or worries about the future.   If he is a good Dad, he takes care of your, nutures you and protects you, raising you into the person he wants and hopes that you will become some day.  He plays with you and goes to all of your Little League Games or Piano Recitals.  He trys to talk with you about Politics.  He encourages you to speak Spanish.

On the weekends, he fills a mop bucket with Pinesol and announces that it is time for you and your brother to get up out of bed and get your rooms cleaned.  The drill sergeant in him comes out of hiding.

If you are caught saying a bad word, watch it, the bottle of hot sauce finds it’s way on your tongue!  Just a drop or two.   Effective.   Occasionally a spanking happens.  The old fashioned way.  Not the abusive way spoken  of today.  You are no worse the wear for it.

You and your Bro are lined up to take a spoon full of honey each night just before bedtime, as it is said to help curtail bed wetting.  It doesn’t work.  It is your Dad’s fault anyway, the hereditary gene comes from him.

You play in the yard with your dog while he gardens.  When he mows the lawn, you walk behind him with your palms on his levi back pockets, fascinated by the way his butt cheeks move as he walks.  (You are about 2 or 3 years of age at this point. )

When watching a Saturday afternoon movie on t.v. with him, a heavy love scene comes on and he turns the channel mumbling that children don’t need to be watching that crap.  Protecting you.

When he goes overseas for a while year at a time, you are devastated and miss him so much.  A year is an unfathomable amount of time for a child.

When your mom has a nervous breakdown, he comes back from overseas and makes arrangements for relatives to take care of you for the rest of the year.  You are well taken care of, in a fun place with cousins you love, but the sadness and missing your parents leave a hole in your belly like none other.

He builds you a bedroom from the garage and paints it “apple blossom pink”  and he is your hero.  Your black piano looks very nice against those extremely pale pink walls.

When nightmares cause you to wake screaming, “Daddy!”  He comes running and says everything is alright.

He kills bugs for you.

He teaches you to drive.

He worries about you and searches for you and calls the police when you run away for a night just to keep your best friend from having an adventure on her own.

He smacks you with a flyswatter when you smart mouth him and his best friend at 15 years old.  Very humiliating

You don’t realize the importance of his having served in the Army Air Corp in World War II as a bombadier until after he has passed from this life and you are grown.  You don’t appreciate the stories of his having “bailed out over France ” into German territory and how terrifying it must have been. You don’t realize the sacrafices he made for you, or your country,even if he wasn’t perfect. 

You do realize the gaping hole in your heart as you are with him on the day of his death, and the excruciating pain you feel in the loss. 

You do still feel some sadness and the emptiness when you go to the Veteran’s Cemetery and his is just one decorated patch of grass among so many nameless. 

As you gaze across the vast greeness and the sea of red, white and blue flags, you feel proud and sense the proudness he felt in serving his country.

Thanks Dad.

October 25, 2009

Thar’s a Junk Car Out Thar ……….

Filed under: Humor,non-fiction,short pieces,Uncategorized — girlswithoutshoes @ 4:58 am
Tags: , , , , ,

Oh no, there is now a junk car out in front of my house.  It is my Husband’s car.  Will this madness never end?  He once had a ’69 Mustang Mach- 1 about  30 years ago that he did not or could not fix.  It sat and it sat and it sat at his parents’ house.  One day to appease his Dad, he moved it out to his Sister’s house in the country where  it sat, and sat, and sat.  From time to time somebody would spot it and stop and ask if it was for sale, but no it was not for sale.  This used to drive me nuts.  Actually, still does.

The Mustang sat for about 5 years before he sold it along with the  bee’s nests etc. inside.  He got very little money for it.  I never understood the neglect and stubbornness in this regard and am  still not sure I do.

After years of frustration and brain paining thoughts on the subject, the only thing  I could figure out was/is:

  • No. 1,  my Husband is the biggest procrastinator I have ever met.
  • No. 2 ,my Husband will not admit when he does not know how to fix something.  It must be a man thing.
  • No. 3 , my Husband will let something sit and rot before getting rid of it.   He loved that car so much that he would rather see  it sit            there and rot before selling it to someone.

What bizarre behavior in this man beast, that I again, love-hate.    Now, if duct tape could have been used to fix that car, I am sure you would have witnessed the first ever duct-tape covered 1969 Mustang Mach 1 with a 351 engine strapped or wired  to it’s underbelly rumbling down the streets.

He loved this car so much that he never got over it.  He still looks at Mustangs to this day,  which really pisses me off.

He actually did buy a second one  later on, a sleek beauty from 1972 and  I thought,  he has  nerve.  I told him, “Don’t let this one sit and rot please.”

He has never listened to me a day in his life and wasn’t about to start now.  Of course, he hot rodded it around town, thinking he was a cool  40 year old guy,  listening to cassette tapes so loud it was embarrassing.  I hated the second Mustang.  To me it represented his “mid-life”  crisis. I envisioned him with his ears laid back as he drove maddening speeds with maddeningly loud rock and roll that was a little after “our time”, hoping some cute chicks would not be able to resist his savoir faire .

We needed a family car, our children were still at home then, and he gets another hot rod.  For Pete’s Sake.

Well, it didn’t get any better.  The car went to his head.  He became that car as he went on a spree, an 8 month runner of partying with his buddies, doing God knows what.  I had made him leave after the first month of this crap, needless to say.

After 8 months, he talked me into letting him come back home.  Actually, he just came over and wouldn’t leave.  He is still here and it is 15 years later.

The junk car that is sitting in front of our house is not a Mustang, nor anything lovely.  It is just an old family car that is no longer worth keeping.  We will sell it for $50.00 to a young guy who has been “jonesin'” for it.  The young man will have a party with his buddies and beat the car up and run it over with trucks with huge tires, so he is excited about it.

Maybe if I throw in an extra $50.00 I can talk him into taking the Hubby for a ride too.


June 5, 2009

Waiting To Hear ………

Filed under: non-fiction,short pieces — girlswithoutshoes @ 4:08 am

I wait to hear the news, how everything ends up.  God, I hope and pray everything will be okay for them.  It is devastating to them, I am sure.

I have not known these folks long, but yet it seems like I always have.  I just can’t stand the helpless feeling.  Unable to help them, unable to console, or give hugs out.  Still helpless , at a loss for words, I hang up the phone as I know not what to say.  There is nothing to do, they are too many miles away.

I do hear later on that their puppy and cat are okay, thank God for that.  I do hear that some amazing firemen grab a precious guitar or two and a laptop full of thoughts, emotions and life.  I am glad for that.  Glad for them, that they are at least safe and unhurt.

Lord, please comfort them tonight, give them peace and rest.    Strengthen them for the days to come and meet their needs.   Thank you that these friends are safe.  Send them my love………….

May 14, 2009

I Am Not Kiddin’

I am an angry woman.  Bitter I tell ya.  My husband is a dysfunctional man whom is a cross between Fred Flintstone and Archie Bunker.  I could go on and on.  Yes I love- hate him

First I am mad at him because he thinks he knows more than a veterinarian, who has advised us that our dog should not eat animal products other than his dog food as he had an inflamed pancreas.   This Fred- Bunker man whom I love-hate decides to bring spareribs home for the dog.  I tell him “No no, he cannot have that.”  My husband responds intelligently to this with “Aw B.S.!”, literally.

Thus is my life with this man.  I then go out to the back porch and proceed to throw my body across the top of my washing machine to keep it from being off balance as nothing else seems to work.

It sounds like it is full of bricks and is going into a wild orbit which will lead it down my back steps.  Oops! I almost forgot , don’t have a back step either, just a decrepit ramp.  When griping to my friend on the phone , she queries, “What is that God- awful noise ?”,  so I explain.

She then tells me “You know they have little feet on them to level the thing.”   I tell her that I have heard such stories, but no one ever does that here.

Then I ask if she remembers the refrigerator that sat in my yard for way, way too long.  One day I got so upset at that thing and at  Mr. Bunker man that I love- hate for it still being there.

I began to plot and voiced out loud how I was going to push that thing, with the strength of a maniac into the road, and fire on it with a double barreled shotgun, that I do not own, but would get somehow.  My husband’s friend looked at me in alarm.  I just secretly smiled.

Thank God it never came to that.  It seems like I have to loose total control and go ape- shit for someone to get it through their head, over and over and over, that I do not want to live with appliances or junk cars in my yard.  No brother in laws either p-lueez…….. or cousins staying in the garage or the camper.

Sigh……….. Please God take me away………………..

April 13, 2009

She’s Only 22………

She’s only 22 and has 3 children under the age of 5.   Her Mother is raising them and has given up hope for her, well, almost.  She sent her back home to her family for help, for more rehab.  The 5th time she has been in a rehabilitation unit.  This time she walked away from it, didn’t even give it a chance, just detoxed and left.

I guess it had been at least 6 years since I saw her.  She was then a teenager with long dark hair, long legs and beautiful olive skin.  She was troubled looking casting her eyes downward when spoken to.   Her aversion to looking you in the eye was a by product of her years of abuse by her stepfather.

It all made perfect sense later when we found out the ugly, awful truth.  The quiet somewhat shy girl, who later could not look anyone in the eye even stopped laughing or smiling like she used to.  There was something about her, a feeling you got that you could not quite put your finger on.  A gut feeling that should have been paid closer attention to……… all of us.

When her stepfather started keeping her contact with anyone outside of their home to a minimum it really made you wonder.  It was not long after that he was found out and subsequently sent to prison.  Good riddance you say and rightly so, however……….

The physical abuse stopped and she and her family moved away to another state.  Years later, her stepfather is back out in the world doing God only knows what while her life is in shambles………..still.

The promiscuity that followed seemed ironic to me,  yet I believe that may be  typical.  I am no expert on abuse and the aftermath, but from what I have witnessed, self- abuse stays on inside the victim.

The heavy drug addiction that followed should probably not have been a surprise, yet it was.  Why you wonder?  You get rid of the bastard, put him away and she is free to live her life.  Free to recover and heal and move on to the life that she deserves.  But, it does not happen that way.

She has ulcers on her arms, and scars on her once lovely face.  You can see the beauty that was there only a few short years ago.  Her teeth look like they are on their way out also.

It was quite shocking to see her.  I wanted to hug her and say what happened to you and why?      But instead I just hugged her and said, “Hey there, what are you doing? ”  I did not have to ask how, I could see how she was doing.

I knew what had happened without being in her life all of those years.  I did not want to be close to her, did not really want to hug her until I saw her.   Afraid of her addiction touching my life, as it was already touched by another family member’s addiction, there was no room for more.

But, when I saw her I felt like crying, the sadness weighs heavily on me now, even as I write this.

I realize that the abuser has served his time and is free, while the victim, my once sweet little niece has a destroyed life.  Her children do not have a mother that is whole.  All are affected.

It is sad that punishing the abuser does not change things, but there can never be justice for something of this nature.  It is just not possible.

Maybe she would have become a junkie anyway, even with a normal childhood.  I will never know the answer.

I do believe that there is a point where she has a choice,  to either nurture or punish herself, but it still angers me to my core.  This chain of events that he has set off.  This ruination of a life or her offspring’s lives.

It angers me that he is free while she may never be………………………………….

April 9, 2009

Please Tell My Jeans That I Am Not Fat, Only That They Shrunk


Put them on. This is sometimes easier said than done and may require lying on your back and wiggling into the things.


Make sure you can breathe and give them the squat test. If you squat down and the button flies off or they immediately rip, you may want to go a size up. If not, proceed to the next step.


Look in the mirror. Be honest. If you have love handles spilling over the waistband or your butt looks like stuffed sausage, you may want to pick a different pair of pants.


Pick the right shoes. Tight jeans with stilettos can be sleazy. Tight jeans with riding boots, combat boots, thick clunky sandals or flats can look cool.


Top them off with the proper top. Since the jeans are so tight, you may want to wear a looser blouse or longer top. It can still be sexy, but don’t make it skintight, have massive cleavage or otherwise make a giant statement. Your jeans are making statement enough.



I found the above post on e, LOL>

52nd Cake and the Dog

Filed under: Humor,non-fiction — girlswithoutshoes @ 4:29 pm
Tags: , , ,

Oooooo, grrrrrrr, that dog, that damned dog!  He ate my birthday cake last night.  My daughter had made a beautiful white cake with homemade chocolate butter cream frosting.  We had one piece.

True story here, non fiction, real-time which is unusual for me.  I arrived at work yesterday late, as is my screwed up style.  I walked in to some lovely white chrysanthemums on my desk along with a cute card and cinnamon rolls from my co workers.  We love birthday week at work.

I slaved away for a few hours pushing paperwork until my soul sister came and rescued me.  We went to a lovely Chinese place where the spring rolls were not what they used to be, but oh hell neither am I.

After lunch, we went back and begged time off to play, which my supervisor said, “get the hell out of here”.  Yes, play time with my friend!

Since my birthday request to my husband was for a new patch of lawn in our front yard, (not much left there as two big dogs tore it up!), I needed to pick up a little soil-compost mix to take home.  My friend and I went and window shopped at all of the lovely cowgirl clothes which would look exquisite on her as she is tiny.  We tried on cowboy/girl hats and discussed the possibility of my becoming an old fat cowgirl with a rich rancher husband and laughed.  Next we tried on shoes.

Before we knew it,  time to go.  Picked up my mom from granny day care at my bro’s and headed home exhausted from my fun day.

I walked in to a house pretending to be clean along with the ingredients for the frosting that my daughter had requested I pick up.  We had Mexican food for dinner and a nice little piece of after dinner cake, delicious.

I settled down to watch some old episodes of desperate housewives and later my daughter and her friend had a piece of cake leaving the rest on the kitchen table.  She later came in accusing her father and I of eating all of the frosting off of the top of the cake!  Actually more than frosting was gone, almost every bit of the cake too.

Honestly, you’d think we were pigs the way she reacted, like we would actually eat all of the frosting from the cake.  Not us, but Bear the Retriever had to have the cake.

We did not kill the dog, nor did the cake, but I think he had a belly ache all night.  I hope he enjoyed birthday week.


March 11, 2009

Smokin’, New Undies!

Have you ever bought 12 new pairs of undies all at once?  It is so………..refreshing, that is the word for it.  Well, have you?  There is nothing like it, especially when you have been wearing the rattiest darned undies.  It does something for your self esteem.   Even if they are not a nice small size 5 anymore!   A person can only avoid buying new underwear in a larger size so long.  Eventually, they will pinch you and make you mean. 

I finally broke down and went in the plus size woman’s store and bought clothes.  Somehow, if I did not shop in the plus store, in my mind, I was still a svelte size.  Denial.  Denial in double digits. 

There has been a steady influx of weight these last 10 years.  Maybe some of you can identify, hopefully most of you will not.  I could not identify with a “weight problem”  most of my life.  Oh, yeah, I remember when I was a teenager saying my thighs are too fat.  Not!  Wish, I was  fat like that again.  Hindsight you know. 

I grew up eating anything and everything that I wanted without any problems.  Still was thin, still had a cute butt.  

That lasted about 40 years into my life, and them whamo, everything changed.  Many things prompted “my problem.”  The first was  the dreaded woman’s surgery that I fought against, leave my parts alone please.   That did not work, had to go through it.  Hormone imbalances abounded, along with an evil shrew that lived inside of me being unleashed.  I frightened myself. 

I worked through that, then had a thyroid problem.  Of course it was the type that weight gain went along with and the shrew  in me came out again.  So, I worked through that with medication.

Then came another big one.  After 30 years of smoking and inhaling cigarettes deep down to my toes, and loving it mostly, I quit.   I became a MONSTER BITCH!  Pardon my expression, but there is no nice way to put it.  Monster bitch, crying and griping, complaining, praying to God for help.  I stayed on nicotine patches for 6 months, not kidding and wellbutrin for 6 years!  Hardcore smoker, that was me.  Eventually, the monster part went back into hiding.  Well, mostly. 

I’m glad that I quit for many reasons, can’t stand them now.  It was the hardest thing I ever did in my life!

I started substituting food for the hand mouth thing.  That took some time to break, and here I am 7 years later, and 80 lbs larger!   Dang, it crept up. 

Part of my avoidance in buying bigger clothes is also due to my fear that I will get comfortable in them, and grow up another size, no no can’t have that. 

Sigh………….. heavy heavy sigh………………….. well I am determined that I will never give up trying to get healthy, even if I repeatedly fail, will perservere. 

Will also buy pretty new undies until then.  Lace is always a good thing.



February 27, 2009

Jesus In The Car Wash

Filed under: non-fiction,Uncategorized — girlswithoutshoes @ 12:59 am

I think I found Jesus in the Car wash this morning!   Not in the physical nature, but spiritual.  I was driving my Mom to Granny Daycare and decided to make a side stop on the way to the car wash.

The car was loaded with blackish grime, totally gross.  I did not have the time nor the bucks to go really, but did.  A girl can only stand to go so long without lipstick, a salon visit or a car wash .

I thought it was necessary it to get it washed now, even though it made me later for work.  Good thing, I have a flexible job as a princess.

I paid the $7.00, it was ladies day, thank you God!  Since I had saved , I was able to “size it up a notch” to add wax for another $1.00.  Deal in these tough times.

After paying and getting the pre spray which I desperately needed, I turned the radio up so my Mom could listen to her Christian Radio Station while we drove through the car wash.   Silly, the kid in me comes out in the car wash.  I always think back to the times I went through the car wash with my brother as a child.  We made quite an adventure out of it for sure.

For some reason, I thought that my Mom would secretly like it also.  She doesn’t get out much these days, can hardly walk, and doesn’t have the patience to sit in the car, as it causes her pain in her joints etc, so only necessary trips are made.   You can never tell what she will like as it depends on her mental state at the time, or at the particular minute, as she has issues in that area.

Today was a good day as we went through, listening to her favorite preacher man, Charles Stanley.  He was on quite a roll as the big monster brushes and mops came at us with lots of soap and lots of noise.

I turned up the radio and leaned back and listened and sighed.  A good cup of coffee would have been great too I thought as I relaxed on the ride through.

As I listened to the Preacher speak, I thought about how similar our relationship with Christ is as he washes our sins away, like the car wash washed the grime away.  As the soap hit the windshield,  I felt a burden lift, a stress over my dirty car, symbolizing my chaotic life.  Similarly, I felt my life worries that have been haunting me heavily lately lift as I let God’s love speak to me through the man on the radio.

As we came out , I turned to look at my  Mom and she gave me a smile.  It was the best $8.00 I ever spent.  Amen Sisters!

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