A One Sided Conversation

“I need to tell you something. Something you might like to hear.  You know how we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately?.... 

Don’t be like that, I know I’ve been taking up a lot of her time,  I apologised for it already....

Ok. So what I wanted to tell you. .....

Yes. You can tell the others but it might not mean as much to them as it may to you....

You see I heard about what happened when you two met and spent all that time together.....

I know that She felt like the Most Perfect Ballerina and I know that you feel bad that you couldn’t protect Her from the hooks and barbs and the things that woman said...

That they said to Her....

How long did it take before she stopped looking in the mirror? ...

Why did She stop?..... 

Do you think it was from then? .....

Could something from that long ago stop Her eyes from really seeing? Is that why Her eyes just slide away to the left when She looks at herself before we leave to go out?.....

How could those women not know.... 

Or was it not that bad?....

Was it just a childhood twisted memory?.....

Oh...perhaps....

Anyway.... I wanted to tell you that the other day we were running on the treadmill, She wouldn’t call it running but it was...

Yes I know, I wish She would too....

So we were running and she looked up and across from us was a mirror. And She looked.At first Her eyes did the slide but then after a while I felt a change in Her....

Yes, maybe something from when you guys were together....

I don’t know.I think Her body remembered what it was like to feel strong and fast and lean and supple...

It was like something in Her just clicked....and She looked up. She saw herself in the mirror....

I mean She really saw herself. She looked...

Yes! And Her eyes didn't slide away.I saw Her stride get longer and Her arms get looser....

Yes!....

She watched herself run....

I couldn’t believe it either...

I really wish you could have seen Her eyes light up and....

Yes!...

How did you know that She smiled like THAT!?....

She did?....

She did?.Huh!....

Well.....um...wow...yeah...

So...do you think between the two of us She might one day feel like an athlete?...

Maybe we need to encourage Her to start dancing again? ..

Yes I am well aware it’s going to take a bit of convincing...

Ok...We’ll work on it together....”

Speedy Asics  in conversation with Size 3 Bloch Ballet Shoes

Apparently this conversation happened the other day between Speedy Asics and Size 3 Bloch Ballet Shoes. You can read Speedy Asics apology letter for us spending so much time at the gym lately and Size 3 Bloch Ballet Shoes story explaining how I once felt like the perfect ballerina. 

Edit :  I did my first Bellydancing class on 1st November. I felt like a dancer again in some small, random way...Zumba doesn't make me feel like that but Bellydancing did. 

I think this conversation somehow had a bit of an influence on me ;)

Some people consider themselves athletes. Others do not.  Write a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction in which athleticism features prominently.

http://writeonedge.com/2011/10/red-writing-hood-athleticism-2/

An Invisible Pink Bruise

The first time we were only 21. The second time we were 29. You would think it would have been easier the second time being older but it hit harder. 

It's like when you get hit by a ball that has has been hurtled at you unexpectedly from somewhere just out of your vision. It leaves a bruise. 

Over time bruise may disappear but if you press hard enough, in just the right place, even though it seems to have healed - it is still tender.

That's how it felt the second time.

Except for us, instead of someone pressing with their fingers into that hidden, tender spot - it was like a black, gloved hand was twisting and turning and pressing down and at first making it hard to breathe. 

But then, after time, after just living our life,  we got used to that tender spot hurting again, shed our tears and lived it. 

We shut the voice down in our head both times that tried to signal that this may be the end, it was going to get worse, that this was in our future, that nothing was ever going to be the same. That voice that tried to silence our Hope and Faith.

The first time there were other most loved that were going through their own similar battles and we became the band-aid, the one who would look after the ones She could not. The ones She also loved. We didn't mind but looking back now we didn't think about what She was going through much at all. It wasn't that we didn't care. We cared too much. We just did what She couldn't do while She was in Hospital.

Except for that one day when the world did slow down enough for us to go with Her. To be with Her while she sat in that leather ezy-chair and ponder the irony and swallow back the unhelpful tears while trying to ignore the needle and drip in Her arm and pray that this "medicine" that was so toxic would do it's job. That there would be days with her to talk about this and thank Him for more days that were nothing like this. 

But almost 8 years later it happened again. We remember the day we got the phone call. We remember leaving work. We remember driving straight to Her house and sitting on Their bed and talking and praying and wondering how it could strike again. Same thing. Different side. Different type. Another Hospital operation. 

This time there were no distractions. This time we could focus on Her. We kept our Faith and Hope. We were sadly more prepared. I think this time we faced it as a Family. The four of us. 

And when the operation was done, the next day She and I sat on the Hospital balcony, we stood up to a scary Matron on Her behalf and ate fresh Egg & Bacon rolls for breakfast. 

The sun shone brightly on our faces that day. 

Her adjustments began again and life changed but Hope and Faith never wavered. 

No matter how hard it was. We were blessed.

xx The soles of my shoeless feet.

Mum & I in the mid 1970's

As you may be aware it is Pink Ribbon Day today to raise awareness for Breast Cancer. The Cancer Council tell us that " ....one in every nine Australian women will be diagnosed with breast cancer by the age of 85". 

One. In. Nine.

In 1995 my Mum was diagnosed with Breast cancer in her left breast. She had all her lymph nodes removed, a full mastectomy and chemotherapy. At around the same time my Grandfather, her Father was also battling his own illness, my Grandmother didn't, couldn't cope and my feet learned the feel of three different Hospitals in Sydney in those months. Just not often the one that my Mum was most familiar with.Mum got through her treatment, sadly we said goodbye to my Grandfather and life continued on.

But almost 8 years later during her one of her regular follow ups she was eventually diagnosed with cancer a second time. This time in her right breast. Totally unrelated. Tubular cancer "One of the better cancers to get".Yes this was a statement from her Specialist. Possibly true but what a statement! She chose a full mastectomy without a second thought and again all lymph nodes were removed. No chemotherapy or radiation was required. The removal of her breast was enough.

I have no idea what shoes I wore during that time but the soles of my feet remember every single moment of both those years even if my brain refuses to and my heart has buried most of the emotion. Two more Polaroid Moments fused into my sole forever. 

Nearly everyone I know has a story of how they have been touched by cancer in some way. Just look at those statistics. We know in our heads it's important to financially support the research and yet how many of us do? 

I'm buying my Pink Ribbon. I'm buying as many Pink endorsed products as I can - even though I know how little some of the profits of individual items are, it all adds up. I'll be going to a Pink Ribbon afternoon tea and I'll be keeping my Faith and Hope.

You see, even with those statistics on paper I know that my statistics are higher that it's possible that it's in my future now. My doctor keeps reminding me.

However I have a trust in the One who is above statistics but even if I do have to face what my Mum has fought twice now I will be fine. I already have that tender spot. And if ever have to wear "that scar" on my own body, I'll wear it as a badge of honour because I have the most wonderful example of strong, amazing, real, fragile, faithful, hopeful, courageous women to draw on. 

And there are those that I treasure as close friends who have walked similar walks that I have as daughters (and sons) that haven't had the same outcome, that faced a very different type of pain and their bruise bears a different mark. I almost have "Surviour Mum" guilt in a way and I know that they would want to bop me on the head right now reading that! - but I understand their tender spot as I know they understand mine.

So my tender spot? It will be like a invisible, pink bruise in the shape of a ribbon to remind me of what strength is. Just like those amazingly women who have already fought that battle. I think of those that have both won and lost and the ways in which your fight has impacted my life as a woman. I'm stronger for it.

And to all of you ( you know who you are! ) I....we....say "Thank you!"

Do you have a pink bruise or a tender spot ? Been strengthened by someone else's journey? I'd love to hear about it. Leave me a comment below. 

An Open Apology

Dear Readers of She Has Cute Shoes,

I'm sorry for being so darn persistent that Vikki spend time with me these past 6 weeks. I  know that I have some issues to work out but I'm sorry to tell you that they are not going to go away any time soon. 

You see I have a problem. 

I have far too much energy and I can't handle being cooped up in this flat all day with the other shoes. They are so whiny and prissy about not loosing their glitter or their pretty satiny sheen and all they can talk about is who is going on the next "adventure". And just between you and me it seems that Glitter Ballet Flats get more than their fair share....but it's not up to me to make judgments on that.....right?

To make matters worse it seems that all eyes are now being turned my way as the sole reason as to why she is neglecting to write intelligent and thoughtful blog posts on several of her blogs lately. *sigh* Would you point fingers at someone who was suffering from a serious disease? No. You would not. 

In my defense I do say that we will only go to the gym for about an hour. It's her listening to that watch of hers that tells her how many calories ( I have no idea what they are but apparently they are important ) she has just melted off and she chooses to stay for sometimes more than two hours. I don't mind really. It works in my favour. 

I'm a tad worried though. Apparently there is some fun run she has signed up for in a month or so where they run through mud and....more mud....she better NOT be taking me to that one!

Well. There's my "apology" letter. As you can see I was made to write this.

So.....I'm sorry. There I said it. 

But like I said things might not change for a while. She may still be a bit erratic with her posts because we are spending so much time at the gym.

Ok. I've got to write this again on her other blog...think I might just copy and paste ;)

Speedy Asics.

Polaroid Moments - The Sequel

Red Writing Hood - Tweet

This week’s assignment was simple: write a story of your choice. The catch? Write it as a tweet. Use only 140 characters – including spaces.

And no, the title doesn’t count.

I can’t wait to see if anyone used hashtags.

In fact, I’m dying to see what you all wrote!

So please link up – but ONLY if you’ve done the prompt. It’ll be pretty easy to see if you didn’t.

Also, please try to comment on as many as you can. We’d love to keep this community strong!

Polaroid Moments - The Sequel

Too busy to chat.But later when she slipped her little hand in mine & demanded a hug I knew I was still in her heart.As she was in mine. 

It's a sequel to another piece written called Polaroid Moments also written from a Red Writing Hood prompt. The "little Miss" in the story is not my own and I was thinking the other day, as she raced past with a "Hi Aunty Vikki!" that I missed our chats and cuddles. She suprised me a little while later when she grabbed my hand and demanded a cuddle. I was going to tweet or FB about it but since she isn't my daughter, it felt not quite right to do it. So this was the perfect outlet. As always! :)

I haven't read anyone else's pieces yet on purpose so I would post this today! Lol!

Here's another one...because I just cannot write a post without shoes in it somewhere! Lol!

Red.Off.Black.On.Red.Off.Breathe in.Out. Analysing. Questioning. Anxious.Wondering. Hoping. Praying.Breathe in.Out. Red on.Grin.Out the door.#firstdate

The Flood

Time to link up your Red Writing Hood post!

This week Galit and Angela asked you to write a short fiction or non based on the following picture:

photo credit

You were only allowed 400 words or fewer.

Could you handle it?

I was covered in mud. Sticky, stinky, wet mud. It was summer and I was supposed to be feeling salt water and sand. I was out of my depth but I knew that I was exactly where I supposed to be.  

I was somewhat surprised at her courage but knew that after two straight days of just watching the news, she wouldn’t sit still. In the silence when she couldn’t take anymore if I listened hard enough I could hear her heart breaking for the people who were losing their homes, belongings and loved ones in the water that just kept coming and rising and flowing and taking.  She listened to The Voice of the One who speaks into her heart that told her to “Go” and one by one the opportunities lined themselves up like a trail of crumbs leading her out of the woods and towards a beacon of light. 

And now here we were in the suburbs of Brisbane in the relentless rain on our hands and knees together cleaning living areas and even though it was impossible attempting to scrub away the pain and the memories of the water and the mud that rose and seeped into the cracks like an unwelcome visitor that just came in and stayed. And took so much away. 

Later as we walked together, thinking about the piles of lives on the side of the road that reporters were calling rubbish, back to the home of the lady who had listened to The Voice of the One who spoke to her heart and invited her to stay, she stopped still when the glimpse of a pair of beady eyes hidden in the grass.

A teddy bear looked back at her with eyes full of wisdom and sorrow for what he had seen.  I knew she was thinking about his owner and wondering if there was a child out there who was missing their friend. Her fingers itched to take a photo, to capture this moment, to remember this day that had changed her in ways that would take weeks to process. Her fingers hovered over her pocket but then she closed her eyes and told herself never to forget the beauty of stepping out in faith and holding out a hand to help. 

I watched her smile later on that evening as she soaked her feet in the pool, her fingers hovering over her pocket as she reached over and took a photo while I sat clean and dry and mud free just wondering what the next day would bring.

x Black Ipanemas

In January this year flash flooding and rising waters had devastating effects on small country towns and the suburbs of Brisbane.  Many livelihoods, homes and sadly some lives were lost. I listened to that small, still voice and booked a flight and stepped out in faith, staying with a lady that I didn't know, not knowing what to expect when I got there. I was just one of more than a thousand volunteers that held out their hands and pulled on their gumboots ( and Ipanemas! ) to help in those weeks. Below are some of the photos that I did take, photos I felt like I could take away with me.

Just one of the streets about four days into the clean up

There was aspestos in a lot of the old houses. The Army made me (and everyone else) wear this!

Yes. Ahhh. Sore feet but glad they came.

 

Polaroid Moments

Today's prompt is courtesy of Kir.

One of my favorite parts of summer is THE SHOES. So for your prompt this week I'd like you to write about your character (or yourself) and a pair of his or her shoes.

Those shoes can be real or symbolic, they can hurt or be super comfy but I want to see what they say about the life of the person wearing them. It's a chance to use all those descriptive words I love reading.

 

We’ve been friends for about eight or so years now so we’ve got a good thing going so I’m fairly certain that she’s not going to get rid of me any time soon. 

I hope. 

I’ve been wanting to tell my story for a while but now it’s my turn I can’t make up my mind which one to tell you.  We hang out together so often and have shared so many significant moments it’s crazy. But you know, I think there have been as many moments that have seemed insignificant at the time but when we’ve both looked back they have become one of those Polaroid moments. One of those memories that shape who you were and who you will become like they take a life of their own and become fused into your soul. 

I remember the morning we woke up with our bags packed ready for an overseas adventure of a lifetime. The backpack was stuffed far too full, something she would learn not to do in the future so to bring home as many new enemies competition fellow country men colleagues as possible, and the flight for our month long trip away was due out later that afternoon. Plenty of time to relax, enjoy the airport atmosphere, book in early get the best seat. Easy.

Or so we thought. 

I was startled when the phone rang that morning. We left rather in a rush but I thought we were headed for the airport because she was excited for her holiday adventure to begin.

No, she was anxious. 

I could tell by the way she tapped her foot on the floor and that action in itself made me anxious too.  I was concerned when I saw the words ‘HOSPITAL’ flash by as we raced with all her bags down the longest corridor I had ever experienced.

Now I was worried. 

Until  I realised where we were and why we were there. 

Timing is everything.

When she booked her ticket months ago her closest friend was barely pregnant and was due well and truly clear of her trip. Well it seemed that this baby had other plans.  Today was the day.

Bags were thrown with abandon in the waiting room, and we sat down cross legged on the floor with a novel ready to settle in for a wait, only to end up in the birthing room with her friend, her husband and the Grandmother to be. Not what we thought we would be doing when we woke up this morning at all!

So we made ourselves as useful as we could that day. Walked down corridors for coffee and sandwiches, salt and vinegar chips and bottles of Coke. We told stories, chatted, laughed, were silent and thankful for the privilege of just being part of this miracle and watched the numbers and prayed and asked God for protection and safety.  

The clock kept ticking on and despite assurances that this baby was coming, knowing this child now it was no surprise that she was doing this at her own pace, reluctantly we knew it was time to leave or risk missing this flight.

So with a heavy heart we said goodbye, found our taxi and sped off.

Her tears dripped heavy on me for the duration of the journey.

We were in a ridiculously long line, waiting to check in. The tears had stopped but the anxious foot tapping had begun again. I knew that she was concerned about where she would sit for the flight and what was happening back at the hospital.

For the second time that day the phone startled me when it rang.

And for the second time that day a tear ran from her face, down her cheek and dropped on me.

Her closest friend had taken another step in life. Another leap of faith. Not just gone from a single carefree chickie to wife. But now she was also a Mummy. To a beautiful baby girl. 

A beautiful baby girl who bears the middle name ‘Victoria’. 

And as we got on that flight, she was a little teary but a little lighter in heart knowing that when we came home she would get to meet that little girl who whose middle name is her own. Polaroid memories fused into her sole.

x Aqua “Chucks” Converse

Well that was a fun week to come back to and write. Thanks for making it an easy week for me. I was going to write about the shoes that walked me through my Grandmother's funeral this time last week, but "we" are still trying to work through the words together. 

PS Of course I bought this Little Miss in this story a pair of pink baby Chucks of her own. They were so cute. Oh, and she's 7 1/2 now. Does this tell you how much I love these shoes?  ;)

The Most Perfect Ballerina. Ever.

Red Writing Hood

Physical beauty.

It can open doors - and can also shut them.

Write a scene in which a physically beautiful character is somehow impacted by that trait. If you are doing non-fiction, you can write about yourself or someone you know.

Come back and link up here Friday. Word limit is 600.

She was so excited when she first met me. We were both shiny and brand new. She was all rosy pink and chubby cheeked and I was smooth and satiny, my ribbons perfectly trimmed and glossy. 

The moment she slipped me on her feet I could tell that she felt like the prettiest girl in the world. The most perfect ballerina ever.

This was my happy ending ( Red Writing Hood )

Edit : I realised that having a standalone page wasn't the brightest idea I've had ever since once I upload a new story next week....yes I think I will be doing this again ( even though this was one of the most nerve shattering things I've done in a long time - much much harder than singing or teaching or talking in front of people or saying no to buying a really cute pair of shoes....lol )....all the lovely, wonderful comments that have appeared in my feed this morning will either not make any sense or will have to go. Sob. So here it is. And for those of you who couldn't find it. Well here it is ! ;)

Red Writing Hood - Happy endings

This week's prompt asked you to spread a little joy.

You were to write a piece where you or your character overcame a challenge and, even if it's just for a moment, has a happy ending. We also asked you to surprise us - don't go with the obvious.

I knew from the start that we were destined to be together and despite the warnings from my family that she was young, that we were both too young, I couldn’t have stopped falling in love with her even if I tried. Not that I did try. At all. I just fell in feet first.  

And despite the way things have worked out since, I know she felt exactly the same way about me.
 

Wedding Shoes - um, not mine!

Since I am King Furniture 'Delta turned into a double bed' lounge bound due to an eeville migraine that had me reaching for the eletriptan's in the early hours of this morning ( why it doesn't occur to me earlier I just do not comprehend ! ) there will be no cute shoe stories to tell you, no trip trap trapping to exotic ordinary yet fun places or events.

I had planned to wear my Sogni di Giorgia navy lace up booties ( pics when I actually wear them ) to Church this morning but alas here I am still blobbing and blogging on my ridiculously comfy lounge.

So instead I'll let my favourite pair of red peep toe heels tell you a story....

I chose Vikki when she was searching on Ebay. I was a little confused at first because she was going under some slightly ridiculous alias, something about Twisties that were curry flavoured or something, anyway...I knew she and I were destined to meet because as soon as she saw me she heard me whisper her real name and placed a bid on me. Truth be told I was slightly put out by her maximum bid, I mean, who can put a price on such perfection ? But I liked her decisiveness and I decided then and there that she could purchase me for only.... ( actually a lady never reveals her worth..so we'll just leave it at that ) ;)