A Creative Tool

I don’t know who loves Pinterest more, my niece, my daughter, or me. I have regular boards, secret boards, shared private boards. I am bad about deleting entire boards, deleting pins from boards, resorting boards.

I used to collect images and articles from magazines and do the same thing. I still have to have a paper magazine at times. I just like magazines. But, I really like Pinterest.

My daughter and I use it instead of “googling” for information.

It has been a great resource of inspiration for me to make some changes. I have gone through a long process of evaluating, emulating and evaluating again. I am at a place in my process of questioning goals.

There are some goals I want to keep. But, there are many more I want to let go. Am I coming of age again? Is this what I wanted for turning 50? I think so. I feel liberated somehow. I feel validated.

I am fifty years old. Our children are grown and after Saturday, both will be married. He and I have been married over thirty one years. We have no elders to care for anymore. I am only a few years away from a full retirement (God willing.) I only have a few things on a “bucket list”. At least half are travel destinations.

I find myself using Pinterest to attempt to define and clarify my goals and ambitions. To develop my bucket list. To dream about things to come.

My niece says my pins indicate I live in a cluttered house! I am always pinning “get rid of clutter” pins. I actually have very little clutter. But, I am trying to figure out how little I can live with and feel comfortable. I am trying to learn how to not buy things just to buy things. I am trying to learn how to let go of things I have bought that don’t work for me.   I am trying to refine my ideas and dreams.

That leads to creating a new board, sorting pins. Repinning to the new board and then deleting the old board. So I like to warn those who follow my boards. You better repin anything you like on my boards. If you look for it later, it might not be there!

I need to wrap this up. I have a few minutes before lights out to surf Pinterest! Happy Pinning, my friends!



You know what haunts me?  Images of white gloves and pearls, white patent Mary Janes with lace trimmed socks turned down at the ankle.  Mother used to dress me in them.

I scroll through Pinterest and view all the fashion.  I even wear a lot of the types of things I see.  But, I remember a time before I reached my teens when Mother tried to dress me as a young girl once dressed.

I had some lovely outfits she purchased.  Even more lovely things she sewed for me.  As I go along in my day to day life, I feel some frustration at myself for not meeting the standards set by the past.

Search Pinterest for 1950s.  See how women were dressed to go the grocery store.  See how women dressed to work in an office.  See how women dressed period.  I realize “things” have changed.  My question is why?  Couldn’t I adjust my own standard?  Couldn’t I dress in prettier, more lady like clothes?

Of course I could.  But, even this weekend I succumbed to the “boyfriend” jeans with a rip in them.  Topped with a bright oversize tee shirt.  But, I wore cute sandals and layers of bracelets.  Does that count?

I troll the resale shops for dresses.  I have a collection of dresses I can wear around the house.  But, I don’t wear them much.  Again, I ask myself why?

I suppose by the time I work my day job, change to work out and do my chores, then shower, it is time to put on jammies.

I struggle inside with the need to be practical in my dress for my clerical job in a high-security Texas prison and my need to turn out properly.

In my next life, I want to have a job that I can dress the way I want.  I want to dress to make Mother proud.  I do wear a dress, hose and heels for Sunday morning worship service.

I wonder if my angel baby remembers how much I anguished over the fashion faux pas she insisted on making by wearing flannel shirts in May.  I finally asked her why she insisted and she simply said it was freezing cold in her high school classes and flannel shirts were just right to keep warm and to haul around outside of the building.  I let it rest.

Looking back, I should have taken her to buy a stylish jacket to wear.  But, my girl is probably laughing at my even thinking about it now!  Oh, well.  Such is the way of hauntings.  They make me recall a different time and place.  I still insist that formality of dress might bring back formality of behavior.  Maybe people would be kinder and gentler, if the idea of being a lady or a gentleman was revived.

Manners, protocol, etiquette, proper grooming, standards of dress.  They may seem shallow and old fashioned.  But, the outward reflects the inward.  The inward reflects the outward.  It boils down to respect.  Self-respect and self-esteem.  Respect for others, too.  My appearance makes a difference.

The best thing I have to wear is a smile.  The best accessory a kind and encouraging word.  I hope I show love and compassion whether I am wearing orthopedic shoes and an oversize tee shirt or my best dress with heels, hose and pearls.  But, that haunted feeling insists I would do it so much better in a skirt and heels!

Disclaimer:  all of my girls (daughter, daughter-in-law, niece) have a wonderful fashion sense and personal style.  Moreover they have such tremendous compassion and scope of mind, I marvel at their magnificent capacity to love.  I only speak to my own self and my own ambitions.


Two Little Feet

Hello little feet in your shiny silver squeaky shoes!  You carry a precious cargo.  Where are you going?  What adventures will you take her to?  What troubles will you take her through?  Will you bring her to see me occasionally?  Something in her eyes makes my heart melt.

Other little feet have padded around my house.  Little ones who are only a little bigger now.  Little ones who are grown and padded away down life’s avenues.  They still come round to see me now and then.  Something in their eyes makes my heart melt.

There is a pair of feet still padding around in my house.  His I did not see when they were little.  His wander down the hall each evening to chat for a while before sleep overtakes us.  Something in his eyes makes my heart melt.

Down there close to the foot of my bed are two feet.  I knew them when they were little.  I know them very well.  They are usually tipped with a bright color to make me smile.  Not always red like Granny’s were.  I go for more variety.  Those feet which hurt at times and cause me to limp are the feet which have carried me through almost 50 years of adventures, troubles, treasured moments.

I like little feet and grown up feet.  Feet that bring my loved ones to see me and pad around the house filling it with memories for me.  Bringing them to me to melt my heart again and again with something in their eyes.