Monthly Archives: August 2014

Taking Paws

A couple of days where I spent less time on my tush than usual, and man, are my feet sore! Today, with minimal intent, I racked up the following stats:

* Jawbone – 9,577 steps, 4.4 miles
* Fitbit – 10,647 steps, 4.74 miles

Seriously, I can’t figure these things out.

Even more seriously, today marks two weeks since Lizzie, my beautiful cat, died. Miss Lizzie was 10, a long-haired calico diva, and, weird to say, a little friend. She joined our family when she was about five weeks old, fluffy and confused. Little R Featherstone (who was about 7 1/2 at the time) named her after Lizzie McGuire (at the time, her favorite TV show).

Lizzie was a loyal cat. She had her favorites, and when someone not on her list came into the house, she let them know about that list with a hiss and a swipe. One snippet of joy I received every day was the sight of her at the top of the stairs when I came home from work. There she sat, lovely and majestic, waiting patiently for her cuddle or scratch behind the ears. When I had sad days – and these were more frequent than I’d like to admit – she snuggled, allowing herself to be held far past the normal limits of a cat’s tolerance.

I think our move did her in, causing her enough stress to stop eating, which in turn messed up her liver. She went from 18 pounds to 13 in a matter of about a month (I never said she was svelte), and she retreated from socializing, preferring instead to hide under R’s desk. It took every ounce of strength she had to try to jump up to sit with us on the couch, and really, she couldn’t do it without my help. She stopped grooming herself, and her silky fur became matted and blotchy.

Two weeks ago, I had had a kick-ass day. Work went well in the morning, and I tackled a bunch of tasks that really needed to get done. Got to spend a little extra time with Bob that day. Things felt terrific. Then, I looked behind the couch, and found her.

In the end, she couldn’t stand the pain, I imagine. It was too exhausting to go on any longer, so she went to her favorite pillow in a quiet spot and simply went to sleep.

Three years ago, during Hurricane Irene, Lizzie and I evacuated to my parents’ house. My two kids were away, safe and dry in another state, so I scooped up Miss Liz and her supplies and camped out with my parents for a couple of days. My parents, who hadn’t had a cat for many years, welcomed her. Ever since, whenever I visit my parents, I see a flicker of Lizzie out of the corner of my eye. Over the past two weeks, I periodically catch a glimpse of her in our house. Gone, but never forgotten.

Farewell to sweet Lizzie. She touched our lives, made us smile, protected us with her bad self, and trusted us to care for her. We loved her and will miss her greatly.

Robin Williams and Me

From the output of my fitness tracking devices, one might perceive that I have spent a little too much time not being active.  With my best day over the past week being 6,077 steps on the Jawbone, and 6,571 steps on the Fitbit, one might be right. (The Jawbone reported 965 steps last Wednesday. Really, 965. I mean, several trips to the bathroom should add up to more than 965 steps, yet here we are. Small consolation, though: the Fitbit logged 4,812 steps. Same wrist.)

What do we think about people who sit around all day? Have we ever looked at someone who was overweight and thought, they’re lazy, they have no self-control, don’t they know what they’re doing? They aren’t even worth looking at; they’re the only still acceptable punch line. We see the outside, but we cannot see what’s happening on the inside. Maybe that person who hasn’t taken any steps just can’t, that day, take another step. Perhaps the act of getting out of bed and putting on a brave face is simply too much. And maybe they already think they aren’t worth looking at.

Yesterday’s passing of Robin Williams brought forth a slew of social media posts along the lines of:

  • Reach out if you need help
  • Don’t give up
  • I’m here for you
  • It’s never that bad

I read these posts with a mixture of heart-swelling gratitude and a scoop of fuck you. Hey, I know these posts are genuine and kind, and I am really not knocking the sentiments. It’s just…well, what would really happen if someone (I) started a conversation like that? Would people laugh derisively? Be repulsed? Would the handful of people who care suddenly not care any longer? On paper, things couldn’t look better. I work in a field I enjoy, and get paid semi-OK for doing so. The man I love and I share a home, and we bring to the party four awesome kids. We’re healthy. We’re reasonably attractive (well, he is, minus the “reasonably”). We appreciate a good pun. My parents and brother are nearby and supportive. So what, Emily, what could possibly be the problem?

Robin Williams is the epitome of a guy who had it all. Smart, successful, funny, adored. Three kids. Money.  Fame. I could go on, but we know, especially now, that these don’t conquer the depression. Underneath a sparkling veneer like his or that woman over there or maybe yours or even mine lives a colony of demons, each one with its own mantra: You’re no good, you’re fat, you’re ugly, you’re stupid, your friends don’t even like you, you’re a terrible person, why bother anymore, you suck in more ways than anyone can ever describe. On a good day, they’re quiet, and you can see the sunshine, and you know you’re loved, but on a bad day, you can’t see beyond the darkness in front of you, and you wish everyone would disappear while simultaneously holding you tight, keeping you safe from yourself. And then on the worst days, you don’t even care that it’s dark or that anyone’s around or not. You’re numb. You can’t see past your own wish not to wake up.

Robin Williams, who brought so much light into people’s lives, couldn’t see beyond the darkness. He will be missed and mourned. He can also be a reminder – you simply don’t know what’s happening underneath, and you don’t know when people need help.  I’ve lost a bunch of people I once held dear because, in large part, I never let on what was happening underneath. What the next step will be will be determined at some future moment of clarity. Right now, I share the grief that the demons’ victory has caused.

My Review of Dansko Dani – Women’s – Shoes – Black

Originally submitted at OnlineShoes.com

Be happy to be strappy in the Dansko Dani sandal. This women's sandal boasts a burnished, full grain leather, patent leather or metallic leather upper with an adjustable ankle strap with buckle closure for a customized fit. Featuring perforated arch support, the leather-covered footbed sits ato…

Chunky Comfort

By PopsGirl from NJ on 8/5/2014

 

4out of 5

Sizing: Feels half size too big

Width: Feels true to width

Pros: Arch Support, Slightly Stylish, Durable, Not Too Frumpy, Lightweight

Cons: Ouch After Long Walk, Slightly loose, Patent Leather

Best Uses: Work, Outdoors, Casual Wear

Describe Yourself: Fun, Flat Feet, Casual

I ordered this sandal after seeing it (in regular black leather) on two women in a taqueria in a cute little town in NY state. When the second woman came in, and I commented on how her sandals looked comfortable and kinda cute, my boyfriend made me ask her what kind of sandals they were. Turns out they were Dansko, and after lots and lots of searching, I learned they were the Dansko Dani model.

Since this isn’t this year’s model, I had a hard time finding my size in black. I could find pewter or black patent leather, so I got the black patent leather. These are nice, but I really would have preferred the plain black leather.

I love the heel/sole on these. Lots of support, even in the place where my arch should be. I could walk around for a while in these and the soles of my feet wouldn’t hurt. The downside? A tad loose in the front of the sandal (maybe not a total half size too big, but perhaps a quarter size too big – which was not an option above), and after walking a LOT in Manhattan, the tops of my feet were a little battered. I would wear these again, but probably not for a ton of walking – at least not any time soon. It’s tough to find comfortable shoes that don’t look orthopedic. These sort of fit the bill. Of course, in a size 11, they aren’t as cute as they were on the women in the taqueria, but for a comfort sandal, they will do the trick. Not sure I would wear with a dress or shirt, but pants – especially a slightly wider ankle (i.e., not skinny) pant – would be perfect.

(legalese)