Tag Archives: Comfort

Nightgowns and Shoes

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I’ve been on a nightgown-and-shoe-buying kick lately. I know, strange bedfellows. I don’t think I want to know how many nightgowns I’ve bought, but I know how many pairs of shoes, three.

Why this particular bent? It does go deeper than mere materialism and is far more consequential than just acquiring more to stuff in my closet, for I soon realized I’d been subconsciously heeding the call for rest and comfort.

What triggered this consumption? The Great Prednisone Failure of 2015. My failure, my 2015. The experiment was a total bust. The pain came back. The hands, the feet, the general malaise. After a few weeks off Prednisone my body sat up and noticed. Hey! What happened to Pred?

It didn’t just beg the question; it screamed it. So I scurried into the safety zone, the metaphorical orange-cone ring made up of little white pills.

“You know what to do,” my rheumy said when I confessed my shortcoming. He proceeded to share how he handles flares with the help of our common little frenemy.

I nodded. Yes, the tiny, precious pills that can wreak havoc within your body in so many ways, and in the process grant you the ability to get up in the morning without feeling like a tin woman who needs a squirt of oil into every single cell.

“I want quality,” I said. “Not quantity.” Now it was his turn to nod. I’d rather have five good years and not twenty bad ones. He understood.

In the midst of renewed pain, sleep took supreme importance. Sleep is a great pain reliever, if you can get it. And so in direct correlation, I concentrated on updating my sleepwear.

Nightgowns are the only thing I like to sleep in. Sometimes I prefer silky soft, sometimes cottony soft. The style must needs be flattering, comfortable, and not bunch up under me. Sometimes I swear I’m related to The Princess and the Pea character. Every little wrinkle in the sheets drives me mad and I have to pull it straight. I’ve made my husband promise that he will keep my bed tidy when the day comes that I can’t do it myself. I doubt he will, but it makes me feel better to know he promised. 🙂

The brand matters not, so much as the cut and the fabric. Color matters in that it affects mood. I tend toward black, so refined, so elegant and sexy, too, because why shouldn’t you look nice while you’re sleeping?

And if sleeping is important, getting up and staying up is much more so, and that’s where the shoes come in.

I mentioned in a previous post that I am partial to Clarks. One day, I came across the most comfortable pair in the entire universe, not hyperbole I assure you, at least according to these feet of mine.

Their only drawback was that they were only available in white and it was way before Memorial Day, when I would have license to wear them according to fashion dictum. I couldn’t remember the last time I owned a pair of white shoes. It might have been back when I was wearing saddle shoes to grade school.

But there they were, on sale, and they fit deliciously. Or as Billy would say, they felt mahvelous. I took them home and when I went online to search for a pair in my signature black, there were none to be had in my size. I did find a similar style with the same cushioned footbed.  When they arrived I was pleased to discover they fit just as mahvelously. Since then, I’ve added a third pair in beige and am debating whether I need the navy ones, too.

Perhaps I don’t, after all black goes with everything, and pain-free feet go with eeeeverything. My heels don’t hurt anymore, no matter how much I walk in these shoes. And they were. The pain intense, indescribable, every step jarring needles poking me.

These sandals take me everywhere. I dress them up and dress them down. Whether it’s a leisurely stroll down the Art District, a dinner/movie/drinks date or just chugging up and down the grocery store aisles, these babies come through.

I am back on a very low dose of Prednisone, a tiny buffer between me and the pain. He mentioned injectable Methotrexate as a possibility. I said I would take it under advisement. We shall see, but we shall see in comfort.

"I wanna put on my, my, my, my, my, boogie shoes." -- K.C. and The Sunshine Band

“I wanna put on my, my, my, my, my, boogie shoes.” — K.C. and The Sunshine Band

Tall and Straight

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Life throws you curveballs making you scramble to figure out how to handle them. Do you catch them or evade them?

In the middle of personal tumult, you reach for what or who is handy to give you comfort. It could be a person you are close to, your spouse, your child, your sister, brother, cousin.

Sometimes, when the hurt is too deep, or when it’s too difficult to relate to anyone or for anyone to relate to, we might find comfort and solace in an artistic rendering. In an artist whose beautiful artwork lets you melt into the scene they painted and allows you to leave the pain or the heartache behind. If only for that moment.

Sometimes it’s a book whose author has written in such a way that it swallows you whole, so completely that you forget the here and now. A book that you can touch and hold and smell its papery scent. A book whose spine sits tall and straight on a bookshelf waiting for you, as an example of how you should stand up to adversity, tall and straight.

Sometimes it’s a film, or a TV show that allows you that escape, that makes you laugh or even more movingly, makes you cry, and therefore forget your own pain. You reach for that helping of relief time and again. You buy the movie, or watch all the reruns that you can, taking a breather from what hurts.

And sometimes it’s an actor’s portrayal of a character that reaches out and escorts you into their world. That grabs your consciousness and never lets go. Years, decades pass and that character stays the same, always there, bringing you a dollop of delight, dependable in their sameness. The world around you might twist and tilt threatening to jettison you without warning, but this character, this story, affords you a reprieve. It may only be for a little while, but it doesn’t matter because you know you can visit with them again.

One such presence for me was Leonard Nimoy’s Mr. Spock on the original Star Trek.  He was always so stoic. So rational. So logical. He was a bastion upon which Captain Kirk could hang his hat, a solid presence who would always be there for him no matter how much trouble he got himself into. He could violate the Prime Directive knowing that Spock would back him up or help him face the repercussions. He could flirt with all the women of the galaxies knowing that Spock was there to take command just in case he ended up tying knots that could not then be unraveled. Spock was his unfaltering second in all that he did.

I loved Captain Kirk, but I revered Mr. Spock. He stood like a book, tall and straight. He carried planets’ worth of strength and knowledge on his slim shoulders. He was resourceful and unerring, mostly. And when necessary, he knew how to bend so that he would never break. I wanted a friend like him, but most of all, I wanted to be like him.

I know there’s a new Spock now, but there will always be only one Spock for me.

Rest in peace, Leonard Nimoy.

Live long and prosper, Mr. Spock.

 

***I had the ultimate pleasure of hearing Leonard Nimoy speak at my daughter’s college graduation. Today, I was sorry to hear that he had died.

 

Foot Love

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“Guess what?” I said. ”I did an inventory of my shoes and guess what I found.”

He leaned back in the patio chair and gave me the look. “That you have too many shoes?”

I returned the look. Can a woman ever have too many shoes?

“No,” I said, “I found that most of them are the same brand.”

I paused for emphasis. I wanted what I said next to sink in.

“I’ve been buying comfort and I had no idea I was buying the same line of shoes.”

He studied me as if actually digesting what I’d just said. I knew better.

But no matter. Since I picked the profession that I did and hit hospital floors running many moons ago, I have been after comfortable shoes. Walking, running, 12 to 14 hours straight on those hard, unforgiving floors was not exactly a recipe for foot pampering. Now adding, ahem, a certain amount of years, plus RA/RD, comfortable, supportive shoes have moved from a want to a definite must have.

On this particular day, I’d been to see the optometrist. I’d decided my eyes needed some TLC after the bad news I’d received at the ophthalmologist. I ended up spending the equivalent of a month’s grocery money on two pairs of glasses, reading and distance. I didn’t want to deal with the whole learning curve thing required with bifocals, and why put that up-and-down-bobbing strain on my neck?

We’d met at The Cheesecake Factory for dinner after my appointment. I had a two-hour wait before the glasses would be ready so we hit Macy’s. He wanted a shirt and I headed for the shoe dept. Because I have two upcoming trips to cold weather country, I wanted a closed shoe with a heel, a shoe that was a cross between a low boot and a clog. And of course it wouldn’t hurt if the shoes looked good and made me feel like I looked good

But the main criteria the shoes had to meet was that they be out-of-the-box comfortable. When I found the cushiony softness I sought, I was not surprised to find that they were Clarks®. I was, after all, wearing buttery-soft (or as they call it: “marshmallow-soft”) leather sandals of the same brand. I kept them on, placed my sandals in the box and went to give the man some money.

This “coincidence” prompted me to investigate my shoe collection when I got home. I was curious as to what was left in the closet after I’d given away several pairs of shoes that were still fairly new. And the reason they were only slightly worn is because they’d failed to provide the comfort level I craved and needed.

Halfway through my nursing career I’d given up the white shoes and wore black. And even though those were more stylish, they were still work shoes. My feet have taken a beating over the years and today, when comfort is even more of a priority, I don’t want to have to resort to wearing “work” shoes again.

I want/demand style. Style reminiscent of my twenties when I sailed through life in clogs and jeans. That reminds me, I need more jeans. For the trips, you know.

 

and have some fun!

and have some fun!

Ready to kick my heels

Ready to kick up my heels