First date, new place (Chicago is my kind of town...)

I had a first date tonight, my first with a new paramour - Chicago. Don’t you just love your first encounter with a new city? New York was the first city I fell in love with. I was not quite 21, and knew no-one. With all the chutzpa a bold young Aussie could muster, I talked my way across the Pacific, and then across the United States, under the auspices of visiting the world HQ of my employer.

I was terrified when I arrived into JFK at night, all alone, jetlagged and unfamiliar. Praying that I would make it to the comfort and safety of my cheap but centrally located Manhattan hotel room alive, I embarked on my first yellow taxi journey. I still recall the intoxicating cocktail of fear and excitement as we drove past icons previously only seen in movies. I could barely sleep that first night, between the fear that someone would sneak into my hotel room and kill me in my sleep, and the sweet anticipation of what the next day would have in store for me.

Even now, some 20 plus years later, walking the streets of Manhattan reminds me of those heady days. The distinctive acrid smell of the city, the sound of the subway – the beating heart of the city, and the determined march of the endless fashion parade of the East-Coast-stylish (and not so stylish). The corner stores selling fruit and flowers, salads and bagels. I had no money when I lived in New York (I mean really – NO money) so I spent a lot of time walking – because that is what you could do to entertain yourself for free for hours in New York City.

Strangely when my husband and I recently quizzed each other on “the best day of your life” – and the rules of the game precluded the obvious significant events (birthdays, weddings etc) for me, the most vividly delicious dates were those in a new city. Especially alone – when you are free to be completely on your own timetable - the freedom to just walk, and watch, and smell, and soak in a city – this has to be one of my all time favorite experiences. Not to say I don’t also love travelling with friends and family, but that is a different love affair.

And so tonight, while waiting for Wisey to arrive from Milwaukee, I went out with Chicago. Fall is a beautiful time of year to visit almost anywhere. In the cooler climate of the Northern Hemisphere, October is romantic and iconic. Everything is orange. The leaves are changing color as part of the annual symphony of Fall. Pumpkins adorn every doorstep, and there is a crisp, fresh smell in the air (with a vague hint of nutmeg). Chicago is the home of the two most famous “O’s” – Oprah and Obama. Other than this knowledge, I arrived into Chicago with little more understanding than this city also is well known for gangsters and pizza.

So my experience this evening was a revelation. I felt as though I was in a film set. The streets reminded me of New York, but the intensity was replaced with elegance. Still a big city for sure – but (at least from my privileged central downtown perspective) there is an air of grace. The buildings are beautiful – historic and artistic. I walked past ornate art deco buildings that could have been transplanted from Europe. My mouth literally dropped open as the escalator transported me from “street Level” to “Lobby level” of our hotel (the historic Palmer House) as ever more of the awesome ornate ceiling was revealed. On the streets I walked past beautiful old theaters and quaint little bistros adjacent to modern yet elegant chain stores (you would be amazed how classy Old Navy looks in an old Chicago building…)

I returned from my date with Chicago as a giddy schoolgirl ready to dance with joy in my hotel room (while singing into my hair brush in front of the mirror). Chicago said it would call me and we would go out again tomorrow. I can’t wait…

“I want the life that goes with these shoes…”

The hushed silence was suddenly disturbed by a piercing squeal of delight -"Oh my gosh! I cannot believe it!” All within ear-shot turned to stare. The accompanying female chorus joined in the shrill caucaughany as they gazed in disbelief at the banquet before them. The conspiratorial silence returned as they took a moment to breathe in the magnitude of it all. “Those girls must be from Australia” I remarked, “because we just don't have anything like this at home”. I too had experienced that same adrenaline pumping, heart racing orgasm the first time I entered through the hallowed doorway of the Designer Shoe Warehouse.

My partner-in-crime and I returned to our gentle exploration of the latest featured wares. “I am tired of Mommy-shoes,” she explained as she reverently selected and held aloft a beautiful scarlet patent leather stiletto “I want the life that goes with these shoes…”

And there it was, the mission statement for our current crossroad. Too old to be a yummy mummy, too conservative to be a MILF (and too realistic to be one of the girls from Sex and the City) our shoe persona at this juncture would carry us on the journey to our “what next”.

What is it about “shoes” that lures us into this addiction? The sole purpose is to protect and cover our feet from the external elements. How many of us have shoes that only meet this very basic criteria? Do we really not feel the "bed of nails” pain associated with stunning stilettos, or are we so distracted by our racing estrogen and sense of empowerment that we don’t care?

Either way, it was clear now what I must do. In the same manner in which I started the kitchen renovation project with just two swatches of color, I must now take inventory of my existing collection and determine which shoes would reveal my true desires and lead me forward into my next life phase.

For a woman who is happiest barefoot at her desk (or in the yoga studio), I have way too many shoes. I am drawn to the sensual pleasure of color and texture as Gollum coveted The Ring - “my precious…”. This will help to explain the following selected features from my collection. What do they say about me and my future?

 

"Slave-girl-meets-Amazon" and super-sexy, these shoes have as much stability as my roller blades, so I can really only wear them where I have a soft place to fall. Needless to say they are my husband's favorites.

 

Very NOW, these cute little shoe booties are actually not that uncomfortable and I imagine are what I would wear if I went back into a corporate office environment (although they would most likely spend much of their life on the floor under my desk).

I love these shoes (so pretty) but have yet to actually wear them (a whole season later). They are very OC and I now believe best belong to the Botox/Juvaderm/hair extensions/fake tan Housewives of Orange County lifestyle that I will never be able to embrace. I expect they will still be in this same pristine condition when (one day in the very distant future) my granddaughter, digging through the back of my closet wipes the dust off the top of the box and says “oooh, Nana, these are sooo retro cool!"

I think these are the ones! They are European and stylish and comfortable. The suede meets my sensual requirements, and fortunately living in Southern California – I do not need to worry about rain. There is something iconic about red shoes that inspires a certain “click three times” magic. I believe these shoes will take me where I want to go!

What shoe are you?

 

Lions and tigers and thread counts - oh my!

Sitting in my newly purchased regulation green cargo pants, perched anxiously on the side of our open top jeep, I could feel the beat of my pulse blasting a 21 gun salute to my imminent funeral. My breath was still and shallow as he walked toward me. I was torn between the awe of his majestic bearing, and the terrorized voice inside my head screaming "RUN!" When he was very close, less than two feet away, he stopped right in front of me and stared directly back into my eyes. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

What would you pay for this experience? Sitting in the comfort and safety of your everyday life, staring at an invoice itemizing airline tickets, transfers, taxes and accommodation. How do you rationalize the trade in currency against your first intimate encounter with a fully grown adult lion - on his turf (literally), in the REAL world where every day is a fight for survival?

How do you put a value against hours (time stands still on safari, so it is virtually impossible to measure how many) riding the uneven ground in the back of a jeep through an endless wilderness. You will never want to visit a zoo again, as nothing will come close to seeing, smelling and experiencing the majesty of nature untouched. You will never feel the enormity of your insignificance as you do against the backdrop of this perfect creation.

The travel industry has done its best to sell the intangible. It is a big leap of faith to buy something you cannot touch, test or try beforehand; and once experienced, remains only in the hearts, minds and memory cards (and sometimes credit cards) of the consumer.

I believe the marketing folks at Mastercard hit pay dirt when they devised the "priceless" campaign. However, whilst this campaign worked wonders for their brand recognition, and was adopted as a social tag-line for anything cool, I wonder how much it really assisted in selling the value of investment in real "money can't buy" life experiences.

So we focus on the tangible in an attempt to rationalize that which cannot be rationalized. We add up the elements in hope that the sum of the parts will explain the whole. My rationalization went something like this - "OK so the airfare is x - well it is a long way - nothing really we can do about that. Subtracting the airfare, take the subtotal and divide by the number of days, for a per day cost (quick suck in of breath) OH MY! OK, well a Sheraton hotel would normally cost x, that fancy hotel we went to for our anniversary cost xx, and this includes all meals, so at a nice restaurant that would be yx3, and then there is the touring (which having never been on safari before I completely did not get) so I guess that would be like two half day city tours (so wrong), and then there is the sheet-towel-thread-count (insert voice of Homer Simpson but replace "donuts" with "thread count") so calculating the quotient multiplied by the number of threads..."

You get the idea.

In the end I chose to hold my breath and sign the check and have faith that my research and knowledgeable travel consultant would deliver an experience that would be greater than the sum of its parts.

Africa was. For me, an experience beyond my wildest dreams and comprehension (and I have traveled the globe since a babe in arms). I will never look at an image of a lion again without remembering that first incredible encounter, or the hours that disappeared as we sat silently alongside, watching the mother cats playing with their cubs, grooming and caring, as we would for our own children. Or the moment in the jeep as the bull elephant, swinging his trunk and trumpeting his displeasure, gave us the evil eye, and we temporary travelers suggested to our guide (with more than 20 years experience in this very park - who knew each of these animals by name) that perhaps we should move along. Like somehow we - with all of our worldly knowledge would know more than this man who has lived here his whole life! And how he acknowledged our suggestion with such patience and grace.  Priceless.

Let's talk about your sole...

Yes that's right, the one that spends most of your life pressed to the ground or squeezed into some ridiculous (albeit gorgeous) shoe. The one you rarely think of (unless prompted by pain) yet spends most of its time carrying the weight of your life.

There are 26 bones in the human foot (28 if you include the sesamoid bones at the base of the big toe) - that means 25% of all the bones in your body are located in your two feet. In addition your feet house 33 muscles (intrinsic and extrinsic), 31 joints and over 100 ligaments. This perfect design is purpose-built to be the foundation for our body's full muscular-skeletal structure. However we compromise the natural strength and design of this framework every time we wrap our feet in shoes.

You may have read the debate over whether hi-tech athletic shoes benefit our overall structure by cushioning the impact of our activities  (specifically long distance running), or compromise our body's natural structure, eventually weakening, not protecting, the foot, ankle, knee and hip joints (you can read more about the study here - Barefoot Runners).

While the scientists and sneaker companies continue to debate their various studies, just one hour standing in a pair of stilettos will provide immediate evidence of the negative impact wearing high heels has on our feet, knees, hips and back.

All of this to back up what we already know - that going barefoot feels good. It is also good for us. Walking and standing in bare feet exercises and strengthens muscles weakened by our shoe wearing habits, and helps to restore our structural balance. Remember the childhood joy of bare feet on fresh soft grass, or even now, the sensual pleasure of bare feet against cool tile, or plush carpet?

The first or base chakra Muladhara represents our grounding and connection to the earth. Our feet and legs play an important role in balancing this chakra.

Yoga is particularly good for strengthening your feet and ankles as each standing posture requires us to spread our toes and equalize the balance of our feet between the four corners of the sole, spreading the toes (pressing down through the big toe) and lifting the arch. Concerted focus on correct grounding and alignment of your feet will lead to noticeable improvement in your balance and stability.

So make October the month to focus on your soles. Really feel your feet against the floor during your practice, focus on reaching your toes out from your feet like little kick stands to assist with your overall balance. Feel how the weight shifts from the outside to the inside of your feet in different postures, notice if you keep your feet and heels together between postures, or if they drift out. Feel the energy and connection with the ground remembering that a balanced first chakra brings a sense of safety, fulfillment, of belonging and connecting to others, and of being at home in one's own body.

Breast Friends Forever

The second doctor could have been the newest member of our book club (similar age and stylist), only her white coat and barely concealed aura of impending doom belied the news she carried into the perfectly composed consulting room. The air stood still. The moments to follow would pass in time-lapse photography, slow and stilted, stealing our innocence forever.

Barely 48 hours had passed leading us to this point. I had returned home from a weekend away while BF had stayed in my house, dog sitting the princess puppies. Hugs and kisses were exchanged before she unloaded the mother-ship - "I think I found a lump...here...feel it...what do you think...?"

Please understand dear reader that we grew up in the pre bi-curious age. Nice girls didn't fondle each others' breasts out of idle curiosity, or for the entertainment and engagement of their men-folk. I was in my early thirties and had never touched anyone's breasts but my own, so this experience was strange and unusual on a number of fronts. Hesitantly reaching towards my BF's extraordinary E-cups I gently prodded the highlighted area. "Ummm, I am not really an expert in this...I don't know...you should probably see the doctor...". 

The following morning her GP confirmed what she already knew, BF had a noticeable lump on the outer right hand side of her otherwise perfect, much coveted, breast. Further investigation was recommended - specialist review at the Breast Center where they have a myriad of fun and investigative machinery such as chilly-gel-glided ultra-sounds and step-right-up and squish-you-flat mammograms. 

This news was relayed to me over the phone whilst at work. "It will be fine...I will be fine...they can fit me in tomorrow...I can go by myself, I am sure it is nothing...I will let you know what they say..."

But it just didn't seem like the sort of activity one should undertake on one's own - however what do you take to a BFs suspect-lump-review-appointment at the Breast Center? Stopping by the convenience store en-route I decided on gossip and chocolate - surely there is barely a situation any woman will face in her life that isn't made easier with a trashy mag and chocolate?

So there we were, seated side-by-side on pink floral chairs, surrounded by pale pink walls, and nurses in pink scrubs, nervously flipping and nibbling, waiting to undergo the first round in the ultimate "Big C - is it for me?" show-down.

BFs name was called and we were summoned to follow the pink scrubs behind Door Number One. This room was lavender with a gentle radiologist residing over a soft padded table. The usual harsh overhead light bulbs had been replaced by side table lamps to take the intense "strip and reveal" edge off her experience. Soft new-age music played, and she delivered her instructions in a musical lilt, as if BF was about to get a lovely aromatherapy massage instead of a cold clinical examination. She engaged BF and I in friendly conversation whilst capturing penetrating images of the offending lump. Her demeanor was smart and sweet. It wasn't until we were leaving the sanctuary of her quiet den that something she said caught me as strange. 

Then back to the waiting room, Cosmo and Tim Tams.

Door Number Two was less than 20 minutes later. This room had windows along the outer side so was bright and chilly. It was the first time I had seen the gripping vice structure of the much dreaded mammogram machinery. "Sorry, your friend will have to wait outside..." was rebuffed by a pleading "no, please, can she stay..." I was given a heavy lead apron that covered my torso from breast to knees and was told to stand at the far reaches of the room. I felt like a lone soldier against the ominous brick wall as the firing squad assembled to take aim. Yet BF was the one facing the ultimate firing squad. Naked to the waist, the nurse grabbed at her perfect pale, bulbous breast and pressed it between the sheer perspex plates of the mammogram vice, forcing her into an intimate embrace with the cold heartless hardware. As the machine took her lovely breast and squashed it to the depth of pita bread, I watched her brave smile retreat to equal shape.

Then back to the waiting room.

The ultimate answer lay behind Door Number Three. We were warmly acknowledged by the first male we had seen all day - a lovely father-figure-meets-professor-doctor with soft gray hair, a crisp white coat, an official looking folder, and a reassuring air. Seated in the perfectly composed consulting room, listening to the perfectly composed elder statesman tell us the mammogram had not shown anything to be concerned about, so we shouldn't worry, this would most likely be confirmed by the ultrasound results we would have momentarily; it seemed this all might be just a terrible but fleeting fright.

He left the room to retrieve the outstanding results. "Whew!" (sigh of relief) "that was close...", nervous smiles exchanged.

And then the second Doctor came in. She looked like someone we might have gone to school with. She had a friendly but official air. Where had Doc Number One gone? (It was never explained...)

"I am sorry, the news is not good...the ultrasound revealed the true nature of your lump...a biopsy will confirm for certain...but the results are pretty clear...it appears aggressive, we can do the biopsy here right now and try to get you in to consult with the surgeon tonight..."

The breath caught in my chest as adrenalin sped the beat of my heart until it echoed in my ears. The voice in my head shouted drill sergeant commands to my body - "Don't look shocked...or scared...do not panic - stay calm and whatever ever you do, DO NOT CRY! Ok, now with your best brave, in-control face turn to BF and see how she is doing..."

October is of course Breast Cancer Awareness Month. When BF was diagnosed we were told that Breast Cancer affected one in eleven women. Today the rate is one in eight. It is a painful, heartbreaking disease that attacks our mothers, sisters, wives, daughters and best friends through one of our most beloved physical attributes. Help us to understand more about this disease, please join the LOVE/AVON Army of Women and become a part of both the prevention and cure. 

Today the Army has 338716 recruits including me (with a target of one million), I urge you to join the ranks also.