Okay, the first disclaimer. The high heels are a red herring. This blog is more about Erma Bombeck than Manolo Blahnik, and you'll find that out soon enough. It's just that pictures of lovely, comfy flats in an array of colors to match my tunics and elastic waist pants wouldn't catch your attention, so I lied.
We've been talking about the process of book publishing, and as exciting as that is to me, I'm getting the feeling it's a big yawner for you--not much better than hearing about someone's surgery, so I'll spare you the boring details until P-Day (Publication Day May 29) at which time I'll bore your head off.
In the meantime, I will be filling this space with something a little different, okay a lot different. I’ll be writing, not about fashion, which my children will tell you I know little about, but about women, for women and to women. Something I hope will be funny, wise, poignant, and relevant.
At least that’s what I promised myself.
But how to start? Aside from being a woman, I have no extraordinary qualifications for writing a column to women, for women, about women. My life is no different than yours. I have kids, parents, laundry, credit cards and cellulite. I have heartaches and backaches just like you.
But I know the first law of writing: write what you know. I know about aging kids and aging parents. Husbands and bosses. Hot flashes and ice packs. Crockpots and color-safe bleach. I know about being a woman. And so do you.
And you know there's more to you and me than just what goes on at home or even at work. We live in a global village now and as inconvenient as it may be, what happens with global poverty, global epidemics or global warming touches us all. And will definitely hit our children square in their adulthood.
So we’re going to explore new territory, examine the obstacles ahead, and try new paths. We’ll laugh a lot, cry a little, and generally lean on each other for strength. Traveling is tough, especially with the kind of baggage we’re carrying, but we can make it. Together.
First, let’s get comfortable. Unstrap the stilettos (6-inch heels! What kind of sadist invented those?) They’re not the kind of shoes we need where we’re going. Ease your feet into a pair of comfy slip-ons. Doesn’t that feel better?
And now, first things first. A new name for the blog. . . Sensible Shoes.