sunnyislandbreezes.com

First posted May 7, 2008

While writing about the contest at Scribbit in which I entered my  z-coil post, an embryo of another article was conceived.  I began looking back at how shoes tell the story of my life.

Like most other people, I was born barefoot.  I know that at some point shortly after that those cute little feet were forced into a pair of shoes.  No, I don’t remember the restriction of having those little bits of leather on my feet or not being able to freely wiggle my toes.  Instead I had a bronzed beauty of that little shoe.  The laces weren’t even tied before they were bronzed.  Just hanging down unceremoniously.  I would have thought if someone was going through all that trouble, they might have made them look a little neater.  Maybe they were supposed to look like I’d just managed to kick them off.  Exactly why did anyone want to pay to have a pair of old shoes memorialized?  It’s for sure no one else was going to put a foot into that stiff little thing.  I suppose it could have been used for a vase, but we had just barely emerged from the cave age when my foot was that little.  There were no artificial flowers back then and water wouldn’t have done so well in there.  It could have been used as a pencil holder. Did they have pencils back then?  I think they must have.  They didn’t have ballpoints.  It would be years before anyone clicked their Bic.

I remember those little black patent Mary Janes I wore when I was about three.  They were so beautiful and shiny when my mother put them on me.  I don’t know why she expected them to stay that way when my feet just had to run and jump when I was outside.  She used to sigh when she’d say, “You can dress her up, but you can’t take her out.”

The next phase of my life involved the magnificent horse at the shoe store and Buster Brown shoes.  (Tige was in there, too.) That horse was a huge, beautiful beast.  I did my darndest to be patient while I stood to have my feet measured and then sat to have them crammed into countless pairs of shoes until the salesman found the pair that both fit just right and pleased my mother.  Then the magical reward came when the salesman would lift me up and set me on the horse.  This was no little horse like you see on kiddie rides today.  This one was even better than the ones on the merry-go-round.  I would hold the leather reins and pretend like I was a princess riding to my castle.  I was up so high and I saw the world so differently than when I was that little girl standing down on the floor.

Then came the barefoot years.  I didn’t leave those years behind until I was forced to after foot surgery.  This part of my life was interspersed with shoes, but the freedom of kicking off those shoes was wonderful.  I was barefoot in the grass, the mud, the sand, the pebbles, the white rock in the driveway and even the snow.  We lived in a rural setting during the barefoot in the snow years.  The mailbox was on the other side of the street and I saw no reason to put on shoes just to run out and get the mail (especially if Mother wasn’t around to catch me).

Then came the years of rock and roll, American Bandstand, saddle shoes and penny loafers.  Those were important shoe years.  After all, you just didn’t jitterbug barefoot.  You either wore shoes or if you went to a sock hop, you danced in your socks.  Being barefoot didn’t let you slide and get the dance moves right unless you were  at home practicing on the carpet.  Besides, the chaperons would have choked on the punch if you had naked feet.

Ahhh  The Capezio years followed.  I was never one to want to blend in with the crowd during my teen years.  Now it appears that the teen bunch want to all look alike.  I gloried in being different.  I discovered Capezio shoes.  My shoes never looked like those of anyone else during those years.  Somewhere along the line, it appears that Capezio stopped making shoes for street wear.  When I looked them up all I could find is the dance shoes for which they are famous.  Although, I did wear Capezio ballet,  pointe and tap shoes at one point in my life.

As I began to grow into a young woman it was black flats followed by black heels with a brief interlude of black t-straps.  The black flats walked me through my beatnik phase into Friday night movie dates.  Senior year of high school the black flats were de rigour.  We didn’t wear sneakers and jeans to school back in the dark ages.  We couldn’t even believe they began to allow us to wear slacks shortly before graduation.

Then came the sandals and Keds which carried me through most of my days as a wife and young mother.  I put a lot of miles on those.  And the heels were there for church and dress up occasions.  Boots in the winter.  We all loved Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots Were Made For Walking.  We didn’t expect her to have Frank’s vocal cords.  We just loved the part about “They’re gonna walk all over you!.”  I’m sure I wore something besides boots in the cold Midwestern winters, but I don’t remember what.  I try not to think about the winters of my life, past or present.

And then the nursing shoes walked into my life.  Actually it was closer to running as I worked ER, critical care and many other specialties.  They kept me running until I up and ran away to sea.  Still nursing, but in white flats with my day uniform and white heels with my evening uniform.  Eventually the company changed dress uniforms to navy blue.  Once again I was back in black heels and sometimes black flats if I was on call.  Still some running to do at times.

While working at sea, I began setting up ships with my mentor and friend Pat who introduced me to New York City and Birkenstock.  Oh, my.  I’ve found the most comfortable shoes.  I want to live in my Jesus sandals forever.

Then came Italy and my “happy feet shoes.”  I don’t remember why I wasn’t wearing my Birks that day.  I had been in Italy about a week when some friends who had been there longer decided they had to have McDonald’s.  Mickie D sounded good to me, so my daughter, Sue, my cow loving friend and I decided to go McDonald shopping.  This was not an easy thing to do.  We were in Monfalcone and needed to get to Trieste.  So we walked about 30 minutes to the train station, took the train for about 45 minutes and then walked another half hour to the cutest little fast food joint ever.  I don’t remember what I had on my feet, but I do remember how my feet felt.  There was no way I was going to make it back to my ship without being maimed for life.  We found a shoe store nearby and I bought my first pair of sneakers/walking shoes.  Those Pumas made my feet happy for years.  They had to literally fall apart before I would buy another pair of athletic shoes.

Now that I’ve retired from ships, I’m living the laid back (well sort of laid back) Florida lifestyle.  I’m back in the Birks and loving it.  Still had the athletic shoes for work until I found a new love.  New Balance sounded too good to be true, so I tried them on and ended up buying a pair of black and a pair of white.  Out with the athletic shoes.  I’ve found new happy feet shoes.

But I’ve been thinking about those z-coils.  I’ve already purchased some speed laces.  The shoes of my life say I’m fickle, but look more closely and you’ll see a lot of loyalty there, too.  I still love my Birks.

Day one winner is Jo who selected A Farmer’s Daughter and the Don’t Panic cookbooks.  Congratulations.

First posted May 1, 2008

Well, that nap I took lasted all night.  I wanna go home!  I’m achy from that hard ground, I’m dirty and I’m hungry.  At least I’m not still water logged.  Now, where is that blasted book?  Okay, it’s here under some of this worthless brush bed I made.  The book hasn’t helped all that much yet, but at least it’s something.  I guess if I find something to eat I could rub a couple sticks together and make a fire.  The pages ought to help get the fire going a bit.  What a joke!   Me rubbing two sticks together and actually making a fire?  Yeah, sure.  My Girl Scout troop went camping out in hotels.  We were a city bunch.

So what other helpful information is in this book?  How to climb out of a well.  Do people dig wells on deserted islands?  Maybe it’s deserted because people didn’t dig wells and died off from drinking that water that causes diarrhea.  Ummm.  Maybe I’d better not let my mind wander there.  Here’s a section on how to navigate a minefield.  Please tell me these people didn’t plant a minefield before they died off.  Maybe they forgot where they planted the mines and blew themselves off this chunk of land.  It really doesn’t look as if there’s been a bunch of blasts going off here.  In any case, let’s see what it says.  Keep my eyes on my feet.  Freeze.  Freeze?  It’s too hot here to freeze.  As far as not moving, I haven’t even started walking yet.  And if I don’t like what I see, walk backwards.  Run that by me again.  If I don’t like what I see, walk backwards.  That way I just won’t see myself stepping on that stuff that’s going to blast me right off this island.  Let’s just pretend that there are no mines here.  I think we’ll ignore the section about falling through the ice and needing to survive in frigid water.  We’ll worry about that when hell freezes over.

I’m still hungry and thirsty.  Here we go.  How to find water on a deserted island.  Maybe this little book is good for something after all.  Collect rainwater in anything handy, such as a bowl, plate or helmet.  Give me a break.  I’m not going to go searching for a chunk of a downed tree to hollow out a bowl with some rock!  Collect dew.  This could work.  Tie rags or tufts of fine grass around my ankles and walk around.  No rags, but I can use my socks. Then wring them out into  that container I don’t have.  I don’t think so.  I can just open my mouth and drink, as long as I hold my breath and don’t think about those dirty, smelly socks.  Except now the dew is dried up from the sun glaring down.  Catch a fish (bare handed out of the rushing current that landed me here) and suck the eyes.  I don’t think so!  Look for bird droppings.  I’m not even going to read that section.  My imagination is running wild and I don’t want to know.  I’m not that thirsty yet.  Maybe I’ll just find that river water that’s going to give me diarrhea.  Now it’s telling me to find that banana tree that I couldn’t find before I took my nap.  If I ever find that water I know how to purify it – not that I have anything that I need to do it.  I’m still hungry and I don’t feel like fishing without a pole or building animal traps.  I need something now, not next week.

Come on, let’s go tramping through this jungle and see if we can find some fruit or something.  I’m tossing this book and leaving it to rot.  I just don’t want to read any more scary novels.  If I want to take a book on my next trip, it’s going to be something tame like learn how to speak Finnish in three easy lessons.  Hey, this isn’t so difficult walking through the jungle.  It’s almost like a little path.  I certainly hope it’s not a lion path or something.  Look.  The jungle ended already.  We’re almost out.  Oh, no!  What’s that?  After all I’ve gone through, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.  That’s a  little hut over there.  I wonder if it’s deserted.  Are there people there?  Are they friendly?  And that?  It’s a boat.  There’s a river or something over there.  Let’s go.  Hurry!  I want to catch that boat before they leave me  stranded here.  They’re coming back.  They saw me.  I don’t believe this.  Those people look like a bunch of tourists.  ”Yes, of course it was a bad storm yesterday.  Where am I?  Who are you?  A tour director?  Where am I?  One of the Florida Keys?  Hey, I’ve been to Key West.  It doesn’t look anything like this!”  Marquesas Keys?  I’ve never heard of those.  Ummm  This tour brochure says they’re 30 miles west of Key West.  Overgrown by mangrove.  That explains the jungle.  They are protected as part of the Key West National Wildlife Refuge. The Marquesas were used for target practice by the military as recent as 1980.  Shit!  I could’ve been walking through a minefield!

I will start picking winners tomorrow, and will pick one every day for the next seven days. You still have time to enter all the giveaways starting with day 1. I’ll pick that winner at midnight.

First posted April 25, 2008

Well, not exactly.  How about good doctor, bad doctor?  I’m not talking about clinical skills.  I’m talking about how the doctor treats his patient as a person.  Two years ago when I was working at a relatively new job I had several high blood pressure readings in a row and decided I should see a doctor and have it checked out more thoroughly.  I had moved and not yet found a family doctor.  I was in a bit of a quandary as I didn’t want to put off this check up.  I thought about seeing the medical director of the hospice where I was employed, but was still hesitant.  I had sat in on a meeting where he was present.  During the entire meeting he was playing with his palm pilot or whatever it was instead of paying attention.  In spite of this, I figured he must be a good doctor or he wouldn’t be our medical director and went ahead and made an appointment.  I was told that this would just be a focus appointment, meaning that only the blood pressure would be addressed and not anything else.  That was fine with me, so I showed up at the appointed time.

I sat and waited a long time, watching others go in and out.  I had been waiting quite awhile before some of these people even showed up, and of course, drug reps were ushered in right away.  That in itself was irritating as I knew they were there to give the doc free samples of their newest and most expensive drugs, thereby, encouraging him to give these out and write prescriptions for them rather than something that had been around, was now generic and, therefore, cheaper and probably worked better than the new, unproven medications the reps were pushing.

Finally I was allowed to go sit in the exam room and wait.  When Dr. K showed up, he spent 15 minutes with me.  Five minutes were spent checking my B/P, eyes, ears, nose and throat.  Five more were spent with him asking me some questions, giving me grief with his smart alec attitude and continuing to get things mixed up that I had told him.  I had also given him a copy of the vitamins and supplements that I took.  He kept talking about my homeopathic medications.  Shouldn’t a doctor know the difference between vitamins, supplements and homeopathic medications?  The doctor then proceeded to write me a prescription for one of the new medications and got really pissed off when I requested that we try one of the old, proven meds and lifestyle changes before going with the hard hitters. I think the fact that I’m a nurse and interested in participating in my own health care irritated him as well. The last five minutes proved to be the real topper.  This man did a big no no as far as medical etiquette and bedside manners are concerned.  He stood in front of me and dictated my history and physical, getting a lot of it wrong.  I corrected him several times and then just gave up.  This man, who is a general practitioner labeled me in the H & P as having a psychiatric condition known as obsessive compulsive disorder.  Talk about nasty and vengeful.  I was working as a hospice nurse, but one of my past specialties was mental health.

I have to say that this man had the attitude of a surgeon.  Now, I think surgeons are great people and do a wonderful job, but all you nurses out there know what I mean.  It’s sort of a “god syndrome.”  They literally hold a person’s life in their hands while in surgery.  Maybe the reason for Dr. K’s attitude was that he was in charge of a person’s dying.  Or maybe he is just a jerk.

But when they’re good, they’re really good!  It took me another year before I would go see another doctor.  I got my prescriptions refilled at a doc in the box clinic and then after moving, my weekend docs at a mental health facility where I worked, gave me refills.  Eventually, I decided to bite the bullet and make another doctor’s appointment.  I had moved back to a city where I used to live and tried to make an appointment with my former doc.  I always got an answering machine when I called and would leave messages which would go unanswered.  The last time I called, the number was no longer in service.  She must have retired.  So then I did what most people would do and checked to see what local doctors  were covered under my health insurance.  That was one long list.  How did I narrow it down? I prefer osteopathic physicians, so that helped.  From there I just picked the first one on the list that was close to where I live and then prayed a lot.  I made the appointment, showed up on time and held my breath.

I was shown into the exam room on time, seen by a resident who was working with Dr. G, and then seen by Dr. G himself – all within a reasonable amount of time.  I had a thorough history and physical taken, followed by a very thorough physical exam.  Then the big surprise.

Dr. G actually sat down to talk to me and told me that he liked  having nurses as patients because they ask questions, give input and want to take charge of their own health.  Whooooo!  I found a doctor who wants to work with me as a team member to improve my health.  I can’t say enough good things about Dr. G and his staff.  We do work as a team.  Dr. G cared enough about my health to discover that I’m now a diabetic and have sleep apnea.  Because of this and his treatment for it, I now have more energy, better health and a zest for life.  And about that treatment.  He agrees that the old tried and true medications should be used first and we’re working on lifestyle changes.  I now exercise more (still need to improve that) and have lost 52 pounds (still need to work on that).  I enjoy going to the doctor and he enjoys having me as his patient.  He even encourages me when I bring him research that I’ve happened on and asks about where’s his articles when I forget to bring them in.  Now, how’s that for a good doc?

Each day for seven days I will be giving away books to celebrate my five year blogging anniversary. I will give you at least three books. I will give you links to reviews for these books. Read the reviews and pick two books that you would like to receive and leave me a comment. If you want an extra entry, link to my blog and leave a comment saying so.

There will be a random drawing seven days from the giveaway post. I will post the winner, but also you via email. I’m sorry, but due to the cost of postage I will have to limit the contest to U.S. addresses only.

Today’s books are a hodgepodge of historical fiction, contemporary fiction and contemporary romance.

• Rebekah by Jill Eileen Smith
• Firefly Island by Lisa Wingate
• Picture Perfect by Janice Thompson

Good Luck!

First posted April 23, 2008

I just ended up on an uninhabited island.  My sail boat was blown off course.  Way off course.  I’m lost.  I’m alone.  My boat crashed and drifted away.  The only thing I managed to salvage was a book that I had in my jacket pocket.  I could only wish that it had been Robinson Crusoe. That’s a book with a lot of practical advice for someone stranded on a lonely island.  What I do have instead is that  Worst-Case Scenario book that has already gotten me into some interesting situations.  It even got me out of some.  Maybe that will help me here.  I’m almost afraid to look.  Okay, here goes.

Here’s a section on how to survive in a jungle.  Well, some of this island looks pretty heavily wooded.  Maybe there’s something here to help me.  Find a river, make a raft and let the current carry me downstream.  I don’t think so.  I’ve been carried about in the water just as much as I can tolerate right now.  Being buffeted around in a sail boat was bad enough.  I’m not about to try it on a makeshift raft that will probably fall apart not long after it hits water.  I’m not exactly a carpenter.  Heck, I’m not even a DIY person.  I’m a person who sits in front of a computer and writes.  I could throw words at those two pieces of tarp (which I don’t happen to have), green brush, two large saplings and vines all day and they aren’t going to arrange themselves into a nice little raft.  Just wondering how I’m supposed to bring down those saplings.  I didn’t bring my chainsaw with me when I decided to take this nice little afternoon sail.  Maybe I’m supposed to uproot them.

I like the next section better.  It’s going to tell me how to find food and water.  It’s been a long time since breakfast.  If I don’t have the means to purify water (I don’t), then I’m supposed to find water vines (what’s that?) or banana trees.  I then proceed to either cut sections from the vines or cut down that tree with my imaginary axe.  I’m to drink water from rivers and streams only as a last resort when dehydrated and death is a certainty.  Wow!  I love this next sentence.  “Diarrhea will most likely result, so increase your water intake and keep moving.”  If I have diarrhea, I don’t think I’ll have any choice.  My body will keep moving!

Next I’m told if I cannot peel it or cook it, don’t eat it.  Naturally, the book then goes on to tell me to eat insects, grubs and raw fish.  I can’t peel them and they obviously haven’t been cooked or they wouldn’t be raw.  I do get to pinch the heads off first.  I think I’m losing my appetite.  I’ve got to get out of this  jungle.

I can find my way out of this without a compass.  I can use the stick and shadow method.  I also need to put my watch on the ground and line up the hour hand with the stick.  I don’t think this will work since my watch wasn’t waterproof.  If I’d paid more attention in some of my classes, I would know about the North Star or the Southern Cross and be able to use basic astrometry .  Or if it quits raining so hard I can tell which way the clouds are moving.  They generally move from west to east.  Don’t you like that word “generally”?  Most people going out for a little sail generally don’t end up on a deserted island.  What are the odds that my clouds will be going the general direction?  Then there’s the good ole moss method.  Hey, I was in scouts for 12 years.  I know that moss grows on the north side of trees and rocks.  I know which direction I am going.  Or maybe not.  This book has the nerve to tell me that this method is not infallible.

It’s dark and I’m tired.  I can’t deal with this much longer.  I’m never stepping foot on a sail boat again.  All I want to do is lie down and sleep for awhile.  I’m going to pile up a bunch of brush over there under that little overhang and take a nap.  I’ll have to read the rest of this book later.  So far today, I’ve learned a bunch of things to do to survive, but haven’t been able to do them.  Maybe when I wake up.  I hope there aren’t any wild animals roaming around this place.  Right now I’m just too wiped out to care.  I’ll take you with me when I wake up and get moving again.

When a Secret Kills

Lynette Eason

In the spine-tingling conclusion to her explosive Deadly Reunion series, Lynette Eason once again treats readers to a tale of secrets that need to be told and dangers that need to be faced.

Investigative reporter Jillian Carter knows it’s time to put the past to rest. She’s tired of looking over her shoulder, letting a killer go free. She’s no longer the scared kid who changed her name and disappeared. Now, no matter what the cost, Jillian must do what she is trained to do-ferret out the truth and expose it. Senator Frank Hoffman committed murder ten years ago-and Jillian watched it happen.

Didn’t she?

Not even the enigmatic and attractive Colton Brady, her ex-boyfriend and nephew of the killer, will be able to make her leave this alone. Get ready for a ride that will make you afraid to be home alone.

ISLAND BREEZES

The three friends are reunited, but the danger is still present. Their secret keeps killing, and it’s time to find the killer.

Ms Eason has given us another nail biter. The adrenalin just keeps pumping through the entire book.

Every time you think you have it figured out, you don’t. The body count just keeps rising as everyone tries to keep Jillian safe.

This book isn’t just about a mystery. It’s mysteries buried inside other mysteries with romance tossed in the mix. That’s not all. You’re going to need that box of tissues.

***A special thank you to Donna Hausler.***

Lynette Eason is the bestselling author of several romantic suspense novels, including When the Smoke Clears, When a Heart Stops, and the Women of Justice series. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Romance Writers of America. She has a master’s degree in education from Converse College and she lives in South Carolina. Find out more at www.lynetteeason.com.

Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books that bring the Christian faith to everyday life.  They publish resources from a variety of well-known brands and authors, including their partnership with MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) and Hungry Planet.

Available May 2013 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

Each day for seven days I will be giving away books to celebrate my five year blogging anniversary. I will give you at least three books. I will give you links to reviews for these books. Read the reviews and pick two books that you would like to receive and leave me a comment. If you want an extra entry, link to my blog and leave a comment saying so.

There will be a random drawing seven days from the giveaway post. I will post the winner, but also you via email. I’m sorry, but due to the cost of postage I will have to limit the contest to U.S. addresses only.

Today’s books are suspense.

• Ring of Secrets by Roseanna M. White
• Strand of Deception by Robin Caroll
• Stress Test by Richard L. Mabry, MD

Good Luck!

First published April 21, 2008

I recently read an advertisement that cracked me up.  It was for the Cat Genie, the world’s only self-flushing, self-washing cat box.  It even looks a bit like a small toilet. This is an ingenious cat box for those who love cats but hate cat boxes.  It is supposed to be litter, odor, germ, dust, and work free.  Instead of cat litter, this device uses “washable granules.”  Okay, so who gets to wash those little babies?  You do, of course.  You didn’t really expect the cat to do it, did you?  But once you get this baby all set up and hooked into your cold water line, all you have to do is push a button.  Well, not quite.  You have to also hook it up to the toilet or laundry drain and plug it in.

Now you can push the button or preset it to start cleaning automatically.  The liquids drain through the granules and solid waste gets scooped.  Hold on!  You don’t have to do the scoop.  It has a built in pooper scooper.  After those little goodies get scooped, they are liquified and down the drain they go.  Now the washable granules get washed, scrubbed, scoured and blow dried for your cat’s comfort.

Doesn’t this sound like something you want to own?  It’s easy.  It’s also an amazing bargain. All you have to do is fork over $269 for the Tabby Package or $369 for the Tuxedo Package if you have a high class, high maintenance feline.  And then you never have to buy another thing.  Oops.  Not quite right.  You need to buy the SaniSolution.  You can get it as a single pack for $25.99, a 2 pack for 43.99 or a combo pack of 2 SaniSolution cartridges and 1 box of granules for $63.00. What happened to that .99.  See how much you can save?  Don’t forget the granules.  They’re $23.99 for a 3.5 lb box.  But it’s worth it, isn’t it?  You want your cat to feel pampered and have a clean tush.  I wonder when they’ll invent a cat bidet?