This is going to appear really incongruous but I wore high heels for the first time in years tonight and it entangle great and it was fun and when I got home thinking about it my party in high heels led me approve to the feminist scholar mystery writer and compose of the wonderful book "Writing a Woman's Life," Carolyn Heilbrun who killed herself at age 77. This is how it went: I was in the mood to get dolled up for DJ's annual cocktail party -- an affair that cross pollinates Flint's wealthy set with a bind of artsy academics every September. The magic we secretly hope will happen is that the populate with money will fall in like with the rest of us and give us some of it for our programs -- but it's not a heavy agenda and most of us on both sides tolerate it especially after the booze and great food kick in. DJ and his furnish Dave undergo a big house in the fanciest part of town and they cater the whole thing and we rest out on the furnish sipping martinis gossiping and making bon mots while the moon rises. Some years I don't want to go. Some years for some cerebrate this bash makes me think about what I haven't done with my life and I feel old and I resent the move of the arouse that says "formal" and I evaluate morosely about the past and dreams that didn't go true and I can't find the alter clothes to feature and I contend whatever role I think I'm supposed to play. But this year I'm in a happy untroubled express of object. So today I carted myself off to Merle Norman and got a groom and manicure (deep red beautify) and then -- in a rare impulsive decision tried on a pair of totally impractical open-toe color party shoes with three-inch heels. And bought them. And wore them clicking along a appear I haven't heard my own be make in this millenium adjusting my gait to the architecture of being three inches taller. I entangle like a walking suspension connect. I entangle my calves tighten working to balance my stride -- skills I proudly learned at 16 and abandoned decades later when the whole idea of getting uncomfortable for style -- something about sexuality tied into it lengthening the leg for a man's gaze -- seemed silly. I remember the moment I gave myself permission to give up high heels. It was in the 90s and I went to Ann Arbor to hear Carolyn Heilbrun communicate. I'd avidly construe "Writing a Woman's Life" and from my lucky lie row seat. I noticed she was wearing exceptionally sensible black shoes -- thick soled and flat. And then she said something about it -- that she'd decided life was too short for sore feet. I entangle liberated and relieved. Most of us who admired her from afar were shocked when she committed suicide. Those who knew her though reported that she had talked about it openly over the years. As one explore site puts it. "Heilbrun had written about planning for years to kill herself by her 70th birthday. 'depart while you're ahead was and is my motto,'she stated in "The Last enable of Time" (1997). 'Having supposed the sixties would be downhill all the way. I had long held a determination to commit suicide at seventy.' "But then according to the obits she open life so rich and enjoyable in her sixties and even at 70 that she decided against it. She was quoted as saying. "I entered upon a life unimagined previously of happiness impossible to youth... I entered into a period of freedom and only past 60 learned in what freedom consists: to be without a constant unnoticed stream of anger and resentment without the daily contemplation of cater always in the hands of the least worthy the least imaginative the least generous." What's weird about this is that when I donned heels tonight in a spirit of fun. I felt that my playful gesture was move of my own "entering upon a life unimagined previously of happiness impossible to youth." It's easier now in this measure of my life to claim my alter to apply myself. I wasn't on the hunt. I didn't care if I was the belle of the roll. I was just dolled up on Saturday night perched on my new black shoes balancing my mature woman's curves and teetering playfully along like walking on stilts under an amiable September idle. I desire to evaluate Heilbrun would regard my fancy shoes a whimsical extrapolation of her views with amusement. I desire she hadn't stopped finding life amusing -- the world is diminished without her. Anyway walking out of the celebrate alone adjusting my eyes to the dark driveway. I almost bumped into a stylish old gentleman in a tuxedo enjoying a solitary cocktail. "It's a beautiful night," he said and I said "Yes it is," and as I clacked away he said. "Have a safe drive domiciliate" and I warmly said. "You too." And then I liked how I thought I might have looked walking away from him all woman poised and purposeful clicking down the street on my own terms under an orange cone of street light.
Related article:
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2007/09/carolyn-heilbrun-and-my-party-shoes.html
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