I Believe

As the 2012 Christmas season has come to a close, I realized that I reached the point in the road of parenthood where two out of my three boys (sadly) no longer believe in Santa Claus. Of course, I knew this years ago … my two oldest are 16 and 14,  but as parents, this was our last year of Santa … ever. 

Our youngest, Liam, is 10, and a die-hard believer. He's got nary a doubt in is adorable little head, and went around joyfully, unselfconsciously singing Christmas songs, making lists and checking them twice. Occasionally my oldest son challenged me to finally "admit once and for all" that there is no Santa, but I couldn't. I won't. Ever. Ever. 

Because I can't.

Is there a chubby, white-bearded man in a fur-trimmed red suit who lives in the North Pole and makes toys year round with the help of elves? Well … I can't say definitively because I've never actually seen him, the elves or the North Pole. I've never actually seen $100 million dollars either, for that matter, but does that mean it doesn't exist? What about hope, love or faith? Surely we know, definitively, that they exist … yet we haven't seen them, either, at least not tangibly. But have we?

Just as hope, love and faith surely exist, so does the Christmas spirit, and I saw it, with my own eyes, up close and very personal … in a Target store outside of Las Vegas, of all places.

The mission and very heart of Fabulous Shoe Night is to benefit local charities … those small, often struggling, charities that help real people, in our own backyards. My chapter leaders are wonderfully adept at finding these smaller, special non-profits that operate on shoe-string budgets and provide tangible goods and services to the needy in their communities. Julie, our Las Vegas chapter leader, chose one such non-profit, with a very timely event that, unbeknownst to us, turned out to have a huge dose of Christmas magic built in.

The Santa Cops program pairs police officers from the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police with needy children, nominated by officers who encounter struggling families while on duty. Fund raising throughout the year culminates in a shopping trip at a local Target to buy Christmas presents for the children nominated. Oftentimes, these are the only gifts the children will receive.

The first hint of Christmas magic came when we discovered that this once a year, very special shopping trip was scheduled the day after our Fabulous Shoe Night event to benefit Santa Cops. This was not planned, and purely serendipitous. That night at FSN, one of the officers in attendance told us how appreciative they were of our event, as they hadn't yet hit their donation goal for 2012, and were worried some names would have to be crossed off the list due to lack of funds. A second dose of Christmas magic came when the money raised at Fabulous Shoe Night actually helped Santa Cops exceed their annual goal. 

The next morning, Target opened their doors at 6:30 AM for the Santa Cops event. While I've never been a morning person, I woke before the 5:45 alarm to catch our 6:15 ride. When we arrived, a large crowd had already assembled in the parking lot. It appeared most of the LV Metro Police force was there, along with several police dogs and two police horses. What I didn't know was that Santa himself would be arriving soon, by helicopter no less, to start the event in style. As his chopper approached the parking lot, wind whipping my hair into a frenzy, I jumped, clapped and waved right along with the children all around me. Looking at their excitement and awe, seeing the hope and magic that Santa represents reflected in their faces, I wiped away tears, pretending the gusts from the helicopter made my eyes water. There's just something about Santa that makes me feel like a 6 year old again, and I hope I never lose that feeling.

At Santa Cops, each child is paired with a police officer to shop for their gifts. Even their parents aren't permitted to shop with the children and officers, but wait in the food court area of the store. This year, the officers were given a $130 Target gift card to spend for each child. Julie and I were lucky enough to tag along with a Captain on the force, who was paired with Casey, a petite, quiet 6 year old who seemed overwhelmed with the entire experience.

In hindsight, I can only imagine how daunting it must have felt to a 6 year old to have three adults literally in your face, asking what you want to shop for first. There we were, offering Casey virtually anything she wanted in the store, only to get the reality check of our lives when she looked at the floor, refusing to meet our eyes, and whispered, "I need warm boots."

Julie and I looked at each other. There were two ways to take this; either we had a budding shoe-girl in our midst, or Casey knew she had to go for warmth and practicality over the frivolity of toys. With tears in our eyes, we headed to the shoe department.

Once we got Casey situated with warm boots and a funky pair of metallic blue high-tops that caught her eye, (after all, who were we to question the impulse shoe purchase?) we asked if she wanted to go to the toy department next. Did she want a bike? A doll? Legos? Play Doh? We were practically begging her … the world is your oyster for the next hour, Casey … let us give you anything you want. Anything … just tell us and we'll make it happen.

I saw the hesitation in her face when we were tempting her with all the different goodies in the toy department. As she stared at the floor, I asked "How about a coat? Do you need some warm clothes?" Casey almost looked relieved at my suggestion, met my eye, and said, "Yes … I need warm clothes." Again, Julie and I made eye contact, and without a word between us, I felt our hearts jointly break.  

At the other end of a long aisle, I noticed a big, hulking, burly police officer, walking hand in hand with a child who was no more than three. The glaring disparity in their sizes, his gentle voice, and the evident trust between them brought a fresh wave of tears over me. There is so much horror in our world … poverty, abuse, hunger, injustice. But there is also so much good, and I was seeing it, all around me, in Target. I felt so privileged to be in that little bubble of good that day, in our very own snow globe of Christmas spirit, goodwill and love.

Once in the girl's department, we piled warm shirts, socks, a faux fur trimmed hoodie and more into Casey's cart. At that point, we all knew that the contents of the cart far exceeded the $130 allotted on the gift card. We hadn't even hit the toy department yet, but our excitement bubbled over. Everyone's did. The Captain told us that every year the children's check-out totals exceed the gift card limit, and the officers all reach into their own pockets and pay the difference. 

So, while I actually did see the man in the red suit that day, there was overwhelming evidence that everything he stands for was all around us. I saw kindness and laughter, the beaming faces of underprivileged children, and infinite generosity. I saw trust and tenderness between children and the officers they had just met. I saw gratitude, and a resolute determination to make a difference. I saw joy, and I saw love. 

Was Santa there? No … I don't think so. But I know that everything I saw in that Target store in Las Vegas would have made him proud. See for yourself ... and make sure you watch to the very, very end!

http://youtu.be/00JLyAqPHf4


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The Light of a Single Candle

           There's no denying it. Try as I might, I just have to face the hard, cold truth, and confront reality head on. That's the only way to deal with anything of difficulty, so, here goes …

          (Deep breath …)

           Hi, my name is Jennifer. I'm the President and founder of Fabulous Shoe Night, and … I am living my life running around like a chicken with my head cut off. 

          Unfortunately, it's all too true. It literally pains me to admit that half the time I don't know whether I'm coming or going. At this point, the administrative side of Fabulous Shoe Night is a one-woman show … and I am the one woman. Everything falls on my plate. Everything. 

           Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Being this busy is a clear indication that Fabulous Shoe Night is succeeding, and I honestly couldn't be more grateful. We now have nine chapters up and running, since only May of this year, and I am in talks with another 8 women throughout the country interested in starting chapters after the New Year. I'm exhausted, scattered, unfocused, stressed out, always running late, and sometimes, downright weepy. Yet, I must still have some sense of humor left, because I realized that if I used just one more adjective describing my perpetually harried, windblown state, I could make a Seven Dwarves joke. I'm just too tired to.

           Common sense would dictate that when one is any of the above, it's time to breathe, center oneself and focus. That's it … I'll meditate! Ironically enough,  I'd been meaning to learn how to meditate for at least two decades, so … no time like the present! To further stress (pun intended) the point that it really was time to learn to meditate, I was delighted to see that Oprah and Deepak Chopra were doing a 21 Day Meditation Challenge, where you'd receive a daily email with a guided meditation that would teach you to meditate, correctly, from a master like Deepak Chopra himself, no less.

           I think. 

           You see, I'm really not sure, because although I did sign up to take part in the challenge, I just didn't have time to actually open the emails. So, day after day they would pile up in my inbox, taunting me with their serene, fully actualized silence. I just knew the whole world was smugly meditating all around me … and it was driving me crazy. Yes, that's right … the 21 Day Meditation Challenge had turned into a jaw-clenching, teeth grinding source of stress for me, yet another unfinished task that remained on my gerbil wheel of a to-do list.

           Whether I was driving to another meeting, on the phone with a prospective new chapter leader, answering the unending stream of emails, or rushing to pick up the dry cleaning, dinner, the children, running, running, running, always late, I was actually feeling like the season swirling all around me. I'd see the wind blow the fallen autumn leaves in relentless, scattering whirlwinds, and think, "Wow … that's how I feel." 

          Scattered. Out of control. Windblown.

           I remembered I'd once read an article, years ago, about focusing on the flame of a candle to center yourself; that with enough practice, just visualizing the flame itself, no matter where you were or what you were doing, could immediately calm and center you. Surely I could manage this simple exercise.

           Yet it wasn't until I attempted to quiet my cluttered mind that I truly saw the cacophony it had become. Random, useless, obtuse thoughts flitted in constantly, vying for my attention like spoiled, tantruming children. Clearly, I was awful at this. 

           Over time, though, something amazing occurred. I began to associate the flame not as the symbol of the peace and serenity I so craved, but as my personal symbol for Fabulous Shoe Night itself … one I think I carried all along, but was just too frantic to ever consciously realize.

           Fabulous Shoe Night began as a spark … as a mere wink and tugging desire deep in my heart to do more. As the idea crystallized and took shape, the spark glowed steadily and caught flame. It was the vision of that sure and steady flame that I mentally followed and went back to time and again, guiding me, helping to keep the vision pure. With the opening of our second chapter, I could see the lighting of the symbolic second candle … lit by the flame of the first. As we continue to open chapters, we are really spreading this continuation of light, warmth and hope ... our very own glowing daisy chain of good-will and giving.

           Now, as I am beginning to grasp just how far we can take Fabulous Shoe Night, I envision the glow of thousands upon thousands of candles, each lit individually from an existing flame, originating from that one flame. Unbelievably, my mind's eye goes even further, and leaps ahead to the vision of a satellite picture of the earth, one we have all surely seen, taken in darkness, of the breathtaking beauty of twinkling lights across the globe. 

           Amazingly, that picture from above is what now helps to center and calm me, for it is a goal to focus on ... the light at the end of the tunnel, beckoning us forward. A thousand twinkling lights, tiny symbols of hope and giving … shining brightly, connected … all from a single candle. 

            

            "Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared. " ~~ Budda  

       

     

              Follow us on Twitter @FabShoeNight

             

Unexpected Treasure

Whenever I explain Fabulous Shoe Night to someone who is unfamiliar with the concept, there are always a few things I try to emphasize. No, we do not sell shoes. Nope, we're not a charity, either, but rather a social and networking group, a vehicle to help charities. I try to stress that while we are about gathering together in fun, the focus is really about giving. FSN gives in so many ways …. but what is shocking to me is the recent realization that it gives in ways I had never anticipated, or even dreamed about.  

The idea for Fabulous Shoe Night first came to me when I was at a serious crossroads in my life. Not only were my children getting older and in school all day, but I was at a professional impasse as well. I didn't want to return to being a wound care nurse because it would entail months of re-training after my 15 year absence, and frankly, I didn't want to bring on the stress of being a floor nurse again. I knew I was lucky that I didn't "have to" work, but not working was clearly not working for me. I was bored and increasingly frustrated, and that frustration led to sadness and a kind of hollow hopelessness. I was unhappy … the kind of unhappiness that results when you know you're just not living up to your full potential. Not even close.

It got to the point where I would lie in bed at night, wide awake long after everyone else had fallen asleep … and cry. I was able-bodied and intelligent, but what was I really doing with my life? Sure, raising our three boys to be kind, thoughtful, productive men was important, but I yearned for more. There was something more out there meant for me … I just knew it. I just didn't know what.

It was during these tear-filled nights that I began to pray. Not the prayers of my childhood I was taught to say before bed, but more like talking … which eventually turned into pleading. "Use me," I'd whisper. "Tell me what it is you want me to do. Show me."  It became the mantra I'd repeat until I finally fell asleep, but not before adding, shyly, "But … if I may make a teeny suggestion? Just … not as an organ donor … okay?" 

Many months passed before I finally got what I feel was my answer. Sometimes I think God, or the Universe, (or whatever name you use for that higher power), waits to see the consistency of our prayers, perhaps to gauge our sincerity and intent. I wrote about the day I feel I got what I would only later realize was my answer in a previous two-part blog post entitled "The (Too) High Price of Fashion." (http://fabulousshoenight.blogspot.com/2011/09/part-1-trip-ive-relayed-several-times.html). I like to think that I was struck by lightning on that pivotal day … although, at the time, all I really wanted to do was crawl into the nearest hole.

While I often refer to this experience of building Fabulous Shoe Night as a "journey," it has not been an easy one. Our format has changed and evolved over time into a solid business model, but there have been potholes and missteps along the way. Now, we are facing growing pains borne out of our rapid growth. A good problem to have, certainly, but it can be daunting, overwhelming and downright frightening as well. 

Happily, the benefits Fabulous Shoe Night presents far outweigh any of our current challenges. Truly, I see this as one of the great gifts of my life. In some ways, I envision my journey bringing FSN to fruition as the act of actually unwrapping that gift, and that these kinks we are finding now are really just additional layers of frothy tissue paper to sift through as we dig deeper to unveil the shining present at the bottom, whole and complete.

It never dawned on me that others would come to think of Fabulous Shoe Night as a gift in their lives as well, but, as FSN continually surprises and delights me, I really shouldn't be surprised. My wonderful, wonderful chapter leaders have each told me that they are grateful for the opportunity to start and lead a chapter to support charities in their communities and take part in the FSN journey. But it has evolved into more than that, even in their own lives. 

Time and again, I hear that Fabulous Shoe Night has brought unexpected joy, friendships, meaning and purpose to their lives. And the kicker is, they thank me!! Yet it is really I who is incredibly grateful to them. What they see as an opportunity is actually their participation in helping to make my dream a reality, for I couldn't do any of this without them. 

It was while pondering this immense, seemingly unending capacity Fabulous Shoe Night has toward giving that I realized it is not as much that gift in a box, waiting to be unwrapped, as it is an energy and entity all it's own … a movement that simply cannot be contained. It is growing, expanding, and, by the very laws of nature, things that grow have a heartbeat, a life-force, do they not? If you think about it, it is a gift … a gift we are able, and grateful, to give, month after month, to charities in our communities, in our own backyards.

What we have essentially created is a giving circle, for giving has a profound effect on the giver as well. The more we see the effects of Fabulous Shoe Night in our own communities, the more we want to spread the word, and the giving. We have realized, perhaps with some fear and trepidation at the enormity of our shared scope, that we can take this far … so far, for the potential truly is boundless.  There are no boundaries in Fabulous Shoe Night. It is a gift we hope to, and can,  give to the world.

And, thinking about that, is where the feelings of fear, joy, hope and thrill leap into my heart, for we haven't even gotten started yet.

In fact … we've barely just begun.

"Giving of any kind … taking action … begins the process of change, and moves us to remember that we are part of a much greater universe."     ~~ Mbali Creazzo

Follow us on Twitter @FabShoeNight

Feathering My Nest

            I hate to say it … sometimes I hate to even think it, but I'm looking forward to my three boys going back to school. I love them … you know I do, but I honestly think there can be such a thing as too much family time. And, while I'm at it, I also think the summer is about two weeks too long. 

           There. I said it. 

           Because boys can be a lively, and sometimes difficult, dynamic, when we bought our house, I wanted an upstairs playroom; something contained and out of the way that could be a perpetual mess you just could close the door on if company ever popped over. A sound-proof room would have been good, too, but one out of two isn't bad.

           As our boys grew (in the blink of an eye!), the need for a playroom vanished along with the Legos, Tonka trucks and wooden building blocks. For a while it was just an empty room … an extra room holding a lot of possibility, but no real purpose. Then I was hit with the idea of Fabulous Shoe Night, and it eventually evolved into a full-time job.  Now that room finally had another purpose. It would become my office. 

           I needed an office. Desperately. I am not kidding that I'd be sitting at the kitchen table, furiously typing away on my laptop, only to be startled by the blur of a tennis ball whizzing past my head, perilously close. Did I mention my youngest son is a pitcher?  With good aim, thank goodness.

           Tucked away in a upstairs corner, my new office is easily the loveliest room in the house. Vaulted ceilings, with a large Palladian window overlooking our back yard, it was always too nice to ever be a playroom. In the transformation from playroom to office, I took great care to make it truly mine. Living in a house with all boys, this could be my one feminine room, yet not girly and pink. 

           I ordered the prettiest chandelier I could find, and had the walls painted an elegant shade of green that can only be described as … army. Wait, what happened to feminine, you ask? Army green ... really? Trust me … with hardwood floors, the perfect carpet that took months to find, a bronze chandelier entwined with crystals and faux vines, gorgeous inlaid mahogany desk that was a relative steal (courtesy of Craig's List), and cherry bookcases, it's the perfect backdrop. 

          My office is now, only recently, complete, and the timing couldn't be better, as my boys are going back to school after a long summer. I could finally get to work, in peace, sans flying objects.

           Then, the fear set in.

           It happens from time to time. Out of no where, I'll get afraid, and crippling doubt sets in. What if Fabulous Shoe Night flops? What if I can't take this where I can see, so clearly, in my mind's eye? What if I had all these dreams of starting chapters all over, and helping charities in all those different communities, and it just … never comes to pass? What if I fail? 

          What if I fail?

          What if I fail?

           Fears aside, I'm still a Mommy, and it was time to do some back-to-school shopping. On the rainy Labor Day before school started, I took my oldest son to get some shirts. Walking past the housewares department, I was transfixed, mid-stride, by a simple framed canvas with assorted birds on a telephone wire, and the word "Hope" in the background. For some reason it spoke to me … loudly.  

           Hope. Isn't hope the unrealized dream that has yet to come true?  Your heart's most fervent wish? The finish line … that gauzy, not so clearly defined picture in your mind's eye that motivates you to get up in the morning and try again? Even after a bad day, after a string of days where nothing seems to be happening? Hope is, and can be, the great motivator.

           It could be that I bought the print because the colors perfectly complimented my army green walls, but a little introspection brought some startling insights. 

           It hit me like a ton of bricks. How could I not have noticed this before? I literally have birds all over my house. From the large, framed prints in my dining room, to the whimsical salt and pepper shakers I recently bought, it seems I'd been an unconscious collector for years. 

           I looked around with a new awareness … the bronze sparrows on my kitchen windowsill; the rustic server on the kitchen table graced with two perching birds on it's wide rim, holding faux pears and decorative ceramic balls painted with, you guessed it, birds. Continuing my search, I was shocked to find yet more birds …  perched on framed prints in my kitchen, embroidered on napkins, peering down from bookcases and atop kitchen cabinets. 

           The biggest shock was the realization that the daily visitor on our deck is … a bird. Last summer, I noticed a nest of gray mourning doves in a tall evergreen just on the other side of the deck railing. They seem happy and comfortable in our yard, as they're almost always around. But this summer one of them has been spending a tremendous amount of time perched on our deck railing, literally several hours at a time … even when I am sitting 10 feet away. 

            The first time he (she?) came to the railing as I was seated at the table, I was shocked it stayed as long as it did. We watched one another benignly, and I was even able to get up and go in and out of the house without it flying away. The bird perched, several times a week, in the same place, and seemed to watch the house until I came outside. And I would. There we would sit … me and the bird, chillin' together in that comfortable, companionable silence of old friends.

           Oddly enough, my friend the dove has a calming effect on me as I sit on my deck, or up in my office, worrying about whether or not I can pull off this crazy idea of mine. I just have to look over at it's calm, steady presence, and somehow feel a bit better about things.

           A little research has shown the mourning dove, also known as the angel dove, is the harbinger, of all things, hope. Coincidence? Perhaps, but I am comforted nonetheless that my worries, concerns, wishes and dreams may very well drift skyward … on a wing and a prayer.

           

             "Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches on the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all."   ~~ Emily Dickinson

            Follow us on Twitter @FabShoeNight

To Las Vegas ... With Love

      The last time I was in Las Vegas, I was 4 years old, bundled in the back of a station wagon with my sleeping cousins. I don't remember much, other than arriving late at night, and my mother waking us up to see "all the pretty lights" as we drove down the Strip. As an adult, I never had much of a desire to go to Vegas. My husband and I are not gamblers, and it seemed a rather far way to go to see a show, considering that Broadway is a two-hour drive away. I just never gave it much thought, since I obviously wasn't missing anything.

Oh, how I love it when life proves me wrong.

Las Vegas, land of and sequins and slick promises, it's bright lights a beacon to the hopeful and hopeless, is actually a city with a huge heart. Las Vegas is misjudged solely by it's alter-ego, designed to attract tourists and their money. But, like a show-girl covered in thick stage makeup, you need only to wash off the the caked layers to uncover the real beauty beneath. Dazzling, head-turning, genuine beauty.

Economically depressed, with the worst housing market in the nation, Las Vegas' true heart comes from it's residents. Those who haven't experienced hard times themselves have seen it, up close and personal, among family, friends and neighbors. A definite perception of tenuousness abounds, as if the solid ground of a job and money in the bank may be pulled beneath their feet at any moment.

You would think that this undercurrent of uncertainty would foster an "every man for himself" mentality, yet I have seen the opposite is true. When I was initially approached to start a Fabulous Shoe Night/Las Vegas chapter, I was excited, thinking it was the perfect glitz and party town for a showy kick-off, and planned a trip out there for the fun and glamour Vegas is known for. While there was plenty of glitz and glamor to be found, non-gambler that I am, I left with pockets filled with sweet memories, a new, dear friend, and a heart brimming with the realization that  I was lucky Las Vegas found me and Fabulous Shoe Night.

       I was picked up at the airport by my friend Julie, the FSN/Las Vegas chapter leader, whom I had never met before. Friend? Oh, yes … by this time, it was obvious we were friends. Some things you just know.

 We spent cumulative hours on the phone before meeting, and sent copious emails back and forth, all in preparation of the new chapter's launch. It was obvious, this new chapter was in the best of hands. Fabulous Shoe Night is a labor of love, and those who don't get it never will get it. Sweet, easy to talk to, with a huge heart … Julie gets it. Her friends, who I humorously dubbed as "elves" for the magic they performed putting the event together, get it. And the women of Las Vegas, who so fully embraced the FSN concept and came out in droves to support it, absolutely get it. 

       I was moved, sometimes to tears, by the hard work and determination Julie and her team put into the event. They desperately wanted it to be a success … not for the sake of success itself, but because of who they were working for.

Julie and her chapter advisors chose to benefit Project 150LV for the launch, a charity dedicated to helping the 5000+ homeless teens in the Las Vegas area. Yes … that's right. Five THOUSAND homeless teenagers in and around Las Vegas. It's hard enough just being a teenager, but to add homelessness to the mix? I can't even begin to imagine.

I was so elated at their choice of charity that I broke one of my own hard and fast rules and allowed three men to attend the launch event … the founders of Project 150LV. Patrick, Don and Blake are, quite simply, great guys. Two of the three are teachers at a local high school, and have a front row seat on the front lines. It must be hard to see the effects of homelessness on the children they teach, but for these men, harder to see it and not do anything about it.  Time and again, I saw evidence of the heart of Las Vegas, and Don, Pat and Blake have it in spades.

        The evening of the launch party went by in a blur. At one point, there was a line, ten-deep, to get in. The invitation requested a donation of gently used shoes, and by the end of the evening, we had collected over 400 pair of shoes, donated by 82 women. I told you Vegas had heart. 

 Again and again, as I mingled in the crowd, introducing myself, talking with the women, I was asked, "How did you think of this?" My answer was always the same, "I don't know … I don't know. It just kind of … evolved." And, again and again, much to my chagrin,  I was thanked. "Thank you so much for thinking of this … for providing us with an affordable girl's night out … for giving us an opportunity to give back … for getting us out of the house … for giving us a reason to wear our shoes that have been sitting in the closet."  

       I, in turn, thanked them, for none of this would have been possible without them. "Thank you for coming … for believing in my dream. Thank you for your support. Thank you for spreading the word and bringing so many friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you …."

 The thank you's echoed back and forth, bounced off the walls, and circled back again. As always the case with gratitude, it multiplied and spread it's wings, growing ever larger and stronger, leaving what I can only describe as a pink, happy glow around the room, and an infusion of sisterhood, good-will and happiness. You could see it. There was magic, right there in the room with us, and you could actually see it. 

As I flew back home, my heart literally bursting, I felt as if my joy alone was powering the aircraft. Watching the red earth below grow ever  greener as we headed east, I felt my dreams swirling among the clouds, perhaps where they first originated, confident that they were that much closer to becoming true on solid ground.

Thank you, Las Vegas, for showing me your heart, and all that goes along with it. Thank you for welcoming me with open arms, and embracing my "little idea that could." It is because of you and your confidence in the Fabulous Shoe Night  concept that we continue to expand, enabling us to spread the joy, spread the love, and spread the giving. 

How beautifully ironic is it then, that because of you, Las Vegas, the odds are most definitely in our favor?

http://video214.com/play/nJWMbET1OcDHX13leVT7gA/s/dark

Special thanks go out to Anton Lopez of 89photography.com for so generously donating his  time and talent.

Redefining Fabulous

Now that I'm home from Hollins, and have (hopefully!) answered everyone's questions about the experience, it's time to get back to tried and true Fabulous Shoe Night business. And there has been a lot going on behind the scenes. While it's been frenetically busy setting up new chapters near and far, making final touches on the new web site, training new chapter leaders, etc., the same issue seems to be popping up yet again.

Yep … the issue of "fabulousness."

I thought we had already covered this, but I suppose it bears repeating. Don't get me wrong … I fully admit to drooling over all those glossy magazines featuring high-end, ridiculously priced sky-scraper heels just loaded with ankle-breaking potential, but the term "fabulous" (at least for our purposes) includes shoes in every heel height … and price range. I could just cry in frustration every time someone asks me about the Fabulous Shoe Night concept, only to then sheepishly inform me that, "Oh, I can't go … my shoes aren't fabulous enough."

Just the thought that some assume only high-end shoes are somehow part of the membership "criteria" conjures up visions of mean girls.  You know the type … haughty, condescending and oh-so-label-conscious. Nope! Not us! In fact, I'm proud to say that this image couldn't be further from the truth of who we really are.

So I often find myself repeatedly clarifying what "fabulous" really means in Fabulous Shoe Night. While this is a membership organization, it is not exclusive in the sense that anyone, or any type of shoe, is excluded. We are proudly, unabashedly, determinedly inclusive. Anyone, with any type of shoe, is welcome at Fabulous Shoe Night. 

(Well … hold on a second. My "I'm-not-really-a-lawyer, I'm-just-married-to-one" side is clamoring to speak up for a minute. My use of the word  "anyone" means any woman. Much to our amusement, we have been receiving RSVP's to Fabulous Shoe Night events at our existing chapters from men. Are there fabulous men out there wearing fabulous shoes? Without a doubt. But this is a women's social group … sorry, guys. And … just being honest here, we can't help but wonder if some of you may even have had --gasp! --an ulterior motive!)

Fabulous Shoe Night is not about shoes, fabulous or not. While we certainly provide an occasion to wear  your fabulous shoes, what we're really about is friendship, meeting new people, networking, and an evening out that does a little good in the world. 

The word "fabulous" is so subjective, anyway. I can't tell you how many times I've pried my "fabulous" shoes off my sore and tender feet after a night out, put on my cozy slippers, and sighed with delicious relief. Now that feels fabulous! But what about looking fabulous? Do high-end shoes have the market on fabulousness? Not even close. While at an event once, a woman looked down at my shoes and stated, with near reverence, "Those are the Diors I've been lusting after!" I wanted to laugh out loud! What she confidently mistook as Christian Diors were actually … oh, the horror! … Steve Maddens. And while they are fabulous, they also cost about $1000 less! Now that felt fabulous.

Yes … believe it or not, Steve Maddens can be fabulous. And if you're of the mindset that only high-end designer labels translate to fabulous, then perhaps we're not the group for you. 

Sometimes I feel I need to write a disclaimer, similar in tone to the inscription on the Statue of Liberty, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free …" It would be smacked, dead-center, on the homepage of our website and rephrased as such … "Come to us in your Steve Maddens, Nine West, flip flops and Uggs …" Humor has always been the great equalizer, but here, the message is the same.

We at Fabulous Shoe Night are a lot of things, because we're made up of a lot of different types of women. But the one thing we're not is judgmental.

That's just not fabulous. 

Olympic Training

            My last blog post was so intensely personal, and received such a hugely positive and emotional response from my readers that I realized I would be remiss if I didn't address the question everyone has been asking me; 

            How was your trip to Hollins?

            Hmmm … where to begin?

            I loved my time at Hollins, for so many different reasons.  Looking back, I'm amazed that I was initially so conflicted about attending myself, but I was. My stutter, mild as it was, was such a deeply ingrained part of me, of my very sense of self, that I think I wondered just who I would be without it?  Not to worry, that pesky stutter is never that far off … but I digress.

            I learned a lot about the treatment of stuttering at Hollins, but also much about stuttering itself. (And here I thought I was an expert all these years!) Physiologic in nature, people who stutter are born with vocal cords that just don't function properly. Vocal cords are supposed to vibrate and touch each other gently upon vocalization, but the stutterer's vocal cords essentially bang together, even during long periods of fluency, like I had. Much like a Type 1 diabetic is born with a faulty pancreas, one that doesn't function properly, the person who stutters is born with an improperly working vocal apparatus. Speech is actually a terribly complex function, dependent on the cooperation and proper execution of many different muscle groups … simultaneously.  No easy task if you were born with that particular genetic switch turned off. And there is a genetic component involved … although, to add to it's maddening mystery, not in all cases.

            Located in Roanoke, VA, Hollins Communications Research Institute sits upon an elevated area in a city that is surrounded, on all sides, by mountains. Our daily view was spectacular. Sounds like hallowed ground?  I certainly think so, but Hollins is actually world-renown. The military sends people there regularly, and several of Hollywood's elite are among it's alumni. (Unfortunately, no amount of begging  would get the staff to divulge names.)

            We were a group of nine, coming from all around the country, made up of predominantly college students, with a 3:6 female to male ratio The only children in the group were my son, and a 12 year old little beauty from the South. Our stutters varied in severity.  

            That first morning, as we sat in the lounge waiting for the program to begin, sizing each other up, no one spoke. Days later, when we all became more comfortable with one another, and actually started talking to each other, a few of the college guys divulged that they had my age pegged at 33, and initially had no idea my son and I were related. Needless to say, I have a deep and abiding love in my heart for them, notwithstanding that college boys are notoriously unobservant.

            

            Our 12 days at Hollins were busy and very structured, beginning at 8:00 AM sharp, and ending at 5:00 PM, seven days a week, except Sundays, which went from 9:00 AM to 4:00 PM. By Sunday, Day 7,  those extra 2 hours off felt like unbelievably decadent luxury. We were all exhausted, yet mindful that we were only half-way through.

            The Hollins Fluency Program is based on muscle memory … replacing incorrect muscle movements with correct muscle movements. Repetition is key. Hours of it. Normally, anything this repetitive would drive me insane, but I was surprised at how difficult this was! We spent hour upon hour in our "cubicles," which were actually little rooms, about 6x6 feet, with full doors,  a counter-top extending the width of the back wall, a computer and a chair. Here, we would vocalize different combinations of sounds over and over into a specially made microphone sensitive enough to detect banging vocal folds. So sensitive that a sneeze from the next cubicle could throw a perfect score off. (My neighbor had allergies. Yippee.) We worked in 20 minute increments, with a 10 minute mandatory break, retraining our muscles, learning to feel and distinguish what is a correct muscle movement as opposed to the incorrect muscle movements we'd been doing our entire lives.  I was essentially learning to un-do 46 years of speaking a certain way. That this was physically and mentally challenging is a gross understatement. It was exhausting, yet also exhilarating. Conquering a demon you've been taunted by your entire life always is, I suppose.

             Our group became very close. We really were so lucky to have such a fantastic group of people, all working together, yet individually, toward the same goal. And while I was easily old enough to have been everyone's mother, they never made me feel that I was anything other than one of them. On Day 6, we even all got the giggles together, erupting in laughter, which we all tried unsuccessfully to contain, at one silly, over-used line in our workbooks. I was inwardly horrified at myself that I giggled right along with them … surely I was old enough to know better! But I felt simply powerless to stop it … we all did. The staff took it in stride, up to a point, understanding the pressure we were  under.

            At the end of the 12 day program, every one of us was fluent.  Although I wish I could wrap this post up with a fairy tale ending about living happily ever after in our new-found, hard-won fluency, this is real life we're talking about. Yes, we were all fluent, but our recently acquired skills are fragile, and very, very tenuous. It takes but a second of speaking using our "old speech habits," or our old muscle memory, for the stutter to come right back … and unfortunately it's as easy as slipping on a comfortable, old pair of shoes.  The staff warned us of this, using the analogy that it would always be lurking right behind us, waiting to bite us in the ass, if we aren't aware 100% of the time. That made me think of Mad-Eye Moody, for all you Harry Potter fans out there, whose tag line became, "Constant vigilance!!" We, too, need to be constantly vigilant … of every breath we take, and every syllable we utter, for as long as it takes for the new muscle memory to kick in … permanently. We also need to practice, twice daily in these first months out of the program, and then once daily … probably forever. The stark reality is that for those who don't practice, there is a 100% fail rate.

            Sound like a lot of work to maintain something so effortless for all you lucky, genetically-blessed fluent people out there? It is … it really, really is. But I prefer to look at it another way.

            If you think about it, we have been given a tremendous gift. We have the opportunity to achieve something truly great … to defeat something so challenging, so insidiously difficult to truly conquer. The staff at Hollins, who I think we all came to love, reminded us on a daily basis that the muscle memory we hope to attain is no different than that of an Olympic athlete.  So, when you're watching the Olympic trials and Games this summer … think of all the hours, actually years, of practice, sweat, toil and dedication the athletes went through to achieve their dream. Then, think of us, for we're at the very beginning of our journey … putting in the same dedication, blood, sweat and tears to achieve our dreams … of speaking as effortlessly as you.

            So, if you happen to speak with me, and you hear me stumble slightly, then go back and "re-correct" the incorrect muscle movement, please keep in mind that I'm just a novice. It doesn't mean the program didn't work, just that I'm working out the initial kinks. We all are. But, bonded as we now are, we will help one another across the finish line, cheering each other on, there to support one another and practice over the phone together, and hopefully one day pass the torch along to future classes at Hollins, with the skill and muscle memory of an Olympic athlete.

           

            I learned patience, perseverance and dedication.  Now I really know myself, and I know my voice. It's a voice of pain and victory.   ~~ Anthony Hamilton

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