Does it really matter how many people know you, or like you for that matter? Half the time those that know you well and care have limited time to take you into account, and those that do, often times only want something from you.
When I turned 15, as is custom by Latino families, I had my quinceniera. It was a formal affair. I had to get all done up, make-up, hair and a dress that made me look like a child-bride. I had my hair done at this local, low-budget hair salon. I can’t remember the name but it had those bulbous hair dryers that made you look like an alien waiting to be hatched. I remember my mother was very much displeased at the way my hair turned out. She looked beyond frustrated at me for letting them do my hair the way they did, when in fact most of the time my back was to the mirror leaving me to view only fluttering hands and bits of conversation I was too uninterested to even pay mind to or even remember. The dress I had chosen was a bit Victorian looking with a high collar and lace. I thought the hair arrangement they turned out on my head, suited the dress, after all, upon closer inspection. However, my mother was always in competition with her sister and their lovely daughter with all her many beauteous attributes. I think my mother often felt we, my sister and I, did not measure up because we weren’t coquettish enough and did not have those girly figures and inclinations, of always wearing bows in our hair and patent leather shoes. I think my mother was caught in a time warp and thought we should wear our hair in neat girly coifs and have a stance that at once said demure, sweet and possibly more without being easy or slutty. In the end, I can’t remember hating it more than anything else in the world and hardly remember the Catholic ceremony that accompanied. It’s like a blur now and if it weren’t for photos of the event, I’d have no idea where each person stood or sat from the point we were at the church to when it all resumed into a full on fiesta back home and me dancing with my dad. The one fragment of this event that I have left and treasure is a necklace with a gold charm in the shape of a shoe and the look I got when I returned from my bedroom dressed in jeans after being fed up with wearing the dress and my hair down because it was hurting my scalp. I don't treasure the look, but I treasure the fact that it was one less bow, coif and stance that boiled over my mother in front of her sister. Smile. I wear the shoe charm necklace often and wonder how it made it this far into my future. The charm is hardly a quarter of an inch long and would get lost in even low pile carpeting. I don’t know who gave it to me now but I would guess it was from friends of my parents or aunt and uncle. Nothing else given to me then, other than the hair-do, the dress and the look from my mom is even as memorable as that little shoe. I love shoes.
This brings me full circle to now. My ex-mother-in-law gave me a cell-phone charm in the shape of a silver shoe with little rhinestones all over the toe part for my birthday (she said it was from my son). It’s a sling back style shoe and I love it. I don’t resent that it came from her, I’ve sort of made my piece with things regardless that she’s a big reason my marriage to her son failed. The thing that strikes a bad taste in my mouth is the ulterior motive behind it or it just might be my paranoia. Outside of giving me more gifts than usual since I graduated with my MBA, she’s also been much more interested in my coming by when my son is over their house. It’s only come to my attention as a big coincidence because my ex’s wife has been calling me and complaining about his parents and him in general since last October. I probably should not answer the phone but between curiousity and pity I can’t ignore the call. She certainly needs someone to talk to because I know what it felt to be married to him/them. Yesterday she called and told me she is packing her stuff little by little and does not plan to be around next Christmas. I feel sorry for her but I mostly wonder what this will do to our son. He’s gone from having a mom and dad, to a step-mom, step-sister, half-brother and dad, to possibly not getting to see his little brother, step-sister and step-mom for long periods of time or ever again. I am not sure, but the one thing I am sure of right now is the expectations. Is there more to it? I feel the sudden attention towards me by my ex-mother-in-law is an attempt to get me on their side before this heads for divorce court or perhaps they fear that a 3rd divorce on his part could strengthen my position against his ability to provide a stable home environment for our son. He currently lives on his parent’s property but hardly ever comes up with the money to pay them the monthly rent due towards the mortgage payment his mother has to maintain along with her own mortgage payment for the house she actually lives in. I certainly hope he does not think he can hook back up with me. Maybe now that he sees that I’ve successfully finished my degree and have a steady income (not that I ever didn’t – he was just a big drain on it), that he can come waltzing back and be the kept man he was trying to be when first he and I parted ways. This is not the time to take me into account because I don’t want to be the fair weather friend that has the wind blowing into her sails when he’s downstream without a paddle. Does the shoe fit? I hope not! This is not a Cinderella story.
I was just visiting a new blog I found via Tumblr. I have a site there to post things I come across on the internet; mostly images. The blog is called Ellephanta, not mine - the one I found. I was noticing how the writer of this blog talked about how people use archives to understand a current post, posts referred to in the current post and often times to connect one post topic and the events that led to it. 
