The noun Woman can bring to mind many images. It can refer to someone young, middle age, elderly. The picture it invokes can be a sweet motherly type, or some tough broad. A Woman can be bright, strong, conniving, innocent. She can be an independent leader, or a little bit of fluff who needs taking care of. Usually, our experiences with women form the pictures which come to mind when we think of a Woman.
Throughout our lives, if we are fortunate, we meet women that we might wish to emulate. Sometimes we unconsciously snatch a bit of this, or that, from several different women, molding it until it becomes our own. These nuances, together with genes, environment, desire, and ambition make us who we eventually become.
Our biggest influences, whether we like it or not, are our Mother’s and older female relatives. After that it is the women who touch our lives. Sometimes they are long time friends, but often it is someone who we might know just casually. Someone who passes through our lives quickly. So quickly that their gilded edges never have time to tarnish before us, therefore they remain a mysterious creature.
Davida was a lovely Puerto Rican woman who always spoke with a musical accent, and enchanting hand motions. She was the epitome of class. Style and fashion was what she created for herself, and not what the trend of the day happened to be, or what some designer thought appropriate any particular hour of the day or night.
Lavender with a hint of rose was her favorite color. She always wore flattering flowing garments in her signature shade, if not the entire ensemble, then at least a scarf or necklace made her statement. Davida was plump, but one never noticed because of the way she floated into the room on strappy, high, heels, no matter what the weather. I never saw her without her make-up, although she never looked overly painted.
The term from the top of her head to the very tip of her toes applied to Davida if it ever applied to anyone. She was all Woman.
We had gone to a dance one evening. As always Davida was a brightly colored parrot in a room of pretty doves. You would have loved to hate her but it was impossible. She was genuine and charming. During the course of the evening, we excused ourselves from our partners, and as woman do, we went to the ladies room together. Besides the necessary reasons it gives as a few minutes to primp and chat about what woman sometimes discuss. I admired her shoes, and her impeccable pedicure. She went on to tell me, in great detail, it wasn’t just about the color of her polish. It looked so good because of the care she takes of her toes.
Every evening, when she is in the bath, Davida meticulously takes the time to scrub and pamper each foot and then each toe. One by one she soaps each little piggy, gives them special attention with a soft brush, and then rinsed. When its time to dry – each toe is carefull patted and then lotion massaged onto each foot and then the individual toes. “I never hurry. If you want your feet to be good to you, you must be good to your feet.” (This with a Spanish accent)
I was amazed. Sure I wash and dry my feet, and often rub lotion on them, but this was a ritual she was describing. I was envious. Of what I am still not sure. Perhaps that she took the time to treat herself so well. Whatever the reason, it was an eye opener. Davida really knew how to be a woman. I looked down at her toes encased in those strappy sandals and those little piggies really looked happy.
To this day I never give my feet and toes a passing slip shod shrub with a wash cloth. No sir, these tooties get all the attention they need. It doesn’t matter it I’m wearing sandals or sneakers. I am Woman hear me roar.