A letter about making time for yourself

At 68, I spent the first beautiful Saturday of spring cleaning the house. My sister arrived with a picnic basket and asked what I was waiting for.

There was a Saturday at the beginning of spring when the weather was absolutely beautiful. Blue sky, a little breeze coming through the back door, and the sort of sunshine we spend the whole winter talking about.

And I was inside cleaning the kitchen cupboards.

Not because they desperately needed cleaning. They didn't. I'd done them only a few weeks earlier.

But there was washing to fold, a bathroom to tidy, and a list of little things I'd been telling myself I ought to finish before the weekend was over.

At about half past ten, my sister Helen arrived without warning.

She had a picnic basket in one hand, her handbag over her shoulder and an expression that told me she wasn't planning to stay for a cup of tea.

“Put your shoes on,” she said. “We're going out.”

I told her I couldn't. I had things to do.

She looked past me into the spotless kitchen and then back at my face.

“Maggie, you're sixty-eight. How much longer are you planning to wait before you enjoy a Saturday?”

I didn't have an answer.

I had spent forty years making sure everybody else had a lovely weekend. Somewhere along the way, I'd forgotten I was allowed to have one too.

It sounds rather dramatic written down like that. It wasn't dramatic at the time.

It was my sister, standing in my doorway with two sandwiches, a thermos and a perfectly reasonable suggestion.

And me, trying to explain why wiping the inside of a kitchen cupboard was more important than going somewhere lovely on the first warm weekend of spring.

I know there are women reading this who understand exactly what I mean.

You spend so many years keeping a household going that even when you finally have time for yourself, you feel obliged to fill it with something useful.

And sometimes somebody has to turn up at your door and remind you that enjoying yourself is useful too.

How I became the woman who always had something to finish

For most of my adult life, Saturday mornings were for getting things done.

When the children were little, there were school uniforms to wash, groceries to buy, lunches to prepare and a house that never seemed to stay tidy for more than twenty minutes.

Later there were grandchildren, family birthdays, Sunday lunches and the general business of making sure everybody had somewhere comfortable to come home to.

I enjoyed all of that. Truly, I did.

But when the children grew up and the house became quieter, I never quite learned to stop.

I still got up on Saturdays thinking about what needed doing.

And the strange thing was that the jobs always expanded to fill whatever time I gave them.

If the washing was finished, I'd clean a drawer. If the drawer was clean, I'd reorganise a cupboard. If everything was tidy, I'd find something that hadn't been done since Christmas.

Meanwhile, beautiful spring mornings came and went.

I'd look outside and think I should go somewhere next weekend.

Then next weekend arrived, and there was another list.

It took Helen standing on my doorstep to make me see how silly the whole arrangement had become.

The small things that made going out feel like an effort

There was something else I'd been doing without realising it.

I had started making even the simplest outing into a production.

If we were going somewhere nice, I worried about what to wear. If there was walking involved, I'd wonder which shoes would be suitable. If the weather was warm, I'd think about whether I'd be comfortable by lunchtime.

And by the time I'd thought through every possibility, staying at home often seemed easier.

That Saturday, Helen wasn't having any of it.

She told me to put on something comfortable, bring a cardigan in case the breeze picked up, and leave the house exactly as it was.

“The cupboards will still be there when you get back,” she said.

Unfortunately, she was right.

They usually are, sisters.

The yellow sandals I hadn't expected to like

A few weeks before that Saturday, I'd been browsing Perth Boutique for a new pair of everyday sandals.

My old ones were starting to look tired, and I wanted something I could wear during the warmer months without having to plan an outfit around it.

I came across a pair called Selina.

What caught my attention first wasn't the shape.

It was the yellow.

A lovely warm, golden yellow. More like the colour of sunshine on an old stone wall than a sharp, fluorescent yellow.

It reminded me of the yellow flowers that appear in the garden every spring, and the mustard-coloured cardigan I wore for years until it finally gave up.

Ordinarily, I would have chosen beige or black.

But something about this particular shade made me smile.

And I began to think that perhaps there was no harm in buying something simply because looking at it made me happy.

I didn't want shoes that made a grand statement.

I wanted shoes for ordinary mornings.

For going to the shops. For visiting Helen. For having lunch outside when the weather was too lovely to waste.

And somehow, the yellow looked exactly right for that.

Why I chose the Selina rather than another pretty sandal

The colour was a lovely surprise, but there were practical details that mattered more.

At 68, I've learned to look carefully at how sandals fasten.

Some have a buckle that never quite sits where you want it. Others have narrow straps that look delicate in photographs but aren't necessarily what I want for a whole afternoon.

The Selina has two adjustable hook-and-loop fastenings, with broad straps across the front and upper part of the foot.

That means you can adjust the fastening where it suits you, rather than relying on a fixed buckle hole.

There's also a strap around the heel, an open toe, a shaped tan footbed and a low sole.

Nothing particularly complicated.

Just the sort of practical details I now look for when choosing everyday footwear.

And what appealed to me was that the sensible design hadn't come at the expense of the colour.

For years I'd unconsciously divided shoes into two categories: practical ones and pretty ones.

It was refreshing to look at something that didn't seem to demand that choice.

What happened on the Saturday I finally said yes

By eleven o'clock, Helen and I were in the car.

I had put on cream linen trousers, a loose white top and the yellow sandals.

Helen looked down when I got in.

“Well, those are cheerful,” she said.

I told her I'd bought them from Perth Boutique and that I hadn't quite decided whether I was brave enough to wear yellow shoes regularly.

She gave me the sort of look only a sister can give you.

“Maggie, we're going for a picnic, not meeting the Queen.”

And that was the end of that discussion.

We drove towards the coast with the windows down a little and stopped to pick up a few pieces of fruit on the way.

The weather was glorious.

Not the fierce summer heat that makes you search for shade, but the gentle warmth of a Perth spring afternoon.

Helen had packed sandwiches, tea and the little biscuits she knows I like.

We found somewhere pleasant to sit, with a view of the water and enough breeze that we were glad we'd brought our cardigans.

And for the first time in ages, I wasn't thinking about the jobs waiting at home.

We talked about our childhood, our mother's old recipes, Helen's roses and a family wedding we were both looking forward to.

At some point we realised we'd been sitting there for nearly two hours.

I hadn't looked at my watch once.

And the most surprising part was that I didn't feel guilty about it.

The cupboards could wait.

The washing could wait.

Nothing terrible was going to happen because Maggie Whitfield had spent a perfectly good Saturday enjoying herself.

The afternoon I wanted to remember

After lunch, we wandered around a little more.

Helen wanted to look at the water from a different spot, and I wanted a photograph to send Kate because she'd been telling me for months that I needed to get out more.

It wasn't a long walk or anything ambitious.

Just two sisters taking their time on a lovely afternoon.

I liked having the adjustable straps on the Selinas. I could fasten them to suit my feet before we left and check the fit easily during the day.

The sandals were meant for ordinary outings, and that was exactly what I wanted from them.

I wouldn't claim that a pair of shoes is the reason I had such a pleasant afternoon.

The company and the weather deserve most of the credit.

But it was lovely to have a pair of sandals that looked right with my clothes and didn't require some elaborate decision before leaving the house.

Before we drove home, Helen asked if I'd enjoyed myself.

“Very much,” I said.

She told me she'd come back and drag me out again if necessary.

I said she wouldn't have to.

And I meant it.

Three things I've learned since that Saturday

One. The jobs don't disappear, but neither do they all need doing today. I spent years putting everything in order before allowing myself to enjoy an afternoon. I've learned that sometimes it's perfectly reasonable to leave the house as it is and go out.

Two. Getting dressed shouldn't be another job on the list. I now appreciate things that work with the clothes I already own. A pair of sandals with adjustable straps and a simple shape makes more sense to me than something I have to build a whole outfit around.

Three. It is never too late to become a little more spontaneous. At 68, I don't need to plan every pleasant moment three weeks in advance. Sometimes my sister can arrive with a picnic basket and I can simply say yes.

That last one might be the most important.

I've become very good at organising everybody else's life.

Perhaps it's time I left a little room in my own for surprises.

Why the yellow pair stays by the door

After that Saturday, I began wearing the yellow Selinas more often.

Not every day, and not for every occasion.

But they're a lovely option with the light clothes I wear during the warmer months.

The colour looks particularly nice with cream, white, pale denim and my navy linen trousers.

I like that the yellow isn't quite as bold as it sounds.

It's warm and cheerful, and the tan footbed softens the overall look.

And because they're sandals rather than a bright dress or jacket, they add a little colour without making the whole outfit about them.

Sometimes that's all I want.

Just something ordinary that makes getting dressed feel a little more enjoyable.

About the price

I want to mention what the Selina sandals cost because I was careful to check before deciding.

The yellow pair is currently listed at $64.99 AUD, reduced from a displayed comparison price of $218.00.

That's a substantial advertised reduction, so I would encourage you to look at the details and decide whether the sandals are right for you rather than ordering simply because something is on sale.

Perth Boutique lists free Australian shipping and a 30-day money-back guarantee.

The available sizes run from AU 3.5 through AU 9, with a foot-length guide in centimetres on the product page.

I'd recommend checking that chart carefully before ordering, especially if you sometimes fall between sizes.

Adjustable straps can help you fine-tune the fastening, but the actual length of the sandal still needs to suit your foot.

What interests me most about the Selina is the combination of the broad adjustable straps, heel strap, open-toe design and everyday styling.

And in the yellow, there's also a lovely little bit of personality.

For me, that makes them worth a closer look.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting out the back with a cup of tea and you told me that you never seemed to have time for yourself anymore, I think I'd tell you about that Saturday.

Not because a picnic changed my life overnight.

It didn't.

I still have washing to fold, groceries to buy and the usual thousand little jobs that appear whenever you turn around.

But I have become a little better at recognising when those jobs can wait.

And I have started to appreciate how nice it is to have simple things ready for the days when an opportunity comes along.

A comfortable outfit. A cardigan by the door. A pair of everyday sandals that suit the clothes I actually wear.

Nothing elaborate.

The yellow Selinas aren't a reason to go out on their own. But they're the kind of easy, cheerful footwear I like having ready when I do.

If you're looking for an adjustable everyday sandal for spring and summer, they're worth ten minutes of your time to look at.

See the colours, check the measurements and think about whether the style would work with your own wardrobe.

And whether you choose yellow, black, blue or something else entirely, I hope you find a reason to enjoy one of these lovely spring afternoons.

Because the cupboards will still be there when you get back.

I can promise you that much.

At 68, I've decided that a beautiful Saturday doesn't need to be earned. Sometimes you just need to put your sandals on and go.

Maggie