About Me:

Aloha! I'm Wendy Kennar. I'm the mother of a seven-year-old son and a wife living in Los Angeles. I was a public school teacher for twelve years until a chronic medical condition made it necessary to leave my teaching career.

I've always been described as "quiet" - really, I'm just biting my tongue. I've got lots to say, and lots of thoughts to share, I just prefer to write them. That's the purpose of this blog. Each Wednesday, I post a personal essay offering my observations and thoughts.

A few fun facts about me: I've wanted to be a writer since second grade, when my teacher, Mrs. Jones, made me a "book" with a yellow construction paper cover. I have never learned to whistle, have always preferred sunflowers to roses, and have spent my life living within the same zip code.

Through the years, my writing has been published in the Los Angeles Times, Christian Science Monitor, United Teacher, GreenPrints, L.A. Parent, DivineCaroline.com, RoleReboot.org, XOJane, and Brain, Child Magazine. Additionally, my personal essays have been included in several anthologies, including: The Barefoot Review, Beyond the Diaper Bag, Lessons From My Parents, Write for Light, Being a Grown-Up: A User's Manual for the Real World, Ka-Pow!, How Writing Can Get You Through Tough Times, Breath and Shadow, The Grey Wolfe Storybook, and Sisters Born, Sisters Found.
I am a regular contributor at MomsLA.com, and you can also find me at Goodreads.

Thanks for stopping by and reading my blog. Feel free to comment and share my blog with others!

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Clogs in My Closet

   I’m not like a lot of women.  I am a girl who acknowledges the importance of comfort and practicality.  I don’t totter around on high heels.  I slip my feet in and out of clogs instead.
     I started wearing clogs during my last semester at city college - during the period of time I started dating the man who would become my husband.  At the time, I found some soft black clogs at Payless Shoes. They were black, and squishy, and instantly comfortable.   And, in the odd way life works, my now-husband was working for a family friend who sold authentic Swedish clogs.  The hard ones with wooden bottoms.  The ones you could only wear for a short time each day until you broke them in.  
   Now I wear clogs that are somewhere in between.  Clogs with a cushioned sole that come in patent leather blue or black embroidered with flowers.  Except for the one pair of lace-up tennis shoes that I keep for reserve purposes, open-backed shoes are my shoe of choice.  I wear them with skirts and slacks, and the only time I really run into some trouble is during rainy days.
    Limiting myself to clogs, does limit my shoe choices, especially since I wear a size ten.  But they’re comfy, and when so much of life isn’t comfortable, I do my best to make sure that my shoes and clothes are.
   I found out that clogs were originally “workers shoes” made popular in many countries throughout Europe.  And I know that presently clogs are especially popular with chefs and physicians.  
   Clogs or not, by the end of the day, my feet are tired.  But at least with my clogs on, my feet have gotten little breaks, little moments of freedom when I slip my feet out of my clogs, stretch, and tuck them back inside and gear up for the next part of my day.  My own worker’s shoe.


  1. You have some really cool pairs of clogs,and as long as you are comfortable wearing them that is all that matters.I don't understand women who wear either really high heels or shoes that are way too tight for them just because they think they are in fashion.You are on your feet all day long and being comfortable is very important.I love reading your work and I love what you write about.I love you and I am so proud of you.

  2. As always, your writing, stimulates a lot of thought. Your Mother, recently purchased a pair of clog type shoes from the 99 cent store for me. I find them very comfortable. Your Mother and I are very proud of you.

    Love, Dad

  3. Honey,
    I Love You!
    You are an amazing writer.