Be warned, shoes can get you in trouble if you're not careful with them. I know this because my shoes have gotten me into some odd situations. Two of which are as memorable to those who witnessed these episodes as they are to me. It's good I'm writing this because when I relate these two events aloud, the laughter usually interrupts the story before it's finished. My laughter that is. Those listening usually have facial expressions somewhere between disbelief and "She's really gone nuts this time". If you don't know me, you might find it hard to believe. If you do know me, you understand it is true. Every last sole-ful word of it is true.
I have never, ever, ever, (thanks Taylor) owned a pair of high heels. The tallest heels I've ever owned are the 2 inches on my old shit-kickers. At 5'9" I don't have a desire to be taller. As the proud owner of the nickname "Grace" growing up, I don't have a need for twisted ankles and scraped limbs from falling down steps. I've had plenty of those while in my sneakers and flats. I suppose my ragged relationship with shoes comes from just having to wear them at all. I never used to take good care of my shoes. I paid little attention to my shoes, and I suppose it was a matter of time before they and their friends revolted and gave me a footwear's version of a tongue lashing.
Event 1 in being schooled by my shoes began on a calm fall day showing no signs of what lie ahead. I needed new work shoes. I worked as an instructional aid and had "yard-duty" every day, which led me to comfy cozy shoes just high enough to keep my pant hems from dragging in the puddles and other nastiness found on middle school playgrounds. I found what I was looking for in a pair of Munro shoes, and was so fond of the fit that I purchased them in black, and in blue. I liked them even more because Munro is an American company. My black and blue shoes made by a red, white, and blue company.
I decided to take my new shoes on a test run (OK, walk) that evening. My husband and I were picking up my little brother and his wife to go out to dinner. We pulled in their driveway and I joyfully stepped out of the car as usual. Sister-in-law Susie walked towards me and I raised my right foot, twirling it around, showing off my latest purchase. All leather upper and strong last. "I like them so much I got them in blue too" said I. "I see that", said she. Weird response thought I. Giggle, giggle tee-hee, went she. As I opened the car door to climb in, I took another look at my brand new shoes. My black and blue shoes. My right black shoe, my left blue shoe. You get the picture. "Gyppo, we need to run back by the house" said I. Enough said.
Event 2 in being schooled by my shoes, and the lesson that finally made the point, came on a cold winter day in Weaverville, CA. We were going to a dinner as our sons guests and had driven over from the coast a couple hours before. I had hurriedly tossed some things in a bag to change when we got to his house. We had minutes to spare as I changed in his extra bedroom. I put on a clean blouse and slipped my feet into my shoes. Well, I slipped my right foot into a black right shoe. My left foot had a little trouble. There was no left shoe. There was no left black shoe. There was however, a right blue shoe. My two right shoes. My black and blue shoes.
Six o'clock on a Saturday in Weaverville, CA there is no hope for purchasing shoes. My daughter-in-law wears a size itty-bitty or something that doesn't stand a chance of housing my size 10's . The muddy hikers I wore over weren't going to work either. "Wag 'em and shag 'em", I hear from a trio of loggers ready to leave. Heading out the door into 30 degrees and light snow, the Gyppo wisely says "Put on your damn shoes". A lament he's all too familiar with living with me. "I will when we get there" I growled. I attempted a brief explanation of my dilemma to no avail. I don't remember if the noise in the truck for the next 10 minutes was supportive, or ridiculing. Probably ridiculing. I do know that as we made our way into the community hall ( full of about 200 people), I quickly made my way to our assigned table. Two right shoes make it a little difficult to walk so I kind of waddled to our table. By the time everyone had a round or two, my two right shoes were old news. Except to my two big toes which were still recovering from major cramping.
Such were my lessons in taking care of my shoes. I realize shoe care may not be priority to many people. I do suggest however, that you give your shoes the respect they need. Wipe them down with a cool cloth after a hard days work or a night out dancing. Give them a little spray of freshener on their over-tugged on tongues once in a while. And please, wash the dogs business off the poor soles, don't just do the grass wipe and run. That's a shoe's pet peeve. Neglected shoes, overworked and overrun, can rebel fiercely and form a mini confederate army of sorts. Rebel shoes come from all walks of life, and their leather uppers are brazen enough to sabotage any owner. And rebel shoes have friends. They have friends with all the newest shoe technology and reinforced lasts just waiting to give a little pay-back for the mistreatment of generations. So take heed, and take heel. Be true to your shoes.
Klamath Area - Early 1980's
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