Shoe Stories

This wasn't suppose to be a countdown, BUT, three weeks and counting until I leave for Japan.

Last week I decided that I needed to find a pair of good walking shoes for my trip. I like to take this moment to tell you that my favorite flat black shoes have died. I have never had a pair so comfortable. They felt like slippers. They were grown up shoes (well not with heels). I had a special bond with these shoes and wore them every day since I bought them in Haarlem, Amsterdam.
These shoes represented my ability to visit a foreign country and survive on my own. Last December when Bill and I went to visit Sue in Holland, Bill had to leave after one week. This left me to be with Sue and Lothar on my own. However Sue had found a job and well really I was on my own during the days. During an adventure to downtown Haarlem, I decided to shop. They have wonderful stores there. I went into a shoe store and was inudated with salespersons speaking Dutch. Of course I apologized that I did not know their language. Through a series of smiles , gestures and pointing, I was able to find out what shoe size I needed. After some time, I found two pairs that fit like gloves and felt absolutely great. Never in my shoe shopping experience has this been so! I bought both of them and left.
These shoes have been worn everyday since then. I loved them. Alas I wore them out. Scuffed and salt soaked leather gave way to a unholy hole. They are now sitting on my shoe rack where they will be for a long time until I HAVE to discard them. They are good for shlepping around to the garbage room.
I have been looking for several weeks for a new pair of replacement shoes. However, I had not been able to find a pair to equal its comfort. Or I wasn't ready to replace my other ones. Alas last week I went shopping and was not to come home until I found a good pair of good looking fashionable black leather slip ons.
I do not want to sound old, but when the heck did shoes hit one hundred and thirty dollars a pair? I was thinking of the two pairs that I bought in Holland for equivalent one hundred dollars! Store to store over the weeks and through every store possible, I have come to accept that these replacement shoes will cost over one hundred dollars. Oi.
Shoe shopiing has never been one of those things that I enjoy. I never ever was a shoe woman, that is until the girls left home and then I started to buy the odd one. That is hiking shoes, areobics shoes, running shoes for walking, sandals, nursing shoes, and one utility black pumps for all other dress up occasions.
When I was a teenager in the late sixties and early seventies, I took on the hippie look. Barefoot was the way to go. God it made mom mad. I loved the barefoot freedom. Shoes were the "establishments" way. I would concede to a pair of sandals sometimes called "Jesus boots". Barefoot was my way.
In 1966 in grade six there was a fashion that was started by Nancy Sinatra. She sang the song, "These Boots Were Made For Walking" and wore a pair of white "go go " boots. Gogo boots, I had to have them. I bugged mom until I finally got a pair. They were fashionable. I learned two things then. Fashion is not comfortable. The second thing is that fashion boots need fashion clothes to pull off the look. Hmm, bummer! I wore them a few times and they died in the pristine white shape I was given them.
These and many more tales of shoes in my life are safely tucked deep in the creases of my brain every time I go shoe shopping. However that day I was on a mission.
After trying on some clothes and buying some books (I was stalling), I finally entered my first shoe store.
It was one of those glossy youngish shoe stores. The sales clerks couldn't have been more than twenty. On the sales rack, I found a pair that fit my parameters. I was the only customer in the store. There were three salesclerks. They were engaged in a heated argument about time schedules and early starts. I picked up the shoe which to me is the universal sign for I need help. No help was to come. I finally interupted the discussion and asked if they had this shoe in my size. You would have thought I asked how to get to the moon. Finally one of them takes the shoe and disappears to the back room. She comes back to me and says no they don't and handed me back the shoe and proceeded to rejoin the heated discussion. I put it back and left the store rather put off.
Not to be deterred, I proceeded to the second store. Naturalizer, is a store that us middle age women tend to shop in for shoes. I thought this would be a sure thing. Once again I enter the store and am the only customer. There is a twenty something male behind the counter. He is well dressed his nails are manicured and his hair is perfect. This looks promising. He greets me. I follow with small talk like I am going to Japan for a month and I need a good pair of walking shoes. He says to me, "well you came to the right store." I stand there and look at him and he looks at me. Oh, I get it, I have to find them myself. Searching I find three prospects, and two are on sale. I take them to the counter and ask him for size 8 1/2 in these three. He takes the first pair and disappears to the back. Several minutes later he comes back and says he has a 7 1/2 and they are in his hands. I felt like saying well wait a minute lets see if I can negotiate my foot size with my feet. I politely say no that won't work. He takes the first pair and returns them to the back. I am left waiting at the counter. He returns and looks at me as if I am a new customer. I ask if he could check for the other shoes in my size 8 1/2. He takes the next shoe and and once again disappears for a long time. He comes back with two boxes and it looks hopeful. He has a size 9 and 7 1/2. Well no those won't work either. I jokingly say to him, " I thought I had big feet and would find the sales shoes easily." He comes around the counter and looks at my feet for a rather uncomfortable length of time and says to me, " you don't have big feet, BUT you don't have small feet either." He walks behind the counter. Well, I didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. While I am deciding he takes the two pairs of shoes that aren't my size back to shoe heaven. After five minutes and no sales person, I cough and say excuse me. He comes out and looks at me once again like I am a new customer. Once again, I ask if he could look for a size 8 1/2 in the last pair of shoes which of course were not on sale. He leaves and comes back with you guessed it a 7 1/2. No, I need a 8 1/2. He goes back and I am no longer amused. He comes back with the right size. Things are looking up. He hands me the pair. Another customer is now in the store and I feel like telling her to run away. I try on the left shoe and well it seems pretty good. I try the right shoe and can't even get my foot into it. What the heck? I look at the second shoe and see that it is, wait for it, a size 7 1/2. What the hell? I tell him that he has a pair that is not a pair. He looks at them. He compares them and says well that is strange. He looks down on the counter and laughs and says sheepishly that oh he brought me the one shoe from the display. He brings me the correct right shoe. I walk ten feet and can't remember what they felt like, because I was not buying anything here. I say no thank you and as I am leaving he tries to sell me this hiddeous pair of running shoes that he assures me that women my age really like. I am now running. Double oi.
I have lunch and ponder my options. After a refreshing Arby's curly fries and diet coke, I decide to try one more store.
The shoe store is R and R. It is noted for it's walking and hiking attire. I go into the store and find two pair of shoes that look promising. Neither of them are on sale. I don't care. The only sales person looks at me directly and says he will find me the size 8 1/2 in both of the shoes. He comes back with two boxes with the correct shoes and the right sizes. I try them on and find one that is pretty good. I buy them. I run.
I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. The shoes are here and I am still wearing the old black Holland ones. I will take blister bandages for the new shoes.
WKH

Four Weeks And Counting

Four weeks today, I am leaving for Japan. I am excited. How privileged I am to travel to places I never thought I would see in my lifetime. I live vicariously through Jackie. I have looked through several travel books for Japan. I have read a few traveller's tales books on Japan. I love to read at least a little about the places I am going to. My readings add to my excitement. These readings teach me more history than I could have ever learned during my school years. Japan is intriguing. Japan is only 150 years out of its isolation from the outside world. And yet Japan is the most technologically advanced country. Although according to my readings, it is steeped in traditions such as the tea ceremony. Bullet trains and capsule hotels speaks to its efficiency. Through my readings I get the feelings of hurried mass of people in the larger cities of Tokyo and Osaka. I feel the laid back lives of the rice farmers of the less densely populated inner islands. The cities are modern new buildings peppered with shrines and castles.
I read the people are polite and kind and ever helpful.
I hope to layer my preconceived notions of Japan with its reality that I shall experience very soon.
Jackie tells me to be prepared to experience culture shock. Be prepared to be stared at. Be prepared to be overwhelmed by the people. Be prepared to eat food that I do not know the names of. Be prepared to not understand the signs. Be prepared....
No one can be prepared for a culture so diverse in opposites. However I hope to be prepared to be blown away by Japan. To know it less than I thought I did. To experience it with my eyes wide open. To live just a tad outside of my comfort level. And by so doing enjoy my time in Japan with my daughter.
WKH

People Watching and Respect

As I said the day was nasty. The cold was toe tingling. The wind was indefensible. The snow relentless. I rode the city bus to my yoga class. I needed to zen my day.
I like taking public transport. It is people watching at its finest. And for some of us who actually enjoy this pastime, we all have our favourite places to watch and study.
My bus stop is a mere two blocks from my home. I catch a 12:07 bus. The westend downtown workers are oozing out of their buildings for their lunche time break. I struggle like a salmon upstream to my stop. And then I stuggle to stay put at the stop and not be carried away. I am learning slowly how to meander slowly out of the stream that is hell bent for the nearest Vietamese restaraunt. Once there I lean into the chain link fence that separates the sidewalk from a parking lot of a local spa and hair salon. This is the place where i can stop and wait. One step forward and I am on my way to a restaraunt. One step back and I am being nudged by the women who is attempting to park her car in a stall not made for her freaking huge Calgary SUV. This space is the place I noticed a blue rinse lady with her black bag gripped to her stomach and carying her cane in the other. Obviously she was trying to wait for a bus. She parted the crowd like moses at the Red Sea. It was amazing. Slowly she shuffled her way to me.
"Do you have the time?" she asked breathlessly. It was 12:01. Her face told me she missed the intended bus. I offered the fact that the next bus would arrive in 6 minutes. Well no she knew if she went kitty corner their would be another bus that would take her home. However she went on to say that she really wasn't in a hurry because all she had waiting at home was the duster. It's a blizzard, it's damn cold and all she can think about is her house needed dusting. Oi. She then went kitty corner parting the crowd as she shuffled on.
I was distracted by other people such as the man standing with his toque pulled over his head and face to his lip. The white cane held in his right hand put this picture in perspective for me. Next thing I know this same bag clutching, cane carrying lady was standing next to me. She decided to wait for the bus. She stood cheerfully and blissfully unaware right in the middle of the small sidewalk. The lunch time crowd parted effortlessly around her and I may add at the expense of my already hurting cold toes.
Respect. That was what I saw. Respect for the elder.

Winter Weather

Weather! We live in it. We work in it. We sometimes play in it. Weather occupies my brain a good portion of the time. My brain operates it's own weather station. The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is to look outside to see the weather. The funny thing is that my brain weather station is ever on the all blue sky, bright sun, green leafed station. Well that is until I have to look outside to verify it.
This morning before I completed my first yawn, I opened the blinds to find the stark reality of winter in Calgary. For one week it has been wintry. Snow, blizzard, icy fog, blinding white. As I look out my 11th floor condo, I see white fog in the distance. What is beyond the white fog? I guess more of the same- white nothing. Cars are creeping and people are running. I close the blinds
I recall all those disgusting drives into work in this god awful weather. I wished I was retired. I wish I had the day off. I wished i could stay home. I am rretired. I do not have to go out in this weather unless I want to.
However I am going out and I am not driving. I am letting public transport do the driving for me today. The snow can fall. The roads can be icy. I will sit back on the C-train and bus and turn on my blue sky, bright sun, green leafed station. I ride out the winter like every other prairie girl has done forever.
WKH

Fresh Eyes

I think we should all be grandmas first. I know this is an old cliche, but it is so true in my case.
My granddaughter loves to "sleepover" at our condo. I am so blessed that she loves to come and stay with us.
Last night she brought the movie "Home Alone" to watch. I haven't watched this all the way through sinceI first took Jill and Jackie to see it when it originally came out in 1990. It occurred to me that after 27 years, it still has all the appeal it did for an 8 year old as it did whenI took them. They laugh at the same stomach wrenching, toe-curling violent scenes. The slapstick comedy has never gone out of style.
Watching Alanna laugh and giggle made me feel like I had gone back to 1990 and was watching it for the first time. Fresh eyes.
The older we become, the more often we feel we have seen it all and done it all and experienced it all. I have to admit that i have felt this way for some time already. But, as I have learned, I have not seen it all. Her fresh eyes brought me back to when I watched my daughters laugh and giggle at the same spots in the movie. I had long forgotten what it felt like to watch children laugh and giggle in pure innocent joy.
Childhood is a time of innocence. laughter and joy. Alanna brings childhood back to me at a time when i think my childhood was not so much about laughter and innocence.
WKH

A BLOG!
You should have a blog says my sister and daughter. I waded through the easy create a blog sight that only takes 5 minutes. Only it took me one half hour. I am not computer savy.
I have done it and well now i should start the blogging. In my time this was called a journal. I would pick up my favourite pen and journal. I would let the thoughts and stories flow from the cranium and down the right arm onto the page. This is how i organized my thoughts that at times seem to rattle around without purpose in my head. Writing it down brought forth a sense of clarity as only lines on a page could do.
Only now i do not see lines. But hey I can learn to move forward with technology. Just sometimes it does not feel very graceful. Graceful or not i am here in my very first blog.
Today I will say that i have learned something new and it was good.
W.