Posts
All Comments
No fun without Munchkinhead. Munchkinhead left today. In fact, as I’m typing this, she should be getting off her plane in Milwaukee.
Munchkinhead trying on shoes.
The one on her right foot are the ones we got.
We picked up a slightly larger and very nice pot at Ross the other day. It even matches my kitchen curtains! We got a small bag of potting soil from the local hardware store. Munchkinhead laid some newspaper out on the kitchen floor and went to work. My plant looks happier already.
“Why do you walk so heavy?” It’s a complaint more than a question, one I’ve gotten frequently from my father, from Mr. Trizzle, from anyone else who isn’t afraid to say it like it is. I always chalked it up to being such a wonderful bouncy, bubbly person. - Ok, tongue slightly in cheek there. But I do bounce a lot when I walk and just accepted that as part of my personality, as well as a decent excuse for occasionally tipping a bit sideways into walls.
Turns, out there’s probably a less subconscious reasons for the bounciness that results in extra impact on the floor, loud booming noises and a bit of rumbling. A few months ago, I twittered upon this article about what you can learn from someone’s walk, 15 Things Your Walk Reveals About Your Health. Take a look at #14, go on, I’ll wait right here.
At no time was it more apparent how tight my calves really were than the first time I attempted squats at the gym. For most people who begin squats, the weight of the bar or their inability to balance cause problems. My gym had light pre-set barbells so that wasn’t a problem. And, thanks to Africa, I had no problems with the balance.
For me, the biggest problem was that I couldn’t keep my feet flat on the ground and bend my knees into a squat. My calves just would not stretch that far. It took months of stretching and partial squats before I could get my knees to bend as far as they needed to.
Two years after starting squats, I still have to give my calves an extra stretch, I’m still wearing my beautiful heels, and I still bounce when I walk. I can’t completely cut that out of my personality.
They’re cute and sort of retro in a late ‘30s, early 40’s kind of way. Rounded toes with leaf cutouts on top and around the heel. A medium brown with some color texture blending a little darker and little lighter in spots, making them ideal for matching with a variety of brown shades.
I last wore them with my fabulous stretch knit dress with the brown and tan cane pattern over a white background and some olive knit tights from Munchkinhead. During the work day, the right shoe started squeaking when I walked, the kind of broken metal rubbing on broken metal squeaking that is too familiar to someone who’s broken a few shoe supports in her lifetime. I could feel the top piece pushing up into the shoe, rubbing against the sole of my foot. I figured the shoes wouldn’t last long, but I wasn’t expecting what happened next.
While walking from my office to the train station, I felt like I stepped in a hole. This isn’t unusual as the sidewalks have very large gaps between them. But then there was another hole, and another. I looked down and the left heel on my shoe was bent in half! Severed from the back mostly through, it was fixable in the sense that I could bend it back into place. So I did, and I kept walking. Then, the hole feeling again. I lifted my foot to fix the shoe again and discovered the heel was gone. Completely gone. So much for these shoes. Good thing I know how to walk on the balls of my feet.
I wasn’t expecting the second post in my shoe series to be another obit, but life is full of surprises.
I’d been debating taking my brown velvet sandals to Goodwill for sometime, but not having any good replacements already in my closet, I was hesitant.
These sandals, much like my black wingtips were a product of the Spice Girl era and my Bakers infatuation, or perhaps better said, my Bakers era and Spice Girl infatuation. Round 4” heels and a thick platform front, soft velvet crisscrossing over my foot and wrapping around my ankle. They were comfortable, but clunky.
I didn’t get them for any special purpose. No, by the time I bought these shoes I was long past the basic-shoe life of my youth and beginning the collection that would eventually turn into the Great Wall of Shoes, producer of Shoevalanches. These I bought not because there was a special occasion or a certain outfit, but because they were cute and I had an allowance or a job.
The item I remember wearing them with most was a brown stretch-velvet skirt I had fashioned out of a large piece of fabric. I’d wrapped the fabric around me, held the edges together out to the side and made a seam a few inches long down from my waist. Hemmed up all the sides and the result was a long skirt with bias drape accentuating a high slit.
My best memory of those brown velvet shoes was with that brown velvet skirt, 
So, I was debating about keeping them or passing them along, but I didn’t get a chance to decide. Not very long ago, the decision was made for me. I was walking to work from the bus stop. My left shoe was making an odd noise and I felt a shaking under my toes that seemed odd. “What is going on with my shoe?”I thought. As I picked up my leg to take a step, my velvet-wrapped foot rose in the air. The platform stayed on the ground.
Luckily I had my gym bag with me and could put my gym shoes on right away. Now, I just need to find some new brown sandals.
A new series. It will bore some – *yawn* shoes, and they aren’t even sneakers *double yawn*. But, there’s at least two people who will enjoy; thank you Pretty Little Munchkinhead and Renzephyr. And I feel like writing about shoes. This first post is also a bit of an obituary.
Growing up, Mommy did a very good job of keeping us practical, sensible, frugal. (Little did I know she was even repressing her own desire for cute, fun shoes. The things you learn when you grow up…) We generally had about 4 pairs of shoes, give or take. A pair of white dress shoes for summer, a pair of black dress shoes for winter, maybe a pair of brown dress shoes, too, and a pair of white canvas shoes for everyday wear. Sometimes we had other types of tennis shoes; sometimes we had some dress sandals or some jelly shoes. But, those were the basics.*
Then came high school, and everything changed. Sophomore year homecoming, my first big dance. I didn’t go freshman year. A boy I didn’t like asked me to go with him. Not wanting to go with him, but not wanting to hurt his feelings, I told him I wasn’t going. A group of friends asked me to go with them, I told them I wasn’t going, too. I wanted to go with them, but I had to stick to my story. Mommy tried to convince me otherwise, but I was stubborn in 
My dress a beautiful silver, shiny here, dull there, an ever-changing pattern of texture as I moved. Of course Mommy made my dress. A pattern of hers from the 70s. I should have listened to her when she said to just cut off the extra length and make a smaller hem. Now, when I see the dress, the large hem looks like an odd seam on the thin fabric. At the time, it didn’t bother me at all. I loved my dress.
I had a beautiful dress; I just needed beautiful shoes to go with it. Off Mommy and I headed to the mall, and there, at a store called Bakers, we found those beautiful shoes. So, so many beautiful shoes at Bakers. It would soon become a favorite store of mine.
The shoes we picked out were black wingtips, a retro style on a 3” stacked heel. Big and clunky, but big and clunky was the thing. (Thank you, Spice Girls.) We pulled out the thick black laces and replaced them with silver laces made from dress scraps. Platforms for a 1970s pattern; that worked pretty well.
Those shoes then became my everyday school shoes for the rest of the year. We put the black laces back in. I remember sitting in Kuj’s trig class coloring in the dots on the wingtip detail with my silver gel pen. And after that wore off, with my copper gel pen. Both colors looked good on the black shoes.
The shoes, in better days.
By the end of high school, the heels were so worn down that there was a 1.5” difference between the inside and outside of the heel on the back. in college, I found a good cobbler who was able to completely rebuild the heels and I got several more years out of those shoes. Many years in fact. It wasn’t until just a few months ago, 15 years after Mommy bought them, that they finally left my closet.
The heels were starting to feel wobbly; the stitching was coming out the sides. I had other black shoes with stacked 3” heels that served the same outfits and were in better shape. They weren’t completely done, but they had gotten to dress-up-box-only state. So off they went to Goodwill.
I got a lot of good use out those shoes. :)
*Of course, this isn’t counting the heaps of twirling, parade, ballet and gymnastics shoes that could be found in strewn around the house in random places. But those don’t count.
What was so special about getting to wear the sweater this time was that I now have adorable shoes that match it perfectly! I couldn’t wait to wear my sweater, grey skirt, grey striped tights (like the picture) and my beautiful garnet – that’s what the color’s called on the box – shoes.
It’s about a four block walk to the bus stop down at the busy corner. We’re only three houses from the BART station, but the bus is cheaper because it offers a monthly pass and the bus station in the City is closer to work than the BART station. The bus is also, usually, a much nicer ride because it’s less crowded and once it gets on the freeway, it doesn’t stop until we’re at the station in the City. So, I take the bus.
The sun was shining so that even with the brisk chill in the wind the day still felt warm. The bus stop has a wooden bench, sitting gloriously in a spot of bright sunshine. I arrived about ten minutes before the bus’s scheduled arrival because the buses have been running goofy lately and seeming to pay no mind to the schedule. I waited.
And I waited.
A gentleman joined me on the bench.
We waited.
And we waited.
We were waiting for the last bus of the day on this route; there was no next bus to wait for. Fifteen minutes after the bus should have arrived, he headed up the street to the BART station.
I waited a little longer, for one more not-my-bus to pass. Then I turned and headed in the same direction. But I didn’t go to BART. Instead I bought bubblegum. No, I went home.
A BART ride into the city costs nearly $5. That’s $5 more than I would have paid to ride the bus, because I have a monthly pass for the bus. Plus, I’d already wasted a lot of time walking back and forth and waiting at the bus stop. Luckily, work has a very flexible work from home policy. And, since most of the people I work with on a daily basis aren’t in the office either, it doesn’t matter much where I am.
So, as I said, I went home and worked from there. I got a lot done. But nobody got to see my adorable shoes. Nobody except Mr. Trizzle and the guy at the bus stop. I doubt either of them even noticed.
I’m probably the only person who could think it a good idea to tour a cave in 5” stilettos. First there’s the uneven floor, then there’s the drippy rain water and puddles, and of course, the low ceilings. I thought about the floor, maybe the puddles a little bit. I forgot about the ceilings. But it wouldn’t have mattered if I had because you see….
This past week I spent a few days at a conference in French Lick, Indiana. We finished about noon on Friday and I had plans to meet up with a friend in Indianapolis when he finished work about 5:30. I was roughly two hours south of Indy, so I needed to find something to do for a bit. I figured maybe I could bum around in Indy for awhile or whatever.
So here I was, driving along, and then I saw it. 
As soon as I saw the sign, I thought, “ooh! I’m going there!” Daddy used to take us to lots of caves on vacations and I usually enjoyed them. Quick right turn and I was on my way, over rolling hills, past farms and woods and off to the cave.
When I arrived, I checked with the lady at the counter about the ground inside the cave. She assured me it was concrete. I bought a ticket and wandered around the gift store and nearby area until the tour was ready to start. I also went out to my car to change my shoes. 
The cave was beautiful! It was quite large and had a lot of really neat formations. 
I wished Alfred was there. Even though she might not know how things were formed or what they were called, she’d be able to tell me about the rocks and how the rocks themselves were formed.
The tour guide also told us about earthquakes. I had no idea Southern Indiana had earthquakes, but to the guide and the others from the area, they seemed to be a pretty big deal. Apparently, a cave is the safest place you can be in an earthquake because of the way the cave is formed. It’s layers of rocks, so when the earth shakes, the layers just sort of slide on each other. Like how San Francisco City Hall is built so that the whole building just sort of slides across the foundation when there’s an earthquake. Pretty neat.
The tour was lots of fun. My shoes came out fine, my pants a bit muddy on the bottom and my head only a little sore from knocking it on the cavern ceiling a couple of times. What a great detour!
New sho-oo-oes. Yesterday, I had a special meeting where I had to get fancied up, but not too serious. This is the Bay after all, wearing the black suit and pearls so earnestly required at Vandy will quickly get you ostracized out here. So I went nice, professional, and a little fun. Cute black pinstripe suit where the skirt has a little ruffle hem that makes it cute and fun. A red camisole. Beige fishnets. And then, my new red shoes!
Aren’t they fabulous?
I normally don’t do red shoes. (My Jessica Rabbit costume would be an exception.) I’ve always been kind of afraid of them. The people who wear them, at least on tv and such, are rather vampires. And red is such an attention getting color. Yes, 5” heels can also get attention, but you have to actually notice them first, and then do a bit of a double take. Red, especially when paired with black, is so got ya! And red plus 5” heels, that’s all kind of better-not-trip-and-fall-on-my-vampire trouble.
But they are so fun! I have to admit, I did feel rather powerful walking around in them. Stepping out of my car, striding down the street. And I got sooooo many compliments. :)
I picked ‘em up at the shoe store near our house. –the shoes, not the compliments- I absolutely loved them when I saw them. Especially that neat rainbow striped heel. At first, I wasn’t sure I could get them. The 10 was far too big and their weren’t any 9 1/2s. The 9 was a little snug, but not too bad and not painful. Plus, the 60% off sticker put them just at the top of my reasonable-for-heels price range, about $30. How could I refuse? Sucks that their Jessica Simpson, but whatever. The girl may not know the difference between chicken and tuna, but she can pick out a shoe.
Oh, and Mommy, they don't work, otherwise I'd have been at dinner last night.
Some of you may remember a post from when I was back in Nigeria about a pair of shoes I had that broke and I sewed back together. You might also recall that these shoes were bought out of necessity, without much possibility for consideration, to replace the broken pair on my feet at the time. The shoe fairy was smiling on me when I bought those shoes; they turned out to be one of the best pairs ever.
Well, those shoes made it home from Nigeria, but they didn’t make it to California. Not whole anyway. 
I first attempted to replace my glorious, beige, all-purpose, most-comfortable shoes with something from my own collection. A pair of white and whicker platform sandals from Vickies. Many problems. The white ribbons were supposed to wrap around the legs like ballet shoes. They always fell down. The front ribbons that went over the toes were in an awkward position, my pinky toes stuck out, off the shoe. And the full, wide platform is not as nice as a wedge for walking on rough surfaces. I soon found that not only were these not good replacements for my fabulous, glorious, beige, all-purpose, most-comfortable shoes, they were also not great for shoes at all. In the end, these were one of the 40-some pairs I didn’t take to Cali.
At first I thought they were going to be it. Wedges. Decent angle. Black and brown, so fairly versatile. Comfortable enough. They were good at first. Then I started to come across problems.
The slip on style offers the ease of the original, fabulous, glorious,beige, all-purpose, most-comfortable shoes, but without any sort of ankle strap, the shoes are prone to falling off and certainly will not do for climbing trees. The falling off is escalated by the fact that one shoe fits well and the other fits rather loosely. The shoe has black and brown, but it really only works as a black shoe. Additionally, because of the style, it only works as a black casual shoe, not dressy as well. The more I wore them, the more I also found the angle to be wanting.
The combination of one loose shoe, slippage in the shoes and the lower angle made the shoes uncomfortable for long distances. Remember, I used to wear those wonderful, original, fabulous, glorious, beige, all-purpose, most-comfortable shoes for my 2 mile walk to and from work in Nigeria. If I can’t walk 2 miles in the shoes, they won’t suffice as replacements.
The shoes are still decent, and I do wear them for lower-level physical activities in outfits with a black base. So they’re still useful.
They hurt when walking more than a few blocks. The front of the shoe is narrow and the fabric is stiff, so instead of stretching, it digs into my hungry toe (the piggie that didn’t have any roast beef), leaving a not-so-beautiful indent and some red chubbiness.
I wear them for short walks, like to the hardware store, and for events with little expected physical exertion. I hope to stretch them out. Yet, even if I do, the bright colors limit their outfit possibilities. Like the black shoes before them, they are good shoes and have their purpose, but they are not replacements for my beautiful, amazing, wonderful, original, fabulous, glorious, beige, all-purpose, most comfortable shoes. Sadness.
These shoes are brown. That should work for any outfits for which the black shoes don’t work. They’re wedges, and I really like the cut-out design in them. They are comfortable, too. Good angle on the incline. And there’s straps. Great! I got them and wore them around a bit at home.
It wasn’t until I was attempting to walk more than around the house that I realized my tragic mistake. These shoes are slingbacks. The buckle on the strap and top of the foot wrap style had tricked me. I can’t wear slingbacks; the straps fall off my heels. I still wear these shoes though. Luckily, they stay on even when the strap falls down. But they cannot serve as replacements, not even when combined with my black sandals because that slipping slingback only allows for short-distance walks. Cabija
The height of the heel is very good, around 4 1/2” or 5”. The angle isn’t bad, though not perfect as there is a small platform under the toes. This platform is actually a bigger problem for climbing trees and walking on non-paved surfaces as it is inflexible and prevents gripping the surface with the foot.
However, and most importantly, the shoes are beige and they have a T-strap. The T-strap design and the style of the front makes these shoes appropriate for dressy or casual wear. Yes, these certainly are the closest I’ve come to replacing those magnificent, Brazilian, beautiful, amazing, wonderful, original, fabulous, glorious, beige, all-purpose shoes.
Maybe someday I’ll find the perfect pair - Beige, T-strap, 4” or 5” wedges, with no front platform, (and in my price range) – and I’ll be back to climbing trees and running and being comfortable. Until then, my new beige stilettos, brown sling-backs, bright flowers and black slip-ons are going to have to do. Four pairs of shoes to replace one. Life would be easier (and cheaper) if a girl could just find the same pair of shoes twice in her life…
Today, after a morning of working in the hotel room, I voluntarily went into Berkeley. Why do I do these things to myself?
There was a book I wanted for my paper. Found the full text online...in Italian. Not very helpful. Found out from WorldCat that the Berkeley library and Boalt library (Berkeley's law school) had copies of the book. And also that the closest copy to Nashville was probably at Nathy-Boo's school in Iowa. Easy enough decision, time to get on BART and head to Boalt.
On the mile-long, completely uphill, walk from BART to Boalt there was a girl standing on the sidewalk handing out pamphlets. (in your best sing-song voice) "It's a beautiful day to save the forests; let me tell you more about it!" Vampiring Berkeley. It was overcast, cold and rainy.
Boalt Hall is ug-ly. Vanderbilt is very pretty. Boalt is also under construction. I found the library fairly easily, even though there was no welcoming Miss Phyllis to guide me in the right direction. What I could not find easily was a seat in the library. At quarter to three in the afternoon, every seat in the place was taken. At Vandy, the place is nearly dead that late in the day, especially on a Monday.
I needed a little help finding my book because the library has several floors of stacks. The girl at the Patron's Desk directed me to the 4th floor. I took the elevator up and exited into a hallway with three unlabeled doors. Well, one door had a label; it said "Stairs." 50/50 chance with the other doors. What do I do? Listen? Go In? Walk into a Wall? I listened. I heard a Tax Collector. Oh no! Run away! Wait, the Tax Collector is chasing you!!!! Just kidding. I didn't run away. I went in.
And it seemed like I somehow walked into a 4th floor dungeon. The ceiling was so low, it barely cleared the top of my head. Row after row of metal shelving units spanned the room, rising out of the concrete floor and blending in with the pipes above. In the dim light, I could hardly find the call number I needed. A row of windows lined one side of the warehouse like room, but they were covered in that white-don't-look-in-my-bathroom sheeting material, taking away much of whatever extra light the overcast sky was willing to share.
I headed back downstairs, book in hand, to scour out a seat. No luck. "Maybe there's secret study places like at Vandy..." I started exploring. Floor after floor of dungeon. I found a help-me-I'm-short stool against a wall of empty shelves (where study hutches would have fit perfectly) with outlets in the middle of the wall. I pulled up the stool, turned my jacket into a cushion and made myself a little study area.
After I finished in the library, I wandered around the Cal campus until Mr. Trizzle was finished with work and could get to Berkeley. The campus is actually pretty nice inside, once you get away from the streets. Minus those protesters and vampire. There's tons of trees on the campus! And this one area has such big trees and vines and bushes and stuff, I was totally expecting a dinosaur to step out into my path. I don't get why people are sitting in trees behind the stadium when there's a bunch more of the same trees everywhere on the campus. Oh, and a circle of fresh cut stumps with a sign that the "open space" is going to be utilized by planting a garden. News for you: garden = no longer open space; it's a garden!
After wandering around long enough to get my fill of beautiful old buildings scrunched in with weird-looking modern ones, bicycles flying past and people dressed like sloppy clones in the name of 'diversity where everyone belongs', I headed over to the blue and yellow restaurant to meet Mr. Trizzle for dinner. Dinner was very nice. He got Chinese; I didn't; we were both happy.
P.S. I counted people in high heels during my 4.5 hours in Berkeley: 1. 3 if you count like Mzzzz Jones.
I made an executive decision at the last minute and threw a fifth pair of shoes into my carryon. It was actually a practicality decision, not a fashion one. I realized I will probably have a few days where I'll be doing quite a bit of walking and my "classic standard" shoes aren't great for walking all over; the lifts wear down really quickly. (I should know, that's my second pair of those in less than a year.) They're also a bit difficult because of the very steep incline to the shoe, no platform in the font. The last thing I need to do is fall down the steps in BART again. So, I grabbed a pair of much more comfortable and easier-to-walk-in shoes that will go with the same outfits as the classic standards. That way, if I know I'm going to be walking, I can wear my saddle shoes, and if I know we'll be staying in one place or mostly driving, I can wear the classic standards.
(P.S. arrived safely in El Cerrito.)
That sums it up, and it includes the pair I'm wearing on the plane. I'm scared. I'm not living up to my reputation. Can I truly be fabulous with less than 1.25 pairs of shoes for each day I'll be gone? What is the world coming to? Next thing you know, I'll be wearing tennis shoes and ballet flats everyday. Oh the horror!
The shoes I'm taking (note: I may not wear the last ones; they're just in case.)
I love my Timbs
You know, going through my pictures reminded me of a lot of really great other shoes I have, like the ones I wore to the Ball. That number may just have to go up to 5. Still much less than it ought to be ;)
Well, it finally happened; my favorite pair of walking shoes broke-broke. (More than just the insole coming off.)
I noticed it just before leaving for work Tuesday, but wore them anyway. I didn't really have any other options, and they still stayed on, just had two little straps flapping in the breeze. I took cabs to and from work, instead of walking.
I managed to fix them that night. This shoe repair adventure went much better than my last attempt at playing cobbler in Africa. This time, the only stitches went in the shoe, not in me. And, the shoe's fixed. Not the greatest job, but I did what I could with a regular little (and cheap) sewing kit. It should hold at least 'til I get back.
Whew! Disaster avoided. I don't think I could spend two weeks in flat shoes!
