My Shoe History, Myself

I did a shoe inventory tonight. Chuck was kind enough to carry my last giant box of shoes in from the garage so I could sort through them all and see exactly what I have. I'm preparing my work wardrobe for my start next week. For me, it's a big part of the fun of having a job - dressing for it.
So as I dug through the shoes - the ones in the box and the ones in the giant suitcase in my closet and the ones jumbled up in the closet - I realized I was also sorting through my past. Since I keep my shoes for years and years, lots of memories are connected to them. They're almost like family members. But I did something I've been needing to do for a long time - I culled the ones that I don't wear and will never wear again. That was hard. It was like throwing away history. Don't get me wrong - I kept a lot of shoes that, odds are, will never find their way onto my feet again in this lifetime. Others, I reluctantly threw in the "to go" box with a huge sigh and fond farewell.
Here are some of the shoes I kept and a few I sent to Shoe Purgatory and Shoe Heaven:

I bought these boots in Durango several years ago. They've been through it all - snow, rain, ice, sunshine, parties, music festivals, family milestones, my job at DCC. Their soles have walked the streets of Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, California, Utah and Texas. Still in great shape, they will continue to make their home in my closet.

Oh, how I've loved these shoes. They're in pretty rough shape. I can't remember exactly when I bought them, but I do remember where they've been, which is pretty much everywhere I've been the past 10 years. I specifically recall wearing them when I flew to California from Texas and back. I was amazed at how comfortable they were when I was walking miles and miles to get to my terminal in LAX. I think these will go to Shoe Purgatory until I decide their fate.

I bought these shoes for New Years Eve in Miami Beach in December 2005. I wish I still had the red dress I wore with them when we went out to The Sandbar to ring in the new year. That was an awesome dress and these were outstanding shoes. I think I also wore them at my son's wedding in June 2006, and many times since. Unfortunately, they're in terrible shape and are headed for Shoe Heaven.

These bowling shoes were given to me by a good friend of mine who has chosen not to be my friend anymore for reasons I don't understand or really even know about. But what I do know is these shoes remind me of the good times we had when we were friends, and of Friday nights our group of former high school classmates spent drinking beer, dancing and - oh yeah, bowling - at Hurst Bowl last year. I will be keeping these because some day Chuck might decide he wants to challenge my mad bowling skills and I want to be ready. I may not have a bowling ball, but I'll have these cute pink shoes! Take that, Chuck!

Chacos. Chacos, Chacos, Chacos! Probably some of the most expensive shoes in my closet, believe it or not. I got them for cost (half the usual retail price) because my daughter worked for a rafting company. These babies have served me well - tubing, rafting and duckying on the Animas, Dolores, Piedras and San Juan rivers in Colorado and Utah, the Frio River in Texas, and hiking and camping in the San Juan and Rocky mountains and in Utah, Arizona and Nevada. I will never, ever get rid of these shoes. They will have to be pried from my cold dead hands when I go to meet my maker - perhaps not even then.

Here's another favorite pair of heels that have seen better days. I still love to wear them because they're so darn cute and comfortable. I bought them to wear to my daughter Taylor's wedding in Colorado, and I've put them to great use ever since. These have a special place in my closet, as I will be wearing them to work often.

An oldie but goodie, I bought these shoes at Dillard's about 10 years ago when I worked for American Heart Association. They are quite well worn. I specifically remember wearing them at my other daughters' weddings - Steph and Jess. (The weddings were just one month apart. Talk about some crazy wedding planning! Sheesh!) I'm not sure if I will keep these shoes or not. I haven't worn them in a long time because I'm just not into the pointed toes anymore. But they sure are cute, so perhaps I'll send them to Purgatory.

For me, this shoe represents one of the craziest nights I have ever experienced in my life. It also is a symbol of the life I lived in Durango and the person I was then.  That person was not much different than the woman I am now. I just think I'm quite a bit wiser, calmer, safer and at peace with myself and my world now than I was during my "searching" years in Colorado. I've carried this lone shoe around for over two years (its mate was lost somewhere in downtown Durango). Though part of me is sad to see it - and what it represents - go, I think it's time to say adieu. So long, dear one. I hear Shoe Heaven is lovely. I hope you find your true mate again someday soon, just like I did.

Falling asleep

This is one of the few nights that I have slept alone in the past 9 months. It reminds me of other nights I slept alone, many nights, all those years of being single. And it reminds me of the nights I came to visit Mom, before and after I moved back to Texas. I like sleeping on the couch in my mom's office. It's cozy. The back of the couch curves around my own back, like a spoon, like a body, like my husband. I never used to mind going to bed alone, never had a problem falling asleep. Later, when I'd wake up at 3 a.m., that was when the aloneness hit me. There's nothing lonelier than 3 a.m. Now, I find that I still don't mind falling asleep alone. At least not on this couch. But I'd rather not make it a habit. I fall asleep best when my husband curls around me like this couch, his arms circling me, lips against my hair. Even his snoring is a welcomed disturbance over utter cold silence. When I wake at 3 a.m., he is there. Sometimes snoring, sometimes not, but he is there.

Soulful memories of houses past

Thanksgiving Day 2008

I was brushing my teeth last night and suddenly had a flashback to a house I lived in for a short time in Durango. Although I only lived in that house for a few months, I have vivid memories of it that often return to me at the oddest moments, like in the midst of teeth-brushing.
 I don't know why I remember that house so well. Maybe because I loved it so much. I think I connected with it. Just like with people, some houses I connect with and some I do not. I believe buildings can have souls, especially if they've been around a long time, so this makes perfect sense to me.
The Third Avenue house was built about 1908. It was newly renovated but still felt old. I like that. It had character along with a beautiful modern kitchen and bath. Even the modern updates felt old. The owners did an awesome job on the renovation. They really wanted to sell it, but the crappy real estate market made it tough. So they rented it instead. My daughter and I were the first renters.
Third Avenue is a large wide street full of huge Victorian mansions and tiny turn-of-the-century row houses built mere inches from their neighbors' roofs. It's just two very short blocks off Main Avenue, where I worked at Durango Coffee Company. I could walk to work, when I wanted, which came in quite handy. We moved in there at the first of November and the months that followed were pretty snowy. Many a morning I trudged through snowbanks, slipped and slid on frozen sidewalks in my fake Ugg boots, past the train depot and Nini's Taqueria, Lady Falconburg's and the Strater Hotel, to DCC.

Easy dog keeps an eye on Third Avenue

As I brushed my teeth, I tried to conjure up images and feelings from other bathrooms in other houses I have lived in throughout my life. And there have been many. Many, many, many. I am embarrassed to say how many, so I won't. As I brushed, brushed, brushed, I could remember some bathrooms only by sight, in my mind, but others held strong memories like the Third Avenue house.
I remembered the yellow-tiled master bathroom of the Green House on Rattlesnake Ranch. We haven't lived there for more than 15 years, but I could still recall what it felt like to bathe in that stall-shower. I could still smell the strong sulphur water, which could gag you if you weren't used to it. That huge sprawling ranch-style house built in the 1950s had lots of soul. Not so much in the structure itself, but the land it sat on. The ranch was originally a cotton plantation, and before that it was the site of a bloody battle between Spanish explorers and natives. Or something like that. I could possibly have my facts wrong, but I do know that a bloody battle involving Spaniards took place. Lots of history there. We all had very odd and disturbing dreams while we lived in that house.
So anyway, I brushed my teeth and reconnected with houses from my past. Believe it or not, all this reminiscing at the bathroom sink took place in 60-90 seconds. Funny how quickly our minds work. I guess that's why we can have epic movie-length dreams during 10-minute power naps.
Or is that just me?

Tales from the Caprock

Sometimes things just don't seem very interesting or important. Ideas I have on Monday lose their vibrancy on Tuesday. "Oh that's just stupid," I say to myself. "Nobody cares about my take on sports. My writing is just not that interesting. I have no depth." And so on and so forth.

It's funny how my confidence can go up or down so effortlessly. A mere puff of wind can send me plummeting from the highest ladder of Feel Good. It can also raise me up, wind-born on a single compliment.

I conducted an experiment last week. Every time I started feeling low or anxious or...yes, low...I imagined myself rising above it all, high above the situation. Like an invisible helium balloon was attached to my shoulders, lifting me above the stress and anxiety and irritation of the moment. And it worked. I was able to remove myself from those attachments and connections that bind me to earth. I did indeed rise above it all.

When my son was in Iraq, people used to ask me how I handled it. In other words, they were asking me how I lived through such a stressful and potentially heartbreaking thing without losing my mind. And I would reply, "Denial." I just didn't think about it. I didn't allow myself to go "there." I carried on with my life, the best way I could. I was having to take care of myself then, learning how to be on my own. I was trying to survive, too, in my own way, just like my little boy was struggling to survive every day in that war-torn country. No comparison at all, I know - his experience and mine. I'm just trying to explain myself and how I felt, how it was for me. Denial. Some people might have interpreted it as "doesn't give a shit." And I understand that. But they were wrong. Everyone handles trauma and fear in different ways. I did what I could to live through it without losing my mind. My little boy. My baby. Even now, thinking about him there, makes me cry. I feel so fortunate, blessed and lucky that he came home alive. Denial. I did what I could.

Some parts of Texas are so beautiful. They are all connected. The beauty rolls effortlessly from highway to highway, changing with each mile, county to county. All connected. I don't even notice the exact point where West Texas plains become Hill Country. It just suddenly is, without my permission, not heralding its arrival, not saying adieu. What a wonder, I say, what a beautiful world you are.