The Island Shoe Girl's Blog

Where shoes meet sand…

I am the New Fashion Trend! February 28, 2010

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:39 am
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These Coach Rainboots were once lost to a clearance rack, now they are the silver lining to any rain cloud! Photo by Jean Thornton

Finally! After years of struggling to start the latest fashion trend, I have finally achieved success.  Yes, I am the new fashion trend!  My years of digging to the back of the sale racks, waiting out clearance markdowns, and reworking last year’s fashions to meet the next season’s styles have paid off at long last.  Being fiscally fashionable is now the hottest trend and I have been strutting this style for years. 

I have to smirk as I read yet another glossy-page fashion magazine telling me about the new way to shop during the recession.  Sorry clever editors, you are preaching to the choir.    Every struggling fashionista-in-the-making has learned how to be stylish on a budget.  For generations, twenty-somethings have worked creatively in order to balance a checkbook running on empty in a pair Michael Kors stilettos in order to keep up with the latest trends. We have forgone meals for Prada and endured gut wrenching e-bay auctions; suddenly we the “chic but broke” are the new trend!

My H&M off-the-rack simple black dress may not have been fooling anyone a couple of years ago, even when paired with BCBG shrunken jacket.  Yet, now that the financial tides have turned, the girls looking good in clearance rack discoveries are the new Style Goddesses.  Yes, Ruth Madoff just might need a friend like me to help her live with that “no purchases over $100” rule imposed by those unfashionable court conservators.  If Ruth had insisted that her husband invest in the very real stocks of her favorite designer labels—as  opposed to his made up ones—she might not be facing the drab racks of Sears. 

I like shopping— this no secret.  Like a Girl Scout with a box of thin mint cookies, I know that some things are too good to pass by.  I also know that the shopping fun ends when the credit card bill arrives.  In a time when shopping for the latest fashion is out of style, I toy with idea of selling a kidney for a shot at the new Christian Louboutain stilettos that I know spring will bring.  The rest of the world my take this time to be restrain themselves from the decadent lifestyles that many have grown accustomed to, but I say ‘don’t rain on my fashion parade’.  The only rain I will allow is on my new Coach rain boots that I look super cute in. 

As the financial sting starts to recede, those same magazine that have taken a sudden interest in affordable jeans will be back to pairing expensive jeans with handbags that cost as much as my mortgage payment.  But savvy and stylish girls like me will remember that in a few months that combo will be half price somewhere, it just might take some searching and patience.  While my time as a fashion trend will surely be as fleeting as pleated pants, all good styles come back. Keeping my fashion eye on the glossy pages of Marie Claire and my financial eye on the markdowns may just get me in couture somewhere down the line.  Until then I’ll continue my own trend of working those sales racks—and I bet the rest of the shopping savvy country may feel the same.

 

Creating Our Own Shoe Happiness February 21, 2010

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 10:49 am
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These Steve Maddens are perfect for waiting on good things and also going after what you want. Photo by Jean Thornton

I waited patiently the whole month of January for a very special delivery that was not arriving as quickly as I hoped.  In December I got an email from Jimmy Choo thanking me for my support of the their “You, Your Shoes, and 72” photo contest which also promoted their part of the Elton John’s HIV/AIDS Foundation.  As a gesture of their gratitude, I was asked to send my home address so they could send me a thank you gift.  As a supporter of local AIDS charity efforts I was thrilled to help Jimmy Choo with this cause, but if Jimmy Choo offers you a thank you gift, of course you take it! 

For weeks I discussed what little surprise Jimmy Choo might be sending me with my friends, family, and complete strangers in the grocery store.  We dreamed of everything from shoes to perhaps a secret new product that promised eternal life.  In truth it could have been a used gum wrapper and I would still have proudly displayed it and celebrated the mere chance to view it.  What can I say—I am easily amused!  Sadly, days and weeks passed and I had a strange feeling that Jimmy Choo had stood me up.  And with every day that passed without my Choo delivery I felt a little more disappointed. 

In the midst of my waiting for Choo, I realized that I had let my shoe happiness be swayed by outside forces.  And despite the fact that in this same interim I had bought seven other great pairs of shoes, I was letting the lack of Jimmy Choo’s package bring me down.  After all I am a very lucky shoe girl with a closet that literally overflows with pumps, boots, stilettos, and platforms.  Yet, it was that one package that had not arrived that was causing me to slip into a shoe defective disorder every time I saw my empty mailbox. 

As I pondered how one missing package from Jimmy Choo had distracted me from the pleasure that waited in the many other shoe boxes I already had in my possession, I realized that it is not just with shoes that I sometimes allow others to determine my happiness.  I couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t a Choo metaphor for so much else in life.  Do we constantly look for what we don’t have and ignore what we do have?   

I thought about the many successes I have achieved through my own hard work and determination.  And while I am very proud of my professional achievements and some personal points of pride such as owning a home or earning accolades from co-workers and peers, sometimes it’s what I don’t have that seems to draw the most critiques from myself and others.  The questions about what I don’t have often seem louder than the appreciation for what I do have.   Well-meaning family and friends will frequently congratulate me on a career milestone and then ask who I am dating, or they will question why I seemingly focus on shoes over children.  While I don’t want to discredit the joy that a partner or a child could bring to my life, it still stings to feel like it’s a missing piece or a barrier to my happiness.    Just like the promise of  a missing Jimmy Choo thank you gift lessened the excitement of the many shoes I bought that month, the things I don’t achieve often block the sight of what I do have.   

It was when I decided that I would not let Choo rain on my parade that the package arrived—and isn’t that often true in other life situations!  The thank you gift was a tote bag promoting the newest line of Jimmy Choo shoes; what shoe girl wouldn’t want to proudly display this bag?  And while it is lovely, it is not nearly as fun as new Kate Spade leather handbag that also arrived that day. 

In the end I learned two important lessons: first, always ask for a tracking number when it comes to designer return addresses, and second, what others offer us can be wonderful, but we offer ourselves should never be overlooked.   I am very happy to be the only shoe girl in Key West carrying a thank you bag from Jimmy Choo, but I am also thrilled to be wearing my new LAMB heels too.  It’s true others may help us find happiness, but it’s good to know that in the end I get the final say—or shoe—in what that happiness is.

 

The Modern Day Wonder Women January 31, 2010

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:43 am
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Here I come to save the day with the my Steve Madden Vippers. Photo by Jean Thornton.

The recent introduction of a Blackberry into my life has made me contemplate how Wonder Woman would have survived in our world of constant connections.  What began as a way to get the internet without an expensive connection and to better manage my work day and email inbox without being tied to my desk has suddenly turned into a struggle between woman and technology.  The constant calls, emails, and text messaging has made me feel like some days the requests for help never end and I am pathetic excuse for a super hero in stilettos. 

What is a girl to do but buy some new shoes and try to not to scream, especially if she has no clue which button actually plays the voice mail but gets five different beeps and buzzes to tell her she has a voicemail.  As I think about the two year commitment I have made to this new piece of technology and an upgraded coverage plan through my cell phone provider, I cannot help but acquire a whole new level of respect for Wonder Woman and her shiny red boots.  Sure I have a lot of great boots and many, many amazing shoes, but Wonder Woman had something more—maybe just time management and the ability to change clothing in the span of a thunderclap.

I consider myself a person who operates well under stress, but I could use a few pointers and perhaps a little ‘swing’ from the Lasso of Truth.  Wonder Woman, like all of us at the root of it, was just a woman—a human being.  Just like any another shoe girl (or shoe guy) she put her boots on one at a time and most likely her indestructible bracelets too. (Do you think those come in platinum also?)  So how did the unassuming Diane Prince transform into Wonder Woman and save the day time and time again while I struggle just to get the dog walked some nights?

Yes, Wonder Woman did have an invisible plane that was always on stand-by without the requirements of airport security.  And she had that super-fabulous pair of running shoes known as the “Sandals of Hermes”.  (And if those are anything like a Hermès bag, I want on the supply list even if they are for running!)  I am only on a small island and I have a hard time zooming from one end to the other in my 1997 Honda Accord to get to the next meeting on time.  No doubt I could use a little assistance from a superbly accessorized Super Hero to solve the problems in my small portion of the world. 

As I try to multi-task my way through another 24 hours trying to simultaneously update my Facebook status, return a multitude of calls, and iron my blouse, I cannot help but think that maybe Wonder Woman would feel as overwhelmed as I do if she had to operate these tiny buttons too.  Let’s remember that Wonder Woman lived in a time of phone booths and party lines as opposed to Instant Messaging and Skype Video connections.  While it is true Wonder Woman was fighting Nazis, she never had to manage three email accounts and download her shoe blog!

When it comes right down to it Wonder Woman was just another single girl trying to save a little part of the world each day in great boots—and maybe even find a little time for a date and glass of wine too.  And while she might have been a super hero raised by Amazon women, in the end she was a woman with a lot to do and some fabulous shoes, which really makes her just like me and many others.  I may not have the Lasso of Truth to hold others accountable, and my favorite bracelet is a simple silver bangle that probably cannot block bullets and laser beams, but that doesn’t mean I still cannot answer the call for help or save the day if only for just a few minutes or in a small place. 

My own private, invisible jet may be preferable to slipping off my heels for airport security…but then again who’s to say those aren’t Super Power Stilettos?  A girl can dream right?

 

3 Rules of Employment January 24, 2010

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:26 am
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The first step towards a successful career should be taken with fantastic shoes. Photo by Jean Thornton.

When toilets clog, soap dispenser run empty and trash cans overflow, I am the one who hears the cries of those in need of a square of Charmin and answers with the solution to any your bathroom dilemmas.  It may seem odd that a girl who wears $200 Michael Kors’ four-inch wedge tennis shoes with gold trim would freely saunter into a ladies room with a bottle of disinfectant in my left hand and plunger slung over right shoulder.  I have perfected the art of toilet unclogging regardless of how gross it is.  Restaurant patrons turn up their noses and watch in awe as my perfectly manicured nails grip the yellow handle of my faithful plunger.  Within in minutes water is flowing freely in all three stalls and I am the Wonder Woman of modern plumbing problems. 

After watching my latest ‘battle with the bowl’, a customer gives me a sympathetic smile and says, “I bet you hate this part of your job.”  Without hesitation I answer with my best life rule, “Never be too good to use a plunger.”  I triumphantly smash the paper towels deeper in the trash can with my plunger and swing it back over my shoulder, calling out a final, “enjoy your night,” as I exit the bathroom.  I am not a superhero; I simply follow the rules of job success I have learned to respect in all of my various employment roles. 

As a teenager it was changing diapers, in college it was smelly summer campers, and now as an adult, my college education has not relieved me from some of the less enjoyable tasks of life.  No level of education or seniority has given me the golden ticket that allows me to pass off unpleasant jobs to others.  As one might imagine, working with the homeless can sometimes lead to conversations about less enjoyable topics with those in desperate need of a shower.  Thankfully, I was given a few good work rules that keep me humble, employed, and in my place, even when that place means in a flooded dorm room with a water vacuum.   

My father taught me early on that Custodians and Secretaries run every office; they have the keys to everything and the means to make any complication disappear.  Custodians and Secretaries are like the office mafia; you must come to an understanding of their power.  This rule has kept my office trash empty and my coffee safe to drink.  A sincere compliment and a box of doughnuts goes all long way to getting that report finished when your printer jams. 

The next rule is a critical one when supervising another employee: lead by example not by exemption.  This protects them and you.  If you are unwilling to perform a dirty deed as a supervisor, how can you expect a less experienced employee to do it?  And if that less experienced—and most likely lesser paid—employee can do what you can not or will not do, you may soon be asking them to carry your paper box of personal items out the door as your last act as supervisor. 

This brings me to my rule of toilet repair: never be too good to use a toilet plunger.  When a person reaches a place where he or she no longer feels able to face this task, that person is in danger of forgetting that everyone is capable of creating that same mess.  In order to truly make others feel comfortable we have to face challenges of a less pleasurable nature and we have to remember the disasters of our own making.  Yes, once we are too good for the toilet plunger we are only steps away from the self-imposed ignorance that leads to true narcissism.  I plan to never achieve the type of success that makes me too good to use a toilet plunger…but it would be nice if my plunger had a gold-plated handle and maybe came with a matching tennis bracelet.

While these rules may seem simple and basic to many, think of the hoards of unemployed and job searching souls looking for employment.  Have they turned down a position because it seemed to “beneath them” or because they told themselves or allowed others to them they were “over qualified,” which is a lot like having too much money.  Yes, my rules are common sense but they are the key to being successfully employed.  So the next time you pass by the invisible custodian or forget who drops that mail on your desk, just remember you can be just as invisible and just as forgotten.  My toilet plunging skills may not be as impressive as an MBA, but until your MBA can unclog the toilet, step aside for the heroine of the flush.

 

Saved By the Bell Therapy January 17, 2010

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:31 am
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These Nine West heels are perfect for hanging at the Max, going to the big game, or just watching Saved by The Bell. Photo by Jean Thornton.

As another weekday morning dawns, alarm clocks buzz, showers spray, and across the country countless workers begin Saved By The Bell therapy.  No, this is not a new type of yoga or a different take on Pavlov’s classically conditioned dog; it is a throw back to the memories of our adolescent years and our old television friends from fictional Bayside High: trouble maker Zack Morris, head cheerleader Kelly Kapowski, athletic A.C. Slater, geeky Samuel “Screech” Powers, brainy Jessie Spano and stylish Lisa Turtle.   Let us not forget America’s favorite bumbling principal, Mr. Belding.  It doesn’t mater where you went to high school; everyone is a Bayside Tiger deep down inside. 

Monday thru Friday a daily class reunion is held and every adult under the age of 40 wants to attend.  TBS provides the wary professionals of the world with an alternative to the network morning news shows and the chatter on the basic cable’s 24 hour news stations.  It is not that these flashback viewers are uncaring about the world news; most of them are living that news.  They fear job loss, feel the pinch of the recession, and worry about foreclosure and/or the high costs of health care.   With all of these happy thoughts running through their heads, it is no wonder that they would rather escape to back to the days when our biggest worry was winning the volleyball tournament at the Malibu Sands Beach Club.

Remember the days when Zack and A.C. battled it out for the affections of Kelly and your biggest worry was rival Valley High School bringing in a Russian Chess champion to steal the title from Screech?  The days when The Max was the coolest restaurant in town and also where Casey Kasem held a dance contest.  You dreamed of having a cell phone like Zack’s, which was the size of a small briefcase.  Yes, there were difficult times, like when Jesse got hooked on caffeine pills or Kelly dumped Zack for the new college-guy manager at The Max.  Whether the problem was getting caught with fake I.D.s or discovering the new girl at the mall was actually homeless, the predicament could always be solved with one of Zack’s crazy schemes.

Depending on your age, you may have a preference for a certain period of Saved By The Bell—maybe the early years when Zack, Screech, and Lisa were lowly seventh graders in Miss Bliss’s history class.  By far the most popular span was during the high school years with all the joys of dating, running teen help lines and an endless stream of teen drama.   Later, it was onto Saved By The Bell: The College Years with new friends in co-ed dorm rooms, a couple of dates with a professor and even a rave.  Like all good sitcoms it ended with a TV movie special where the whole gang heads to Vegas for Zack and Kelly’s wedding.

Just like the rest of us, our friends at Bayside High school grew up and became adults too.  The push for an actual reunion show became a pop culture hot button issue last year; not so much to see the actors again, but to see the characters they portrayed.  I like to think that Zack and Kelly are still together; they probably have twin girls and a rascal of a little boy.  I imagine A.C. is divorced from his first wife, and Jessie would be Obama’s choice for the Supreme Court Justice spot.  Lisa is the chief editor at a fashion magazine and Screech is either a science teacher at Bayside or is a porn star.  Today, our friends from Bayside are probably a lot like we are.  They wake up and get ready for work, walk the dog, grab a quick breakfast and worry about their 401ks.

All of them, like us, long for a time when things were simpler, when our team always won the big game on Friday nights, there was a dance every weekend and all our problems could be solved by a long talk with the principal, usually within a half hour.  We now live in a world where the morning news shows are often riddled with declining home values and political scandals—which makes it nice to spend part of our morning with the gang from Bayside High and to be truly Saved By the Bell from the real world.

 

I Can Drive in Platforms January 3, 2010

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:03 am
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It takes patience and great shoes, like these Michael Kors' platforms to navigate life. Photo by Jean Thornton.

On a Sunday afternoon I catch myself giving a self-imposed evaluation of what have I learned lately.  The results are frightening.  As an adult my self-education is more disappointing than my Spanish grades were in high school.  There are many familiar old areas of failure: my checkbook shows that my math skills have remained stalled as there is a general disagreement between the bank’s definition of “balanced” and my own.  When it comes to decimal points, it is best to let someone else move those annoying little dots. 

My knowledge of sports has actually become worse during recent years.  It could be that the island I live on is generally not interested in sporting events.  On a college football Saturday I watch “fans” of the competing teams take cigarette breaks during the game outside the local sports bar, dressed in jerseys, knee high stripped socks, and hats done in jarring team colors.  I have never understood how fans with horribly tacky fashion make a player compete better. 

As to the skills pressed upon me in Home Economics, such as maintaining a cleaning “schedule” I can move my housekeeping skills into the “needs improvement” column of my adult report card.  In the realm of cooking, being a student of Ohio cuisine enables me to make a meal based around a Crockpot and cream of mushroom soup in my sleep or a cheesecake that would make Jenny Craig cry.  But beyond that my skills are limited.  Give me a filet of fish and I would not have clue what to do with it.  It’s like that old saying, “Give a shoe girl a fish; she’ll give you a dirty look.  Teach a shoe girl to fish; she’ll break your pole.”

Despite my many inadequacies, I can list a few things where I excel.  I can multitask—wrangling my Jack Russell’s leash with one hand while talking on the cell phone during a walk.  I cannot pair wines to multi-course meals, but I can make witty banter over cosmos with a stranger just as easily as I can with a close friend.   I can not remember the name of my insurance company, but I can tell you the last ten pairs of heels I bought.  Bring your shoe troubles to me and I can show you how a silver stiletto can be the splash your outfit needs! 

 And I can drive in platforms!  Laugh if you want at this talent, but strap a block of wood to your feet and see how quickly you jump the curb or worse yet, the bumper of another car.  I am a master of the road in platforms; I know when to apply less to the gas or more to the brakes.  I can adjust the slant of my foot without awkwardness or discomfort.  While some complain about moving their seat the slightest bit, it is just part of driving with the multitude of shoes that find their way onto my feet.  

When you think about it, driving in platforms is a lot like life—sometimes you have to adjust the amount of pressure applied to a situation.  Sometimes you have to give yourself a little more room for the sake of safety.  You always have to wear your safety belt and be prepared for a sudden stop or to pull over and park yourself when you need a rest.  If you can parallel park in platforms, you can handle just about any maneuver that life gives you.  

Maybe knowing how to drive in platforms is the key knowing how to handle the many obstacles that present themselves in adult life.  While maneuvering the many types of relationship roadblocks may not be something taught in high school courses, it could be said driving in platforms has taught me how to manage my love affair with shoes and the reality of life.  Sometimes to survive the road trip of love you have to pull over and take a break or take your foot of the acceleration, after enjoying the view from slow drives are half the fun—how can you window shop if you are speeding by.  And while being able to drive in platforms may not save me from all the heart ache or blisters, it certainly has made me appreciate the passengers I travel with. 

 There are many things I am still trying to learn.   One day my bank and I will actually agree on my checking balance; some day I will learn how to cook something other than spaghetti, I will not go as far as saying I will support a sporting team with bad fashion choices.   But I don’t fear learning new things; if I can learn to drive in platforms then maybe I shouldn’t give up on mastering long division just yet.

 

Believing in Birthdays December 13, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 8:54 am
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Put on your party shoes and enjoy the birthday cake. Photo by Jean Thornton

Birthdays are funny things.  When we are little, birthdays are cause for great parties and even greater anticipation.  As we get older, birthdays change from the highlight of our year to simply another day.   Only when we get to an age where people are amazed that we are still alive do birthdays again become cause for celebration. Our adult lives and adult responsibilities take over; for me, it’s not feeling old that make my birthdays a less exciting event, it’s feeling rushed.   

Being a December baby born within the dreaded two week range around Christmas, my birthday has always conflicted with holiday events.  Yet as a child my birthdays were exciting.  There were the cupcakes at school, the sleepover with friends, and all the singing and cheering over my mere existence.  The whole day was MY day, from choosing a sugary breakfast of donuts to bundles of birthday cards—it was non-stop smiles.   Birthday cakes with loads of sweet frosting were not diet-busting dangers but wish granting machines.

My birthdays since college have become less important in both my adult schedule and that of others.  I am not offended by it; I understand because my calendar is just as complicated and clogged with all the realities of life as the next  person’s.  I am happy just to spend an evening without a work crisis and with good friends—even when those friends live in my shoe closet.  In the critical time crunch before holiday vacations start and much of the world stops functioning until January 2nd, a birthday can almost be an inconvenience.

That is how I was looking at my birthday again this year.  I was not throwing a pity party for myself, but I was planning on keeping my birthday calm, simply hoping to wrap up work projects and brace for another year ahead.  It hasn’t been an easy year in my line of work as a homeless shelter case manager.  The budgets have been slashed since there simply are not enough tax dollars to go around, but at the same time, more and more Americans lose their homes, lose their jobs, and lose hope for their future.  And so the demand for shelter space becomes greater.  

The hardest part for me is not the thought of previously successful people struggling to find the simplest job, or the shame of elderly persons who can no longer afford to balance small budgets and maintain their health.  It is the children.   Children make up almost 25% of the homeless population nationwide; they are frequently the most overlooked part of our homeless population.  While I understand that most people truly want to believe in an America where children have homes with warm beds and full stomachs at night, sadly, I know this is not true for every child in our country.

One of my goals is that the children at my shelter do not “feel homeless”—that they feel like every other child in town.  It takes a lot of hard work and community support to just meet a child’s basic needs.  Birthdays, however, are often forgotten days by those outside of the shelter.   Recently, I had the chance to help remember one birthday; it was a big one too, 7 years old.   No driver’s license, no extended curfews, no voting rights.  But when you are 6, 7 is a very big deal.  

Birthdays at the shelter do not resemble the ones shown on television shows.  There are no inflatable jumping houses, no clowns, no pony rides.  Our staff always finds a way to make the day as special as we possible; there usually are homemade birthday cakes, party hats, a few small simple presents, and a couple of balloons.  Even though the guest list is small—only the other residents of the shelter—the candles and birthday wishes still shine just as brightly. All the things that we adults once held true as children are still believed by little ones today.  They still think they are friends with the coolest person in the world simply because they tell the best jokes; that adults are amazing because they can light candles; and all their gifts are priceless no matter the actual cost.  And they still believe that if they wish with all their heart, that wish will come true. 

Yes, birthdays could be seen as just another day of the year.  But the beauty of a birthday is that it really is your day; the other 364 belong to someone else but that one day is yours.  It could be easy to see this year as disappointing in a time when so many have lost so much.  But if children in homeless shelters can find a reason to celebrate their own .special day then surely we adults can find one day for ourselves too. 

I’ve decided birthdays should really be a lot more like we dreamed they would be when we were little.  So this year I am dropping the first number and embracing the ‘8’ at the end of mine.  I plan to eat a big piece cake and not worry about the calories.  My friends will be the coolest people in the whole world because they make me laugh; my parents will be amazing because they still do things I have yet to master; and the gifts from the heart will mean the most.  And I will believe that if I wish with all my heart it will come true.

 

The Joy of Getting Lost December 6, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 8:31 am
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These Dolce and Gabana heels are perfect for going no where at all! Photo by Jean Thornton

I recently had the chance to be a stranger in a strange land; for a little island girl, Miami is not only a big city, but a strange one too.  I was undeterred—the bright lights and fast-moving traffic cannot sway this shoe girl from tracking down every shoe clearance rack in the greater Miami area.  Thanks to the wonderful world of Wi-Fi and my lap top, I was quickly Googling directions to all the shopping hot spots I could find.  Yet five minutes into the drive I found myself cursing my mis-guided map questing which was leading me the wrong way down one way streets and had me swerving semi trucks in the express lane.  I could not help but wonder: what ever happened to good old-fashioned navigation and exploration?

I quickly realized that a traffic jam in Miami is as common as stiletto in my shoe closet, and I began re-thinking taking that GPS system off my holiday wish list last year.  With my printed directions offering little solution and leaving  me with time while sitting in the bumper-to-bumper traffic to ponder why I chose the “quickest route offered via interstate” and why I was spending all my free time pushing on towards the next shopping destination when I wasn’t even sure what I would find there.  In a world where it is becoming more and more difficult to get lost, I was lost and in more ways than one. 

GPS comes on our cell phones, built into our cars, and sometimes I think it would be good on my designer heels in case of theft.  But is it really so great to always to be told the quickest route to the next shoe sale or whatever life’s next adventure is?  Here I was, having a road rage panic attack because traffic was preventing my speedy arrival; however, I really had no schedule.  Yet I was convinced I had to get where I was going so I could get there and leave for the next destination. 

In my search for Shoe Mecca, I was passing by tons of little shops and boutiques that just may have hidden heel treasure inside.  Like so often in life, I was focusing only on my destination.  I could not help but see the similarity in my own life: rush through the work week to get the weekend; rush through the grocery store to get home, usually forgetting half my list; rush to the bank; rush to meet friends, only to rush off so I can get a good rest for the next day of rushing.  Even in asleep my mind is rushing through confusing dreams of what my future might look like. 

It’s no wonder that on a day when I had no place I had to be, I spent it rushing to stores that maybe had some great deals, I have become accustomed to not sitting still and enjoying where I am when I am there.  As children we love adventure; an afternoon spent exploring is a delight.  The older we get, the more we push ourselves to reach our next goal, the next milestone, and the next step—even when there are no plans beyond the moment we are in.  Even in Key West, where taking it slow is our motto, I see us all becoming more caught up in what is happening next. 

When I finally arrived at the end of my directions, I was hardly saying, “Woohoo!”  I was disappointed in what I found.  There were no secret shoe deals; there were hardly any deals at all.  I won’t even express my sadness at the handbag selection.  However, I decided not to leave empty handed or minded, so to speak.  I determined that it was time to stop looking for the next ‘thing’ or sale, and to start looking at what the journey had to offer.  It may not be the shoes we find at our determined destination that brings us the most joy and satisfaction, but maybe it’s the shoes we walked in that give us the true happiness we are looking for.  I took the long way back to the hotel and cruised along at the speed limit.  Let someone else take the express way, it was time to enjoy having time and no place to be.  

PS.  Do not worry my shoe fanatical friends, I still left Miami with seven delightful pairs of shoes!

 

Saying Goodbye to a Home November 22, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:48 am
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Thanksgiving Week is a time of year to be spent with family and good friends that have become our extended family.  It is also a time to show our gratitude and share our childhood memories.  This week I am sharing a little bit of the home my parents provided for me and my brothers.

Not a beach in site, the childhood home of the Island Shoe Girl. Photo by Remax Homebase.

My parents sold their home in Fairborn and moved from Ohio to South Carolina this month.  My brothers and I have already spread out across the East Coast and welcome their retirement change of scenery and the beautiful adventures it will bring them.  But with the final closing papers comes a farewell to a house on Grant Street that has always been my home.  It is the only home I ever knew from the time I was born to the day I left for college. 

Our house was not large and has never graced the covers of a home décor magazine, but it was the best place in the world for anyone to grow up.  I know the things I will miss about this house are memories that we created as a family.  I will miss running barefoot in our backyard while my Mom waters her garden.  I can still hear the basketball bouncing in the driveway from my brothers shooting hoops and smell of a fire in the chimney on winter days.  And although it has been years since I have rode my bike up the driveway to see the dining room light on, signaling a family meal, I am sad all the same that we will not gather in that room again. 

I am blessed to have never come home to an empty house; even when my parents were not home, their presence was there.  I always had a curfew with parents who really cared and worried if it was missed.  I cursed the evenings I spent studying spelling words at the kitchen table, knowing that my Dad would quiz me on them before I could watch television.  I loved the nights that the Christmas tree lights shone across the hall and into my bedroom, and the dreams of Christmas morning they brought.  On rainy days my brothers and I spent long hours in the basement letting our imagination run wild until a fight over sharing G.I. Joes would break out.  

My family has grown and matured, all of us kids are adults with homes of own now, and our house has grown up too.  The lovely red carpet in the family room that camouflaged Kool-Aid spills has been replaced with a not-so-forgiving beige.  Our kitchen has been upgraded, the dining room painted, and our bedrooms have gone from childhood rooms filled with mementos of our youth to guest rooms suited for any visitor.   Soon the sale will be complete and no longer will the little blue bedroom be “mine” in any sense of the word.  It will belong to someone new; another couple who I hope knows what a treasure they are getting. 

I now live in Key West, and while the beaches and warm breezes helped with my decision to move, I came because of career options.  I always maintain that I grew up in a great place and had many wonderful opportunities that shaped me into the person I am today.  Ohio gave me all four seasons: hiking in the spring, autumn football games, snow days in the winter and summers at the pool.  Ohio gave me neighbors who knew my name and greeted me cheerfully during college vacations.  Ohio gave me friends, farms, sweet corn, fairs, and Bob Evans’s biscuits & gravy. 

I am happy for my parents and the lovely new house they are getting.  In a time when most real estate news is dismal and depressing, it is refreshing to see a deal occur where someone gets a true dream home—a home for their retirement that rewards years of hard work.  And I am happy for the couple buying our house in Fairborn; I believe that they are getting a dream home too.  I hope that someday my bedroom belongs to one of their children, that another dog plays fetch in the backyard, and that their family celebrates birthdays around the dining room table. 

 There is something tied to a house key that keeps it lingering in a drawer even after it no longer unlocks our front door.  For anyone who has held onto a key long after a home becomes a place we used to live, my emotions and sentiments will surely be familiar. So with both joy and sadness I say a final good-bye to the house on Grant Street.  I am not sure I will see you again outside of my memories and photographs, but understand you will always have a place in my heart.  Take care of this new family as you have taken care of mine, be more than a collection of rooms— be the home you always were.

 

I Want to Date Frosty the Snowman November 15, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:34 am
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nine west brown boots 4

With a cool man like Frosty I would need some hot boots, like these Nine West stunners! Photo by Jean Thornton

As winter creeps into our wardrobes and I replace my open-toe pumps with knee high boots, I not only think about matching scarves with fabulous top coats but also about a winter romance.  After much thought I have decided that the perfect chill man for me is none other than Frosty the Snowman.  Environmentally trendy and a cool breath of fresh air, Frosty is my ideal man for surviving the colder months.

I know it seems like an odd choice, but when considering the other contenders this snowy white knight wins hands… or branches down.  Sure, I could go for an Elf, but he would be working around the clock.  And despite his access to that infamous “Naughty and Nice List”, who wants to explain why their new fabulous boyfriend is too busy to attend all those swinging holiday parties.  Plus, elves tend to be short and those boots are tall!  There is also Rudolph of reindeer fame, who has reputation of always playing games—true they are reindeer games but games nonetheless.   Factor in that over-demanding boss who always needs a ride somewhere, and there are not many reasons to yell “yippee!”

Consider some of Frosty’s personal characteristics and I think you will agree with my choice.  While appearances are not everything, he does have those dark smoky eyes and a cute little button nose.  Sure he smokes and I am not sure if a nicotine patch can be applied to snow, but some flaws should be overlooked.  Frosty is good with children, enjoys dancing, and greets you with a big smile every night when you come home from a hard day’s work. 

Of course Frosty is NOT a fashion icon. While he is wearing white after Labor Day, he is still a snappy dresser with that magic in his old silk hat.  The best part about Frosty is that his height is adjustable. Want to wear those new amazing platform boots?  Pack a little extra snow around his base and get instant height. 

All my friends are sure to be jealous of Frosty and me.  Who wouldn’t love my new love interest?  He will be a delightful addition to the holiday party circuit with his jolly happy soul and hilarious jokes about a polar bear in a snow storm.  Frosty is the perfect date to be with if I run into an ex-boyfriend. Why shoot an icy look at my former beau when I can just break off of chunk of Frosty and lob it at him.  I never worry about his former girlfriend popping up; she’s a total flake—literally!   

Frosty and I will meet shortly after Thanksgiving, falling into my life just as the last leaves are swept away by a blustery wind.  Little by little he will show up in my life.  We will spend the holidays together hanging Christmas lights on my porch.  I’ll sip cocoa while he describes what our snow angel children will look like. Sure, roasting chestnuts by the fire is a no-no, but he is great at sledding and enjoys a brisk winter walk through downtown streets. 

As once bright and shiny winter days turn into another cold ho-hum case of the winter blahs, I know our love will come to an end.  Not long after Valentine’s Day our love may begin to thaw.  Frosty will be a little less exciting, frolicking around town will not be as much fun, and I will long for a little warmer man.  No awkward break-up conversations needed here.  I’ll just knock Frosty down with a snow shovel and watch him melt out of my life.  The only thing left of our love will be his corn cob pipe.  It is time to move on to a Spring Break romance down in the tropics with Captain Morgan.    

This chilly romance may seem impractical, but Frosty used to fill everyone with such wonder and joy as children that it only seems right that he could fill the lonely, cold months with that same cheer in my adult years.  Often the love of a first snow or the joy of a sled ride is lost as we grow up.  Holiday shopping and pushing for end of year deadlines may override the cheer that once filled our schedules.   Perhaps a brief winter fling with a figment of childhood imagination is just the thing to break away from the realities that can not be shoveled away. 

It may be nice to have a little bit of magic in life again…even if it does comes from a brief romance with a snowman.  Besides even in the aftermath of our love affair, his last words will stay in my ears and in my heart, “Don’t you cry; I’ll be back again some day.”  He just may end up being an ex-boyfriend I enjoy seeing on some other winter day.