Who wouldn't go crazy with shoes like these? Photo by Jean Thornton.

Ever see a pair of heels that make you say, “I want to put you on my feet and wear you now?”  I do—almost every time I see a pair of amazing heels.  If there is a Casedia sale on Ruelala.com all I can think is ‘I want to put you on my feet’.  When an email lands in my inbox boosting a shoe sale at Niemen Marcus Last Call, my toes curl with anticipation.  Heaven forbid if I find myself in the clearance room of a department store shoe section—I can turn into a real stiletto-psychopath.  Another shopper might politely ask if I am done with a pair of shoes and I have to edit my natural urge to explain I am not done with the entire rack and who said she could come in this room anyway!

It’s like I have OCD or OCSS (Obsessive Compulsive Shoe Shopping); I never ever get enough.  Most people reserve the phrase “took my breath away” for the first time they see a spouse or their child.  Me, I use it to describe how I feel when I am near designer shoes.   No matter how hard I try to control my desires, I find myself frequently out of control.  This is a realization I came to during the post-holiday season sales after calculating my total shoe intake in less then 3 weeks as 12 pairs.  Apparently this is more shoes than most people buy all year. 

I have no will power when I am faced with rows upon rows of stilettos, pumps, wedges, and sling-backs all calling my name from their cozy shoeboxes.  They beckon me to just try them on, no commitment, no promises to buy…just slip them on for a minute and see how they feel.  See how their arches feel against the bottom of my foot.  See how their leather straps wrap around my ankles.  See how they would complement every single piece of clothing that I own or could ever desire to own. 

These little shoe voices whisper softly in my ear, “oh we go together so well.”  And I am left breathless by how right those shoes are.  I am also frequently forced to live on a shoe string budget because of those same shoes… oh the irony of a girl who hates tennis shoes to be forced to live on a budget named after them!   Perhaps these little shoe voices could get me a diagnosis of shoe-schizophrenia.  But who would want a cure for an infliction that makes my toes look oh so good?

I might honestly have an unknown shoe psychosis that has yet to be acknowledged by the American Psychological Association or the Diagnostic Manual’s latest edition.  Treatment option could be limited; group therapy would probably only fuel my habits.  A group of women sitting around talking about shoes… yeah, that’s helping—especially if they are a similar shoe size.  I couldn’t face  treatment from a therapist with bad shoes. And electroshock therapy would likely only make my hair frizzy.  There might be prescription medications that could help control these urges, but what if they had unpleasant side effects like not wanting to buy shoes? 

Thus I find there is no hope for me except to continue to manage my illness the best way I know how.  With more shoes of course!  Some might say I am shoe crazy, but I wonder if maybe you are in a shoe depressive state of sorts.   Maybe the whole world is insane from lack of shoes and my fellow shoe lovers and I are the only truly “normal” ones. 

Okay, I am pushing it.  I can hear groans of disgust through your computer screens as you read this.  Luckily for me I let the voices of my shoes drown out the voices of my detractors.  So I seek comfort in my shoe closet where the voices say, “We are so glad you brought us home…you should go back to the store and get a few more of our friends.”

A shoe girl lost in reality. Photo by Jean Thornton

Over drinks with a friend, the conversation somehow wandered to the topic of the reality TV show The Amazing Race.  My friend commented that she thought it would be so fun for her and I to be on the show together.  I was about to counter that that my idea of a trip around the world involved several luxury hotels and far more luggage than one backpack’s worth.  Before I could speak, my friend stated the obvious, “you couldn’t do that; they wouldn’t let you wear heels.”   For a brief moment I did think of scaling the pyramids in a pair of Michael Kors’ wedges….before thinking I would much rather scale the escalator at Bergdorf Goodman’s. 

My friend was speaking the truth of course.  I am not a girl who easily gives up her heels; just ask my poor foot doctor who has had to twice force my broken foot into an orthopedic boot.  So thoughts of seeing the Seven Wonders of the World without my standard six-inch stilettos just might the eighth wonder.  Yet the more I thought about it, the more I realized The Amazing Race is not the only reality show I am disqualified from.  In fact, I cannot find one that would welcome a shoe girl like me.

If The Amazing Race is out, then Survivor is most definitely a pipe dream.   Each season generally starts with the contestants jumping off a boat or being dropped randomly in the wild.  Then trudging through jungle or swimming for dear life to make what they call “camp,” I am not sure what “camp” is or why I would want to “make” it, but I hear it lacks a walk-in closet.  Besides, I don’t like to take my shoes anywhere a GPS system cannot find. Sorry—if Tom-Tom doesn’t go there, neither do I.

A few of my married friends might hope to marry me off and perhaps The Bachelor just might be the reality show for that.  Yet, the thought sharing a house with 30 women just plain terrifies me.  No, it’s not the thought of sharing a bathroom or failing to land a “solo date”…FYI ladies, ALL dates should be “solo dates!”  But the worry that the band of skanks that regularly appear on this show might pilfer my shoes?  Sorry, no rose, ring or slightly damaged bachelor is worth the risk of another contestant stretching out my Jimmy Choos.

Fortunately, I do not qualify for such MTV reality shows like The Real World because I actually live in THE real world where people actually pay rent.  And because my parents were smart enough to let me take sex education in high school and I was smart enough to take notes, I have missed my chance to be on Teen Mom.   As a side note to the Teen Mom stars, if you are too embarrassed to buy a condom, you should be too embarrassed to have the consequences on TV.  Of course, since my skin tone is a normal color and not baked by UV rays, Jersey Shore is out.  And because I can spell both Jersey and Shore I am also eliminated from casting. 

I would keep my fingers crossed for a spot on The Real Housewives, if the franchise ever moved to Key West as perhaps my shoes would be safe on that show.  Due to my ability to drink extreme amounts of wine and live beyond my means, I would think this would be the perfect place for my shoes and me on Reality TV.  However, since I have a real job that would not allow for 3 hour long lunches to keep up with the busy Botox schedule and wine drinking in the middle of the day, once again I am out.   It’s such a shame because I would be a really great guest on Andy Cohen’s Clubhouse—Mazel, Andy!

So alas, out of reality I must stay…at least out of Reality TV.  There might be people out there who would be interested in seeing an everyday girl in extraordinary shoes face real realities like trying to finish the monthly reports on time, pumping her own gas, cleaning her own toilet and walking the dog.  They might be fascinated at all the amazing things I do like pay my bills and not be followed around by cameras and boom microphones.  These people, however, are most likely busy being “Reality” TV and thus have no time for reality.

Until the day when the tables turn and true reality becomes the NEW reality, I will just keep dreaming up my show.  Hey, what about a reality where a shoe girl spend hours organizing her shoe closet and trying on designer heels?  Sounds fascinating to me!

A girl can never have too many shoes or too many friends. Photo by Jean Thornton

I had a realization this week: good shoes are like good friends in many ways.  This did not come about because I met a new friend with the exact same foot size plus a shoe collection twice as large as mine, which she likes to lend out.  Actually, this thought came about starting with a meeting.  I am a member of a social sorority; we meet once a month, have a variety of social outings, and hold a fundraiser for local charities each year.  And yes, we drink a fair amount of wine. 

This month’s meeting was only two days away when I realized no one had sent out the email reminder saying who was hosting.  I suspected everyone was busy and had forgotten the meeting, perhaps being busy with the end of the holidays.  So I decided I would invite the ladies to my condo thinking that not many would be able to attend.

Now let me explain that my apartment is not a huge; it’s mostly shoe closet.  Okay, so that is an exaggeration…but it won’t be featured in a 6-page spread in Better Homes & Gardens.  It would need maybe 2 pages to cover it.   Nonetheless, I wrote out a quick email while on my 4^th glass of red wine and hit send.  Very quickly, my sorority sisters began responding with positive RSVPs.  In no time, I was hosting more guests than I had thought I would. 

After quick vacuuming, dusting off the diplomas (girls gotta look smart and clean), and flipping over the bath mats I was ready to host!  Martha Stewart I am not.  My sorority sisters arrived and my apartment began filling up.  However, with each new guest, my apartment did not shrink but seemed to get a little bigger to let each person in.  I would daresay that even more could have fit in.

Once the evening came to an end and I had said goodbye to my last friend, I went to put my shoes in their place in my shoe closet.  I realized that there always seemed to be a place available for each pair of shoes I find.  Just like the apartment the shoe closet was in, there always seems to be a little more space.

Which is how I came to the idea that good shoes are like good friends in that you can really never have too many.  Sure you could argue that you can only wear one pair of shoes at time, but I can certainly admire many different pairs of shoes at once. Personally, I think that my shoes share a bond between one another and enjoy each other’s company.

And just like friends, you have different shoes for different events and situations.  Some shoes are great for dancing; others for walking, just like some friends are great for having a drink with at the end of long day and others you can call on when you need a cup of sugar.  Some friends are life-long friends just as some shoes are classics that you cherish for life while others shoes are seasonal.  There are friends who make you feel very comfortable, like a pair of Manolo Blahnik’s, while other friends take you to new heights like a pair of six-inch stilettos.

The best part about both good shoes and good friends is that you truly never have enough.  And even when you don’t wear your shoes everyday, it is always good to put them on again.  Like a phone call to catch up with an old friend or friendly letter, you always cherish knowing they are there for you.  And truly, both friends and shoes are invaluable. 

So as this New Year begins, I resolve to appreciate both the good shoes and the good friends—and to welcome both into my home. Hopefully they will all feel welcome anytime.  Luckily, this resolution comes just in time for the After-holiday Sales… because there’s always room for more shoes in my shoe closet and more friends in my home.

The Croc of the week has to go to the Republican Primaries.  Since only a handful of states are actually voting on this field of candidates why must the whole country suffer through all of the press time dedicated to them.  How many small coffee shops doesIowahave any way? You can’t turn on a news broadcast without some reporter chatting with about the future ofAmericawith a guy who sits around in coffee shop all day.  Thank goodness Lifetime Network is back to showing Project Runway All Stars.  There’s a contest I can get behind.

Nobody better try to protest these shoes. Photo by Jean Thornton.

I had a terrifying thought the other day and it has caused me some great concern.  Now I am not one to push a political agenda on this blog unless that agenda has to do with banning Uggs.  I believe that a ballot box is where those issues most belong and if you don’t have the time to vote, I don’t have the time to listen to you.  But I have to admit that I am one to voice an opinion when requested or amongst friends. 

However, my fear has to do with The Occupy Movement.  See, I had a brief flash of terror when I thought this movement might spread to my shoe closet.  I figure I just might be in the 1% of shoe owners (please note that this is the only 1% I am in) and what if the other 99% of shoe owners decide that they should have some of my shoes?  Could the other 99% of shoe owners see my shoe collection as an unequal distribution of shoes?

If Occupy Shoes continues to gain momentum I might wake up one day to find protestors occupying my shoe closet.  They might be marching around carrying signs that read “We are the 99% who wear flat shoes.”  A group wearing Birkenstock sandals might set up a drum circle near my designer heels, while another cluster begins one of those annoying chants where everyone repeats what the leader says. 

Having a group of protestors in my shoe closet would surely drive my dog crazy, not to mention put a serious strain on the one bathroom in my apartment.  My landlord might not be too happy either as the extra traffic could cause unintentional damage.  Plus my apartment is a place where you can relax quietly, read a book, or perhaps toss a tennis ball to my dog.  I would likely have to remove the Occupy Shoes protestors; of course I am not violent but I might have to spray Febreze on them to get them out.  I am sure that somewhere along the way I will have to give a press conference explaining that, while I support everyone’s right to shoes, blocking my right to shoes is not the way to go about it. 

I of course believe everyone has a right to shoes, I don’t think that in our society, which is so shoe rich, that anybody should be barefoot.  Yet at the same time I have to point out that I paid for all of my shoes.  I worked many hours for my shoe collection, sometimes working two jobs just to get a pair of Manolo Blahnik’s. I was not born with a silver shoe on my feet.  My parents did not own a shoe store which I had unending access to; I only had hard work to get my feet in shoes.  So why all the sudden am I supposed to share my shoe wealth with others who perhaps have never worked a 12 hour shift just to buy Prada pumps?

Yes, I understand that very little in life is free (except living in a park apparently) and it can be expected that a person might gather some financial baggage along the way.  While financial baggage might not be as cute a Kate Spade tote, it does not mean you don’t have carry it.  If you earned a college degree you cannot cry foul if that degree does not come with a six figure salary that makes your student loans magically disappear in a year.  And if you earned a college degree in something that does not have a corresponding career field, may I suggest looking into a wait service job in the meantime.  I am sure you are working on the great American novel, but until then you can recite the specials.   

I don’t mean to sound harsh and uncaring.  I do care. I care a lot which is why I work at a job where I actually get to the change my community and the lives of others.  I do this by helping people find work, teaching them how to budget and manage their money, and hopefully they will be prepared for the hard times ahead.  And I hope that they will be able to buy as many shoes as they can afford to.  Those that I help might not be able to make it into the top 1%, but they surely will not stay in the bottom 1%.

Dear Occupy Movement, please do not occupy my shoe closet.  I might be in the top 1% of shoes but I got here the old fashioned way… a lot of hard work and waiting patiently to earn to earn my shoes.  And if you still think you should occupy my shoe closet a word of caution: I have been wearing heels my entire life and I can stand in stilettos much longer than you can.

A little sample of some Key West Christmas cheer. Photo by Marilyn Kaple

Despite the fact that this week’s temperatures have stayed around 80 degrees in Key West, I cannot help but find myself running the lyrics of White Christmas inside my head.  And if the weather predictions prove accurate, it seems most of the country will also be only dreaming of White Christmas this year.  It might not be too hard to imagine a Christmas without snow as winter has only started, but perhaps a Christmas in shorts would be a little harder for most to picture. 

Despite the hustle and bustle of the season and the warm breezes off the ocean, I often find my Key West Christmas is just as traditional as the white ones I used to have back in Ohio.  True, there is almost no chance of snow this Christmas—or any other day in Key West—and if there is, I will have to talk with my real estate agent immediately! Nonetheless, Christmas and its spirit are alive and well on my island.

Lights are wrapped around the trunks of palm trees and glow against the white picket fences that line the sidewalks.  Poinsettias are abundant on the large wrap-around porches and more than a few locals choose to put their Christmas tree outside as well.  Neighbors sit on their porches and shout a cheerful hello and offer a glass of holiday cheer as friends stroll by in their short sleeves and Santa caps.  Sure we are a little heavy with the rum in the eggnog but you have to get those spirits in you somehow. 

Trolleys filled with carolers drive down the streets ringing their bells joyfully.  Families and friends often gather along the street to shout cheer back.  Little Key West kids might never make snow angels but they do know that Santa sometimes arrives by boat, and a mojito rather than glass of milk might improve your chances of being listed on the “Nice List.”

It’s true a warm, wool scarf will likely not be needed this holiday season in Key West and it might look very strange to throw one around your neck with your tank top—or to pair your knee-high boots with shorts; but it is the season to embrace Santa’s fashion sense.  There won’t be a need for snowsuits but you might need some special red shoes to wear to the lighted boat parade.

And while my Key West Christmas might be different from the ones I had when I was little in Ohio, at the end of the night I can see my neighbors’ Christmas lights glowing through my window, reminding me of the lights that used to shine on the Christmas tree outside our bedroom doors when I was little.  Yes, Christmas is different now as a Key Wester and as an adult.  It seems that days are more filled with things to do and less with celebration and carols.  But there is still magic in the days leading up to Christmas, still a bit of cheer reserved only for December days.

This year for many around the world the holiday might be a little different.  Some stocking might not be stuffed quite as full; perhaps there will be a few less wrapped packages under the tree, and maybe a smiling face from years past will not be there to share the day.  I know for myself and others that hopes for a better 2012 will be at the top of our lists.  Yet, if the spirit of the season can be found under palm fronds and on sailboats, it surely can be found anywhere a heart is willing to embrace it. 

And though I will not see snow this year, I still hear Bing Cosby’s wishes for a white Christmas.  So wherever this Christmas blog finds you, I will end it with hopes that all your days be merry and bright, and that all of your Christmas be…worth singing about.

Happy Birthday, Shoe Girl!  Here’s one of your gifts—I will do this week’s blog for you!

Three decades ago this week, the Island Shoe Girl made her debut on a snowy day typical of December in OH! – IO! First of all, this means I must have been a child/mother. (My friends can stop gagging!) Secondly, after two big brothers, this was my last chance to ‘think pink’—these were the days before ultrasounds eliminated that suspense. And finally there was someone to be “daddy’s cutie pie girl”, as she often referred to herself.  (A title she still holds.)

One of her father’s favorite Jimmy Buffett lines used to be, “Little Miss Magic, what’cha going to be? / Little Miss Magic, just can’t wait to see.”

People are sometimes surprised Little Miss Magic became the Shoe Girl who ended up on an island far from Ohio, working with homeless women and children.  Those who know her background shouldn’t be too surprised; in fact, we should have seen it coming.  Every facet of her life today was born and developed in her growing-up years, so we really should have known….

We should have known she would live in Key West.  In 5^th grade she wrote a biography assignment on Jimmy Buffett, titled “My Tropical Hero”.  During high school, she was quick to claim the ticket to a re-scheduled JB concert I could not use; hence, the first Father-Daughter Parrothead evening.  In college she managed to disguise her crutches as shark fins for a concert soon after her first foot surgery.

We should have known she would work with women and children.  From junior high through grad school she was the ultimate babysitter and part-time nanny.  The nearby university School of Nursing & Health asked her to participate on their advisory board for a project on teenage pregnancy awareness.  Her keepsake box is full of certificates of recognition and thanks for her time and energy for various service projects.

We should have known she would manage residential services.  The Shoe Girl’s graduate assistant duties included acting as a supervisor for a large co-ed residence hall.  Working with her client families today is nothing compared to a floor full of football players.  She learned every trick for trying to sneak into or out of a dorm late at night—no one can pull a fast one on her now!

We should have known she would be a constant fundraiser.  Remember that Tropical Hero biography?  She turned it into a fundraiser among her classmates for ‘Friends of Florida’, a Buffett project at that time.  When it was time for the annual Powder Puff football game during her junior year, she worried that the un-sanctioned game in a city park was becoming too aggressive.  She lobbied school administration to make it a sponsored event in the stadium one evening during Homecoming Week and organized it so a nominal admission fee went to the fund for Track & Field renovations.  During one college summer as a camp counselor, she posted the need for craft supplies on a Coconut Telegraph chat page and got enough supplies to last most of the summer, to the amazement of her fellow staff.

We should have known she’d become a media commentator on shoes and fashion.  She has known the value of a total look from the time she could say the words.  When her Nana fueled the fire with a new dress and hat and purse, the soon-to-be shoe girl added her own white gloves, ‘lacy’ socks, ‘shiny’ shoes, and sunglasses—and turned heads in church!  In a now-famous story, the first time we allowed her to pack her own suitcase for spring break at the beach, she put in a couple pairs of shorts, three swimsuits, several pairs of sunglasses, and seven pairs of shoes—and that was all!  In grade school she did in-store modeling for Limited Too and later served on a Teen Fashion Board at the mall. For her senior prom, she gave a seamstress movie clips to help the woman create a gown darn close to Grace Kelly’s dress in To Catch a Thief.

We should have known that our shoe girl would become a compassionate, caring person who always expected the best from everyone.  Just before her high school graduation, she wrote a short essay just to verbalize some of her feelings.  In it she said, “Above all else, I learned that wonderful, amazing things are happening around me every day and all I have to do is look.”

So Happy Birthday, Little Miss Magic!  Now we know what you’re going to be:  FABULOUS

Shoes to write home about. Photo by Jean Thornton.

This week the United States Post Office announced sweeping changes in an effort to save the Post Office from bankruptcy.  While many think these changes will perhaps only delay mail service and increase the cost of stamps, I am fearful that perhaps the art of writing a letter could be real victim.  This week I am re-posting about the style of writing a letter.  Perhaps it will inspire you to write one or two…

Dear Sir or Madame,

This week I am taking a moment to write to you about an element of style that one will not find in your closet, dresser, or jewelry box.   I am stomping my stilettos for a piece of good taste and elegance that is fading.  OurUnited States’ Post Office is in jeopardy of becoming extinct and with it the tradition of handwritten letters are going too.  While this may not seem like a fashion issue, good manners and proper correspondence are always in style.  Just like a pair of black patent leather pumps, a hand-written letter delivered by our friendly postal person is a classic reflection of American chic-ness. 

Now I am the first person to admit that the Post Office has frustrated me in the past.  I will not dredge up issues that are better left among junk mailings from Pier One; but it is enough to say that I have also been frustrated by increased postage rates, long lines to mail a present, and even a random and confusing re-direction of my mail one November.  But today I come to you to plead the case of mail in its purest form: the letter. 

Remember when mail was fun?  When it was all birthday cards and postcards from friends on vacations?  When you opened a letter from your grandmother and a well-worn five dollar bill fell out?  Those were the days before our mailboxes contained credit card bills and cell phone statements, when we were not constantly bombarded with promises of lower insurance rates and 20% off coupons from Bed,Bath, and Beyond….honestly who is buying that much stuff for the bed or bath, or beyond?

In these modern days when many of us carry our Blackberries and I-Phones loaded with our multiple email accounts, the ability to text message and even Facebook, it is clear why many have abandoned the art of old-fashioned letter writing.  Most of us may struggle to even find a stamp when it comes time to respond to the rare bill that is not accepted by online payment.  Convenience is killing letter writing. 

I am not proclaiming that we hearken back to the old days of pressing a wax seal against the lip of an envelope, but there is value beyond the current rate of postage in writing an occasional letter or two.  A handwritten letter is like the perfect Hermes bag or a simple strand of pearls; it is the difference between an outfit and “a look.”  Like Jackie O’s oversized glasses, a graceful slopping cursive ‘M’ starting a Mrs., Mr., Miss., or Ms. and the ending a flourish after a zip code scribed across a small, colored envelop is  a demonstration of taste.

Think of the cards you have tucked into drawers, hidden in the back of yearbooks and photo albums.  What do they say; what moments do they commemorate?  Perhaps there is a graduation announcement from high school next to the card your grandmother wrote, expressing her pride and hope for your future.  Maybe there is a birthday card from a college friend who time has separated from you.  If you are lucky, there might be a love letter of sorts from a flame possibly extinguished now, or it represents a love still strong.  One day, sadly, these letters and the words scribbled on Hallmark Cards and stationary could be the only sample of handwriting left by those who loved us the most.  And long after we can’t hear them say our names or “I love you”, we hold onto those declarations and the everyday statements quickly jotted at the end of note meant just to say hello.

And while there are cards that you surely have saved, if you are lucky there are cards you have sent that are equally treasured by those recipients.   The card we mailed to mark a holiday or other special moment for a loved one, may just be the simple gesture that brings a smile to our grandparents’, parents’, or siblings’ faces.  Ask any solider and I am sure they will tell you that a letter, simple and thoughtful, from someone back home describing ordinary moments is worth far more than 44¢. 

Since the days of the Pony Express there has been nothing more worth the wait than a piece of mail sent, not because it requires urgent attention, but because it is meant to share or perhaps provide some cheer.  Yes, there is great importance in the mail; it says things we did not realize we want to say.  There might be quicker, easier ways to communicate in a world of Skype and internet hype.  Waiting at the Post Office may cause us to tap our pumps and shift in our sling-backs; use your Blackberry to pass the time.  Trust me, the minutes spent there will be worth continuing the tradition and art of writing a letter, and it will certainly keep you classically stylish. 

Sincerely,

The Island Shoe Girl XOXO

Who would skip an ad for these fabulous heels? Photo by Jean Thornton

As a die-hard fashion lover, I digest my fair share of fashionable reading.  It ranges from glossy-paged magazines, to biographies on designers, to blogs, to online magazines and newspapers that proclaim to be the end all guide for all of my fashion needs.  All of these fashion sources have a cost and some have a significant amount of advertisement.  Now I love a shoe advertisement probably far more than the next girl, but some of these ads are simply out of control.

I understand completely that nothing comes for free.   There is no free ride on the catwalk of life and delivering fashion insight and news is certainly no exception.  But at times I feel that these ads have spiraled out of control.  No matter if I am reading—the Fashion section of the New York Times or skimming a website—it seems that I cannot avoid an advertiser intruding on my pleasure time. 

When it comes to magazines I will gladly pay a price to have fashion at my finger tips, ready whenever I need it whether that be on a plane, on a train, or while waiting for a doctor’s appointment.  Tell me as many times as you want about the convenience of an electronic book, you will not win over this lover of pages.  It’s like telling me to wear a ballet flat; sorry, I am a stiletto girl and there’s no way around it.  Just the same, I am a real live paper-between-my-fingers girl.  (Plus, I think one of the most stylish accessories is a book cover that reveals a little bit about its reader.)

The advantage of advertisements in print is the ease with which one can choose to stop and observe or move along.  Some fashion advertisements are as informative, thought provoking, and attractive as some articles and photo spreads in those same magazines.  There is also the added bonus of being able to fold down a corner on the ad for those new Prada pumps with a casually scribbled shoe size for subtle birthday shopping hints. 

As a little girl I loved newspaper ads.  I would sprawl on the family room floor each Sunday and look through all the shopping flyers that were stuffed inside our Sunday paper, planning an imaginary shopping trip to my favorite stores.  Of course as an adult many times these are still imaginary trips since living on a mall-less island prevents such weekend shopping sprees.  Yet, these advertisements fuel my luxury-filled dreams. 

But in today’s online world, the happy web surfer is bombarded with advertisements.  Try to read a story online about Elizabeth Taylor’s Estate Auction and you’ll find yourself bidding on ways to avoid pop-up ads.  Some of the pop-ups even have pop-ups!  One advertisement blocking my view had the nerve to say “your requested video will play in 5 seconds” as it download an unwanted image onto my screen.  My requested video!  When did I click the “annoy me with advertisements” box?

Not only do these advertisements insert themselves into my online life, they almost stalk me across the World Wide Web.  Look at a Kate Spade bag online this morning but don’t be shocked if an ad for it lingers along the side of your inbox while you check your email.  And that cute little clutch just might follow you to your favorite gossip site as well.  Next thing you know that bag is stalking you when you Google driving directions. 

Perhaps these advertisements wouldn’t be so frustrating if some sites did not limit your time without a subscription.  So after clicking “skip this ad” twenty times while trying to read up on this winter’s scarf trends, you get a notice that says, “Your free views have been exceeded for the month, click here to subscribe for unlimited access.”  And thus another advertisement has blocked me from my supposedly free reading.  Of course if you add up all the time I spent clicking ‘close’, ‘skip this ad’, or suffering through an annoying advertisement for something I don’t really want, I have more than paid for the pleasure of reading that article. 

Thus a shoe girl like me resorts back to good old-fashioned….fashion magazines.  Sure there are still advertisements and I run the risk of paper cuts, but at least I can drool over Chanel mules without a pop-up advertisement offering to tell me the meaning of my name.  The only name I want to know the meaning of is the one stamped on the soles of my stilettos.  And that you can advertise!

Shoes to get you to cocktail hour, to the airport and to unload a truck in. Photo by Jean Thornton

I am one of those people who can never be too far from lines of communication.  My Blackberry is generally very close by.  Of course this being a modern world, most of the world is connected to me through this genius of a product.   Any chime, ring or vibration produces a level of curiosity that forces me to look and see what the latest update is.   In this handy gadget is both great freedom and great restraints all at once.  I am never truly unreachable and never completely disconnected.  I can check my email about the latest shoe sale, Google the comparable prices, and then update my Facebook status to “Stylish.” 

In other words, my technology keeps me extremely connected, as was the case last weekend.   At one point I had three chimes, rings and tones on my Blackberry, each different but all making me realize something about how others view me.   The first was a friend texting me to ask if I would like to meet up for a cocktail that evening—a pretty standard invite, but a meaningful one since I believe that it is the casual gatherings that usually are the most fun. 

The second was a request from another friend who was returning to Key West and needed a ride from the airport.  Thankfully Key West is small and the airport is very manageable for pick-ups and drop-offs.  Any Key Wester with a car is happy to play taxi driver rather then have friends pay for the ride, and generally there is a thank you drink involved.  Beyond that I am happy to help this friend out and pleased to be the first to greet her in Key West, especially since she is my main shoe photographer!  Hey—a shoe girl has got to protect her team. 

The last phone call was a little different.  As a shoe girl and a case manager at a homeless shelter, I am accustomed to strange phone calls.  I can receive calls ranging from Chanel spotted in a consignment shop to a homeless mother in desperate need of housing.  And I do my best to resolve both.  But this past week I got a phone about a large food donation.  Okay food donations are generally pretty easy to resolve as most items can just be quickly dropped off to our food pantry.  This, however, was a much larger donation—a whole semi truck loaded not just with non-perishable food items but also with fresh fruits, bread, and similar that needed to be used very soon. 

A shoe girl in her trusty platform heels with a blackberry is practically unstoppable.  With a few phone calls, a little bit of pleading, and some very good volunteers, all the food was being dispersed to food pantries and soup kitchens within two hours.  And while I was tired from my unexpected Saturday afternoon adventure with food distribution, I was also proud of myself for being the person who could solve such a problem while helping others. 

Looking back on these three requests I realized something about myself and others.  When a friend invites you for a drink it means they enjoy your company, they see you as a positive addition to their day.   When a friend asks you to pick them up at the airport, you know they think you are reliable, someone they can depend on to be there for them at the end of a long journey.  But when you are asked to make something happen—like distributing a few tons of food—you know that they trust to do the right thing… you are someone who can make things happen.

At the end of the any day, my Blackberry always has a long list of who has called, who has been called, who texted or emailed, and any Facebook updates.  Sometimes, however, it is not so much the words and messages exchanged that matters most.  Sometimes it is understanding why you were chosen to receive the message that says it all.