The Island Shoe Girl's Blog

Where shoes meet sand…

A Message to the Moms from a Non-Mom May 13, 2012

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:59 am
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A future shoe girl practices in her mom’s boots. Photo by Jessica Bennett

I am not a mom.  I am good with kids for about 6 hours and then my focus begins to wane.  Sometimes when I am watching a friend’s children, they will remark that I can get their kids to bed fairly quickly.  This is because I have been waiting for 9pm since I arrived at their house and am a firm believer that 9pm is when both children and the Mickey Mouse Playhouse need to shut it down for the night.

Children are powerless against me because I worked every trick in the book growing up.  Mystery 8:45 stomach aches?  Had it for years, kid.   Sudden burst of interest in reading at 8:50?  You would think I would be a lot smarter if I really wanted to read another book.  8:55 crippling hunger pains?  Hello, let’s not even pretend that’s original.  And of course there’s the ‘Hail Mary play’ at 9:00 of missing Mommy/Daddy?  Sell it somewhere else, sweetheart; this shoe girl is all stocked up on sad stories. 

Despite my tendency to rule with an iron stiletto, kids love me.  They love that I smell like perfume.  They love that my nails are shiny and red; that I wear tall shoes and have a purse that—although lacking Gold Fish snacks—always has some type of gum their parents would never give them.  And the only “grape juice” at my house has been aged into red wine.  I even have the dog their mom says they cannot take care of. 

I am their mom’s exotic friend who still lives in the land of “Single-ville.”  I have breakable things on shelves they can reach, magazines that talk about nail polish as opposed to furniture polish, and I don’t have to spell words out in the comfort of my own home.  I let them make a mess because at the end of the day I don’t have to clean it up. And I have never had to remove bath toys before taking a shower.  I am the opposite of mom. 

This is not a bad thing.  This is just how life separates the moms from the non-moms.  Moms get snuggles during bedtime stories; non-moms get glasses of wine while watching Bravo.  Moms get macaroni art; non-moms get to go to that artist show at a trendy gallery.   Moms get Mother’s Day breakfast in bed, and non-moms get a late brunch with their fellow single friends. 

I am willing to guess that most moms would not give up the snuggles, edible art, or slightly burnt toast for the things that non-moms enjoy.  Perhaps some day when their kids are grown, these moms will once again find themselves watching a Real Housewives reunion special and enjoy the sheer pleasure of being smarter than six women sitting on sofa screaming at each other over a child’s birthday gift.  But in the meantime, enjoy the little things that only come with being a mom.  

There comes a time for all moms when the macaroni art trade dries up (literally) and they suddenly have the time for painting nails and Sunday Brunch.    The non-mom things are easy to get back; the mom things are little bit harder to find again.  So, speaking for all the non-moms out there, never be annoyed that we can trick your kids into going to sleep or that your kid thinks my house is so cool and has a dog.  Because if your kids were really that impressed with us non-moms, we would have macaroni art.  So enjoy your day, all of you moms.  Let us non-moms buy you a drink… don’t worry; we can wait till your kids are asleep or in college—whichever comes first.

 

Facebook Intervention April 22, 2012

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 10:08 am
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If these shoes could Facebook.... photo by Stephanie Kaple

As I write this, I know I run the risk of committing Facebook suicide by saying what I am about to say.  I can imagine within in mere minutes that my “friends” list will drop to single digit numbers; yet I can no longer live in silence… at least status update silence.  Good people of the world, some of this Facebook content is getting out of control—and this is coming from a woman who thinks having fewer than 100 pairs of shoes is a sign of mental illness. 

I was not the first to jump on the Facebook bandwagon.  Like many others, I have had my hesitations about posting my random thoughts—let alone deep thoughts—online for the world (or my selected world) to see.  Despite my resistance, I came around and now find the updates and pictures of my friends a nice distraction when waiting in line at the post office or killing time during commercial breaks.  It has been strange to reconnect with people who would have become long lost faces found only in old high school yearbooks or as the faded names of those we used to play with in elementary days. 

I have been amazed by the ways I can now relate to these friends who once ran the risk of becoming just someone I used to know.  Now, we exchange recipes, recommend books and gossip about the latest celebrity breakups.  As much as I hate to admit it, it’s kind of amazing to see the friends I knew as kids (let’s face it, we were) now become these adults who have careers, change their communities, and yes answer the complicated questions from their own kids.  And I hope they find some old humor and new humor in my continuous updates about shoes…which I find insightful and important!

With all that said, I have to lay it on the line: I think some folks are spending way too much time updating their Facebook status and not enough time on their lives in general.  Okay, call me ridiculous and say nasty things, but you know I am right.  Scan down your news feed and you will surely find more than one friend who appears to spend the majority of their days looking for little cute sayings to share on their page, and these are generally done with some type of vintage style image.  Sometimes they are complaining about a lack of wine, sex, good men, or chocolate which all seem like problems a trip to the grocery store could resolve if you know how to shop and flirt in the meat department.  Other times they might just proclaim the obvious like how much a pet loves them. Listen—my dog should be loving me.  After all, I carry his poop around in a bag for several blocks at least three times a day. 

As if the fact that some portion of the population has the time to search out their cute little squares of wisdom to share all day, I also have to know where all of my friends are and what they are eating.  I get it, your friends are real and you go places where you have fabulous food and my friends are profile pictures that just posted a video of a cat falling off a piano.  Whatever!  And while we are on the subject, a status update about how your significant other is the love of your life is pointless.  After all, if you are in a serious relationship with anniversaries and perhaps public ceremony declaring your love I am going to assume that that person treats you well.  I don’t need an update about how much you love them or how they have given you some amazing or unique gift as an unexpected expression of that love.  Unless that expression included something from Tiffany’s or Chanel, I won’t be impressed. 

Here’s the deal: I want to know when your kid does something freaking adorable; I love it when you tell me your team won at bar trivia. Heck, I even care when the copier broke at your office.  I am right there with you, fellow Facebook warrior.  I want to support you like a platform Jimmy Choo supports my arches.  But I do not want to help run a fictional farm, create an imaginary zoo or collect fake diamonds.  Please let’s keep the status updates free of cute-kitten-hanging-from-a-tree-limb. Yes, it is almost Friday but this friend is not “hanging in there”; she’s more like to saw off the limb or de-friend you.

 

The Spring Broken March 18, 2012

Filed under: Key West; Not Just for Flip Flops — theislandshoegirl @ 11:31 am
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Spring Breakers might prefer flip flops but this older shoe girl can afford Manolo's. Photo by Jean Thorton

I am on Spring Break this week; well, I am actually on someone else’s Spring Break.  Living on a tourist island which also offers warm weather when many other parts of the continental United States do not, often means that I am frequently running into vacationers.  For the most part vacationers are pretty harmless folks.  In fact, most of them just want to be like us ‘locals’.  They want to drink in our bars, lounge on our beaches, and dine on our fresh catches… yet they do not seem to want to pay our high rents.  Either way, they clearly have a desire to briefly live the life that we experience daily.

Yet, some times of the year seem to provide more than our fair share of guests.  Spring Break is one of those times.  Seniors from both ends of the spectrum—those being college seniors and some being senior citizens—and oddly both groups are extremely susceptible to the lure of an all-you-can-eat buffet.  This is a time when parking spots become limited, bars become crowded, and traffic becomes a feasible defense for a charge of murder.  It is no surprise that many locals find themselves choosing a porch swing over their favorite bars that have suddenly become the college of the week hangout. 

This shoe girl cannot help but see her greater age reflected in the lack of age amongst the younger spring breakers.  As I write this next to my open living room window, I have heard four different body parts be discussed as groups of college students make their way downtown.   All four of these body parts I would not discuss outside of a doctor’s office, let alone on the way to dinner. 

But it is not just the difference in what is appropriate conversation for an evening stroll, but in so many other areas as well.  For example, as an older shoe girl I understand that neon does not look good anybody.  I also do not find extreme joy in honking a scooter horn, or any horn for that matter, as I drive down the street.  And I have not found a need to shout a chant of any sort that proclaims some combination of Greek letters as the best while drinking in a bar.

These temporary guests to my little island serve as a reminder that we are all young once.  And sure a few of these visitors might end up passed out in a flower bed or maybe leave an abandoned flip flop….or some other garment on the doorstep of a local.  Most of us will turn a blind eye and smile with a little smirk, remembering when we were young-er. 

As I witness their drunken walks of shame in the morning while I get ready to go to my job, I can rest assured in the knowledge that someday they will be me. Because as much as it pains me to admit it…I used to be them.  And while they will only be visiting for a few days, their hard earned money (or that of their parents’) will remain behind.  So as another Spring Break season flies by, I say, “Have fun, Future of America; just please keep it down when you’re walking home.  Some of us have work tomorrow.” 

 

 

No Reality January 15, 2012

Filed under: Its All About the Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:10 am
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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!

 

Save the Letter December 11, 2011

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:07 am
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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

 

Life Lessons with The Island Shoe Girl November 20, 2011

Filed under: Its All About the Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 10:59 am
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An important life lesson...a Manolo can go a long way. Photo by Jean Thornton.

The other day an acquaintance at a meeting casually mentioned that she would be catching up on some shows on her DVR.  When I asked what shows she had on stand by (expecting something of quality viewing like some of the Real Housewives franchise), she told that she was watching Oprah’s Life Lessons.   This caught my interest because I had thought the competition between Oprah and I for who would be America’s most influential woman was at a standstill with the end of her show. 

But Oprah has restarted the race with her new show, which just so happens to be on her own television station, OWN.  If you ask me, this comes across as a little “me-ish”.  Apparently, one of the OWN’s shows is Oprah sitting around talking about her talk show and what she learned from each episode…a little life lesson!  Get it?  If not, I am sure Oprah will sit down and talk you through it.  Similarly, if you didn’t get the extremely high level of thought Oprah used in her afternoon talk show, she will break it down for you to a level even easier for you to comprehend. 

I must admit I have never watched one of Oprah’s Life Lessons.  I somehow have a feeling that these lessons would not be very helpful in my own life, seeing as how Oprah and I have a vast differences in our lifestyles, our economic standing, and more than likely, Oprah’s closet is the size of my entire apartment…in her weekend house.  I am guessing that the overall lesson of Life Lessons is that Oprah can get people to watch reruns of her talk show, sell advertisements for it like it’s a new show, and make even more money without very high production costs. 

I figure if Oprah can do it then why not me?  Okay, not me because first of all, I don’t have my own television show, let alone television network.  Secondly because I don’t think I have the same following. I am basing this on the fact that when I recommend a book, I generally lend it to a friend, not make it a best seller.   However, I do have this blog; so I figure this can be the starting point of my own set of life lessons…take that Oprah!

Life Lesson #1:  Once you start buying designer shoes, it’s hard to go back.  This can be an expensive lesson to learn.  Let’s face it, once you go Manolo, you can’t go back.  When you become accustomed to nicer and nicer things it’s hard to appreciate the slightly less nice things.  So take your time when acquiring more expensive shoes; like growing up too fast, you can’t go back once you’ve worn a Prada pump.

Life Lesson #2:  There’s always a bigger shoe closet out there.  You might think you might have the biggest or the best shoe closet, but let’s face it—somewhere out there is a bigger, better shoe closet.  You can’t compare your shoe closets to others; it will only frustrate you.  Instead seek to create the shoe closet that makes you happy.

Life Lesson #3:  A good cobbler is a hard to find.  There are some things in life that are plentiful: cheap wine, red nail polish, and Lifetime movies.  But cobblers are like parking spaces—you can’t find a good one when you really need it.  A cobbler should be treated like a good friend…good friends that can save your favorite pair of Stuart Weitzman’s.  And really, if you have a friend that can do that, you are a lucky girl.

My 4th and final Life Lesson: Never give away all your lessons at once!  Hey! A girl’s gotta keep a few tricks up her sleeve or in her knee-high boots.  If I give them all away here and now, why would you keep coming back to this blog?  I am sure Oprah has a whole vault of her life lesson programs tucked away somewhere in case she needs a Christmas Special or something.  Besides aren’t the best lessons in life the ones you learn on your own… notice that’s a little ‘own’ and not Oprah’s OWN.

 

A Pretty Zombie in Pretty Shoes October 23, 2011

Filed under: Key West; Not Just for Flip Flops — theislandshoegirl @ 8:24 am
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A shoe to make you rise up from the grave. Photo by Jean Thornton

I want to be a pretty zombie. That’s probably not what you expect to hear from a shoe girl, but it’s true.  In fact, I spent a good portion of my evening searching for pretty zombies online.   I have not abandoned my stiletto life for that of the undead; instead, I am preparing for the Zombie Bike ride that will be held in Key West today.  If you are reading this around 6pm on Sunday afternoon, I will be dressed like a zombie and riding my bike with a couple hundred other zombies… yes I will be wearing high heels, I may be among the undead but never among the unstylish.

The Zombie Bike Ride is just one of the Fantasy Fest events I will be participating in during the coming week.  For those outside of Key West, perhaps the best way to describe Fantasy Fest is a weeklong series of various costume parties that become more outrageous as the week progresses and swelling to its peak next Saturday with the Captain Morgan’s Parade. 

The streets of Key West will be filled with tens of thousands of people dressed in every imaginable type of costume.  There is a theme each year; this year’s is “Aquatic Afrolic” so there will surely be sea creatures, every type of fish known to man plus those that exist only in the mind. There will be political characters and pop culture references.  Some events stick strictly to the theme, while others sway wildly away.  Some nights there will be kinky carnivals, toga and plaid parties and competitions that name the best-dressed pets. There will be Tutu-Tuesday, those with gaudy headdresses, and those with absolutely no dresses. 

All this leads me to countless hours of determining costumes, make-up designs, and of course, which shoes will be perfect for each event.  As a working shoe girl I cannot attend every party—that, and if I did, I would be in need of bank loan, a new job and probably a new liver.  So I have to exercise some moderation, which is why I like to put a lot of thought into what the events I can do; hence, the evening trying to find a zombie look that’s a little undead and a little Coco Chanel.  Would Coco have advised a zombie to remove one bloody accessory before going out? 

Perhaps decorating shoes with black fringe, ordering specialty tutus, and fretting over fairy wings seems a bit silly—maybe even childish.  But in world where facing reality can be far more scary than a zombie attack—even by a not-so-pretty zombie—it only makes sense to find a little escape into a world of glitter, feathers, fringe, and the a tutu or two.  At times when ‘real life’ lacks so much fantasy and provides so much… well…. ‘reality’ which is all too frightening, it’s good to get lost in the costumes and just join the parade or party.

As you read this, I will be with many of my favorite Key West characters and we will all be living the good life of the undead.  We will ride our bikes to different bars, indulge in Bloody Mary’s (obviously) and very likely pose with a fake brain or two.  I will hopefully be the chicest zombie out there, one that would make Coco Chanel rise up from her grave and give an approving nod.  Regardless, it will be the start of a week where a little bit of fantasy goes a long way.

 

Playgrounds & Simple Things October 2, 2011

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:03 am
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Sometimes its the simple shoes and things in life that make us happiest. Photo by Jean Thornton

This week I spent a fair amount of time in my high heel sneakers… yes, they do make such a thing, but they are very hard to find.  You see, when I am not being a fabulous shoe girl, I am usually a case manager at a homeless shelter.   When people visualize a homeless person, they might conjure up an image of a man or woman begging on the streets.  During this down economy, the homeless person on the street holding a sign asking for work or pushing a shopping cart has become a more common sight.  Yet, one of the greatest increases in the homeless population has been the growing number of children.

As the numbers of families being affected by joblessness, increasing home prices, and the always-rising costs of living have grown, there has been a shift in who is homeless in America.  Many shelters, like the one I work for, have found the demand for family shelter greatly increasing.  Sadly, the amount of funding to provide for such beds has not increased but instead has declined steadily in recent years. 

For those families that do find shelter, the reality of life in a shelter can be a hard thing to handle.  While I am proud at the quality of the shelter where I work, I know it still isn’t a home in the traditional sense.  Most “homes” don’t have drop-ins from case managers, rules and chore lists posted on the refrigerator, or many of the other institutional touches that come with running a shelter safely and effectively.  Thus as homey as anyone tries to make a shelter, at the end of the day it still is not a permanent place to call home.

But this week a little bit of home was added to our shelter—the reason why I was wearing my high-heeled sneakers.  This week through a generous donation and the volunteer work of the USS Spurance crew, a playground was built for the children staying at the shelter.  Over two days in the HOT Key West sun, crews spent long hours laying out pieces, cutting wood, constructing a fence, and spreading mulch.  At the end of those days all of these activities led to a pretty awesome playground… and a few sore backs and muscles. 

What was constructed might be simply described as a few swings, a couple slides, a tree house and some things to climb on.  But in reality, what was built was a sense of normalcy—a place where kids can come after school and play with one another, be pushed on a swing by their parents, and have a little bit fun at no cost to them or their parents.    Maybe even for a short time, those families can feel like they are just everyday people in normal homes and not in a homeless shelter. 

There has been a lot of news coverage and talk of how the current recession has returned us to appreciating the simpler things.  Maybe that’s true and not just media lip service; maybe we are getting back to simpler things.  The funny thing is that many of those simple things are actually values that perhaps got lost in the glamour of expensive living of years past. 

As a child, a swing set was an amazing source of personal adventure—as opposed to video games and hand-held entertainment devices.  I couldn’t help but remember the fun I had spending my summer days swinging as high as I could and the feeling of happiness that accompanies flying through the air.   The thought of another child having that feeling made the sore muscles and sunburn worth it. 

Playgrounds might be seen to be something that brings happiness to children only.  But sometimes they can be just as much fun for adults; especially if you let your happiness be determined by how high you can let someone else swing.

 

Family Tradition August 21, 2011

Filed under: Love Me, Love My Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 10:27 am
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A perfect pair of Dolce and Gabana heels for a girl who loves stilettos, island life and and little drink now and then! Photo by Jean Thornton

Hank Williams Jr. sums up his tendency to drink, smoke, and sing all night long by claiming it is a family tradition.  I now can make the same claim about my own habits of wearing stilettos and drinking wine.  It seems that my love of shoes and appreciation for cocktails have deep-seated roots in my family history. 

For years I figured I got my love of shoes from my grandmothers, as both were true shoe girls in their day.  But now I have learned that the double shoe gene I posses actually comes from my great-great paternal grandfather.  No, this is not a major confession or deeply held family secret about a secret cross-dressing past… it was simply a well-laid business plan.

This past week my father was helping my grandmother go through some family paperwork.  At one point during this process, he learned that my great-great grandfather had been a cobbler that owned his own shop.  Next door to the shop was a little tavern that he owned as well.  When business at the shoe store was slow and the town seemed empty, my enterprising ancestor decided to open a tavern that would draw in the residents from the more distant areas near the town.  Being a genius of a man, he realized that while the men drank, the women could shop; thus creating a bloodline fueled (nourished) by shoes and booze.  

Clearly, my great-great father was an innovator and businessman far before his time—today, people would call him an entrepreneur. You have to wonder if today he would run a high-end cocktail lounge with a shoe salon attached.  Forget, Skinny Girl Margaritas and get ready for “Stiletto Shots”—the drink that fits in your high heel.   

Fast forward a few generations and he can find his great-great granddaughter most nights in her favorite heels sipping a cocktail aroundKey West.  Having the sudden knowledge of this part of my family’s past has given me a better understanding of myself.  It has often been asked how a girl who likes fashion and shoes so much could find herself in a town where bars, beaches, and boat docks provide some major shoe hazards.  Wouldn’t I prefer to live somewhere with unending shoe stores and where the art of walking in a six-inch stiletto is appreciated? 

Yet, I stay on my little island where my heels can garner strange looks from flip-flopped observers as I am biking to my favorite bar.  And now I know that my love for both shoes and a good drink come from something greater than the logical explanation of drinking to dull the expected foot pain that comes with many of my shoes.  My love of shoes comes from a long family line of shoe lovers who also happen to value a strong drink at the end of the day. 

As Hank Jr. would say; “They all ask me, shoe girl why do you drink, why do you wear heels, why must you live out the blogs that you wrote?  Stop and think it over; try to put yourself in my unique position.  If I get drunk and wear stilettos all over town, I’m just carrying on an old family tradition.”

 

A Little Future to Go July 17, 2011

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 7:46 am
Tags: , , , , , , ,

With a good pair of heels, my future is wide open. Photo by Jean Thornton

Regular readers, friends, and family will know that the last three weeks have been very challenging.  A strange series of events led to my condo building being set on fire.  While the damage to my own home was significant, I was able to save the majority of my personal belongings.  The first time I was permitted to go back into my home, I was advised by the fire marshal to grab only the necessary items.  Little did he know that I considered 161 pairs of shoes essential.

Thinking I would be back the next day to retrieve more items, I focused mainly on clothes and shoes, due to concern that they would be damaged or permanently soiled from the water and smoke.  The next day I learned I could not go back into the unit since there was a great concern that the structural damage could be much worse.  Thus I found myself without many things that were normally part of my daily routine. 

One such thing was perfume.  And while I know one can live without perfume…soap not so much….it did not make the gap in my morning routine any less noticeable for me. 

While I have never considered myself a perfume expert or fanatic, I have always considered it an important accessory—especially when spending time standing outside in the hotKey Westsun talking to insurance adjusters.  But more so than just keeping me smelling sweet, perfume was yet another normalcy suddenly missing in my life. 

Coco Chanel once said, “A woman who doesn’t wear perfume has no future.”  And let’s face it,Cocoknew perfume and she also knew how to create a good future for herself.   If there is one thing that I know now, it is that dealing with a fire in your home can also make you question your future.  Suddenly, something that you worked and saved for, that you searched and prayed for, is taken from you with out any notice.  The reality is that for many of us our home is our future and the largest financial investment we make in ourselves. 

As the days after the fire seemed to only begat more days of frustration, sadness, and fear, my future seemed lost in a shuffle of insurance inspections, policies reviews, and what seemed like always-worsening news.  This is not to say that I was on a ledge of despair ready to jump into an abyss of self-pity.   I had many great friends continuously offering their support and help in many ways.  Yet, at the end of the day I was not going home.  And the truth is I am not sure that the condo that once was home can ever feel that way again.

With so much changing every day from where I walk my dog to the pillows I sleep on, the comforts of “home” began to seem lost.  It was one day that first week as I was digging for a lost set of keys that my fingers found a hidden treasure in the depths of my Coach bag… a travel size bottle of my perfume!  It may have only been a few ounces, but the scent reminded me that each day I could put myself together and face the world.  Sure, that world may be completely different from anything I have known in the past, but my future was still mine to determine.  Yes, there might be some hurdles I didn’t expect, but there was still a future. 

I think Coco Chanel was right, “A woman who doesn’t wear perfume has no future,” but if I could accessorize Chanel a little, I would add, “but much like perfume, our future can go wherever we take it.”  My future still has many challenges…insurance paperwork and probably much more packing and unpacking.  But the future—much like my perfume—will be with me every step of the way.

 

 
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