Shoes, Shoes, Glorious Shoes

 

I knew this was coming. The dreaded day when I would come home from a particularly stressful day at work to see that my sweet Buddy has gained access to my closet, and my shoes. Typing this makes me feel quite shallow. Seriously. Shoes? Shouldn't I be worried about so many other things? Like, 'Have I done what Heavenly Father wanted me to do today?' or 'Did I schedule the bills to be paid?' or even 'Did I get something out of the freezer for dinner tonight?' Shallow or not, shoes are pretty high on my list of important things. How they got exalted to this level is as trivial as the fact that they are actually at this level, so, no need to go there.

I should have known immediately that something was wrong because Buddy did not come bounding out of the magic portal, as he does each and every time that we pull into the garage. Nope. Nobody came out. A balloon started to well inside of me as I allowed the 'he is finally getting it' thoughts of Buddy to proliferate like a couple of love sick bunnies. I got out of the car and gave the anticipated word that brings the happiest dogs alive out to greet me. "OKAY!" Jazz and Crazy came barreling out of the portal jumping, kissing, squealing in excitement, and what I should have noted as, "Wait till you see what Buddy has done! We tried to tell him...".
I called Buddy expecting that maybe he was in the backyard. When he didn't come from that portal I went in to see where he was. I must admit, I definitely was not prepared to witness the following scene. There was Buddy, the dog I brought from New Mexico because, "I can see him at our house." sitting on the braided rug with eight, yes eight, different shoes scattered around him. One shoe, a purple crocodile pump, still in his paws with the pointy tip of the beloved shoe shredded. Either he was pretty proud of this scene and was staying still so I could burn this sight into my mind as a treasured photograph or he was so scared at my reaction that he dared not budge. Either way, I had ample time to collect my thoughts, hold back some very shallow, shallow tears and turn around, exiting to the back yard where I set myself into autopilot mode and watered the plants and garden. As I watered and thought, and thought and watered I walked over purple pieces of my shoe (he must have brought it out, chewed on it and took it in for some more lovin'). I finally reentered the house, picked up the remains of some of the best outfit completers in the history of 'Gena' and dumped everything onto the floor of my closet. Why? Well, ever since the beginning of AB (after Buddy) I have taken the 'let's take a picture of what he has done' approach figuring I certainly can't punish the dog unless I catch him in the act of the assault. I felt that, at some point, I would be able to photograph the shoes and write some cute little story about his adventure on his blog (www.sitbuddysit.blogspot.com).
Yesterday I took the shoe remains out of my closet, took a picture and threw them away. Can I tell you that I experienced more than a few seconds of HUGE hesitation about tossing the shoes. I could easily toss the damaged shoes, it was the undamaged mate that I struggled throwing out.
I had flashbacks of being 11 years old and being with my Nonno and Nonna, right here in the home I have the blessing of living in now. The Non'ts (as my girls named them later in my life) had taken me shopping for some summer shoes. I picked these amazing black leather sandals that had tire tread soles and were all the rage in the mid-70's. I could not have been more delighted.
We went home, had lunch and at the be-witching hour of noon I chose not to take a nap. Now, this was something because EVERYONE in Mapleton took a nap at noon. That's why the warning siren blares everyday at noon, to notify all residents that it time for a well needed rest. Looking back, taking a nap that day could have saved me from years of grief.
Instead of the nap I wandered around the neighborhood with another non-napper, Adrian. We found ourselves at the irrigation ditch East of home and because it was summer and because everyone knows what you are supposed to do when you find an irrigation ditch, we dangled our feet in the deliciously cool water. As if that weren't bravery enough, in every description of the word, we decided to remove our sandals and dangle just our bare feet in the water. I am not sure who came up with the next decision but I participated willingly in dangling my new sandals in the swift flow of the water. I have always been one, to some of my deepest regrets, who appreciated the opportunity of outdoing the person next to me. This terrible personality flaw reared it's stupid head and I dangled one of my super-cool sandals by one lone finger. Briefly. Only because the water removed the sandal from my finger faster than a mosquito avoids a swat from your hand. The feeling of loss was immediate. I quickly reached both hands in the water trying to feel the sandal, praying that it would miraculously be lodged on a branch or the grate of the ditch. It did not take long to realize it was gone. This did not stop Adrian and me from quickly mapping out what we believed to be the route of the water throughout the neighboring farms and as fast as two scared girls could run we searched every corner and every crossroad that we thought the shoe could have been swept. I was forced to go home to break the news to my grandparents.
I crept into Nonna's room and knelt at the side of her bed. I think my stifled sobs are what actually woke her. She looked so worried when she saw me crying and asked what was wrong. I recounted the story. She hugged me and told me we could go together and look for the beloved sandal. We never found it. In the big scheme of things, this was one of those experiences that showed me how lovingly a parent could treat a child who had made such an error and I hope that I have made the best of that example while raising my beautiful daughters. In the shallow puddles of me, however, it also instilled a terrible love, a devotion of shoes. I spent the next two or so years actually praying that I would break my left leg so that I could wear the precious saved sandal. Fortunately, I think, my prayers were not answered for this specific request.
So, back to my dilemma; throw out a perfectly good shoe or save it, just in case? What if I broke my leg? Picture if you will, me with a broken leg and a nice hot pink pump on the other foot pitching myself around with a set of crutches. Nice.
With a heavy heart I disposed of ALL of the shoes. I made myself throw them into the empty trash can thus making it more difficult to retrieve them should I come to a different conclusion.
The closet is tidied up. The dog has not chewed on another shoe. He is still alive and yes, does still reside in my home. What have I learned? Shoe Carnival does not carry turquoise pumps anymore, but they do have some fabulous purple ones;) Most of all, I really, really love shoes....oh, and Buddy.