In Your Shoes

MATT

2010-11-30T11:07:00.010-05:00

A couple weeks ago, I got an email from Matt. He had written back in 2007 or 2008 offering to lend me some shoes, and was wondering if the In Your Shoes project was still active. It really hasn't been. It's been a while since I've worn shoes that aren't my own. For this reason I didn't reply right away...I wasn't sure if maybe the project was finished.

In the end, I figured that if someone 2 500 miles away is offering to lend me their shoes it doesn't make too much sense to say 'no.' So while I haven't resolved for myself where the project stands, I am up for experimenting.

Matt kindly posted his shoes to my house. (There was a bit of a kerfuffle with UPS. As it turns out, there often are brokerage fees associated with crossing the border that neither of us anticipated...I mention it just as an FYI, although maybe it's common knowledge?) The shoes arrived Friday evening.

Matt sent me his Doc Martens. For some reason, I was anticipating the 8-hole variety, but as it turned out, his aren't the kind that I think about in relationship to high school. They are 4-hole docs, light brown, and could pass as business-type shoes.

I tried them on Friday evening to see if I would be able to wear them next day. I was a bit concerned that it might not work, as I've been doing a lot of walking ever since my bike was stolen this summer. I was going to a volunteer training session with Hospice Toronto on Saturday and was intending to walk the 5km or so there because of previous frustrating public transit experiences. Matt had explained to me that one of the shoes had no laces, and that I shouldn't bother to put new ones in. The right shoelace recently got caught in his bicycle gears, causing him to crash. It damaged the shoe in such a way that every lace he's put in since breaks. He had suggested using cheap insoles to make sure the shoes stay on. For some reason, it occurred to me that elastic bands might work. And since we have an abundant supply in our kitchen drawer, and they seemed to be effective, I decided to go that route.

A bit more about the shoes... Matt has had them for a couple of years, and says they've been everywhere with him: at work where he creates and prints thousands of large size maps of the
pacific northwest, on hikes, road trips and bike rides. Apparently they are also the most comfortable shoes he's ever had.

I have to agree that they are super super comfortable. I don't know if its the air cushioned sole thing, or what, but they have a bit of a bouncy (cushioned?) feel, and are pretty warm, too. Which was great, because Saturday was pretty darn cold.

I put Matt's shoes on as soon as I got up on Saturday morning. The mornings have been pretty chilly, especially in our kitchen, so they came in handy. I went about my morning routine and left the house relatively early. It was just beginning to snow and I am a wimp when it comes to winter. I wore long johns (tops and bottoms), knee socks, wool socks, jeans, a long sleeve shirt, a short sleeved shirt, a wool sweater, a blazer, a coat, a hat, mitts, and a scarf. It was perfect for walking...a little less perfect for a day inside a high rise, as it turned out, but ah well. It was interesting to wear another person's shoes again. It was at once strange and familiar in a certain way. Wearing shoes that are too big for me often feels like I'm kind of schlepping about...like when I'd throw on a pair of my parent's shoes to quickly run outside, or wear ill-fitting slippers in the house. The heels of Matt's shoes dragged a bit on the ground, which made me worry about further wear on the soles. They also did that snapping back thing, hitting my heels each time I stepped. I had to concentrate for a bit to make sure that I wasn't gripping with the balls of my feet (I've been told that that is an economic nightmare), but it all seemed to be working out alright.

The streetcar decided to come when I was about 20 minutes into my trek and close to a stop, so I decided to take it. From downtown I walked south to the lake where the training was. Since I was a bit early, I made a phone call from the payphone before going up.

I found the conference room we were in and settled in. I was shocked to look out the window and see a veritable snow flurry. I'd call it a storm, but it was so short-lived that that just doesn't seem appropriate. At any rate, all we could see was white, however briefly. I had to smile thinking that it was as if Matt's shoes had brought the winter weather with them all the way from Washington.

The training was session number 8 of 8, and the morning's topic was communication. The presenter was fabulous. I think that it's the sort of topic that is easy to approach with an "I've heard it all before" kind of attitude, but I was happy that I was able to be attentive. Since we were talking about the subject in the context of hospice and palliative care, the topic of emotional boundaries and empathy, compassion and even clairsentience came up. Funnily enough, someone even used the phrase, "put yourself in someone else's shoes" and "I wear my heart on my sleeve." The conversation was interesting, and touched on some of the issues related to my ambivalence around the In Your Shoes project. People are generally disappointed when I insist that the goal of the project isn't to understand another person, or to gain insight into their life. It seems problematic to insist that it's possible to understand something as complex as another person's subjectivity. I prefer to approach it as an experiment. As more of a question than an answer.

I was aware of Matt's shoes on my feet throughout the day, as I often tripped when I went to get up, or saw the elastic bands and wondered why no one said anything. I wondered how much that had to do with being in the city. It seems that in the context of so much diversity it's perhaps harder to look out of place. Or maybe there is just so much low level out-of-placeness that it is accepted as a category in its own right. But I wonder how much it has to do with this city in particular--in St Louis, for example, it's been my experience that total strangers are far more likely to strike up conversations. Not to mention call each other "sugar" or "honey" or "babe" or whatever.

In the afternoon there was a panel of seasoned volunteers who shared some of their experiences and answered questions, which was really helpful. There was also a graduation complete with certificates and photographs. It was a good day. And a long one. I was happy to get outside when it was over, and to be walking west as the sun set. I decided that I would stop at my studio on the way home. I began renting the space just recently, and on Friday night my mom had asked me if I had been spending much time there. The sad truth is that it has mostly been a storage facility for the last few weeks. (To be fair, I've only been back in the city for a few weeks. And I've been spending that time getting settled into a new house and looking for more work...which seems more important than art at the moment.) So I resolved to spend some time there after the training, to at least get a few things unpacked so that I can get some work done the next time I go.

Less than 3 blocks into my walk 2 of the 3 elastic bands holding Matt's right shoe on my foot broke. The result was a slightly uneven gait. The right shoe dragged a little more on the ground, and gave my heel a pretty decent thwack each time it snapped back. Somehow the 3rd elastic hung in there. I hadn't thought to bring any extra with me.

On my way I passed Old Fort York and the Inglis sign with it's endless aphorisms that kept me awake when I was 8 years old and sleeping over with my brownie troupe. (This can only remind of the hard tack biscuit they gave each of us, and the one that lived in my red toy bin for years and is likely still intact somewhere.) On the other side of the bridge were about 17 cranes, which reminded me of the Crane Dance at Toronto's 2009 Nuit Blanche that I did not get to see but would have liked to.

I eventually made it to the studio and climbed the 4 flights of slightly dodgy stairs. I unpacked and organized some stuff, which felt pretty good. Heading back down the stairs was much more dodgy, as my feet kept wanting to step right out of Matt's shoes, but I made it eventually.

At home I realized that I had quite the headache brewing, and since food didn't help, I went and lay down on my floor for a little while. When I felt better, I had some dinner. I knit and talked with David until he had to fall asleep. I gave my dad a call, who seemed to be concerned about the mundane nature of my Saturday night, but I was pretty thrilled to be in bed around 10pm.

Matt's shoes are very comfortable. And they seem to fit the context of the city well, irregardless of the elastic bands. Wearing them throughout the day, with no one seeming to take notice, I felt like I was holding a secret. I also noticed the familiar concern that I wasn't doing justice to Matt's generosity in sending his shoes my way by simply going about my day as I would if his docs hadn't arrived on my doorstep. While I was walking, thinking about time and space I couldn't help but think of part of a piece I wrote and performed at A Whole New Ball Game, the launch of ANAL, by One Thousand and One Nights while I was in Banff:

Have I told you that sometimes I imagine that our bodies are connected by strings in all the places that we hinge so that when I lift my right arm in greeting, for instance, somewhere beneath your consciousness you are aware of a barely perceptible tug skyward?

[...]

The strings are red, by the way. And can elongate as necessary.

I think that there is something compelling about linking on person's day with anothers', however mundane. And even if that link is formed and remains solely on a material level, I think there's a bit of magic in it. At least, that's what I prefer to believe.
Thank you, Matt's shoes, for reminding me about that.

MARY/JUDY

2008-11-06T17:20:00.011-05:00

Mary contacted me curious to see what it would be like to lend me a pair of her shoes, and write about the experience. I dropped by her office in early November to pick them up. She was in a meeting, but the shoes were waiting for me in a clear green plastic bag with an attached sticky note with my name. Mary was kind enough to step out and chat with me a bit about her shoes before I went on my way.

I was excited to learn that the shoes Mary chose to lend me at one time belonged to her sister. The exciting part about that is that her sister happens to live in St. Louis, Missouri, where I have a lot of family. Mary herself is also an American citizen, and I had intended on wearing her shoes on November 4th, the date of the U.S. election, for which I had an interesting party/art project planned.

Mary's sister, Judy, purchased these shoes because she thought they'd be good shoes to work in. She works for Anheiser-Bush, and is on her feet all day. Judy found the shoes too tight, and so she gave them to Mary, thinking that Mary or one of Mary's daughters would be able to use them. Mary told me that her kids think that the shoes are ugly, but that she likes them: they are comfortable, they are black and therefore go with most anything, and they are overall pretty practical shoes. Mary explained how she considers the shoes to be Judy's, but that Judy considers them to belong to Mary. After reading the posting on Berndt's shoes, Mary was curious to lend me shoes whos ownership was somewhat ambiguous.

Mary/Judy's shoes are sneaker-type Asics shoes. They seem to be black suede with white plastic detailing and white laces. When I put the shoes on I noticed how elasticy they were (the tounge is elasticized along the sides where it attaches to the rest of the shoe). They were a little big, but my feet didn't slide in them. At first I couldn't help but notice how low the arch of the shoe felt. I was actually worried that the shoes might be uncomfortable for this reason, but I soon adjusted to it. I also somehow was shocked each time I looked down to see the shoes on my feet. I had dressed in red, white and blue for the occasion of the election, as well as a performace that was planned for a class that afternoon, and had I been wearing my own shoes, my red sneakers would have been on my feet. I kept unconsciously expecting to see them there.

(I was just thinking now about how I half-expected people to ask me whose shoes I was wearing that day, but nobody did. This project has become more occasional of late, and I guess people no longer expect me to see me wearing shoes that aren't my own. Some small part of me was disappointed that no one asked me. It was interesting.)

I had a full day. The morning was spent preparing for the election night event. Weeks earlier my grandmother had mailed me a jell-o mold of the continental United States (minus Alaska). I knew that I needed to do some sort of project with it, but it took me awhile to realize what that was. With the upcoming election, it seemed to make sense to incorporate a jello-o USA or two into election day, and it occurred to me to do the following: I made one red (strawberry and raspberry) jell-o version of the USA, and one blue (mixed berry) version of the USA. The red jell-o represented the Republicans, and the blue, the Democrats. I planned a party to watch the election coverage, and when the Republicans won a state, we ate the blue version of that state, and vice versa when the Democrats won a state. This left behind a record of the election results in the form of a jell-o map of the USA.

I'd spent the past few days in and out of the grocery store buying blue and red jell-o. In the morning I decided that it was an oversite and a mistake to not somehow represent Hawaii and Alaska, so I made one more trip to No Frills. I made Hawaii and Alaska x 2 (definitely not to scale), and proceeded to check on the Republicans (the red jell-o map), which weren't doing so well the day before. It turned out that they were doing even less well, and so I biked back to No Frills for three more packages of red jell-o. I made a smaller (shallower) version of the Republicans and hoped that it would set in time.

I went to the studio to work on a drawing of the jell-o map that we could colour in throughout the evening to help record the election results and our consumption of jell-o USAs. Then I loaded up my bicycle with mugs for another art project, and hauled it all over to the art building. Once there I realized that the performance we'd planned for that afternoon would have to take another form: right across from the space that we'd planned on having "High Tea" the annual halocaust memorial reading was taking place. It wouldn't have been appropriate to for our project to be anywhere nearby. So we made some last minute changes and had High Tea on Johnston Green (a field on the North side of campus).

I collaborated on High Tea with my fellow classmates Karen Hawes and Allison Zuk. It was originally a performance documented in the form of a video for installation. Karen and I had tea in various high places: in a tree, an elevator, on a hill, at the top of jumps on mini-trampolines, on a rooftop, at the top row of stadium bleachers, and on scaffolding at a construction site (I should note that we dressed appropriately for each occasion, and consumed tea that somehow seemed to fit the situation). We thought it would be nice to include the class in another incarnation of the project. We gathered as many ladders we could find, and enjoyed tea and cookies together while sitting on ladders in the middle of a field. (Did I mention that the weather happened to be spectacular? It was sunny and warm, and we didn't even need jackets! A photographer from the local paper was taking pictures of students wearing shorts and sunbathing on Johnston Green, and came a snapped some photos of the High Tea.) We went back to class, had a guest speaker--Dean Baldwin--who made us pina coladas that we drank out of coconuts. We showed our video, and critiqued it and another project.

After class I had an hour and a half before an art history lecture. I decorated the classroom with streamers and got ready for the election night party. I had dinner and went to class. And after that, the party.

I have to say that I was so relieved by the election results that I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I have to admit that I've lost faith in the electoral process, and didn't fully trust that Obama would win, despite overwhelming odds in his favour. The significance, symbollic and otherwise, of his victory is so great that at the end of the evening I felt quite lost. I think that a number of people here are able to approach the whole situation lightheartedly or even with a certain amount of dismissiveness. There are some things, however, that I am just not willing to take lightly. After cleaning up I had a short cry, just because what I wanted so badly, yet hadn't let myself believe was possible, seemed to have happened after all.

Some of us made plans to go out to the Albion afterwards, but when I arrived on my bike, it turned out to be closed. After some difficulty deciding what to do next, we dispersed. I walked partway home with Margaret, who spent part of her childhood in the states. She was also relieved by the events of the evening, and struck by the implications of such a turn of events. It was more than helpful to talk to her.

As I was watching the election coverage, I couldn't help but think about Judy, and wonder what she was doing that night. Mary and her family, like mine, are Democrat supporters, in a state that is traditionally Republican. I wonder if she felt a similar anxiety, and if it was followed by bewilderment or relief or joy, or some combination of the above. Did she cry? Did Mary? I wonder how many people in the world shed tears in front of televisions, or next to radios that evening, and if the tears could somehow be collected, how much volume that would take up, and where we would keep them.

Mary/Judy's shoes are comfortable and versitile. My day in them was quite full, and involved a whole range of activities, experiences and emotions. It seemed so brilliantly appropriate that I should wear on that day the shoes of someone that not only spends most of the day busy and on her feet, but lives in the United States. In St. Louis, no less--not far from so many of my own loved ones and memories. In the hustle and bustle, like always, it seems, I eventually forgot the unusual-ness of Mary/Judy's shoes on my feet. But they were there, throughout the stream of a day that included oddly terrific weather and the (in my opinion) terrifically terrific occasion of the election of Barack Obama.

sandals at last

2008-09-03T16:04:00.004-04:00

I took this picture post-rolling down a step hill, and pre-swimming and and trail-exploring.
My feet are pretty happy to be enjoying the last few sweet days of summer in sandals. (Summer, for me, ends with back to school time, which is somehow here already.)

I began my quest for sandals last summer, but never found any. Instead I wore an old pair that had holes in the bottom. The holes got bigger, and eventually I threw them away. This summer I was having such a hard time finding sensible yet lovely sandals that weren't over $100 that I decided I would just wear a pair of sandals that I found at my parent's house. I got them when I was somewhere between 13 and 15 years old, and they were really well worn, but relatively functional still. After a day on my feet at the art camp I was teaching at, I had to trash that idea. My back was totally achy and awful. The same thing happened when I wore another pair of nearly done for (and totally arch-less) sandals that had been my aunt's. So I began to take the sandal hunt slightly more seriously.

My main predicament with things like proper sandals and dish drying racks and home internet service, is that while very helpful and pleasant, they aren't necessary enough to encourage me to want to spend the energy it takes to make them a part of my life. With enough time (which is (perhaps) surprisingly little), I can adapt to living without these kinds of things. So I've been wearing closed shoes in the summer, and leaving dishes to dry in a plastic tray and seeking out free wireless around town.

But finally I decided to actually take the plunge and buy this pair of sandals. Part of the reason it took so long to do just that is that proper shoes are a bit of an investment. I wanted to try a few different kinds of sandals on first. I am still not sure if I got the "right" or "best" pair of sandals for me. In the end it was a bit of a compromise. I figured that it was worth just going for something that was good enough instead of trying to go on any more far flung excursions.

So I bought them from a store in downtown Guelph, just blocks from where I live. I'd been in the store once in the middle of the summer and tried them on. Waiting so long to buy them was a bit of a gamble, but when I went in the other week, I ended up getting the last pair. They happened to be just my size (actually one size too big, but that doesn't seem to be a problem). They also happened to be less than half their original price, which was a good thing.

I had a bit of a hard time the first few days I wore them. I didn't love them like I would like to love my shoes. They aren't red or especially cheerful or unusual. They don't slip on (my ideal sandals would do just that...at some points my back has been so painful that I have depended on other people to do up my shoes for me). And while they are sensible (i.e. supportive) and not overwhelming sensible (i.e. clunky) they gave me blisters. Blisters!
Blisters are not any fun.

I was talking to my dad. He frequently suffers from what he has come to term "buyer's remorse." This is something that I also know well. He commiserated with me. Apparently he has had lots of bad luck with sandals. It was nice to talk to someone who understood. I asked if he had any suggestions. "Well, you know what the cowboys do."
I didn't.
"When they get a new pair of leather boots, they fill them up with warm water, and then wear them."
Hmmm...puzzled (I was picturing cowboys and their boots and bathtubs), I asked if they dumped out the water first.
"Well, aislinn, as you know, the water would be displaced by their feet."
My dad is a scientist.

This so-called "cowboy technique" sounded like a bad idea to me. I couldn't imagine my sandals being any more comfortable wet. In fact it seemed to me like that situation would be a whole lot worse (blisters + wet sandals = no more blisters? This seems like a clearly imbalanced equation).

I kind of dismissed it, and wore band aids. But over one lunch break, I was enticed by the thought of cooling off a little and went for a walk in the Elora gorge. I didn't know it, but lots of people do just that, and there are stone steps that lead down to the river for just that purpose. I wore my sandals, since it was super rocky and slippery. The gorge was gorgeous (no pun intended), and the water clear and cold. The rest of the day my feet were cool and comfortable, and ever since then I haven't had any blister problems.
Go figure.

So anyhow, I've had a few days off before classes begin again. I'm trying to do summer-y things so that I can't complain about the season passing me by. I've canned peaches in these sandals (sticky and slightly dangerous), biked to swimming holes (yay for swimming!), gone for circuitous walks (surprisingly challenging), eaten gelato in the middle of the Yonge and Dundas scramble (lemon! raspberry!...super yummy), picked tomatoes (they taste like summer) and danced in my living room (highly recommended any time of year).

The shoes are beginning to seem more natural, and less like alien parasites on my feet. I have been thinking about what it means to commit myself to a pair of shoes, to chose them and to put myself in them each day. And what it means more generally to wear one's own shoes. I feel like I have more to say about this, but it's still not fully formulated in my head. And this post is long enough as it is.
So it will have to wait.

Happy September, all! I hope your feet are enjoying this late-summer sandal weather, too. And if they're not, consider doing what the cowboys do...

shoes in the news

2008-08-24T16:12:00.005-04:00

Here's the story that ran in the Guelph Tribune the other week, and a picture with Mike's shoes on my feet.
Just for the record, I happened to be wearing safety shorts under that dress.
It turned out to be a wise choice.

She's Walking Miles in Someone Else's Shoes

By Dave Bowden

Arts & Entertainment

Aug 15, 2008

Imagine wearing shoes that don't fit, shoes so old they're nearly falling apart, shoes that are meant for the opposite sex. Now imagine spending a day in them.

As part art project, part social experiment, Aislinn Thomas decided last November that she'd try taking the phrase "put yourself in someone else's shoes" literally.

Since then, the University of Guelph art student has borrowed shoes from friends, family members and complete strangers, wearing them for a day (or as long as is comfortable) in an attempt to learn about herself and the people around her. While she admitted that it's difficult to know someone by just wearing their shoes, she said she's surprised by how much she's learned since she began.

"I thought (the project) would be . . . doomed because I didn't think there was any way that I could get that kind of a sense of a person from just wearing their shoes," she said. "And I don't (get that sense), necessarily, but I have learned a lot of other things." For instance, Thomas said she's been touched by the generosity people have shown when she explains the project.

"Even strangers have been really generous with me, because shoes are kind of an intimate thing in a way," she said. "Strangers on the street, even in winter - in blowing snow - will take their shoes off and exchange shoes with me."

Of course, not everyone has been so forthcoming. When she first conceived of the notion and pitched it to friends, Thomas said reactions varied.

"The first person I asked seemed a bit hesitant," she recalled. "Some people are really excited about the idea right away. Other people warm up to it."

Thomas established a blog, "In Your Shoes," to share the stories associated with the shoes with a broader audience. One man was so taken with the idea that he actually mailed her his shoes all the way from Pennsylvania. She said she's been surprised and humbled by the response and attention her project has garnered.

"People lend me shoes that have been all over the world, or have seen them through really trying experiences," she said. "(And) I'm thinking, I'm riding my bicycle, is this enough? Am I doing these shoes justice?"

Thomas estimates that she's borrowed about 50 pairs of shoes since she started in November. She has no end in sight for the project, choosing instead to stop "when it sort of comes to its natural conclusion." For now, she said she's not done experimenting.

"I'd like to keep going with it, because I feel like there's still stuff I can learn from it."

To read the stories Thomas has gathered, visit her blog at http://adayinyourshoes.blogspot.com.

(You can also read this story at: http://www.guelphtribune.ca/news/article/139845)

MIKE

2008-08-20T13:24:00.009-04:00

Not long ago, a friend of mine told me that I had to ask Mike about his shoes. I happened to see him a few days later at a cafe, and he was kind enough to let me pester him with questions. Mike has been suffering from serious back pain for some time. He told me about his sneakers. The day that he bought them, he wore them to walk over to the pharmacy to pick up more painkillers. In that short amount of time, his back pain was reduced by 50% (!!).

So I was inaugurated into the world of terms like "pronation" and "supination," and bright white sneakers. Mike explained to me how running shoes are meant to keep ones weight evenly distributed, and correct the habits that an individual may have (rolling in or out, for example). He showed me a website of athletic shoes. I had no idea that sneakers were so specific. The pair that he bought were "neutral" shoes, that keep him centred in the shoe, and help his tendency of rolling towards the outside of his shoe. He urged me to try a pair. I think that he could sense my hesitation and said, "you could always paint them."

I did end up trying out a bunch of running shoes one rainy evening at a store downtown. The woman there was really helpful, and okay with the fact that I had no idea if I actually wanted to invest in a pair. I must have tried at least 5 different kinds. She told me that when walking, my weight is evenly distributed, so it's not rolling that's causing or prolonging any back pain. The shoes felt strange on my feet. Like whole other worlds.

Anyhow, that was a whole bunch of preamble. The upshot of the whole situation is that I thought it was about time to put myself in another person's shoes again. And I thought it might be a good idea to ask Mike if he was willing to lend me a pair of his.
He was.

Of course Mike didn't lend me his miracle sneakers--he needs those on his own feet each day. But this pair of shoes came to mind as a pair that I might find comfortable. He described the as "deck shoes," which is a term that was unfamiliar to me. Since then I've heard it a few times (as a sidetrack, I have also been seeing a lot of desert boots these days, which I haven't seen in about 17 years...). Mike told me that he got these shoes, which are light brown leather Aldos, at a factory outlet store in Quebec. He said that they were pretty comfortable shoes, and would likely stay on my feet despite their large size. He kindly brought them into work, where I picked them up from him the next day.

That week I was working mornings in Elora. I decided it was unwise to wear Mike's shoes to work. The previous day a little girl had (accidentally) dropped her paint palette on my feet. My shoes were covered in yellow paint, which happened to be washable, but still not something I wanted to risk subjecting someone else's shoes to. The other reason that I decided to wear them for just half a day, was that they were difficult for me to walk in. Although they have laces, even when tied as tightly as possible the shoes still felt like they were at risk of falling off. I had to do that ball of foot kind of grab with each step, which was fine for a little while, but eventually didn't feel like a helpful thing to be doing.

So I wore Mike's shoes for an afternoon and evening. I biked with them to the library and bank (it was funny to see the length of them sticking out from my bike pedals as I did so). I met with Dave Bowden, a reporter at the Guelph Tribune. I tried hard to smile comfortably as he took photos for the article he was working on. I went to an appointment, and noticed that there was a receipt in the bottom of one shoe. It was for cantaloupe. I worked on a video briefly at the school, made dinner, and walked with a friend of mine to an art opening downtown. On the way I tripped at least 3 times, and noticed for the first time ever that the Curry in a Hurry restaurant at the bottom of the hill is in a house that is only half a house.

I saw some really great paintings and reconnected with some friends. We wandered back home, and my pal showed me photos from her trip to Costa Rica. We pined for distant travels, and I walked home and went to bed. Mike's shoes stayed at the bottom of the stairs with all the others as I slept.

Mike was right--his shoes were comfy. I enjoyed how big and roomy they were on my feet. They just didn't want to stay on there, and continually conspired to trip me. In the end I decided not to wear them for an entire day because it didn't seem like the best idea for my back. Which is interesting, because that's the same reason that Mike opts to wear different shoes these days as well.

Mike's shoes are comfortable. They are soft and floppy and kind of squishy on the inside. They are comfortable, and yet not what he choses to wear these days. And not the best thing for me to be wearing, either, although neither of us predicted that. Mike's shoes made me think about what it means to outgrow ones own shoes, to own shoes that are no longer helpful. This is somewhere where the phrase ("put yourself in his/her shoes" ) may fall short. What happens when someone's shoes don't support them very well? Can they still be reflective of that person, their life, and their perspective? I'm not sure that there is an answer. But it's interesting to think about.

TAPPING SHOES

2008-08-02T18:46:00.008-04:00

Reva is a good family friend.
My mom grew up in Missouri, and whenever I visit St. Louis, I have a very hard time seeing all of my relatives there--my St. Louis family is huge, and there is an intricate and enormous network of relatives and friends. My mom understands how they all fit together, but having grown up out of town, I always forget just how it is that this cousin or that aunt is related to me. Not that the how of it matters. Suffice to say that the experience of going there (which I try to do at least once a year) is like coming home to a stadium full of people who think you're the bees knees regardless of what your day (or year) was like.

Reva is one of those people in the stadium. Her family isn't related to mine, but they may as well be. Mama Jean and Reva met when a mutual friend indirectly accused Mama Jean of stealing Reva's daughter and passing her off as her own. Amy Beth (my aunt) and Amy Beth (Reva's daughter) are the same age, grew up blocks away from each other, and looked very similar as infants. They are also the best of friends.
(They are also both tornado babies, but that is another story.)

Since Reva lives so close by to Mama Jean, and since I love her and her family dearly, I almost always get to visit with her when I'm in town. One of the marvelous things about her house is that she is always finding interesting things to do with it. She has raised chickens, installed a "diamond mine", has a mouse house underneath her stairs, and is working on a wall tattoo. For a number of years now, a good part of her basement has been designated "the costume room." There is an impressive contingent of bridesmaid's dresses on the metal racks that line the wall, as well as Hallowe'en and Purim costumes, vintage dresses that make me swoon, boy scout uniforms, wigs, veils, gloves, hats, masks, and of course, shoes.

In the past Reva has let me take outfits out on long term loan--dresses to wear to weddings, or just for fun. In fact, the local high school borrows clothing for their annual musicals, and neighbourhood kids and relatives "shop" at Reva's for costumes and formal attire. This year a pair of tap shoes caught my eye.

I've always been intrigued by tap shoes. Growing up I took ballet and modern and jazz classes, but it was a well understood rule in our household that tap was out of the question. My mom had three other sisters in her family, and two of them were avid dancers. The sound of tap shoes drives her nuts. So tap dancing is something that I've always been a bit curious about.

My Auntie Andrea let me try on her tap shoes once when she was visiting. They were white, and a bit too small. My Auntie Amy once told me that I could have her old tap shoes if she could find them--her feet are closer to my size. About 6 years ago, my old dance studio was celebrating their 25th anniversary, and invited a bunch of graduates to come back and dance in show. It was a tap number, and having never taken tap lessons, I wore an old pair of (tap-less) character shoes and did my best to seem like I knew what I was doing. I really wished I did know what I was doing, but had a good time not having to worry about any sounds giving me away.

When I saw a couple of pairs of tap shoes in Reva's basement, I got excited. Reva wasn't sure of the origins of the shoes I ended up taking home with me. My guess is that they belonged to Auntie Amy. The other pair, which was larger, shinier, and the flat-heeled style, belonged to Reva. She told me their story.

Reva said that she and her sister were sitting together "kvetching about the fact of their lives," and that their family wasn't able to afford to let them take dance lessons when they were younger. They had both always wanted to tap dance. One of the sisters suggested that since they were able to afford it now, they should buy themselves tap shoes. And they did.

Reva recounted how she and her sister could be found giggling and goofing around at the dance store, how the staff and other customers must have thought they were crazy with the noises that were coming from their feet. They bought the shoes, but Reva never took lessons. I don't think that that was important to her. She and her sister just enjoyed making noise and "tip tapping" together.

Reva encouraged me to try the "tapping shoes" on, the ones that were closer to my size. They are capezio heeled tap shoes, size 8 or so, with dance studio pink insides. It turned out that they fit me really well, and I stepped off the carpet, onto the cement floor and started making noise. Reva was astounded, "you sound really good!" She said that it sounded like I knew what I was doing, that it was as if I was making music with my feet. She was so impressed that she said I should bring them home.

I tried walking to my grandmother's house in them, but I gave up after about half a block. It seemed so wrong tapping as I walked on the sidewalk, plus I think that it just feels wrong in my body to spend so much time in heeled shoes. So I took them off, and reverted back to my regular shoes. Inside Mama Jean's I put them on when no one else was home and tapped up a storm of made-up moves that may or may not be proper moves or pass as tap dancing. (We had recently seen part of a documentary on dance, and I think that watching Fred Astaire and the way his body moved made me all the more eager to try dancing with taps.)

Back in Guelph, I decided to wear the shoes for just part of the day, due to the heel factor. I
wore them while taking a much needed break from planning camp programming and gathering books at the library. I was nervous -- I wasn't sure if our downstairs neighbour was home, but risked it anyway. I just put them on, and started making sounds. It felt kind of freeing, although I was a bit tentative. I found a very funny book at the library that I thought might help me, but turned out to not be very helpful at all. I imagine that it's the sort of book that my mom would weed off the shelves, if she was weeding at the Guelph Public library.

Unfortunately, Erica wasn't home. She had offered to show me some moves. Later on, she tried on the shoes and showed me what she could remember. According to her I do a pretty good modified buffalo-type step. Hmm...

The tapping shoes are exciting and playful. When I put them on, if no one else is home, I can imagine that I'm a super-swell tap dancer making up my own music to dance to as I go along...fast or slow, syncopated rhythms and pauses that I can play with and delight in. It's also a bit of that feeling of breaking the rules, doing what I wasn't allowed to as a kid, being really loud, and making lots of really loud mistakes, and just laughing afterwards. Although the tapping shoes' original owner is a mystery, I imagine them as having belonged to my aunt and having lived in Mama Jean's house, probably packed away in the basement for some time. I also somehow imagine them as carrying Reva's story of two sisters finally just doing what they had wanted to for so long, making their noise and laughing. And they are also caught up with my idea of St. Louis...that stadium full of people ready to hug me, or applaud after a convincing series of pseudo buffalo steps.

the perils...

2008-07-29T15:03:00.003-04:00

of wearing other people's shoes may be more than one might imagine. Or at least more than I imagined before I began this endeavor.

I wanted to say a word about this after a recent conversation with a friend. I was explaining that I have nerve pain as a result of a herniated disc, and his immediate response was, "that's because you wear other peoples' shoes."

Hmm...

Interestingly, my doctor doesn't approve of this project. When she found out about it, she told me that while it's an interesting idea and has a nice sentiment, it's practically just not a healthy thing to be doing. She herself avoids second hand shoes, because shoes become so personalized as they are are worn in. She thinks that I should forget the shoes and stick to helping people wear their hearts on their sleeves and the like.

Could it be that putting oneself in another person's shoes is so risky? Dangerous, even?

I should make it clear that my back trouble began at a time when the only shoes I wore were my own, so putting other peoples shoes -- in the literal sense, at least -- isn't the root cause of the pain by any means. But I do notice how my back feels differently after a day in heels, or shoes that I have to grip with my toes to keep on my feet. The sometimes physically uncomfortable repercussions of putting myself in other peoples' shoes are the main reasons that I no longer wear others' shoes so frequently as I did at first.

I also have talked to people who speculate that things so personalized and intimate as a worn pair of shoes hold a lot of a person in them. Some folks think that it is easy to take on another's baggage and energy by wearing their shoes. I'm not convinced of this, but it's interesting to think about.

It's also interesting to think about what goes into choosing a pair of shoes for oneself, and what it means to have ones feet firmly in ones own shoes.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how different pairs of my own shoes effect my back, and my day. My biggest shoe-related challenge of late is to find a sensible pair of sandals that aren't overwhelmingly sensible. I like to wear fun things on my feet, but most fun shoes seem to be decidedly unsupportive (in the orthotic sense). I've been wearing an orange pair of sensible-disguised-as-fun shoes to work, but they have had one too many blobs of paint dropped on them. As I hold out for a fun-yet-proper pair of sandals, the summer is passing me by, and my feet are screaming to be let out of their sock encasements. I've begun to wonder if it's unreasonable to pass up so many decent but less-than-fun sandals in this ongoing quest of mine.
I don't have an answer yet.

[post barefoot dancing at Hillside feet...I'm not sure if it's clear in this photo just how extraordinarily dirty my feet were...the quest for sandals continues...]

JORDAN

2008-05-21T08:29:00.010-04:00

I met Jordan that first day in the café. She told me that I reminded her of her friend Stephanie, who is a chef and now lives out of town, but happened to be visiting. Jordan wanted us to meet, we seemed so alike, but it unfortunately didn’t end up happening (“You’d really like her, she’s also really down to earth and friendly and caring and open and positive”…I was quite flattered that I reminded her of someone that sounds so lovely, especially after sharing such a short conversation). Jordan seemed happy to lend me a pair of shoes. She said she would bring by her converse sneakers so that I could pick them up from Matthew. So that’s what I did.

Jordan told me briefly about her shoes—that she got them in Toronto, when she was 19, I think. It sounded like they marked a pretty exciting time for her. It also seems that she's enjoyed them--they have little holes and tears hiding all over.

I was quite drawn to the colour of Jordan’s shoes…a kind of mustard yellow-gold, I guess. I don’t think I’ve worn shoes quite that colour before. It was like having autumn on my feet.

Although Jordan’s shoes were large for me, they still managed to just about disappear under my jeans (which get wide at the bottom). I experimented with rolling my pants up so that I could see them there, which helped me remember that I wasn’t wearing my own shoes. Other things helped me remember as well were: the fact that I could feel the ground through the thin soles—whatever things I happened to step on would poke through—and the way they kind of flopped as I walked.

My sister Katie had a day off of work. We had decided to go on a mini adventure. Weeks ago I told her I had come across the website for the PEI Potato Museum, and she was dead set on going. I have to admit that I was pretty curious myself. The promise of the giant potato sculpture in the parking lot was the cincher for me.
(By the way, did you know that it's the International Year of the Potato? Hmmm...I'm actually about to go to the community garden to hill mine.)

We had already been to Brackley Beach a couple of days before, and although I really wanted to see Cavendish, we decided to include just the museum on our road trip, with a quick stop in Summerside if we had the time.

In the car ride, I stitched up Matthew and Michael’s shoes with white thread. We mostly drove by fields (so green! so red!), as well as some interesting roadside signs, and a couple of awesome looking diners. We finally came to the big potato in O’Leary PEI, and pulled in the parking lot. We were the only visitors.

The museum was really quite large, and included a local history component (where we saw an iron lung, various severe-looking medical tools, and a cast iron stove manufactured in Sackville, NB…earlier in my travels I had actually come across old crates outside where the stoves used to be made ). Highlights from the potato exhibit included pictures of all the ways potatoes can be served, and (my favourite) a row of miniature coffins containing faux diseased potatoes, illustrating the many and varied ways that a potato might become unfit for human consumption. Oh yes, and a Stompin' Tom record.

After being inside without daylight for so long, Katie and I enjoyed roaming through the buildings outside (an old church, a one room school house, an old telephone switchboard…). Katie’s very favourite was the wooden train climbing structure. We played on that for awhile, and then we went on the swings.

We eventually made our way back to the car and drove to Summerside. It was quite overcast, and it eventually began to rain. Katie and I walked a bit, and spent some time in the Pro Hardware, which was definitely not your average hardware store. It was like a cross between Action Surplus, Home Hardware and Stedmans. Most things in there seemed like there were from a different era (or universe), and there was a lot of dust. I couldn’t get over the post cards and sunglasses and bizarre touristy trinkets. There were even these super strange monk dolls whose erect penises would emerge from their robes when their arms were squeezed (just sitting by the teapots, below the postcard rack, near the glued together seashell puppy dogs). I’m telling you, monk dolls aside, this place is just a million art projects waiting to happen.
Katie, by the way, was absolutely mortified. The monks offended her sensibilities.

(There were actually a whole variety of the emerging penis dolls, but I can’t for the life of me remember what the other characters were. Maybe if you are reading this, and you are near the Summerside Pro Hardware, you can let me know. And maybe also tell me what your favourite thing in that store is. There is so much to choose from.)

Maybe it was because our Summerside excursion began with an investigation of the Pro Hardware, or ended with passing by the used bookstore that had “Cooking with The Young and the Restless” in the window, but the town seemed to have a strange feeling about it. Katie and stopped in a little café. She bought an orange soda mostly to humour me.

When I arrived in PEI, they were just in the process of phasing out their policy on carbonated beverages. Having to be conscious about waste as an island, all carbonated beverages until very recently were sold in glass bottles, which are sold with a deposit, and collected to be re-filled. Pop cans are now allowed on the island, and the bottles are being phased out. Folks worry about what this will mean for the bottling industry and local soda manufacturer. I worry about where government’s head is in making this decision just as so many other governments are waking up to the reality of needing to seriously reconsider our habits around waste, and the environment.

I won’t launch into a rant.
Katie and I sat and shared her locally made orange soda, which was very very orange. I was proud of myself because I haven’t eaten or drank anything so unnaturally colourful for a really really long time. I was heartened by the presence of orange pulp at the bottom. And, I must say, it was pretty yummy.

We headed back to Charlottetown and made a brief stop to say hello to Matthew. I wanted to pass the shoes by him, and see if he’d like me to add some embroidery floss to them. He liked that idea, and told me some of Michael’s favourite colours.

Katie and I had dinner and watched Juno. I hadn’t seen the film, but was already in love with the soundtrack. I stiched up Matthew and Michael’s shoes all colourful, and sang along to the parts I knew.

Jordan’s shoes are thin-soled and floppy. I enjoyed wearing them on my little excursion. I feel like they let me take in things that I wouldn’t have otherwise: the precise feeling of the grass outside the potato museum, the pebbles by the swings, concrete, pavement, wood, carpet, tile. It was interesting how they at once blended into my day (and my jeans), and yet were also such an essential part of it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to separate the giant potato sculpture and orange soda in a glass bottle from the colour of Jordan’s shoes. They may mean, “Toronto, age 19” to her, but they are forever caught up with PEI, giant potatoes, and unexpected friendship for me.

MATTHEW & MICHAEL

2008-05-20T07:52:00.008-04:00

I told my sister that I'd help her make some friends in Charlottetown.
She just moved there in May and was worried about feeling lonely.
She was also worried about me making friends for her. Understandably so. At first I was taking the job pretty seriously, and was considering making application forms, and creating a formalized screening process. She didn't like the sound of that, so instead I just wandered around Charlottetown.

I did end up making some friends for myself, and maybe even for Katie, too. Most of my time in Charlottetown it was cold and wet. I only rode Katie's bike once, and decided afterwards that I'd stick to walking and buses and cars as long as it was raining so insistently.
On one of those wet, rainy days, I walked by a little cafe. There was a sandwich board outside that was washed clean, and no sign above the window. I passed right by, but for some reason decided to back track and go inside.

It turns out that it was not only a cafe, but a store (sooo many interesting screen-printed t-shirts), a gallery, and a music venue. And it had just opened. Inside, the Ghost Bees were playing. I had seen them at a house concert shortly before leaving Guelph, and they were enchanting. It was comforting to be greeted by something I recognized when I entered the store.

Matthew, who was standing behind the counter, asked me what brought me to the cafe, and we started talking about all sorts of things, including the Ghost Bees, and making friends, and interesting things to do in Charlottetown, and music, and artwork, and shoes.

I think that I visited Matthew and the cafe just about every day that I was in Charlottetown. It was a kind of home base for me. I helped him paint a sign, almost poisoned us with toxic fumes, met some of his friends, and talked bunches. That first day in the cafe both Matthew and his friend Jordan said they'd lend me a pair of shoes (Jenn said I could wear hers, too, but it seemed like I might not have time).
I took them up on it.

Matthew told me that he'd lend me the shoes that he was wearing. We made arrangements for me to come back in a day or two, so that he'd have something else to put on his feet. When I picked up his shoes, he explained that they aren't technically his own. They belong to his boyfriend. Matthew and Michael share just about everything. They can do this because they're the same size. Matthew said that it's Michael who always ends up choosing and buying the shoes. Matthew expressed some concern that maybe things don't always work out evenly, but they seem to have the kind of relationship where they could talk about striking that balance if it isn't already there.

I have never worn communal shoes before. The idea intrigues me. I don't think that I'm necessarily so good at sharing that I could share a pair of shoes with someone on a long-term basis, let alone an entire wardrobe. But for Matthew and Michael it's their way of doing things.

Matthew and Michael's shoes are a white pair of Dexters. Or they used to be white. Right now they are a bit ripped up, and kind of dirty. I was surprised to hear that they are only 4 weeks old. They look like they could have been around for a year or more, judging from how worn in they seem. Matthew explained that Micheal had wanted to keep the shoes extra super clean and white until 3 weeks ago, when they went to a Ghost Bees concert. There they had seen a fellow who had the same shoes, and his were all grungy. Michael liked the look of them, and decided to let his get dirty, too. So he did.

The day that I wore Matthew's shoes was rainy. I borrowed my sister's car and drove into town. The cafe was closed--Matthew was running an errand--but a sweet fellow let me in so that I didn't have to wait in the rain. Matthew had told me that he was going to be making spelt blueberry waffles with real maple syrup, and there was no way I wanted to miss out on that. (They were delicious. Not the usual shape that waffles are--I got to eat one of the test runs--but delicious none the less.)

Matthew and Michael's shoes were big and floppy on my feet. They fell off only once, when I was getting out of the car, but as long as I was walking they stayed on without any effort. That thing where the heels of the shoes spring up and catch my own kept happening, and it was kind of fun. After a long hang-out in the cafe, the sun came out and I went for a walk. It was the first and only time I got to decently explore the city. I went down by the water, and enjoyed the super-red mud. I noticed that Matthew and Michael's shoes had red earth stains on them, and since they were interested in having not-so-white-anymore shoes, I wasn't too worried about keeping them extra clean. (Which was good, because I simply cannot resist red mud puddles.)

Matthew invited me over to his and Michael's apartment for dinner. I was thrilled! Defying all expectations I seemed to be actually making friends--if not for my sister, than at least for myself. The day before I had gone to a music session at a pub downtown and did some set dancing. The folks there invited me to a house party that evening. I told Michael about it, how I wanted to go even though it involved a bit of a drive, because I figure that stuff like that doesn't happen so often.
"It doesn't? Aren't people that friendly everywhere?"
I don't think that Katie will have too much of a problem here.
(By the way, I did end up going to the house party. My sister is now welcome to drop in at the Benevolent Irish Society any Monday evening if she would like to play the penny whistle or flute. On some Fridays there is dancing.)

I went to Matthew and Michael's for dinner. I had met Michael briefly a couple days before, and that day I got to know him better as he proved to Matthew and I that it was possible to make a properly formed waffle in the waffle maker (apparently the secret is patience). Their apartment was gorgeous--big windows with lots of light, little nooks in the wall, and (my favourite) a curved wall at the entrance. Michael had had the day off and made a veritable feast involving fancy roasted vegetables and tofurkey (!). Jenn came over as well and brought delicious rice and beans and her lovely self. It was such a terrific evening spent chatting and hanging out. We went to the corner store for ice cream (even though it was actually quite cold out). When it was time to go Jenn walked towards me with her arms out--there were hugs all around.
"I feel like we just met this great friend and now she's going to disappear!"
I felt the same way about them! It was surprising to me how easy it felt to be around each other. I consider myself to be quite introverted, and it can take effort to be around other people. But it's not such a hard thing when others are just so much themselves.

Before leaving I asked Michael about the shoes, about whether he was happy with the decision to let them get messy-looking. He told me that he likes that they are dirty, but isn't so happy about the tear in the one shoe. I asked if he'd like me to repair it for him, and he liked the idea.

That was my day in Matthew and Michael's shoes. I walked over to where Katie works and we drove back to her place. The next day I wore Jordan's shoes, and in the car ride to the Potato Museum I stitched up Matthew and Micheal's shoes. First just with white thread. I showed them to Matthew and asked if he'd prefer some colour. I ended up filling in the gaps made by the tears with embroidery floss.

Matthew and Michael's shoes are floppy and flexible and easy to wear. They were conducive to moderate puddle jumping and city walking. That they are shared equally between Matthew and Michael seems somehow natural after getting to know them. And that they were willing to share them with me seems equally natural and surprising at once.
It makes me think that maybe the world is filled with friends I have yet to meet.

washed up shoes and ocean feet

2008-05-18T10:27:00.007-04:00

I walked the circumference of Brier Island, Nova Scotia. This is no great feat--it's pretty tiny--but it still took a number of hours. There was a good amount of debris that presumably had been washed up by the tide: shoes, freezers, lobster traps, plastic bins, etc.
I walked through a large and disgruntled seagull colony, wild raspberry cane, past two lighthouses and the coast guard, and several animal carcases that had been picked clean. My favourite part of the day was coming across a sand beach in a quiet cove. Bare feet on sand! I went swimming there, in the Bay of Fundy. The water couldn't have been warmer than 2 or 3 degrees Celsius, and I spent no more than 15 seconds in the water, but it was great! Definitely one way to feel extra alive.

Please humour me and allow me to share some photos of the colours, textures and things that caught my eye...

JENN

2008-05-09T07:49:00.005-04:00

The story of Jenn's shoes is an interesting one, and so is the story of the story of Jenn's shoes. Bear with me and you'll see what I mean.
Jenn and Jimmie were kind enough to offer me a place to stay in Halifax. It was lovely and included sharing yummy meals, good company, tours of the city, interesting excursions...and shoes! I also got to sleep with a giant stuffed tuna named Tuna (at least I think that was it's name). We got along really well.

So yes, Jenn lent me her shoes.
She generally goes for a run most mornings--I remember how we used to pass each other in Guelph by the covered bridge or along the river. Jenn told me about all the things her running shoes had been through: they've part of a triathlon and a duathlon, on a car trip through Nova Scotia, on various cycling trips (Newfoundland and throughout the maritimes to Ontario, Ontario to Michigan and back). These shoes have a lot of history. And they are also very much a part of her everyday. So Jenn decided that they'd be the best shoes to lend to me.

So after her run in the morning, I put them on. I hauled a laundry basket to the laundromat just down the street (I was very proud of myself for traveling super light, but soon tired of hand-washing things constantly. It was a treat to make a load of all our clothes and use a washing machine).

Jenn's shoes were big on my feet. For that reason, I tied double knots. And I didn't feel as silly about it as I sometimes do, because that I noticed that Jenn does the same (albeit for different reasons). They were a bit big, but they were also squishy and comfortable like I imagine sneakers should be. I soon felt quite at home in them.

Another thing that struck me about Jenn's sneakers, was how incredibly light they were. And even more remarkable was the fact that I could feel the wind blow through them! I'm not a runner, but I imagine these are important features for shoes that a person is trying to be fast in for long enough that their feet could get really sweaty. They seem like pretty smart things to be wearing while jogging.

Which made me think that I should jog. But I didn't.
Instead I rolled down the Halifax citadel.

The citadel is a big star-shaped fort that overlooks downtown Halifax. People do strange things on it all the time. In my few days in Hali I saw a couple of yoga classes taking place at the base of the hill, lots of joggers running up and down the stairs, and even a woman who seemed to be doing some kind of modified push up all the the way up the hill. All this in weather that was far from summer-like. So I didn't feel too strange rolling down the hill. Only a little.

I'm realizing now that things in the above list of strange stuff people do on the citadel seems to be motivated by fitness, whereas I was just interested in fun. So maybe that's why I felt a tad self-conscious. My love for rolling down hills prevailed in the end, however, and I sought out the steepest part of the hill that didn't lead directly to a road.
And I rolled.

I did this between changing loads at the laundromat. I was late and actually ended up jogging a bit on my way back to the laundromat.
There was an older woman there speaking with the owner. When I went up to the counter she took a look at me and said, "My, you must have had a good time!" I was a bit confused until I realized from her gesture that I had bits of dried grass and leaves all over me. "I just rolled down the citadel," I explained. The owner said to the woman, "See, you were right!" And she was. Except it turns out she was thinking of a different kind of good time: "I thought you'd had a good romp in a haystack."

People here are friendly. There isn't too much that they are afraid to say. Even if you don't know them. It's interesting.

Back at Jenn's house we had some food and then went on a mini road trip to the valley. I don't know if there is more than one valley in Nova Scotia, but there is probably only one really big one because everyone says "the valley" and expects you to know what they mean. The Annapolis Valley is on the West side of the province along the Bay of Fundy. We drove to Wolfville and had a good long walk on a trail along the embankment by the ocean. When we started, the tide was out, but over the few hours we were there, the water level changed substantially.

We mostly talked and talked, and took pictures of each other jumping along the trail. It was windy and sunny and beautiful. The ocean was on one side, and fields on the other...a whole lot of greens and blues, and the red of the dirt, of course.
It was especially interesting wearing someone's shoes and spending the day with them at the same time. I don't think I've done that before. At one point Jenn kind of did a double take...she explained how she had looked at my feet and thought, "Aislinn's so cool, she's got shoes just like me!" It was a little while later that she realized that the shoes actually were hers, and she burst out laughing. It was cute.

We used the washroom at the library and bought yummy delicious desserts at a vegetarian cafe (where you apparently get a discount if you're vegan) to bring home to share with Jimmie. Then we got back on the highway to the city.

I don't remember when it was exactly that Jenn realized it.
Maybe when I was asking for a recap of all that her shoes have been through, or maybe when I was taking them off back at her apartment.
It turns out that actually, these sneakers are relatively new. They aren't the sneakers that were in the races or were with her on her bike trips. They were a gift from Jimmie's family, and they are the shoes that she wears on her runs now, but not the ones that have been through all that excitement and courage and bravery.

She felt a bit disappointed, I think, that the shoes that I were didn't represent all those times. She told me about other shoes she chould have lent me: the moccasins that she wore when she was living in the tree in B.C. that were given to her by a native woman, the running shoes that did go with her on those trips. She pulled out the moccasins--they were beautiful. I considered wearing them in the evening, but didn't end up doing so. At the time I wasn't sure why I didn't wear them, but when I think about it now, I think that the story of the story of Jenn's shoes is enough.

Jenn's shoes are supportive and comfortable, soft, light and airy. They may not be the shoes that were with her through the most extreme and challenging times, but I think that they've been witness to another kind of bravery. The kind of everyday courage that it takes to live and to build a life and a home and a meaningful routine. I think that that is more than enough. In fact, I think it's quite beautiful.

It's interesting that often people want to lend me the shoes that somehow sum up who they are, the ones that have the most meaning and memories in them, if there is a measure of that. It's a hard choice, finding an item that is most like oneself. I think that often people approach this problem by wanting to choose shoes that have been through times that seem the most real or formative or extreme; shoes that are somehow, in this way, charged with meaning.

But I think there's also something to be said for the everyday. For getting up in the morning and tying two double knots in the place that you happen to be.

I have so much gratitude for Jenn and Jimmie's generosity in inviting me to stay with them and letting me be a part of that for a time.

i heart sackville

2008-05-09T07:48:00.010-04:00

The thing about Sackville is the fact of the horizon.
This may not seem like a big deal, but having grown up in Southern Ontario, it was shocking at first. When I first moved to Sackville, it took me a bit of time to figure out why it was suddenly so hard to breathe. But now I can't get enough of it, the feeling of so much space.

There are other things, of course, like the buildings that are allowed to crumble, and streets that end suddenly and without reason. There is the way that the marsh threatens front stoops, the screeching pheasants, a tidal river, and houses that seem to have been dropped from the sky.

It felt great to be there again.

Traipsing through the marsh, I came to one of my favourite parts--the TransCanada trail goes right through the marsh, and crosses the TransCanada highway. You can just walk across, which is what I did. The first time I did that, my classmates had to talk me into it (I come from an extremely risk-adverse family, and the idea of crossing the highway on foot was one that I had never before considered). I ran as fast as I could, despite the fact that there were no cars in sight and the land is flat. There are now yellow signs with bicycle symbols beside the highway, warning drivers of the crossing. I remember when my mom visited me in Sackville eight years ago that she just about had a fit that there was a level rail crossing on the highway, let alone a bike crossing. I think it is quite civilized.

I mostly walked in Sackville. I wanted to see everything that I remembered (which was a alot...it's amazing how charged with memory a place can be). I ended up waking up at 6 am the morning after my 8 hour (or was it longer?) walk. Before I left I wanted to see the bridge for which Bridge Street was named, another favourite place of mine. It is now a bridge without a middle that used to cross the Tantramar river beside the railway. At that time of day there air was thick with mist rising off the marsh. The tide was low, and the river banks red, and I imagined I could see the ocean in the distance.

It felt so great to walk and wander on my own.
And this time, breath came easily.

muddy boots...

2008-05-06T06:06:00.005-04:00

...my own, beside the Petitcodiac in Moncton, N.B.
It feels so good to see a tidal river again!
All that red mud...

coming to sidewalk near you...

2008-04-17T12:33:00.005-04:00

If you happen to be in California, that is.
Exchanges II will be playing in San Francisco in The Show Starts on the Sidewalk projection series, curated by Nomi Talisman and Bill Basquin in conjunction with the University of California, Santa Cruz's Intervene! Interrupt! Rethinking Art as Social Practice conference.

The conference looks really, really interesting...
check it out:
http://may2008.artintervention.org

And for those of you on the other side of the continent, I am planning to take a trip to (and wearing shoes on) the East coast, although California is now sounding awfully enticing...

SOPHIE

2008-04-10T10:46:00.007-04:00

Sophie had her birthday party at the art studio. She was very excited. It was a really fun party--all the kids seemed really engaged and happy to work with clay and paint. And they were remarkably well-behaved (and quiet!), too. At the end I overheard Sophie saying, "that was the best party ever!" It was great. Her mom told me that they had something they wanted to bring me, but forgot it at home. She turned to Sophie who told me what it was: "my white fuzzy bunny slippers," she said. They had seen the article in the newspaper, and Sophie wanted to lend me some shoes. They brought them the next morning when Sophie came to art class (still eager to make more art).

I was so happy that Sophie was excited to share her shoes with me. As she said, they are white fuzzy bunny slippers. They have little light pink noses, ear-insides, and bottoms. The bottoms reveal that they are Old Navy brand shoes, size 10/11.

I wasn't sure how they might fit--Sophie told me that her mom puts them on sometimes, so they should work on my feet, too. And they did...sort of.

My heels of course stuck out past the edge of the slippers. They landed squarely on the cute little tail at the back of each slipper. It wasn't that it was especially uncomfortable, but I was really concerned about squashing the bunny tails and ruining a little 6-year-old's slippers.

I didn't actually do a whole lot of walking in Sophie's shoes, which I think was fortunate if only for the sake of the bunny tails. I stayed at home most of the day, slowly working through a tall stack of books trying to make some headway on research I have to do for a paper.

So Sophie's slippers stayed on my feet as I read about performance art, and theories around transgression, the grotesques and the abject, cyborg bodies and so on. I made lunch, and noticed how my feet were really, really warm...it turns out that fuzzy bunny slippers aren't just nifty to look at, but are quite functional as far as slippers go.

In the late afternoon I went to the art studio to teach a class. I decided it wasn't wise to try to wear the slippers outside (they are just so white and lovely). I brought them to the studio thinking I could wear them during the class, but realized that that was just as unwise. Things can get pretty messy in there.

Instead I left them at the studio for Sophie to pick up. It didn't occur to me until after I left that I should leave a note for her...I thought it would be a nice thing for her to come across. I came by the next morning to do so, but the slippers were gone. I felt sad that I had missed the opportunity to thank Sophie--our last art class was the day that she brought me her shoes, and I haven't seen her since then. I also feel crummy that it has taken me so so long to finally post this.

Sophie's shoes are cute and warm and cozy. Wearing them, I couldn't help but be reminded of her genuine and unbridled enthusiasm, her cheerfulness, thoughtfulness and generosity. I was ever so touched by her eagerness to participate in this project, and her eagerness to make art work more generally.
Hopefully I'll see her some day soon and be able to thank her properly.
In the meantime, I sure hope those bunny tails are okay.

BERNDT

2008-03-31T16:16:00.005-04:00

I acquired Berndt's moccasin boots by way of Christina.
They were given to her after he died, and although she's had them for a few years, she still considers them to be his and not her own.

This interested me, the idea of ownership, and how it is that someone's possessions can be so much a part of who they are. I think that perhaps possessions take on a whole other level of meaning after the person who owned them died. They start to stand in for something missing. Or else the stories that they held just become that much more pressing.

Christina told me that she had actually never met Berndt. Yet she feels very connected to him. He was the father of a close friend. He was also friend of Christina's step father, Dan. Dan and Berndt died within a week of each other.

Christina was excited to show me the shoes. She pulled them out of the basement, from the room we (appropriately) refer to as 'the abyss.' She came upstairs and pulled up the wool rovings that she'd put in there the year she wore them as winter boots. She hypothesized that Berndt got them from a reservation near where he lived.

Berndt's boots are leather moccasins. They are high--they go up almost to the top of my calves. They are simple in their construction: the only parts that aren't leather are the soles (which may or may not be rubber, and have a stickiness to them), and the grommets that the leather laces weave through. They are topped with a long fringe, and some shorter fringe skirts along the seam where the piece of leather sole meets the upper.

The bottom half of each boot is darker in colour than the rest. Presumably from water and snow. Berndt's boots are a good inch and a half or two longer than my own feet, but they somehow still felt like they fit just fine.

I was worried when I left the house that my feet would get quite wet. It was a grey day, and a rainy one. I actually packed an extra pair of socks, but I somehow didn't need them. I wore Berndt's boots as I walked downtown, bought split peas, rode the bus to school and went to class.

The first thing I noticed when I went to put them on was that it was quite difficult to discern which was the right foot, and which was the left. I don't know that there was a left and right foot. In the end I just went with what my gut was telling me, but I kind of chose at random. I laced them up over my wool socks and walked around the house. It felt like I was wearing slippers.

In fact, most of the day I felt like my feet never got out of bed. It was strange to feel so cozy in different public situations--scooping split peas, walking down the street, working in class. It was kind of like walking around with a strange secret.

Also, the soles being so thin, I could really feel what was under my feet in a way that I don't normally. And also in a way that was different than other thin soled shoes I've worn (like Cecilia's, Becca's and Evan's). I think that it would have been really lovely to wear them on a trail by the river, or a path that wasn't concrete or asphalt. Even so, I found myself purposefully seeking out interesting textures (a mostly-melted snow bank, a twig, the edge of a carpet).

At school I started to feel feverish. It wasn't entirely surprising since I'd been horribly ill on the weekend. My feet were super-warm. I don't know if it was boots or fever or end of term franticness, but the still-in-bed feeling began to feel a bit like that too-long-in-bed feeling where you finally discover the edge of coziness. It became something else.

It was uncomfortable, but at the same comforting to be feeling that sense of in-bedness when feeling kind of sick. I just hung out with it, and worked on an art project.

In relationship to the art project, I've been thinking a lot about 'enough' and how to tell when one gets there. I've been having trouble. I noticed myself doing this thing that I do a lot, which is to survey everyone on what they think, assuming that I have no valid sense of things myself. It's interesting.

After class I actually met with a reporter from the local paper. She asked me lots of questions and a photographer took lots of pictures in the hallway of the fine art building. She wrote an article about this project, which you can take a look at, if you'd like:
http://news.guelphmercury.com/News/article/311974
(In searching for the above article with Google, I also found out that I've been described as "whimsical." I think that's quite lovely.)

The process made me feel quite nervous and self conscious. But that's okay.

I yawned through the bus ride home. So tired. I walked up the hill through the mist instead of waiting for the next bus. I felt really tired, but also quite sad. Kind of lost. When I got home, I told Christina that. Some of my friends think that a person's shoes carry something of their temperament. I don't know whether or not that's true, but for whatever reason, I felt like I'd been through the wringer.

I found myself thinking about what it means to wear shoes that give one so much feedback about what they are walking on...a constant influx of information about texture and density, shape and so on. It was hard to take in at times. And yet it also felt really important.
I thought a bit about the pitfalls of being so sensitive to ones environment; and by extension the pitfalls of being a sensitive person more generally.
"A gift and a liability," someone once told me.
The two do seem to go hand in hand.

Berndt's shoes are simple and complex all at once. I was intrigued by how different my experience of a routine day was in them; by the way the fringe swung as I walked, by what I could feel through their soles, by the way they reminded my of the blankets on my bed. And, of course, by the stories that they hold. I was thinking about what it is that stories demand of us--especially stories of people who have died. Those stories seem to me to have a different quality. I'm not sure if it is an urgency or a preciousness, or what the word might be. Maybe they seem different because they are themselves at higher risk of being lost. Maybe because they cannot pretend to be very far from uncertainty. Maybe these stories demand more of us as they acknowledge our own mortality and ultimate vulnerability.

[I apologize for waxing poetic. These are thoughts that have been with me this winter.
As a side note:
Since I was little I have had some kind of unusual respect for objects...especially those that have belonged to someone else. I recently was talking with Mama Jean. I gave her a call because I had a dream that she was mad at me and came all the way to Guelph (where she tracked me down in the Stone Store) to tell me so. Her basement recently flooded. I used to spend hours down there carefully lifting one thing up at a time, holding it for awhile, putting everything back exactly as I had found it. I treated it as a kind of sacred space, and was really upset when my bother and sister discovered it and didn't follow the "rules." I think it has to do with some sense of curiosity and wonder and awe for the stories and memories that things hold. Maybe a photograph can just be a photograph, and a moccasin boot just a moccasin boot. But I appreciate it when they are caught up in a webs of association and happenstance.
I told Mama Jean I would help her clean up the basement. She is worried that between the two of us, nothing will get thrown out.
This is a possibility.
Regardless, there will surely be many stories told.]

ERICA

2008-03-20T10:56:00.008-04:00

The other day Erica asked me whose shoes I was wearing. It’s actually been well over a month since I’ve worn any shoes other than my own. I told her that I’d really like to start putting myself in other people’s shoes again, that February was a really taxing month, but that I’ve been hoping for an opportunity for a footwear-related adventure to present itself. And it did. Erica informed said that she had some boots for me to wear.

She dropped them by my place Monday evening before going for a run. We had tea and a chat, and she introduced me to her boots.

Erica bought these boots some years ago—she was 18 years old, and she found them in St. Catherines. She told me that they have never fit her properly, but that she wore them all the time regardless. She dislikes shoe-shopping so much that she was happy to find boots that she liked, and them being one size too small didn’t stop her from buying them and wearing them enough that they eventually sort of fit her feet. She told me that she intends to get rid of them, and that my wearing them would be a nice send off.

Erica’s boots are a brown suede-like material that lace up not unlike figure skates, and go to about mid-calf. They have a wedge heed, and their shape reminds me a lot of Mari’s shoes. In fact, they even have holes in the same places.

One of the first things I noticed about Erica’s shoes (besides the hole above the right big toe), were the pockets on the outside of each shoe. I’ve never worn shoes with pockets before. (“For weed,” someone said to me in class today, which I hadn’t considered. I was thinking more along the lines of keys, money, ID…but who knows.) The pockets are secured with velcro, and each has a little tag with “Molt’s” written on it (presumably the brand of the shoe).

Although Erica’s feet are a bit bigger than mine, her shoes, being small for her, fit me quite well. It was rainy today, and on account of the holes in Erica’s boots, and my guess that they weren’t waterproof, I wore a pair of socks over my tights. Her boots felt really snug on my double-socked feet, and I found myself wishing that the left shoe had a little hole for my big toe to peek out of as well. It also felt really strange to be wearing heeled shoes again, and noticing how they change the way I walk, and how my feet look small when I peer down at them.

As the day went on Erica’s shoes felt less unfamiliar on my feet, although I found myself quite aware of their presence. Maybe because it’s been awhile since I’ve had to adapt to someone else’s shoes on my feet.

I walked downtown on some super-icy sidewalks, clutching the railing where there was one (and thusly soaking my left mitten). At school I joined some classmates at a bank of computers, all of us finishing up things due within the hour. The brown of Erica’s boots was interesting against the grey patterned carpeting that is all over the library. My feet also got extremely hot inside two socks, inside her boots, inside well-heated buildings. It didn’t occur to me to take off the extra pair of socks, so instead I had really hot feet for most of the day.

In class it has been apparent that it’s getting to the end of second semester. People seem tired, and everything is a bit more laid back. We finished critiquing our assignments and looked at lots of slides to give us ideas for our next one. I stood the entire three hours, and my feet began to ache. I think I am just not used to heels.

For my last assignment I made posters of proposed meals for specific artists, which I think turned out to be quite beautiful. I’ve also been continuing to collect recipes for disaster (send yours my way, if you’d like!), and helping people wear their hearts on their sleeves, which has been really interesting. There are some other idioms and projects I’m curious about, as well, but I’ve also been wanting to keep up with the shoe side of things.

After class I was exhausted and achy, so I did a bit more work at school and then headed home. On the block before my house there were some young girls across the street. They were singing, “these boots were made for walking, and that’s just what they’ll do…” it made me smile, which I think made them feel a bit embarrassed. When I got home I noticed marks on the tops of Erica’s boots where I must have been standing on them. I think I have a habit of putting one foot on top of another when I’m nervous or standing for awhile.

This evening I’ve been reading and doing schoolwork. I made poached eggs, which is a new specialty of mine, though I am actually not too skilled at it. Other more successful recent culinary adventures have included some impressively gourmet pizza, cornbread, pesto soup, gnocchi, and tomato sauce from last years tomatoes (which was like summer in my mouth).

(Banana bread. Better than the poached eggs, not as good as the gnocchi)

Now it’s just about 9pm, but I feel very ready for sleep.

Today the brown of Erica’s boots blended in with the brown and grey that seemed to be all around. It felt like it could be one of any number of seasons. It was raining, though there was still so much ice and snow. It seemed like it could be winter trying to be spring, or spring parading as winter. If I closed my eyes, it seemed like it could be fall. And even when I opened them, if someone had told me they were sure it was November, it wouldn’t seem like such a ridiculous thing. Funny, this disorienting weather on a day—the first in awhile—when I’ve been in unfamiliar shoes, and also a day—not the first in a while—that other things have felt disorienting, too. In part I think it’s that end of term (or end of anything) anxiety that comes up when things are changing.

Erica’s boots are loyal and well-worn, what with their multiple holes (and even a lose sole, which I only just noticed when I took them off!). Something about their pockets and rounded toes make me think of high school and when I was 18. This may also be part of why they seemed a bit out of place on my feet today (since high school was some time ago now). I felt a bit badly that my feet got so achy in them, and I am remembering the extent of the obligation that I feel towards another person’s shoes—how much I want to have something exciting to write about, how I believe I should savour the feeling of my feet in another’s shoes, how much I worry that being uncomfortable in a pair of shoes holds some meaning that extends beyond that simple fact. It’s all very interesting. Regardless, I am hoping that melting snow and birdsong and warmer weather will bring with it whole new categories of shoes to wear. It may almost be time to put winter boots away…but then again, I recall thinking that same thought about a month ago.

exchanges II

2008-02-15T15:14:00.000-05:00

exchanges I

2008-02-15T14:02:00.003-05:00

recipes

2008-02-06T13:18:00.000-05:00

In the interest of exploring what happens when other phrases are taken literally, there are a couple of more experiments I'm interested in. One of them I would like some help with.

I'm collecting recipes for disaster.
If you are aware of any recipes for disaster and would be willing to offer them, please let me know what they are--send me an email: adayinyourshoesATgmailDOTcom

I'll type up the recipes on index cards and compile them. Please indicate whether or not you'd like your name to be included.

Many thanks!

exchanges

2008-01-29T10:07:00.001-05:00

Over the past few weeks, I've been doing another shoe-related experiment. It involves approaching people in public spaces and explaining that I've been wondering what it's like to be in other people's shoes. If they don't walk right by, I ask them if they'd be willing to exchange shoes and walk together for a minute or so.
Some people decline, some agree to trying it out, and some like to talk about it for a while and mull it over before deciding.
So far it's taken the form of two videos, and most recently some stills, which may or may not make it into postcard form.
I especially like the moment when we swap shoes and negotiate stocking feet on snowy concrete.
I will try to find a way to post the videos (they are substantial files), but for now, here are the stills, with special thanks to Christina, who took the photographs.

STEVE

2008-01-28T16:01:00.001-05:00

Steve's shoes arrived on my doorstep last week.
I received an email from him about a month ago. He told me that he had stumbled across the blog and was wondering if I would wear a pair his sneakers. Of course I was more than happy to.

Steve and I have never met; he lives in Pennsylvania (although his shoes have been many places), and he was kind enough to post me his sneakers. I was touched that he was willing to do so.

Steve's shoes are blue, white and grey size 11 men's New Balance sneakers. They arrived in a cardboard box with a plastic air cushion packing material, and came with what may be a few stray dog hairs on the inside of each shoe.

When I put them on, I laughed. They seemed comically large on my feet. They also felt large--my feet moved around in them as I walked, trying to negotiate the arch made for feet much larger than my own. Where they wanted to bend was actually before my toes started, so it was pretty interesting.

This morning I felt a quite tired and a little dizzy, but decided to try to take my bike to school as it promised to be a fairly mild day. As I had hoped, riding woke me up, and I didn't end up having to walk my bike as I thought I might. (Except for on the bridge, where I am still wary of repeating my previous spill). The roads were dry and it was beautiful outside. Oh, and my brakes are working.

In class today we had our first critique this term. It was a bit of a mad rush in the studio beforehand making sure that files transfered over properly, things were hung on the wall, and stomachs full of butterflies were allowed to do their thing. But it was fine...great, even, to see everyone's work, and to hear feedback. We had a guest who is in curatorial studies, and offered lots of engaging thoughts and made some interesting connections (he also kindly shared some of his corn muffin).

(The shoes of fellow classmates. One student's work was installed in the library, which is where we are standing, discussing the value of contradictions, and issues posed by public space.)

During a break I chatted with a classmate. I told her how I was surprised how big Steve's shoes seemed on my feet, and she told me that this particular brand of shoe is known for being wide, which was interesting. She also told me about how when she thinks of shoes, she thinks of stories of people who have survived especially trying times. She described how shoes often play a big role in those stories, perhaps because we are so vulnerable without shoes (especially in climates and geography like our own). This led me to consider a number of things, which I have thought about before, and continually return to: how shoes negotiate the intersection of survival and self expression; the degree to which self expression may or may not be necessary; what it means to be able to choose the shoes that one wears; and shoes as economic objects.

On my bike ride home I thought about what it means to put oneself in the shoes of a stranger, and how peculiar the word "stranger" is. I wonder if it's possible that I might be able to understand the world from the perspective of someone that I know very little about by wearing their shoes, or if it's an utterly empty gesture. I don't know the answer, if there is one.

But I did completely enjoy biking down the hill on such a sunny, mild day. I was so excited that I sung especially loud as I sped along. I made a brief stop downtown, and headed home. A train went across the level crossing near my house, and I waited some time for it to pass. I thought about something Christina said the other day, which was that we don't wait much anymore. I have been noticing that I am not well practiced at waiting for certain things (like the city bus), but don't mind others (the train, mail, seasons). People darted across the tracks after the signal went to avoid watching boxcar after boxcar inch past. Not being in a rush, I was able to enjoy noticing what what written on each car, the way that shadows played across the surface, and the sounds that came out as it clunked along.

At home snow was melting and icicles dripping, which was its own lovely music. I didn't want to go inside, it was so delightful out, and I felt excited for such friendly weather. Standing at the kitchen sink I laughed out loud (and screamed a little) when I noticed it was approaching 5:30pm, and it was bright outside.

(How is it that in the middle of winter, I forget the fact of spring?)

I thought about how I have no idea what the weather is like in Pennsylvania at the moment, or what Steve's shoes are used to this time of year. I also thought about all the places they've traveled: Mexico, Italy, France, Spain, the caves of West Virginia, the beaches of Hawaii...and now Guelph, Ontario, Canada, where they spent a pretty average day on the feet of someone they didn't know. I started to feel the kind of guilt that residents of southern Ontario have when they don't take their out of town guests to Niagara Falls or the CN Tower. Those were never my favourite places, though. Maybe a ride down the Gordon Street hill on a sunny day is enough.

In the evening I packed--I'm moving at the end of the week. Today it was surprisingly not such an overwhelming experience, perhaps because I am tackling it in stages. I have never before realized how good I am at making a place a home. Taking it all apart, I can see how anonymous and empty it feels with out the familiarity of objects. I wonder how it will be to begin the process of inhabiting a space all over again.

Steve's shoes traveled quite a distance for me to be able to put them on my feet. I was delighted that someone I don't know was willing to offer me a pair of shoes, and moreover, to go to the trouble of mailing them to me. Steve's shoes are big on my feet, but while they don't fit me properly, they certainly treated me well. They stayed on my feet through a beautiful, sunny, spring-like day; a glimmer of warmth sandwiched between winter, and more winter still.

MICHAEL

2008-01-24T13:36:00.000-05:00

Michael told me he had a pair of shoes for me. He brought them to class in a plastic Canadian Tire shopping bag one day. He explained that they were from another part of his life and that he doesn't really want them anymore. In fact, he's been getting rid of all physical reminders of his skater days. Not long ago he gave his skateboard to Miles in exchange for some photo paper and a camera bag. I told Mike that if he gave me his shoes, than they wouldn't be his shoes for me to wear, so he agreed to take them back after I wore them, and look for another way to find a new home for them.

Michael's shoes are black Vans that used to be dark brown. He actually took paint to them. When I asked why that was, he said that he liked the way it looked when the paint rubbed off in places. I have to agree. It makes for what my painting prof would call "a lovely moment."

There are also traces of paint on the white shoelaces, and bits along the white rubber part where the sole meets the upper.

I thought I would wear Michael's shoes as I assumed they were meant to be worn (and how they came to me)--with the laces loose, and not tied up at all. This turned out to not be an especially terrific idea on such a snowy day.

The shoes were awfully floppy on my feet. They didn't look so large, but were actually quite big on me. With each step outside, snow would be flung up my pants and into the shoes. I ended up with very soggy clothing, and very cold, wet feet.

I headed off downtown, briefly to a classmate's house before going to an appointment. It was interesting to see how damp feet made me feel a bit on edge. My feet also soon became sore from trying hard to keep unlaced shoes from falling off. I was able to relax a bit as I noticed the ways in which I was making things more difficult for myself, and eventually cold feet didn't seem so bad.

What I found especially strange was not really being able to see Mike's shoes under the legs of my exceptionally wide pants. They just kind of disappeared under there, except for the tips of the shoes. I had this experience of feeling strange and awkward in shoes that didn't quite fit, and were full of snow, and having a visual field that didn't necessarily correspond to that. It was interesting.

After class I came home and changed my pants and socks. I had actually packed an extra pair of socks in my school bag, but never found an opportune time to expose my feet. When I went out later in the evening, I wore three pairs of socks, and tied Michael's shoes up tightly. That way they stayed on my feet without effort, and no snow migrated inside of them. I bundled myself up in my mom's old arctic parka and really enjoyed walking in the cold that way.

Cecilia and I were expecting our first Cuts 4 Cookies client, but unfortunately she had to reschedule. Instead I hung out for a bit with Ceil and her pals, who were having a heated discussion about bikes and bike culture.

[On a related note--this Friday, being the last Friday of the month, is Critical Mass. January's Critical Mass was superhero-themed, and involved hot chocolate as an added incentive to come ride in the cold (it also, unfortunately, involved rain and hail). Warm drinks and superheroes didn't seem to entice many people, as the three of us below comprised 75% of the Critical Mass population this time around. So, if you have a bike, and you like to ride it, consider joining us--or critical massers near you--for a ride!]

Michael's shoes are quirky. They are the first painted shoes I've worn. They are probably also the first shoes I've worn that are quite distant from their owner's present way of life. I appreciated their surprises--the spots where paint had rubbed away, the way the paint had bled onto the laces, how they flicked snow up at me. It was interesting to notice my frustration with the wet feet situation, and how it wasn't such a big issue once I accepted it for what it was. And it was actually comfortable having the shoes flop around on my feet, especially after I tied them up. The not-so-careful paint job turned out to be very useful: the paint on the laces indicated where to pull the laces back to when I was done with them. I especially enjoyed this (perhaps) accidental feature of Mike's shoes.

in your clothes

2008-01-18T12:38:00.001-05:00

I have been curious for sometime about how other languages express the value of considering another person's perspective.
In English, there are of course sayings about walking in another person's shoes, as well as seeing things through another person's eyes.
I was wondering what other solutions there were to expressing this important and perhaps complicated sentiment of trying to be or understand another person in order to be less judgmental of them, to have more compassion or patience.
I wasn't sure how to research idioms and proverbs in other languages, so I emailed someone who seemed like he might have some ideas. Simon Ager is a language enthusiast and web designer. He kindly posted a call out on his blog, and has had some interesting responses.

These include:

In Catalan: posar-se en la pell de l’altre, literally "putting yourself into someone else’s skin."
In Italian: mettersi nei panni di un altro, literally “to put oneself in someone else’s clothes.”
From the book, Walk Two Moons: “Don’t judge a man until you’ve walked two moons in his moccasins.”
In Hebrew: al tadún et xaverxá ad še tagía li mkomó (אל תדון את חברך עד שתגיע למקומ), "don’t judge your friend until you will stand [literally ‘reach-’] in his place."

MAGDA

2008-01-14T13:21:00.001-05:00

A short time ago, Magda mentioned that she had a pair of ski boots she'd like to lend me. I was picturing in my mind the big plastic downhill ski boots that I once knew, and wondering how it would be to clunk around in them all day. I was concerned that it might not be good for the boots. She then explained that they were cross country ski boots, that her dad bought them at a garage sale some time ago, and that she didn't expect it would hurt them to walk in them all day. I was excited.

I was even more excited when I saw them--I found their shape and the blue and red of them really appealing. One of the first places my mind went was to figuring out what I might wear with them (I think that what they really need is some kind of red jumpsuit, which I don't own). In a conversation with a friend I was talking about how my extreme ambivalence around the issue of clothing and appearance. I believe I've written about it before, and it continues to come up when wearing other people's shoes. On one hand I take a lot of joy in wearing different colours and finding new combinations of things. On the other hand I would like to ignore entirely the issue of appearance, would like to not ever think about it, even though we live in such a visually-centric world. These two parts of me collide and argue, but I usually choose to not think about it too much, so it remains all very messy and unreconciled.

Usually when I get dressed, I choose what shoes to wear at the very end, often as I'm heading out the door. When someone lends me a pair of shoes, the process is either all backwards (me choosing what to wear based on what the shoes 'demand'), or I choose what I want to wear that day using typical parameters (what mood I'm in, what I feel like wearing, what I'm going to be doing that day), and then put on someone else's shoes.

This time was interesting because I have obvious outfits to wear with Magda's boots--red and blue things--that would look pretty goofy (in a fun way). I felt, however, just not so very bold on Monday, and so wore what I felt like wearing. Magda's boots may have been incongruous with spider tights and the black and grey of everything, but that's okay.

Monday morning my stomach was a knot of anticipation for the day. I found it hard to sit still. I went early to the grocery store and to pick up a paper before coming home and finishing an assignment due later that morning. Magda's shoes tickled me with delight. They make a wonderful clicking sound with each step, as the metal loop at the end of each toe meets with the ground. I was also very aware of the arch in them, which was high and felt good. Magda's ski boots were about my size, maybe a bit bigger. There was enough room in them for a pair of wool socks over my tights, but it wasn't so cold outside that I needed them.

We had the first real snow in a while. As I was walking through it, the insole in the left shoe slipped, and continued slipping towards the back of the shoe until the toes of my left foot were making contact with the plastic bottom of the boot. It was an interesting sensation having those toes be so much more cold than the rest of me, and I eventually adjusted the insole. This happened later on in the day as well.

I really appreciated the details of Magda's boots. They are old enough that parts of them are crackled and peeling in all sorts of accidental and lovely ways.

At school Michael asked, "where are your skis!?" in his usual way. Class was punctuated by fire alarm testing, which was strange at best as we plowed on through.

Walking through the buildings on campus, Magda's shoes made a prominent and echo-y sound as metal kissed tile or wooden floor. It reminds me of the sound of teachers in elementary school. I felt a bit self conscious about my steps making so much noise, but liked watching my feet as they did so.

In class we pitched ideas for our next project. I had a bunch of ideas that I wanted to pursue, and narrowed it down to a few. One of them has to do with elevating the status of abandoned objects. I've been wondering about what happens if I care a lot about things that aren't cared for. I have been thinking about collecting the things I find at the side of the road, cleaning them up and mending them, and placing them in cardboard boxes marked, "lost and found," on street corners. To that end I made a concerted effort to pick up things on my walk home.

(a ticket)

(seashells--beside soggy carrots!)

(a pair of glasses.)

I also picked up an ear plug, some wire, plastic beads, and a battery. I ran into Greg as I was picking up seashells, and we walked downtown together, stopping every so often to grab a stray piece of something.

I went to a meeting before heading home. I had wanted to go to an artist's talk as well, but felt way too antsy and cluttered inside. Instead I had dinner, and then went to drop by Tara's. She wasn't home, but there was a small line of cross country ski boots on her front porch that made me smile.

(One of the best things about Magda's shoes was what happens when standing like this. It felt elegant how my whole foot could rest on top of the metal loop on the ground. It made my feet feel long.)

On my walk to Tara's place (and back) I found a glove, a child's shoe, a strange piece of metal, a rag, a washer, and a pair of underwear. I also found a diaper. It was dark, and I actually began to pick it up before realizing my mistake. I guess that there are some things that I am less willing to deal with.

I went by Sharleen's, but didn't see any lights on, so stopped by Lea and Dave's. We had tea and a chat, and it was really nice. I appreciate being able to drop in on people. I felt like it was what I needed.

The day was actually quite all over the place for me. I spent some time thinking about the idea of 'both are true'--that apparent contradictions co-exist all the time without negating each other...boldness and fear, strength and vulnerability, gain and loss, give and take. I actually spent a lot of my day in Magda's shoes a bit preoccupied with my own stuff; I liked having her shoes there to draw me away from all of that. Magda's shoes are lively. Their click on the ground and migrating insole was a nice counterpoint to various anxiety-tinged events that occurred throughout the day. Smiling faces, an engaging class, soggy carrots, seashells, hunks of metal, and good friends also pulled me out of my head and into noticing the nowness of things around me.

shoes revealed

2008-01-14T13:20:00.004-05:00

The warm weather we had revealed a number of shoes that had been hiding in various snow banks. I found it striking to come across such a sizable cluster of shoes, all within half a block of each other on a main road. At the time I was awkwardly walking two bikes. I managed to prop them up so that I could fulfill my urge to document such strange treasures: black shoes, soggy leaves and gravel.

Abandoned shoes seem strangely poetic to me.

shoes disappeared

2008-01-14T13:20:00.003-05:00

Interestingly enough, after returning the shoes safely to their home, they disappeared. When I walked by the following morning, the light standard was unadorned. In a strange way, it's comforting to me that they could be anywhere.

SHOES ON THE LINE

2008-01-07T19:13:00.000-05:00

Not too long ago I began noticing shoes above my neighbourhood--sneakers dangling off of hydro lines and traffic lights. I read recently, in the Globe and Mail of all places, that shoes are tossed over hydro lines by crack dealers to mark their territory, and to indicate the availability of the drug. I have no idea how much of this is fact and how much of it is urban legend...the explanation seems at least somewhat plausible considering that several nearby houses are known as crack houses (in fact, one of the biggest mistakes I've made recently was telling my grandmother that a SWAT team, complete with helmets and rifles, visited the house across the way...she has since told me that she never passes up a good chance to worry, and this more than qualifies as just such a good chance in her books. Needless to say, she's relieved that I'm moving.), and yet I'm not entirely convinced that the shoes on the wires have anything to do with it. It seems that I'm not the only person who has thought about this conundrum (see the Wiki article on shoe tossing, and check out that shoe tree!), but a conundrum it remains.

When I was walking in Chris' shoes to Christina's on New Years eve, I noticed this pair of shoes hanging off of the pedestrian controlled traffic light at the corner of my street. I don't know how long they've been there, but it was the first time I had seen them. Ben and I were talking about them later. He mentioned that they seemed like decent shoes, and asked me if I would wear them if he managed to haul them down. I felt quite uneasy about the whole idea, mostly because I worried I'd be infringing on someone's territory if I interfered with the shoes. It doesn't take much for me to feel nervous or afraid. So I just laughed at Ben's suggestion.

But I kept seeing them, and on my way home on Sunday evening I was thinking a lot about shoes, and excited about having another offer of shoes (ski boots!), and wondering if other cultures and languages have similar idioms, or completely different ways of expressing the value of trying to understand another's perspective. When I came to my street, I spied the shoes again, and in a moment of relative bravery and daring, walked inside my house and told Ben that, yes, I would wear the shoes if he could help me get them down, and if he agreed to also help me put them back afterwards. Ben got up, and saying that he didn't have anything better to do, he put on his jacket and grabbed a canoe paddle. I think that Ben actually really liked the challenge.

It turned out that the paddle was about 3 feet too short. Refusing to be discouraged, Ben grabbed some rope and an old lightbox, and attached the two together. I grabbed my camera. Mindful of the traffic, Ben lobbed the lightbox in the direction of the shoes hoping that the rope would wrap around the laces of the shoes and he could yank them down. He missed each time.

Unwilling to be defeated, Ben thought of another idea, which involved duct tape, a wire coat hanger, and an especially long piece of wood. He managed to grab a hold of a shoe lace with the hook, and pull the shoes down. It was kind of like a modified fishing derby.

Success!
The shoes were totally drenched--it had been misty and raining much of the day. I put each shoe on a heat register, in hopes that they would dry out by morning.

Luckily, they did. So I wore them on the first day of the winter term.

I had been feeling pretty iffy about going back to school. It has been seeming to me lately that I made myself too busy on my break, which was admittedly long. I didn't really get much of nothing accomplished. I was talking with Christina about how there were still so many things that I wanted to get done that I didn't get done. And yet, I also didn't get nothing done, and if I don't do nothing now, I won't have a chance to do nothing for a long long time. So last Friday was my day of nothing, which, of course, turned out to be a day of lots of things. It felt nice, however, to begin a day without expectations of accomplishing anything (even though nothing can be hard to do).

I was getting nervous about deadlines and the pace of school and taking on more than I have in awhile. All this was amounting to butterflies in my stomach and a looming sadness that had a bit of that what-am-I-doing-with-my-life-again quality. I also had been thinking that just sorting out the basics of how to be in and navigate through the world could really be a full time job. So, yes, going back to school wasn't really what I thought I wanted to be doing.

I got up on Monday morning kind of late, and managed to fit in all my usual morning stuff before packing a lunch and heading off to school. I was so rushed that I forgot to be afraid of wearing the shoes. The night before I had several visions of possibly nasty confrontations. But I was running late, so I threw on clothes and packed my bag and tied up the shoes and headed to the bus stop.

The shoes. The shoes are pretty interesting. I was convinced that they looked like cool high school girl shoes. They are black skater-type sneakers with purple dots all over them. On the heels it says "Ali," which I guessed was the name of the style, because the brand name on the bottom is "Etnies." The most interesting feature, I think, are the red plastic jewels that are on the tongue of each shoe. They remind me of the "Pretty, Pretty Princess" game that my sister had when we were kids. The basic premise of the game was to collect as much plastic jewelery as possible, and whoever wore the most at the end won.

Another interesting feature of the shoes is that it seems like someone has ripped out the insides of them. I think that most sneakers have an insole that is built into the shoe, but there was nothing of the sort, just the rubber bottom. Also curious is that they have really really long shoe laces, that weren't laced all the way up. I guess that whoever flung them up to their now home undid the laces so that they'd have more to work with. I wondered if they had also replaced the original laces with longer ones. There is one black lace, and one white one, which was visually kind of distracting when I was walking. It seemed to my eyes that only one shoe had laces, as the black laces were kind of camouflaged by the black of the shoes.

The shoes are pretty large on my feet. I tied them up tightly, in possibly the most uncool way: double knot. (You probably know it, it's the one your parents used when your shoe laces were too long.)

As I was walking quickly to the bus stop, the shoes felt very very awkward on me. They felt hard. Hard in all the wrong places: the bottom of my feet, the heel, the tongue. They felt hard and awkward and unusual. My feet swam a bit in the length and width of them in a way that was not comfortable at first, but by the end of the day felt just fine.

The night before, looking at the shoes, I was reminded of a teenaged girl and her male companion that I often see at the bus stop. I thought that I may have seen these shoes, or shoes like them on her feet. I feel quite intimidated by these two folks. I have never felt quite comfortable around them, but this summer, the girl made quite clear the vast amount of disdain she had for my unshaven legs, and ever since then I feel even more uncomfortable around them. On Sunday night my plan was to leave early enough to be able to walk at least part way to school and avoid the possibility of standing at the bus stop with them. But it didn't happen, and as it turns out, I was the only person at the stop.

On the bus I chatted with Maura. She supposed that the shoes on my feet were scooped from the trash to be thrown over the light standard. She deduced this from the rather large hole on the toe of the right shoe. It actually hadn't occurred to me that the shoes might have been thrown away by their owner. Maura had a really good point. I hadn't thought much about the hole (maybe because all summer I wore sandals with holes in the bottom of them, or have worn so many falling apart shoes still cherished by their owners). It makes sense considering the insoles were gone, and the laces seemed too long and mismatched...it's interesting wearing shoes that have so many ambiguous and unknown stories attached to them.

Just walking on campus felt busy and frantic already--suddenly it was filled with bunches of people again. I did a bit of work in the computer lab, and went to class. I'm doing another Extended Practices studio. It's really nice, because it wasn't until the end of last term that I sensed a real ease and camaraderie amongst the students in my studio class, and a lot of the same folks are taking it again this semester. Also, my teacher was really understanding about my back issue, and even suggested I pull up a table to lie on, which was great. Lying on my stomach on the table, the shoes hanging off the edge of it, I was thinking about how what I really need is an idea machine.

I have this pattern that has become less pronounced over time, but is still part of my life: I am given an assignment, and the first thing I do is worry and worry that I have nothing; that there is no way I can possibly think of a decent idea. This used to last for long periods of time--I would worry, and then worry about my worrying, and worry about my worrying about my worrying, and so on. It was intense and hurt my stomach. Now it can sometimes be momentary, or else just in the background of things, and at other times it's more pronounced. The interesting thing is that I actually have pages and pages of notebooks filled with ideas. Not all of them are necessarily great ideas, or even good ideas, but I do have ideas. Even though my brain tends to churn out things when given a bit of time and space, I often to predict otherwise. Anyhow, I thought that an idea machine could provided me with ingenuity on demand, which would be a great thing.

I was thinking about this because we were asked to bring in a kilometer for next class. There was no further explanation. I was feeling daunted by the literal trajectory my initial ideas were taking, and began a miniature worry session about how my brain just isn't very good at this, and that I should rethink my options and perhaps take up accounting.

At first I thought that I might have a kilometer of lace from St Vincent de Paul's, and that I could tie it all together and tie one end to my wrist, and the other to the front porch, and go for a walk that way, and bring in the lace to class later. Then I thought I could figure out how many centimeters were in a kilometer, and bring in that many jelly beans (which I figure are about a centimeter). Then I realized that there are 100 000 centimeters in a kilometer, and that is more jelly beans than I want in my life. And it's definitely more lego pieces than I could round up, and more than the lace I have. I have a kilometer of yarn. I might have 100 000 buttons that are big enough, but they are heavy. I thought I could make a miniature version of myself and a scale model of a kilometer, or else figure out how much I would sweat walking or running a kilometer, and bring in a liquid representation of that. I found out that calculating how much I sweat would require stepping on a scale before and after the kilometer, and I happen to ideologically opposed to weighing myself. I thought I could just pick up all the things I notice in a kilometer that are pick-upable, or else take pictures. What I ended up doing was to hold a pen over a piece of paper in my sketch book, and document a kilometer that way. It actually took 4 + pages, and was an interesting kilometer because I was running late (again), so it's a bit bumpy and frantic, especially towards the end.

I was thinking about how math and science students must hate art students for assignments like this. Some time ago Jon was telling me about his Graph Theory course. He was explaining that in that kind of pure math course, there is no bullshitting. You either have it or you don't, which I took to mean that there is only one right answer. I was thinking about how "only one right answer" is kind of nice in some ways, not to diminish the intellectual rigor that is needed to figure some of those "one right answers" out. It seems to me that the kind of assignments I have are just the opposite--there is no right answer. It's all grey. And this is equally as daunting, because there is still a hierarchy of possible solutions, but there is no reliable path to take to arrive at a good answer, nor is there any tangible, objective measure to judge an answer against. It seems to me that the cons of the sciences and maths are also the pros. And same goes for the arts (see chart below).

	PROS	CONS
SCIENCES	only one right answer	only one right answer
ARTS	no single right answer	no single right answer

Of course this is a simplification. I'm sure I could list some relatively consistent standards to measure ideas against in the arts. They vary, of course, but nothing in the arts is ever so indisputable and universally accepted as a mathematical proof. On my bike ride to school on Wednesday I was thinking about how the messiness and greyness of "no single right answer" in arts is so much more true to real life. And yet, thinking about it a moment more, the simplicity and elegance of provable "right answers" in pure maths and sciences is also true to life. Maybe it's the difference between life in theory, and life applied. I don't know, but it seems to me that things are at once infinitely complex and extraordinarily simple. Please feel free to argue with me about this (or anything).

At the end of class I was wondering out loud about my kilometer, and shared my secret worry that my brain isn't cut out for this sort of thing with Nathan. He said, "well, that's why you practice." Good point, Nathan. Thanks.

After class Michael pointed at my shoes and asked me in a quick and demanding voice, "whose shoes are those?!" as if it was some sort of test. A handful of folks ask me this question when they see me, and seem to sense when it is that it isn't my own shoes on my feet. I don't know if it's the size or style of shoe that tips people off, or what, but it's neat when people notice.

The next day (Tuesday) I showed up extremely late for an art history class (due to a combination of various frustrating factors). I managed to be late by 20 minutes, and found a classroom full of students and no prof. Michael happened to be in that class, too, and we talked about our kilometers. He said, "I was thinking of converting Miles, here." The fellow that was beside us is named Miles. We asked him what he was doing at 11:30 the next day, because Micheal's idea is really too good not to use. It turns out that Miles is joining the class. On my way home I was thinking how Miles could photoshop 1.609344 of himself (an extra limb? fingers?) or else change his birth certificate or drivers license. If I had an idea machine it would have cranked out something like this. It's stellar. Unfortunately, being clever on demand isn't something I'm practiced at. All the more reason to practice, I suppose.

On my way home on Monday I was really aware of the unseasonably mild weather. The snow on Johnston Green was sublimating, and it was pretty spectacular. Things were becoming muddy fast. These past few days I've been reminded over and over of the first thaw when I was living in Sackville. It seemed like all the potential energy of the snow was released in a day long massive gush. The sound of running water was everywhere, there were miniature waterfalls teeming off of roofs. It was amazing. I remember the wind, which was incessant, wreaking havoc with the skirt I was wearing, and the sun shining brightly, which it didn't often do. Here in Guelph, melting snow banks revealed things lost and found again: soggy carrots, a sea shell, candy wrappers, a pillow case. I didn't have my camera with me yesterday, or else I think I would have photographed the carrots and sea shells. It was a strange and beautiful mess by the side of the road.

After class I ran a few errands on campus (canceling appointments, making appointments, picking up forms) and downtown (groceries, banking). I came home and didn't know what to do with myself. I think that it's been awhile since I've filled a day up so completely and with so much running around. At home I was still in go-go-go mode, and went back and forth between various tasks, having a hard time staying still. In the evening I mostly worked on the computer after I finally calmed down. It was rainy and wet, and Ben wasn't back until late, so I didn't end up putting the shoes back until the following evening.

Tuesday afternoon Cecilia screamed at me as she was riding down the Gordon Street hill. It made me jump. I saw her again downtown in the evening, and I called her name. She rode across the street, pulled over beside me, and told me how she'd like to become really good at writing love letters. To this end she is collecting love letters that people have written or received and is compiling them in a book so that when she wants to make her love known, she'll have some reference material. I think that her hope is that if she becomes really good at writing love letters, more people will love her. (She also was looking for a tutu, because she signed up for "Ballet for Beginners" and didn't want to show up without one.) I told Cecilia how I would like an idea machine, and how she is an idea machine. Another one of her ideas: haircuts for cookies. I don't think it requires much more of an explanation. Ceil agreed that I could join in and cut hair, if I gave her the cookies.

Cecilia also likes adventures, and she agreed to help me put the shoes back to their home. As we were unlacing them, Ceil noticed the tag on the tongue of the shoe. It says that they are Men's, size 9. We were both impressed that a fancy shoe company is breaking with gender conventions by making men's shoes with plastic jewels and purple polka dots.
We also noticed just how stinky the shoes were. They were very stinky.

We walked to the end of the street, and Cecilia stood on the box attached to the light standard. On the second toss, the shoes were back.

(Cecilia the brave.)

The shoes on the line are curious and mysterious with all their unknowns. They are well-worn, a bit beat up and weathered, and also have retained some of their cool. Wearing them was really interesting. It brought up all sorts of thoughts, anxieties, and questions. I still wonder about them--who they belonged to, how they made it to their home on high, and why they have been dangling over the street (if there's any reason at all). Again and again I am noticing how shoes that seem the farthest thing from what I would choose for myself, over the course of the day become familiar and natural, even in all their unfamiliarity. I am also seeing how documenting my footwear-related experiments has become a forum for me to ramble on about various things that are floating around in my head. I'm not sure if it's stuff that is at all interesting or worth your time to read--let me know, because I can be more concise.
It's surely possible.

CHRIS

2008-01-01T17:13:00.002-05:00

I happened to run into Chris on New Years Eve day. I don't see him very much anymore since he no longer lives in Guelph, so it was a nice surprise. He was standing on a corner downtown having a chat with another friend, Ben. I interrupted to give them both hugs, which was awkward, because my hands were full with bags of groceries. Chris took my bags and suggested we have tea, which we did, and which was nice. We talked about big things and not so big things (but mostly big things) over lemon ginger tea, and then Chris gave me a lift home.

Chris happened to have a pair shoes with him that he could lend me, but he was only going to be in Guelph for the next 24 hours--the deal was that I was to begin wearing them that afternoon, and he would pick them up the following afternoon on his way back home. We shook on it.

Chris' shoes were on the floor of the passenger side of the car. They are black suede Puma hi-tops, with shiny gold detailing. This alone makes them quite striking, but they also happen to be of formidable proportions. They are size 16. (Chris is t-a-l-l.)

Chris explained to me that he is not sure really how he feels about these shoes, that they are a bit of a guilty pleasure. His father bought them for him online--take a look at oddball shoe company: "Big shoes, large shoes for big feet." They are the first trendy-type shoes he's ever owned, it being somewhat difficult to find shoes in his size. Chris said that he can understand now how people can have closets full of shoes, which I guess he couldn't ever relate to before. It seems he hasn't quite reconciled how enjoying fancy shoes fits with his values and aesthetic.

I remember last winter seeing Chris burst into the Farmers Market wearing clear green No Frill's shopping bags on his feet, tied at his ankles to protect his then new shoes from the snow and salt. Coupled with the helmet on his head, and the way he had secured his bike lights onto his helmet with packing tape, as well the gigantic chain that served as a non-functional bike lock / necklace, and his incredible height, it made for quite a striking entrance. It still makes me laugh.

I told Chris how I remembered the green of those plastic bags, and agreed that I would avoid slush and salt while wearing his shoes, or else resort to the bag method. He told me how his shoes have spent many long hours in the anatomy lab, and soaked up all sorts of chemical smells. I gave them a sniff and can confidently report that there are no lingering formaldehyde fumes, or any such thing. Chris seemed surprised that I would dare put my nose near them, but I was curious, and I figure that it's all just part of getting to know certain pairs of shoes. Maybe that's weird.

As he was telling me about his shoes, Chris was taking an extremely round-about route to my house, which is easy because my neighborhood is filled with streets at odd angles. Our drive included a meander down Sackville Street, which is a dead end and past my house from the downtown, but a lovely street none the less. It is aptly named, I think, as it reminds me of Sackville, New Brunswick. (I only lived there for 8 months, but feels like it was much longer--Sackville seems indelibly etched into my being.) There are houses on the west side of the street only--the east side is occupied by an infrequently used train track that curves around to the west. The houses are simple and don't have much yard in front of them, and somehow the coexistence of all these components add up to creating the feeling of the Sackville I knew. At the end of the street there was a man playing golf in the snow. It seemed as if he was aiming for the car as we turned around in a driveway, but it turns out that he was just practicing his swing. He wore a cap with ear warmers that were tied up, and not warming his ears. When I waved, he waved back.

We eventually made it to my house. Chris came inside and said hello to Ben before leaving. I tried Chris' shoes on. When I put them on my feet, I couldn't help but laugh. I have worn many shoes that were larger than my own, but nothing like this.

After I stopped laughing, I noticed how each shoe felt different. Chris had explained to me that he wears insoles--that his left leg is shorter than his right. He had actually taken the insole that was in his left shoe and put it in the boot he was wearing. He explained that he had actually stuck other insoles in his left shoe as he thought that the one wasn't high enough. Despite this, it felt as though the right insole was higher than then others that were in his left shoe, and it was an interesting feeling to feel a squishy, thick insole that had a discernible arch on my right side, and a completely different (not so squishy, no real arch) feeling on my left.

I also noticed that my walk becomes more of a march when I wear Chris' shoes. This is out of necessity, for if I don't lift my foot high enough off the ground as I take a step, the toes of the swinging shoe drag on the ground big time. For this reason, it took a lot of physical effort to be in Chris' shoes. "A lot" in relative terms, of course. My feet and surrounding muscles were efforting in ways that I didn't know they could, and while it hurt enough to be interesting, it didn't hurt enough to be problematic.

I realized as I wore them out in the world, that this had also to do with the precariousness of Chris' shoes on my feet. Most shoes that are big on me still happily stay on my feet if I simply tie them tightly. Even tied as tightly as possible, the tops of Chris' shoes were still large enough that my feet threatened to step right out of them. I think that this wouldn't happen unless I was actually trying, but it seemed like it might happen, and so I was for a long time unconsciously gripping with my toes and the bottoms of my feet as I walked. When I noticed I was doing this--which was about the time that I noticed my feet beginning to ache--I tried to relax my feet and put less effort into each step.

I wore Chris' shoes as I walked over to Christina's place for a New Year's celebration. It was a 'goodbye to the year' party. I left the house early, because I know myself well enough that if I were to wait until 8 or 9pm, I would likely opt to go to bed instead of going outside in the cold and dark. I brought soup and bread to share with Christina and Kim. We prepared for the party, had dinner and such. On my way I spied two colourful creatures from a distance, and didn't think much about it until I heard my name. It was Cecilia and Sarah. We waved and blew kisses to each other, and Gary, who was crossing the street, asked me where his kisses were. I blew him some as well, and we both agreed that being showered with blown kisses was a nice way to bring in the New Year.

The walk over was interesting as I was so aware of Chris' shoes on my feet and the unusual places that my legs and feet were aching. I was also extremely careful to avoid salt and slush and piles of snow. And to make sure that Chris' shoes stayed on my feet.

I found myself thinking that in a world where it really was important to put oneself in other people's shoes, there would be a contraption to help out with scenarios like this one. Such a contraption would ensure that shoes that were vastly too big for another's feet could be worn with ease and without the danger of stepping out of them and missing the point of being in another's shoes, which is to be in them, since we happen to be out of them most all of the time anyway. I am not sure what such a contraption would look like. As I was walking along Suffolk Street I was picturing the stilts we made out of tin cans and twine at day camp. This would not be ideal, as it would mean that hands would become an integral part of walking and of keeping shoes on feet. My next thought was duct tape. I don't think that I am a very good inventor.

There would, of course, be other contraptions as well--contraptions to accommodate wearing shoes that are too small for a pair of feet, and contraptions to help one experience what another person feels in their own shoes, and contraptions to help put oneself in the shoes of another who doesn't wear shoes, or who doesn't have feet, and contraptions for those who don't have feet to walk in the shoes of another. And this would all be a priority because in this imaginary world that isn't the one we know, wearing other people's shoes is so important that there are entire agencies dedicated to connecting feet with shoes that belong to other feet, and holidays dedicated to exchanging and borrowing well-loved shoes, and extra hours in the day to contemplate the knowledge gained from wearing others' shoes. Actually, there aren't extra hours. People just make time for it.

Actually, as I think about it more now, maybe there wouldn't be contraptions. Maybe the struggle and the impossibility of certain feet wearing certain shoes is all part of the point. Or maybe not. Maybe the issue is that it's just hard to figure out what exactly "ideal" would look like. I think that it's a bit complicated by the fact that my appreciation for the less-than-ideal has grown, and the line between the two has become rather blurry.

Alright--thank you for indulging me.
Back to Chris' shoes: something else interesting happened as I wore them to Christina's. Chris' shoes seem to have wandering tongues. Part of why I think I had a stronger and stronger sensation that I was going to step out of them was that the tongues eventually ended up as far away from where they were supposed to be as is possible considering that they are attached to the shoe. When I got to Christina's, I actually did just step out of them. This was really nice, since it is sometimes hard for me to reach my feet of late.

Part of Christina's "goodbye to the year" party included making goodbye cards to 2007. One of my tasks in helping to set up for the gathering was to set up the card-making area and to make a card. I was really happy to have this job. I ended up making two cards: a "goodbye" card and a "hello" card. Each has a pocket where I put little pieces of paper with the things that I want to say goodbye/hello to. The idea with the goodbye cards was that we would burn them, but I kept mine so that I could remember what exactly I wanted to say goodbye to, and what exactly I wanted to say hello to. I figure that I might need reminders.

Kim made hummus and cut up veggies, and Christina pulled together an impressive cake. We also decorated plates with shiny juicy pomegranate seeds, and everything just seemed gorgeous. People started coming around 9pm or so, and we made cards and some folks played Crokinole and Jenga. We ate yummy snacks (check out the cheese map!) and danced, and at midnight we went outside and burnt our cards and the things we wanted to say goodbye to.

Christina was wearing one of her favourite shirts. Janet had given it to Christina, as it no longer fit her, and Christina was despairing that it no longer fit her comfortably either. After an hour, she was ready to take it off. Christina's goodbye card was a goodbye card to her rose shirt. She suggested that I try it on. It fit me, and she said everyones reaction was just like when she first tried on the shirt. She gave it to me, which was really kind, and I wore it the rest of the evening. Erin suggested that by next New Years maybe the shirt will have caused my boobs to grow to the point of spilling out, and I'll have to find someone to pass it onto. I don't think my boobs have ever spilled out of anything...

After burning things and a bit more dancing, people decided to go scatter the ashes of their 2007s at the river. I walked with everyone for a block, and then headed in the direction of home. I had a hard time staying alert the whole way, and was glad I didn't ride my bicycle. It was snowing fine snow, and was quite windy. People I passed on the street greeted me with, "happy New Year!" It was nice to see strangers smiling and talking to each other.

Once home, I was happy to find my bed, and also happy that Ben and his pals were ever so quiet when they came in some hours later. The next day felt like a bit of a write off. I felt super sleepy and foggy most of the day. Mama Jean called twice around 9am, which is normally a very decent hour, but I was asleep and there were 5 other sleeping bodies sprawled in our living room and spare room, so it wasn't very good timing.

I called Chris around noon to make sure he got his shoes back before he left. He told me he would be by in 10 or 15 minutes. For a couple of minutes I tried to decide if I should get dressed, or walk more in his shoes. I decided that I couldn't pass up the opportunity of wearing his shoes with bags over them. The previous day I had worn his shoes without bags, just being careful of things that might harm them, but for a complete experience, I thought it was pretty important to try them on with plastic shopping bags.

Unfortunately I couldn't find any green No Frill's bags, or any green bags at all, for that matter, so it wasn't really so authentic. But I did find some white bags, and put Chris' shoes on, and the bags on top of them, and went for a walk to the corner and back.

Again, I was laughing most of the time, and also being careful not to slip in the piles of snow that we got. Interestingly, Chris' footprints seemed almost the same with bags as without, and they were all over the driveway by the time I was done.

When Chris came by he came inside just long enough to grab his shoes, give them a kiss, and give me a hug before heading off. I had meant to ask him if he had come across my mittens in his car, but forgot to. Later on, though, when I was heading out for a walk, I found my mittens wedged between the screen door and the door frame. I figure that Chris, or else the mitten faerie, put them there, and I was glad.

Chris' shoes are definitely different from any others that I've worn, and posed certain challenges in their size and propensity to want to come off of my feet. They also provided me with lots of different things to notice--the experience of wearing differently heighted insoles, the way I marched in them, the muscles that ached in them...and also the reactions I got while wearing them. Many people didn't seem to notice (which is an interesting experience in itself--me being hyper-conscious of what is on my feet, and others not showing any awareness of the footwear I happen to be wearing), and others remarked about them ("wow, those are such big shoes!"). Others still recognized them as Chris' (and Chris told me New Years day that he had already received emails from people who spotted his shoes on my feet). Ben told me that people would think to themselves, "that little girl is going to grow up to be tall." I mostly found it funny and wondrous to look down and see shoes sticking out so far in front of me. Eventually, though, they did just blend into my experience of the day, and became normal and natural (until someone remarked about them, or my muscles began to ache). And I have certainly never walked around with plastic bags on my feet.

It was all very interesting, and an unusual way to bring in the new year: wearing super-sized shoes on my feet and thinking about worlds that are made to accommodate the wearing of others' shoes. I look forward to the other new possibilities that this year may bring.

May all feet and shoes and people everywhere enjoy health and happiness and ease in 2008 and in all years to come.

so long, farewell...

2008-01-01T17:13:00.001-05:00

ADAM

2007-12-26T20:25:00.001-05:00

Adam mentioned that he would like to lend me his hiking boots when I spoke with him some time ago at the Kyoto Now rally. The other day he left I overheard Ben leaving a message for Adam that he had found a pair of boots in the back of the car and was wondering if they were his. They were these boots! I brought Adam's shoes along with me to Oakville to wear at some point over the holidays. I decided to wear them today.

Adam told me that his hiking boots have traveled all over with him, that he has walked in them long distances and many places... and it shows!

Adam's boots are falling apart in all sorts of places. They look very sturdy at first glance, and they are sturdy, but they also happen to have rips and tears hiding all over the place. I think they are quite beautiful.

When I put Adam's boots on, I was struck by how sturdy they felt, tears and all. My feet felt really well supported. And while they were a bit large on my feet, it wasn't in a way that was problematic or comical. Just a bit bigger than my own shoes.

Walking in Adam's shoes, there were aspects that were very particular and specific to his shoes. Mostly I was aware of a stiff part of his boot right where the laces began at the top of my foot. I could feel it each time I took a step. I also like the look and feeling of his shiny silver insoles that insulated his boots.

As I walked, I could only see the tips of his boots sticking out from my jeans (which I sometimes roll because they are kind of long on me).

In the morning I did tided a bit of the residual mess from Christmas dinner...there wasn't a lot, really, just dishes to put away. In preparation for our usual boxing day visit with Grandmitch (a good family friend, who is like a grandmother to us...my family likes to make up names for people), I typed her a long letter. We've kept up a correspondence since I was a kid, but I haven't written her in ages, and really owe her a letter. Her eyesight hasn't been so good lately, so for sometime I've been sending her type-written notes-- I often send her 8 pages of size 36 pt font. This letter was 16 pages long. I had to engineer an envelope to get it all to fit.

We all headed off to the East end of Toronto. It was super squished in the car. We had trouble fitting the shoulders of 3 adult children in the back seat. I had a bit of trouble putting on Adam's shoes as we left...I think that all the sitting down lately (from traveling, etc.) has made my back a bit more stiff and painful. The rest of the day, I didn't bother doing up Adam's laces, which made the process easier, though perhaps far less authentic.

In the car, we each had our own distraction. I used to think this was pretty sad, but I guess it's just become a fact.

( A soon-to-be-felted snowflake.)

We stopped at Harbourfront first. For years we had a tradition of going to the zoo on boxing day--admission used to be free, and there was a walk lead by zoo keepers on the back of a truck with megaphones. Each of the animals along the walk were given special holiday treats during their usual feeding times, and we used to delight in watching their reactions. It was fun, and also very very cold. We haven't gone the past few years, either because of the distance or the need to get up so early, or just lack of enthusiasm. Last year we went skating instead, and we did the same this year.

At Harbourfront, what is a pond in the summer is an artificially cooled rink in the winter time. Being there brought up entertaining memories of when I worked at the Harbourfront summer art camp, and used to roll up my shorts to wade in the pond and help the kids during their canoe lessons.

My dad tied up my skates for me. I've always preferred the way he ties them up to anything I could do, but now it's almost necessary having help just because of how my back has been. So I waited while he wandered a bit first, and then came back and declared that the only way he was going to lace up skates was if we went inside where it was heated. So we did.

My dad did a good job, as usual, but it happened to take a very very long time as he decided that the shoelaces needed to come out of my skates and everything be entirely re-laced. I told him that his propensity for precision is sometimes an impediment. By the time my skates were on, he still had to put on his own, and already Zach had been on the rink for half an hour. My dad told me that I should go ahead, which I did, and got about halfway around one lap of the rink before the Zamboni came out and we all cleared off.

At this point my dad came hobbling out of the change room with his skates on his feet. He was visibly uncomfortable, and obviously frustrated. Grumbling, he sat down, unlaced his skates and demanded that I pull them off his feet. I was a bit afraid of tumbling backwards onto the ice, but didn't. My dad never made it onto the rink. He said that his skates weren't too small, but just aren't very good. I think they are too small. They were awfully hard to get off his feet.

("Pull! Pull! Don't fall onto the ice! Pull!...")

So my dad went back to the car, and Katie took her skates off, and I waited for the Zamboni to do it's thing, as I was determined to skate around at least one full lap, which is about all I ended up doing.

My brother and sister and I never learned how to skate properly. Zach looks the most comfortable on skates. He has no fear. He likes to go as fast as he can, even though he doesn't know how to stop. My sisters technique is to hold on to whatever is closest to her. Last year it was me. The entire time she repeated, "don't let go, don't let go." This year I felt like I couldn't risk being pulled down by her, so Katie stuck to the edge. I just move along awkwardly and hope that no little kid happens to fall directly in my path. This happened once before and my reflexes saved me. I don't know if I could repeat it, but I jumped over the kid. This year all the little ones were skating circles around us to the Christmas carols that played over the loudspeakers.

We left and headed to Grandmitch's. I tucked Adam's shoelaces inside his boots and wore them that way. When we got to her retirement home we each carried a component of the meal we brought to share with her. I got was in charge of the mincemeat and the butter tarts. Grandmitch lives on the 5th floor, but we took one look at the elevator and decided to take the stairs. We came right at their lunchtime and there was a line of elderly women with canes that they have been known to use at weapons in claiming space on the elevator. So, five flights later we got to Grandmitch's apartment, and unpacked our picnic style lunch.

It was nice to spend time with Grandmitch and her daughter, my Auntie Jo-Jo. We talked about many things: Cockney rhyming slang, accents, my dad's growing up. I remembered visiting family in England when I was young (we no longer have any living relatives there). My dad's voice would change, and he would take on the Yorkshire accent that he apparently had as a child. I've noticed the same in my mom's voice when we're in Missouri, and to a certain extent, I notice it a bit in my own. My dad said that he thinks we take on accents when we're in a place because of a perhaps unconscious desire to be understood...and I would say to belong. It was interesting.

Even though Grandmitch's hearing and eyesight isn't what it used to be, she still kept up with much of the conversation, and at one point, when my dad asked what she wanted (expecting, I imagine, that she might want some more wine or turkey or cheese), she answered, "a young man." I don't know if he even heard her, but I did, and it was nice to see that she still has her sense of humour.

Coming home, we all somehow felt exhausted. Even so, my dad agreed to get off the highway and drop by Mari's place of work so that I could return her shoes to her. We got there and I found that the store was closed. I felt badly making my family take the detour, but we were all a bit too tired to make much of it, I think.

At home I helped my mom clean up and took a nap. It was really hard to get out of bed afterwards. I felt like Christmas had drained me entirely and I wasn't sure who I was anymore. I watched the last 15 minutes of "Everything is Illuminated" with my family, which made me want to read the book again. I had dinner, and thought about heading back to Guelph.

My day in Adam's shoes was not unlike the one I spent in Mari's. Both their shoes are obviously well-worn, and much enjoyed. I loved coming across all the little tears and rips that were hiding in Adam's boots. It was like finding hidden treasure. I had a conversation with a friend today about how broken things have a special kind of beauty. I think it's a kind of wise beauty--it's true to the world. And definitely genuine. It's the kind of beauty that's found in realizing that perfection isn't necessary--or even so desirable, really. This is a relief, and moreover, touching...and, I think, disarming.
I wore Adam's shoes on a day that felt a bit draining, and challenging, but also held lots of fun, and lots of reconnecting with good friends. They were there on my feet during a lot of that up and down, even as I was distracted from their presence. I find myself thinking now about how well-worn shoes are faithful and gentle witnesses. I appreciated them being there.

MARI

2007-12-24T18:23:00.001-05:00

I visited with Mari yesterday. When I got there, we each liked what the other was wearing so much that we traded dresses for the afternoon. We walked around Kensington market, became overwhelmed by people and wool and shared a muffin, tea and a long chat. At the end of our visit, Mari told me that she was going to have to give me her favorite pair of shoes.

They are a pair of boots that are from Brazil, and made of reused canvas tarp that used to cover a truck. The wedge-heeled soles are made of recycled tires. Mari's shoes are definitely well used and well loved. Each shoe has a little hole forming above the big toe. One zipper no longer works, and she stitched it closed ("I don't know how to fix things"). The same shoe has a broken shoe lace, and Mari's solution reminds me a lot of Cecilia's answer to the same problem.

(It's hard to get both my head and my feet in the same picture, it seems...)

I actually remember these shoes well. I think that Mari was wearing them when we first met after she came back to Canada from Brazil after a long process of immigration-related rigmarole. I am certain she was wearing them some weeks later when she came to my parent's house for a special party that I was having. The way she tells the story, that party was the reason she moved back to Canada. It's a bit of a magical tale.

Mari told me that this pair of shoes is very much a part of her. She explained that if people don't like her, it often is expressed indirectly as a comment about her shoes. She told me how when she quit her last job, a woman she worked with looked at her feet and told Mari that she hated her shoes. Mari joked about how a lot of time could be saved in navigating the world of human interaction by asking people what they thought about her shoes: "if you don't like my shoes, there's no way you're going to like me, because these shoes basically are me." She said it with conviction.

I found this really interesting, and I also felt a bit of pressure. I was worried that if I didn't feel entirely at home in Mari's shoes that it would mean something about our friendship. I felt for the first time that there was something really tangible at stake in wearing someone else's shoes, and so the usually curiosity that I approach the task with was coupled with a bit of anxiety. It was interesting.

I put Mari's shoes on in the morning to catch the 9am train to Toronto. At the moment, I'm staying at my parent's place in Oakville for a few days over the holidays. I was lucky enough to get an appointment with a Structural Integration practitioner. I rode to Union station, went to the bank and walked around a bit, before taking the subway.

Mari's shoes looked small to me, even though we wear the same shoe size. When I put them on, I was surprised to find that they were quite roomy, especially around my toes. I found myself thinking as the wind blew through the canvas that I could have easily worn a pair of wool socks over my cotton ones.

I also found, as with other heeled shoes, that it feels really unusual for me to take a step without flexing my heel more. It seemed to me that wearing Mari's boots changed my gait a bit--my hips swinging more, and my feet extending in a different way. It seemed also like there was automatically more spunk in each step.

It's funny, I wore this turquoise coat and orange hat when I came to my parents' place on Saturday, and it felt really good to be "a symphony of colour," as one person put it. But today, I found myself almost dreading wearing them because I just didn't feel like I had the energy to keep it up--to be so colourful, to be alive in that way. While my coat and hat didn't feel like an accurate reflection of me today, I didn't have any other options for keeping warm. So I wore them. The whole thing felt even more complicated wearing a pair of shoes that felt like they didn't really go with the clothing that I didn't really want to wear. It's interesting to me how conscious I am about this sort of thing, and how wearing other people's shoes brings up my own ambivalence around clothing and appearance.

At the appointment, the practitioner did a lot of work on my legs (and also hips and neck). After watching me walk he said that I seemed really uncertain in my legs. Also, in relation to talking about how the body can store emotions, he told me that he sensed I had a lot of anxiety. I found this interesting. I suppose I do have my fair share of anxiety, and certainly have had heaps of anxiety in the past. I don't know if I would describe myself as an anxious person, and in fact, some friends have told me that they think of me as a calming presence. But I think it is definitely possible that my body's holding onto all sorts of old stuff. It was interesting that as he told me this, I felt disappointed in myself, like I had somehow failed the adequate person test because I have anxiety stored up in all sorts of places, and a body that doesn't want to cooperate with me. I, like many, am good at being hard on myself.

Anyhow, afterwards I felt like my body was 40 times heavier than before. I felt like I was a part of the ground and my arms swung loosely from my torso. It made me teary to feel so different, to feel so much in the world. When I put Mari's shoes on, I felt like I wanted to badly for my heels to be closer to the ground. I didn't want to let go of that sinking feeling. As I walked to the subway I tried to stay loose and heavy, which somehow also translated into being slow. I don't know how to be loose and heavy and rushing for the subway (or anything) all at once. Usually I think I walk as if I'm about to jump out of my body. Especially if I happen to be going quickly.

I ended up with time before the train back, so meandered a bit. Back in Oakville I made some tea and got some gifts ready. I had a much needed nap. I was beginning to feel like I needed to escape and skip out on the rest of Christmas before it had even begun, but sleeping a bit made everything seem less desperate. My sister came in and spooned me as I was contemplating getting up and wondering why it is that I often drool when napping, but never when sleeping at night. I got up and my brother and sister and I decorated our neighbor's front porch and tree, something we've been doing for some years now. I cut up some celeriac and beets and roasted them as part of our dinner.

As an amusing aside, Zachary announced at the dinner table that he would from now on refer to his soy egg nog as "snog." A few months ago Zach began having horrible reactions to milk, and last night really wanted some egg nog. We went across the way to Whole Foods to satisfy his craving, and for me to find an iron supplement that doesn't make my teeth grey. I laughed most of the way over--Zach's favourite way to get to the plaza is to scale the berm that separates my parent's street from the main thoroughfare beyond it. He does by taking comical leaps on the way up, and a funny run on the way down. I followed behind him laughing, and moving more cautiously. All sorts of spiky things attached themselves to my stockings. Inside I was pushing a cart and examining the overwhelming variety contained in that store while Zach went up ahead and played with a 'Buddha Board' water painting thingo that was on display. I walked by to check out his creation. He had scrawled, "Hey Aislinn, watch out!" and as I read it, he tripped me from behind. His timing was impeccable, and we both laughed a ton.

(Zach kindly helped me take off Mari's boots after our decorating. When I pulled out the camera, he started making this face.)

So tonight my mom proposed a toast, and we clinked our snog or water-filled glasses. After dinner my dad read a few Christmas stories, which Katie and Zach feel too old for, but I don't mind listening to (especially since I can see how much he enjoys it). My dad is currently baking yet another batch of mince tarts. My mom and sister are watching Christmas movies on TV. Zach is in bed. I hope to be sleeping very soon, myself.

Mari's shoes are well loved and well worn. I really enjoy shoes like this that hold lots of stories about a person, and in this case, evoke my own memories of a person. Mari's right--these shoes do seem to be so much a part of her. Today I wore them a bunch of places...on trains that are familiar from what seems like a distant part of my life; on grey city streets; in train and subway stations absolutely filled with people and noise and parcels; and on a sneaky tree-decorating mission. For the first time, I think, the unfamiliarity of someone else's shoes was paired with the kind of unfamiliarity of a day that didn't have the usual structure or common ground that most of my days have. I haven't slept at my parent's house since this time last year, I haven't taken the GO train in ages. Maybe that's part of the reason that I found myself partway through the day craving some kind of anchor, longing for that heaviness, wanting to feel my feet more close to the ground, and missing the comfort and familiarity if my own shoes. Or maybe it's the season, which I usually find to be very strained and difficult to enjoy. Maybe it's sometimes hard enough being present in my own skin, without adding in the complicating factor of something new between me and the ground; something that I want to be attentive to, that is so much a part of another person who is important to me, another person who I want to be close to. But I'm not Mari, and maybe it's okay that there were moments when my feet didn't want to be in her shoes, didn't feel like it was where they belonged or what they needed. And maybe that doesn't have to mean that our friendship is ill-fated.
I really, truly, definitely, certainly hope so.

christmas trees

2007-12-24T18:17:00.000-05:00

(The tree I felted...I think the buttons and beads make it much nicer. It also helps that it has a home now...
...on Tara's lovely and clever Christmas tree!)

Merry, merry, everyone. I hope that whatever you are doing, you are having a time!

KIMM

2007-12-21T12:18:00.001-05:00

Thursday December 20, 2007.

When we were at the Shepherd's Play last Friday, I asked Kimm if he would lend me a pair of his shoes. He later wrote me that he had a pair picked out--an old pair of brown sneakers. He told me that he usually isn't a pack rat, and normally throws away an old pair of shoes as soon as he gets new ones. But these shoes, for some reason, have lived in the back of his closet for sometime: "they still have some life in them," he wrote, although he doesn't wear them anymore.

(Some of the animals at Fourfold Farm, where the Shepherd's Play took place.) (The changing room.)

(The barn where we watched from straw bales and tried to keep warm.)

(Kimm took this one. Shortly after, we saw the northern lights. It was magical.)

(So many people! We all had cider and Sandra's delicious cookies afterwards.)

Kimm dropped of his shoes to me at the art studio on Wednesday. He was all red-cheeked and bundled as he told me that he had seen me dancing though the window, and told me a bit more about about his shoes. Inside Kimm's brown sneakers were a pair of Birkenstock insoles. He told me about how those insoles have been on his feet every summer, spring and fall for three years, that they have seen him through two summers of tobacco planting, and that they should really give me a feel for the shape of his feet.

I wore Kimm's shoes the following day.
I spent some time in the morning writing the post about Ben's shoes. Lately I've been finding it hard to wear a pair of shoes and post about them all in the same day, although I like the immediacy of going about it that way. Somehow things seem really quite busy despite the fact that a lot of my usual obligations are on hold for a few weeks.

At any rate, I put on Kimm's shoes just after 9am and headed downtown for an appointment. There was still bunches of snow and slush on the ground, and not an ideal time for sneakers. It just so happened, however, that I had a lot of stuff to carry and had intended to take the bus anyhow, so my feet didn't get too cold or wet.

Walking in Kimm's shoes I was mostly struck by the effect of his insoles. Usually when I wear shoes that are large on me, my foot stays close to or at the back of the shoe, and most of the extra space is at the front. With the insoles, though, my heels didn't want to stay at the back of the shoes. Instead, my arches wanted to align themselves with the arches of Kimm's insoles, which were further forward, and so the whole of each foot was shifted away from its usual spot. As I walked further, I noticed how the insoles had the added benefit of shielding my feet from the cold sidewalk below. Interestingly, the front half of each foot was colder than the back, as Kimm's insoles don't fill his entire shoe, and instead only go about half way. The back also felt hard in comparison with the pliable and soft space where there was no insole. I also found that the place where they bent as I took each step was further forward than I am used to, and resulted in the sensation that I was about to pitch forward with each step. Luckily, this didn't happen--although I did trip several times. I quickly relaxed with it, and like it often seems to happen, wearing Kimm's shoes eventually felt familiar.

Except when it didn't. Every so often, sandwiched between times of being comfortable in Kimm's shoes, I had the distinct sense that Kimm's shoes were definitely not meant for my feet. For moments at a time they would feel hard and unforgiving, and like the shape of them was all wrong for me. And then in a few steps they would begin to feel average on my feet again. It was really striking, this back-and-forthness. I don't know what to make of it.

As I was walking to the bus stop after my appointment, I was all caught up in my own stuff. My head was busy thinking about all sorts of things, and I thought about how I take all of my own baggage to each pair of shoes that I wear. How to really put oneself in another's shoes as the saying urges, is very difficult to do because of the particular perspective that we carry to each experience. But maybe dropping one's baggage / perspective to pick up another's isn't the point, entirely. Maybe it is possible to double the load...or try to. Or maybe not. I'm not at all sure.

I also thought about why it is that I've been missing the intensity of applying myself to the task of everyday wearing another person's shoes. It occurred to me that at the same time that my own stuff distracts me from really being in the moment to moment experience of wearing unfamiliar footwear, wearing other people's shoes is a really nice way to give me a sense of purpose each day, something to try hard to concentrate on and be concious of. Something to attempt to do. Wearing other people's shoes at least focuses my energy and encourages me to be perceptive, if it doesn't distract me from some of my own stuff.

I saw Janet and Caleb downtown, and blew kisses to where they were in their car. I was thinking about how the baby inside Janet's tummy is due any day now, and it occurred to me that it if it were me, I think I'd be at home drumming my fingers and checking my watch, afraid to go anywhere. I am sending them so many well wishes!

[As a side note, I was talking with my mom today about the details of childbirth, and just how much water actually comes out when ones water breaks. She told me that when she was expecting me, a woman advised her to carry around a jar of pickles in the final stages of her pregnancy. She told my mom that when her water broke, she should drop the jar of pickles and exclaim, "oh my, I just dropped a jar of pickles!" as some way to hide the fact that actually, that clear fluid was coming from inside her. Oh my. My mom told me that she simply couldn't imagine explaining having a jar of pickles in her hands at the public library. Needless to say, she didn't take the well-intentioned woman's advice.]

I took the bus to the university, where Nathan helped me with more computer stuff and let me sign out some equipment as we talked about the general state of the world, trees, and public transit. I went home, had lunch and finished working on Ben's post before having dinner and heading out to meet up with Leslie.

(The cast iron pan that I have yet to season.)

(My second Christmas card--in the form of a postcard made by a friend! Thank you, Jenn and Jimmie!! It made my day.)

(It's hard to tell what's going on here, but there is a small curtain of snow outside the window, where the snow half slid off the roof and decided to freeze there. The plants seem mildly amused.)

Walking to the store where Leslie now works, I noticed how my gait seemed to have change in reaction to the particularities of Kimm's shoes. My feet felt kind of floppy on my legs, and it seemed to me that I was taking rather loose steps. Once there, I swore I saw the back of (other) Nathan's head in the comic book store. I also heard his laugh. I told Leslie, and she had the boldness in her to almost press her face against the glass until Nathan turned around and came out to say hello.

(Yummy 100 mile bread, made with red fife wheat. Umm...)

After Leslie was done work we stopped by the Bookshelf before returning movies at Thomas Video and heading to the Red Brick Cafe. After chatting a bit with Mark and Matthew we drank tea, shared a marvelous piece of cake that the server raved about, and talked about--among other things--ovulation and our mutual ambivalence towards parties and other large social gatherings. It was nice. I walked home, feet floppy and yawning.

(An impressive rendition of the covered bridge in gingerbread.)

(Blurry feet.)
Kimm's shoes were interesting on my feet. At times they seemed to entirely belong there, while at others they felt awkward and uncomfortable. It just now struck me that that that's a bit how I feel about most of my own clothing, and most of the things that I take on for myself. They made me think about the place of wearing other people's shoes in my life, and also encouraged me to ponder the inconstant relationship I have with most objects, and the inconstant presence of things in our lives. At the same time as I found myself deeply reflective, Kimm's shoes were light and floppy and fun on my feet. Wearing Kimm's shoes I found myself in an myriad of interesting both-at-onces, which I feel I can relate to, and which, really, I rather like.

BEN

2007-12-19T21:18:00.000-05:00

I've really been missing wearing other people's shoes.
So I finally asked Ben if he would lend me a pair of his. I live with Ben, so it seems like he would be an obvious person to pester. In November I slowly filled his living room with other people's shoes, and despite the fact that he never once complained about this unsightly inconvenience, I felt shy about asking if he'd like to participate. But when I think about it, I've been hoping he'd offer for a while.

On Tuesday night Ben stood in the doorway of my room holding this pair of boots. He told me that they were from Tony, the contractor he worked for until recently. He explained that Tony had received them from his cousin's husband, who is a mailman. Since they didn't fit Tony, he passed them on to Ben. Apparently they are special postal worker shoes (!). Ben explained that they are incredibly light. Ben told me that he wanted to lend me something that I would be comfortable in trudging through the snow. I asked Ben why he was lending me his boots--wouldn't he need them tomorrow? But I answered my own question--Ben wears steel-toed boots to work.

(The bottom of Ben's shoes came with inexplicable gunk. It wore off during the day.)

So yes, Ben's boots are size 11. They are black and tall and lace up past the ankle. And he is right--they are incredibly light. When I put them on it actually felt like I was wearing slippers, except for the tightness at the top of them, where I had tied them securely to ensure that they stayed on my feet. Ben's boots were laughably large on me...each time I spied my feet it made me smile to see how out of place they seemed in their size.

(Believe it or not, I actually had a lovely smile in this picture. My hands give it away--those are I-am-trying-hard-to-smile-for-the-picture hands.)

In the morning I woke up at 5am. This was not planned occurrence. My sleep has been strange for several nights now. Lately I've laid in bed awake enough that my head is spinning, and asleep enough that I don't always realize that I'm doing it. The spinning isn't all bad--last Friday night's spinning resulted in the bones of a relatively coherent and surprisingly lucid essay. Saturday's spinning was amendments to the essay. Yesterday I spun a bit and had some kind of revelation, which I now forget. This is one of the dangers of generating ideas when half asleep. But at 5am I decided to knit a Christmas tree ornament for Tara's tree, which is fabulous and also in need of more decorations. When I dropped in on Tara on Wednesday she was drilling holes into a modified version of what had been Finn's gallows on wheels for his Hallowe'en costume. In the holes she was placing pine boughs that her kids had scavenged from a Christmas tree sale. I think it's a brilliant idea for a way to have all the benefits of a real tree without cutting one down. And without having an artificial one made of who-knows-what. It is really quite charming. Finn came in when the lights were up and said, "Wow, it's so bootyful! It's not at all normal, which makes it so cool!" It's great to find other people who equate lack of normalcy with coolness. Tara's family is the kind of crowd I fit in with.

(Before felting.)

So yes, I knit this Christmas tree, and slept about 20 minutes more before sewing on the ornaments. I felted it in the afternoon. I feel like it needs some additions before it's finished, but we'll see.

(After felting.)

After breakfast I set off for the morning in Ben's boots. It's kind of interesting that I happened to be borrowing his footwear on a day when I running some errands that he might otherwise be doing. In early December I told Ben that Christina and I were looking for a place together, which is sad news, in a way. "You're the ideal tenant," he told me. It feels like a bit of the end of an era. Anyhow, Ben is super-busy at work right now, and working extra days and long hours. I told him I could put up posters this week, since my time is way more flexible, and also because I'd really like to help him out. He's a nice guy.

So I walked to the Kwik Copy downtown. I marveled at the boots the whole way. They were both light and warm. All week I've been feeling frustrated by the ineffectual plowing of Guelph sidewalks--the plows come by, and the sidewalks look easily navigable, but it is simply not the case. They seem to move some snow off the sidewalk, but there is always a 10 or 15 cm layer of snow that is really hard to walk in--every footstep slides backwards. This might sound like I've just kvetching, which I guess I am, but it just began to occur to me this week to feel frustrated with the preferential treatment that drivers get over pedestrians and cyclists. I have yet to find a productive outlet for my frustration, so for now I am just venting.

But it comes back to the shoes, because I realized on my walk downtown that all the trudging that I associate with winter time walking and snowy weather actually has a lot to do with what I happen to be wearing on my feet. Sure there are the poorly cleared sidewalks, and the sometimes deep snow to contend with, but what about the boots that I usually wear on blustery days that make my feet feel like two chunks of lead? I figure that they account for at least 50 % of the trudging equation. So while the sidewalks weren't exactly convenient, I was totally happy in shoes that felt like warm pockets of cushiony air around my feet. It was great. If I were delivering mail, I think I might be smiling all day.

So I went to the copy shop, and made 20 copies of Ben's poster. It should be noted that Ben is a lovely person to live with, that our house has a new roof and a clean bathtub and a parrot that is a great conversation starter. If you are looking for a place to live, you should come take a look. I wouldn't have stayed here for years if it's wasn't so swell. I was telling Tara about how I was sad about leaving at the same time as being excited about making a new home, and she said something like, "I don't blame you, that Ben's such a pumpkin seed." (Ben, I think this is a really special complement.) But I digress...

(Lambsquaters grow (and die) everywhere, it seems.)

I hung posters up downtown and swung by Christina's place to pick up our application to drop off at the apartment we can imagine ourselves living in. Walking there Ben's shoes were especially good, since all the side streets are more difficult to navigate in all the snow. I noticed that the neighbourhood is filled with big trees and beautiful homes. The mailbox has old letterpress blocks attached to it, and it is across the street from a park where someone has fashioned an outdoor rink! I am already imagining all kinds of fun.

More postering, an appointment, more postering and a quick stop at Out on the Shelf to inquire about space for a Freeschool class and St. Vincent de Paul to look for a cast iron pan. No pan, but instead I got a whole whack of lace and ribbon for a dollar. I don't know what I'll make with it yet, but it will surely be wondrous. I have been looking for cast iron cookware, as I found out that my iron is really low. I've been taking a liquid supplement that has the unfortunate side effect of dying my teeth, which just isn't very nice. At Out on the Shelf, I learned from Lori that everyone with an account name at U of G has access to free web hosting through the website. Also, that "~" is called "tilda." It has a name!

I spied a postal worker, and took a good look at his footwear. I thought to speak with him, and if I were more bold, I would have. Instead I smiled. I was disappointed that his shoes weren't at all like what I was wearing. They looked like hiking boots and he had those things that covering his shins and attached to his boots and probably keep him dry...please help me with the name...
Regardless, it there are no universal mailperson shoes after all. Shucks.

Home and lunch.

(My first Christmas card this year--thanks, Auntie Jo-Jo!)

For Christmas I asked my brother if there was anything in particular that he would like on a t-shirt, since I've begun a tradition of screen printing him something each year. He told me that he wanted a dinosaur saying, "Your entire family is made of meat." So that's what I did. Yesterday I drew and cut out a stencil (waxed paper works very very well), and today I did some printing. I had the New Pornographers "Sing Me Spanish Techno" on repeat, and in between dancing sessions I printed a few t-shirts and some patches. I have found that dancing to certain music in our kitchen is perilous because I have the propensity to somehow fling my hands into the light fixture. This has happened a number of times. Luckily, both of my arms and the light fixture have yet to be seriously harmed. I thought that the prints turned out pretty well, although I don't know if the dinosaur Zach was picturing happened to look like Barney with teeth. But what can one expect from a gal terrified of drawing? I guess there is only so much detail one can achieve with an xacto knife at any rate.

(Please don't ask me the meaning of this t-shirt...I am a bit perplexed myself.)

Other recent crafty goodness:
(Spiral scarf.)
(Make it up as you go scarf.)
All afternoon I felt like I was on the verge of something excellent, something really exciting, and I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was. My excitement so closely resembled anxiety, and it was actually extremely uncomfortable to feel so on edge. I realized eventually that it must have been the chocolate I snacked on. I seem to be embarrassingly sensitive to caffeine. So practically all afternoon I was asking myself, "what is it? what is it? what am I excited about?" and then remembering and telling myself, "oh yeah, it's okay, it's just the chocolate, it's just the chocolate." And then I would forget again. It was so strange. And I don't think that all that dancing helped ease my nervous energy.

I went to the Wednesday art class. It was our last one! A great thing about working around this time of year is that some people like to bring in treats. One mom brought in the loveliest and most beautiful assortment of homemade cookies. I feel like "cookie" doesn't do service to the baked goods she made. They were just so impressive. We finished our oil paintings, and finished up other odds and ends, and also experimented with making gold leaf miniature paintings. This was an exercise in patience, which this group was really good at. I was impressed. Someone noticed how big Ben's boots were on my feet. I tried to explain to them why I was wearing other people's shoes, but I didn't do a very good job, and the conversation was sidetracked quickly. Later on I noticed that one of the students had oil paint on her face, and tried to help her clean it off before she went home. We have some brush cleaner that doubles as soap, and is really the only useful thing for getting oil paint off of skin. She was tentatively dabbing her soapy face with her finger, and I wanted to suggest she cup her hands to catch the water and bring it up to her face. In beginning to attempt to communicate this to her, I asked her if she ever washed her face, and she replied, "no, I don't have time for that. I have way to many things to do. My mornings are so busy..." and she proceeded to tell me about how she needs to catch the bus, and do a bunch of things before that, and how she has a buddy on the bus, and they have to be there for each other, and so on. I ended up wetting a towel and wiping the soap and paint off of her face for her. It made me smile.

After art class I was in a hurry to get the the CSA drop off. I was thinking about how interesting it was that in a day I can become accustomed to the strangest of feelings on my feet--like where Ben's shoes bend by my toes, and how light and warm they are, and the way I feel the laces above my ankle.

I will restrain myself from extolling the virtues of CSAs once again, but it was exciting as ever: celeriac (!) (which is sooooo good roasted), parsnips (!), pie pumpkin(!), delicata squash (!!). I also picked up some eggs to bring to my parents so they can see how beautiful eggs can really be. And some summer sausage for my dad and brother.

I was beginning to become concerned because Ben hadn't been by yet to collect his veggies, and there were only 5 minutes left. There was no telephone to try calling him with, so instead I began to collect his share for him, wondering how the heck I was going to manage to carry what was easily 40 lbs of vegetables home. With about 3 minutes to spare, Ben walked in the door. Yay! He had apparently almost forgotten. We stayed and helped Ali pack up, and I had the honour and privilege of driving Snoopy (the green mini bus Wholecircle uses to bring veggies to drop offs and market). It absolutely made my day. I was smiling so hard that it hurt and I found myself thinking that I am awfully easy to please. Unfortunately I didn't get a picture of this momentous occasion, but it was fun.

(Celeriac / celery root. Try it, my friend. You will not be disappointed.)

Ben had brought his car, and he kindly offered to drive me by someone's house. I had posted on Freecycle that I was looking for a cast iron pan, and someone replied that they had one I was welcome to. It just happened to be a bit far away. We found it, and as the woman handed it to me she suggested I use it as a husband beater. It is certainly heavy enough to be dangerous. Back in the car Ben told me that all intentions of marriage were now completely out the window. (There, of course, never were any.) Ben likes to joke about things. The rest of the way I think I was trying to hard to be funny. I don't think that I'm good at being funny. When it happens, it's usually unintentional. Last night Ben and Rob and I were talking about bullying, which lead to a conversation about teasing. Ben was saying how he likes to tease and be teased by friends...how people tease as a way to be closer to each other. I thought this was really interesting. Teasing doesn't often come naturally to me, and I think that I try to tease Ben because I can see that it's a part of how he interacts with people. The problem is that I often feel like I'm failing miserably at this way of communicating. I guess I keep trying, like Ben said, to be closer to people, or to search for that comfortable way of interacting that I see in him.

We had one more stop before home--Cori and Danielle's. But on the way I spied this lovely snowman, and we took a detour. I asked Ben if he'd like a picture with it, and to my surprise and excitement we stopped and got out and made friends with this large and friendly snowperson. Ben put a chestnut button back in place, and noticed how its hat (which was a piece of ice) was rather like my own. It was really nice to stop and appreciate all the work that someone put into making it. It was delightful. I think that, like driving Snoopy and stopping for snowmen, doing small spontaneous things can feel really energizing to me.

(Even snowmen need love.)

At Cori's we were lovingly attacked by his two dogs. I can't tell you what kind they were, but they were big and black and liked jumping on me.

At home we had dinner and sorted out our veggies. The three of us--Ben, Rob and myself--on the kitchen floor reminded me of Hallowe'en except we had vegetables around us instead of candy. We were just as excited, though. And it felt nice to spend that time together.

Ben's shoes were comfortable on my feet, in all the awkwardness I have come to associate with too-big footwear. They were protective on such a snowy sidewalk day, but in a way that was very quiet and gentle. I got to wear them on a day where I happened to be doing a few things for Ben, and even spending a bit of time with Ben. As ever, I really appreciated his kindness and his friendship...and even his teasing. I hope he can see that my teasing, though awkward and not always successful, is really just me trying to fit in, and to communicate my appreciation, as he does his.

KARMA

2007-12-08T17:45:00.001-05:00

Saturday December 8, 2007.

Karma Lee's shoes are a pair of mustard yellow or gold sneakers. They have round white laces, and little holes by the balls of my feet where the upper attaches to the sole of each shoe. Karma informed me that these holes weren't always there (I thought they may be part of the design of the shoes).

Karma brought the shoes to me last Saturday. She came by when I was painting faces at the Eco Market, and I drew a spiral sunflower type design on her hand. She told me that a friend had sent her a link to this blog, and she liked it so much she wanted to lend me a pair of her own shoes. She came by later on in the day with these sneakers in a black cloth bag. She said that I should keep the bag--that she has many of them, and it's a gift. She also told me that these are her favourite sneakers. She pointed out the bottom of the left shoe where some of the price sticker was still attached. Karma told me that she actually priced these shoes herself--she works at Value Village, where she prices shoes. And perhaps because of this, Karma has lots of shoes.

I wore Karma's shoes a week after she gave them to me. This mostly because I didn't want to bring them with me to Toronto, knowing I'd likely have to cart my stuff around for a morning. So I waited until I was back in Guelph.

On Saturday I put on Karma's shoes and headed to the market early before art class. I chatted briefly with a potter and a woman from whom I bought an osage orange (with which I intend to make a pomander). I picked up the bread that disappears so fast, and skedaddled off to art class.

Wearing Karma's shoes, I was aware of how big they were on my feet. Karma warned me that would likely be the case. She said that growing up her parents used to call her "Karma Leeta with the big fefeeta," because she was always growing out of her shoes so quickly. Karma wears size 9 1/2 or 10 shoes.

I tied the laces very tightly, but that didn't stop my feet from slowly migrating to the front of her shoes as I walked. Perhaps as a result of this, I experienced a strange sensation as the little m-shaped part at the back of her sneakers traced along where my achilles tendon is with each step. As with most shoes, after a bit of time, I became less and less aware of the particular sensation of wearing them as all those details faded into the background of my day. Also, I'm thinking that wearing so many different shoes that aren't my own and don't necessarily suit me has normalized the whole experience to a certain extent. While it felt strange seeing Karma's sneakers on my feet, and I know that her shoes are unlike any that I might own myself, I was less self-conscious about what other people might think or see. I wasn't self-conscious at all, really, which was interesting.

The art class was a bit of a messy one. Using plaster gauze, we covered our sculptures (two cats, a princess, a horse, a dolphin and a camel). I unfortunately got a couple of drips of plaster on Karma's shoes. I actually didn't notice until hours later. I realized how commonplace it is for me to get plaster or paint or glue on my shoes and clothing, and it doesn't usually concern me too much. But I felt pretty badly about getting something on someone else's shoes.

During art class, in an attempt to reign in the goofiness, I began a conversation about Christmas time. All the students in the class celebrate Christmas, and were eager to talk about what they were going to ask Santa for. Such things included a knitting kit, a diary, and every single toy in the whole wide world. My favourite, though, came from the youngest in the class--a little four year old girl. She whispered to me, "aislinn, I want a whoopee cushion." I don't know if I even knew what a whoopee cushion was when I was four. I smiled.

A little later on, the same girl out of nowhere said, "aislinn...you're for eating!" I wasn't entirely sure what she meant by this, and said something like, "Hmm, really? I'm not sure if that's what I'm for." A six-year-old responded, "no, that's not what you're for--you're for MAKING BABIES!" This was somehow more alarming than the first declaration. Would you rather be eaten, or be a baby-making machine? I don't know. Kids can be pretty interesting.
As she was leaving the class, the little one said to me, "We're going to the market now--maybe you can go, too." I sometimes run into her and her sister enjoying dumplings there after class. I did go back to the market, but not right away.

After art class, Christina kindly took a picture of me in Karma's shoes before we went to look at an apartment nearby. Christina's landlords sold their home, and she needs to find a new place to live. She asked me if I would like to live with her, and I would, so we're looking for a place. (Christina told me about a dream she had where we were drinking tea together, and she asked me if I'd like to look for a place with her, and I said, "YES!" and she was so very, very excited. I asked her what mugs we were drinking out of in her dream, which she didn't remember, but is important for a reason that I might write about later.) So we looked at a place close to Exhibition park, that was quite nice. Unfortunately, Christina and I are picky. Fortunately, we are picky in the same ways. So I think we're going to see if we can look at a bunch more places over the next few days.

We went to the market together, where I got a couple more things, and ran into some more people. I hung out a bunch with Becca and Maddie and Finn, and took a picture of our feet in conversation. I asked them if they recognized the shoes I was wearing, and Maddie knew right away that they were Karma's.

(Finn, Becca, Maddie and me at the market.)

From market I walked a bit with Ali and Kimm and Magda, and headed with Ali to the Kyoto Now rally at St George's square, by way of the coffee shop, where we saw more friendly and familiar folks. Ali mentioned that she thought that the shoes I was wearing likely weren't my own. I didn't ask her how she could tell (I often wonder about that), but of course she was right.

(Shoes in conversation: Ali, and me in Karma's shoes)

The rally wasn't so large as I had hoped. I was wondering what rallies in bigger places were like--I know there was one at Younge and Dundas in Toronto. While it was nice to see so many familiar faces, I was hoping that there would be a mass of folks. Those kinds of things sometimes leave me feeling empty. This time, though, although there was some of that, I have to admit that I was distracted by all the people I knew, and thinking less about the issues at hand. I saw Tara and Natalie, and Karma (who told me not to worry about the plaster). I also chatted a bit with James, and with Adam, who wants me to wear a pair of his hiking boots.

(Friendly shoes: Natalie, Tara (do you recognize those boots?), Karma Lee, Christina, and me in Karma's sneakers)

Home, a quick quick nap, and out again to see another apartment, which was again, not exactly what we wanted. I thought about what ideal apartment-viewing shoes would be: something that didn't have to be tied up, preferably some backless shoes that could be slipped on and off, but also somehow were decent in the snow. I felt a bit awkward taking my time lacing and unlacing Karma's shoes over and over.

Christina and I talked about life and walked downtown. We decided to go to a used clothing store that just opened, and on the way went into a few other places. I wore Karma's shoes as I balked at the price of a dress that I really liked and felt like dancing in, as I hummed and hawed over a really neat turquoise jacket that may or may not be too small, and tried on a 1950s dress that didn't go so well with Karma's sneakers and my jeans (but I couldn't be bothered to take off jeans, long johns and shoes). I think I may go back and get the jacket. I'm not sure.

Christina and I walked along the river--she to her sister's place, and I, home. I thought that I might go out dancing in Karma's shoes (I feel like I really need to dance bunches sometime soon), and I actually thought that I would do it, but by the time 10pm came, bed was more enticing than any dance floor. Instead I danced a bunch in the kitchen, which felt like more fun than usual, and I did a bit of work and some reading and writing, and promised myself that I would make banana pancakes in the morning, which I did. Yum.

While Karma's shoes don't necessarily suit me, and don't look like they belong on my feet, they took me all over town, and through a number of interesting conversations, through snow, and along rivers as I explored possible possibilities with Christina. Karma's well-loved sneakers took me some of my favourite places, which I imagine may be some of Karma's favourite places, too (the market where I often see her, the river...). I was thinking about how especially in this weather, shoes are so necessary. And yet, we find ways to make shoes individual, beautiful and expressive, and we become attached to shoes that we are most drawn to or see ourselves reflected in. Maybe it is exactly because they are necessary that we do this. I don't know. But regardless, I keep feeling like every pair of shoes is generous in it's own way, if only for being there. That seems like more than enough. Or maybe just enough. And I feel like there is a valuable learning in this.

WILL

2007-12-07T10:58:00.000-05:00

Wednesday December 5, 2007.

I met up with Will on Tuesday morning. He told me to give him a call when I woke up and we would meet for breakfast. The problem was that my natural waking time and his are pretty different things, so I actually ate breakfast around 7am, and didn't call Will until after 9, when I knew he'd be up. We decided to meet at 10:30 at the Sunset Grill on Richmond at Younge.
I found myself arriving slightly late, and didn't see Will in the restaurant, so waited outside. I eventually saw a green-jacketed fellow on a bike hurtling towards me on the sidewalk, and it was Will. Will's bright green jacket wasn't the only thing that was striking about him. He also had on a pair of yellow-orange tinted ski goggles, a big white helmet and beard I didn't know he had grown (or even could, for that matter). He stopped inches from me and breathless said, "is it closed?" I explained that I just preferred waiting outside. He told me he was late because he had forgotten to pack the pair of shoes he was intending to lend me. I was happy that he had gone back for them--it was worth waiting a few minutes on the street corner, even with all the holiday music and mayhem around me.

We went inside, Will put down his pannier and, wordless, went back outside. Through the window I could see him cleaning the brown slushy stripe from the back of his jacket by tossing it against the snow on the garbage receptacle outside the restaurant. He came back in, hung up his coat, sat down and said something like, "so how are ya?"
I was actually having a bit of a rough day. I was completely teary as I explained the whole situation. Will said something like, "I can see that this is depressing, so why don't we change the topic. How are things in Guelph?" For some reason this made the tears flow even more. I said, "Will, there's no way I'm not going to not cry...I hope you're okay with that." Will offered me a hug, which I accepted. We both sat down again, and carried on. I'm not sure why I feel compelled to share this whole exchange. Perhaps because Will has a way about him that is his own, and which I don't know how to explain, but hope to gesture at. It has something to do with an interesting combination of purposefulness and remove. With a bunch of other things thrown in as well.
Will and I don't usually see each other more than twice a year, but it's really nice to catch up when we do. Knowing that I had eaten breakfast already, he brought some comic books he had made so that I wouldn't have to watch him eat (although I wouldn't have minded that, either). And he showed me his shoes.

The shoes that Will decided to lend me were Mountain Equipment Co-op slippers. Booties may be a more accurate term. They are blue with a black sole and black elasticized drawstrings at the top and at the ankle of each slipper. They are insulated, and are kind of poofy. The sole feels like it has a piece of dense foam inside, and has a non-slip fabric on the outside. Will told me that I could wear them out in the world, that he often does so for short periods of time. I was worried that if I wore them on the street, I would wear them right through in no time. So I chose to wear them inside only.

I didn't ask Will why of all his shoes he decided to lend me slippers. He did know that I was staying in an apartment that had no heat, so that might have factored into his decision. If nothing else, Will's shoes are definitely warm.

When I first put on Will's shoes, I laughed immediately. They were rather large on my feet. Looking down, I felt kind of ridiculous wearing them. They seemed totally shapeless, and I felt like I was wearing moon boots. Jon thought they looked like Muppet shoes...he actually tried them on briefly, and did a pretty convincing little Muppet dance. Wearing Will's shoes gave me the strange sense that my feet were two puddles at the bottom of my legs.

Strangeness factor aside, Will's shoes were infinitely warm. Almost too warm. My feet were toasty within minutes of putting on Will's shoes, and to be honest, got sweaty pretty quickly.

When I returned Will's shoes to him on Thursday, he mentioned not wearing them too often for this reason. I thought it was really very generous and open for someone to lend me shoes that I was pretty much guaranteed to sweat in.

I wore Will's shoes around the house on Wednesday. I puttered a bit in the morning, but left to meet a friend around 10am. I also went on a long long wander through the city and sat and wrote at a cafe before heading back. On the way to Jon and Paul's place I picked up some cocoa. It was Paul's birthday on Thursday, and the plan was to make him a cake. A book by one of my favourite Children's authors, Patricia Polacco, includes a recipe for "Thunder Cake," a cake made with tomatoes (and the title of the book). We thought that Paul might appreciate a cake with a secret ingredient, and I used tomatoes that were in the freezer, preserved from the farm. I wore Will's shoes as I figured out substitutions (honey instead of sugar), guessed at measurements (what does a cup of butter look like?), and tried to discern whether or not it was indeed baking soda in the container marked "baking powder." Will's shoes were keeping my toes way warmer than anything else in the apartment as I attempted to cream butter at who knows what temperature (it is possible, though challenging), and to figure out how stiff egg whites are supposed to get.

I also wore Will's slippers as Paul came downstairs and told me he was going out for the evening, and may not come back before leaving to visit his family on Thursday. (This when I was about to despair over the still chunky butter.) I figured we might have to just freeze the cake for Paul to have when he got back in a few days, but when Jon came in we went about devising a sneaky way to find out where Paul was and deliver the cake. To make a long story short, we ended up riding the subway about 7 stops and almost getting lost to drop off the cake (with a candle and instructions) on the front porch of Paul's friend, whose address we ended up having to ask Paul for. Not so sneaky after all, but fun none the less.

I wore Will's slippers as I ate dinner, and stayed up too late talking and making a hot water bottle.

Will's slippers are large and awkward on my feet, and I tripped several times when I wore them. They are also very very warm, in a way that was both good and occasionally problematic. Will's shoes made an interesting sound as they swished along the ground when I walked, and when I tripped up stairs. Interestingly, I began to notice the really strong difference between wearing shoes and wearing slippers inside a home. In Will's slippers I felt like I was in an entirely different mode. One that was less productive, less apart of the rest of the world. Even when I was making birthday cake. In Will's shoes I felt like I was preparing to hibernate, or otherwise curl into myself. I felt a bit slower. A bit muffled or protected. And kind of sleepy.
In this way Will's shoes were almost a sort of buffer between me and everything else. A very very exceedingly warm and somewhat sweaty buffer.

JON, take 2

2007-12-07T10:27:00.001-05:00

December 3rd, 4th, and 6th, 2007.

I stayed at Jon and Paul's apartment in Toronto for a few days this week. One of Paul's projects is experimenting with decreasing his energy consumption. I think they are going to see if they can get through the winter without having any heat.

Jon warned me to bring extra sweaters. On the whole, it actually is pretty tolerable. Being above a store front likely helps. I found, however, that my feet were especially prone to being cold, and not having brought slippers or extra shoes of my own, I wore Jon's shoes around the house over the past few days. I had actually just returned Jon's shoes to him on Sunday. I found them in the apartment in the grey plastic bag I'd returned them in, beside a row of boots.

Putting on Jon's shoes was interesting. I had worn them for a day several weeks ago (it's interesting remembering days based on whose shoes I was wearing--I mostly remember how I bailed off my bicycle that day, ran into Tara and her kids, and made friends with a soggy paper mache Santa). I had a sense putting them on again, that they were familiar in their unfamiliarity. Or rather, familiar in the particularities of their unfamiliarity, if that makes sense.

It was like my feet had a felt memory of the way Jon's shoes bend at an odd place by my toes when I walk, how easily I can pull them on and off, how I trip up stairs, and the fact of their too bigness and the elastic accounting for the springy feeling in my feet.

Also, because of the temperature in the apartment, I was especially aware of my feet becoming warm in Jon's shoes, and thinking about the possible grossness that might evoke for some. My feet were the warmest part of me, which made the whole experience of being in a cold apartment entirely tolerable. By providing me with much needed warmth in this way, it seemed like Jon's shoes were generous, and also had a sense of ease about them. Perhaps because they helped me be more easy in my skin, move more slowly, be relaxed. They helped me navigate through what may have otherwise been a much more physically uncomfortable situation.

Also interesting to note--perhaps because of the familiar feeling of the strangeness of Jon's shoes on my feet, I seemed less inclined to look down. So I didn't have the same kind of constant visual disconnect as I often experience when I see my feet in other's shoes. I wasn't aware of them in that way at all. This may also have to do with the fact that I didn't wear them outside in the world, and so wasn't self conscious in the same way as I often am, and wasn't seeing myself so much through the eyes of others.

(For some reason, when I saw these birds, it made me feel like the world really is okay.)

I wore Jon's shoes in the moments when I wasn't outside exploring the city and meeting up with old friends. I wore them as I cooked a terrific soup of my own design, knit part of a beautiful scarf, read a little, typed a bit, watched a show that made me laugh, rested and generally went about home-type things. Jon's shoes were comfortable and generous and I was glad they were there for me to wear.
I appreciated their warmth.

Kensington Morning

2007-12-05T19:58:00.000-05:00

Monday, December 3rd, 2007.

On Monday morning I went on a wander through Kensington Market. It was slow and quiet at 9am, nearly abandoned. I guess that part of town wakes up a little later. Perhaps it was the cool weather, but things had a quality of crispness about them that I appreciated.

I passed by a fellow who smiled at me and commented on the quietness, wondering when stores would open. "Why aren't you drinking any coffee?" he asked. I tried to explain that I don't generally care for coffee, but I guess I didn't do such a good job, because he told me, "I could invite you." I declined gracefully (I think) and with a smile.

A few moments later I came across these abandoned shoes. They were lying between the fish market and another storefront, just like this, as if they'd been kicked off or dropped, and then forgotten.

There's always something strange to me about seeing shoes abandoned like this. I also sometimes come across socks or underwear on the street, and they evoke a similar feeling. It all seems a little eerie or puzzling. Unlike some items, I imagine it would take some effort to loose a pair of shoes, some extenuating circumstances, and I would think that their absence would be known immediately. Even more disturbing is when I find a single shoe abandoned somewhere. I both wonder about and avoid the stories such objects might tell.

Perhaps it's strange that I associate lost or abandoned shoes with danger. I have no idea where that comes from in me, and I haven't conducted any informal surveys to see if other people share such a reaction. It is, of course, just as much of a possibility that there is an entirely happy, or neutral, or fascinating story that explains this lost pair of shoes on a cold and icy, coffee-free, city sidewalk morning.