SHOES ON THE LINE

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

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...