Perhaps it was because I was born with weak ankles and tiny feet. Perhaps it was because, on some deep level, I knew that life was going to be a tough adventure and I should be prepared to run. Perhaps it was because I loved women but always cringed at their high heels and flimsy fashions. Perhaps it was because I was destined to "walk a mile" in the shoes of many, different people from all over the world. Perhaps it was because I have never loved being barefoot--except in bed--and in bed, always insist on having clean feet...
Perhaps it was when I realized: so many people in the world have no shoes. Nor sneakers. No boots of any kind...and the ground they walk upon is not safe...
My remaining "addiction" is to shoes that get me someplace. Shoes that protect and comfort me and make me feel like moving. Shoes that carry me over miles of glass or rock or burning macadam but also leave my toes and heels unblistered. Shoes that are a wee bit distressed--they show the miles they have earned. They boast "dangerous roads crossed" or "we've experienced something remarkable". Shoes that are at home in the pine-needle carpeted forests of New England or the rocky coast of both shores. Shoes that cradle me and make me want to attempt the next mile.
I am in a constant search for "the perfect adventure shoe"--even as I am in a constant reverie about the perfect adventure. I don't know if it will be a short hiking boot or a tall cowgirl fancy-stitched wonder. Maybe a hand-sewn chukka will enter my field of vision. A double-sewn Indian-made moccasin, deer-tanned and fitting like newskin across the face of my sole? Fur-lined or sheep-lined or gum-soled and supple; ready to be pulled on after the beach or before the blizzard. Brilliantly hued and high-tech or canvas based and low; made for people who really don't want to have to wear ordinary shoes but need the support (in more ways than one).
Never sandals--not even Birkenstocks! Nor flip-flops...too many twisted ankles and blistered between-toe injuries--even sun-burned foot-tops! Give me sneakers or give me death. Like the young boy in the Bradbury novel, DANDELION WINE, I want spongey new spring-colored lightning on my feet for the beginning of summer--even if I'm fifty-seven and more sedentary than my youth. My spirit sings with sneakers.
Some fetish moments: The first time I finagled boys' high-top basketball sneakers--almost. White and really tennis "shoes", Mom let me get them by accident. The local shoe store was out of "Keds"...I wore them to a Catholic Girls' Retreat Weekend, secretly stashing them in my luggage and only taking them out when we arrived. Yes, I wore the requisite linen, flowered dress, but my sneakers snuck me through, intact.
My first really amazing hiking boots: Montaine's. Thick, black, oiled leather. Women's size 8--to allow for the best hiking socks I could find. Worn on most backpacks during my years at The UCI Farm School, and packed to make the move to L.A., when Farm School went "kaput". (Sadly left in L.A., as I was called East.) Never replaced...at least not yet. Now, I have some fabric and suede light boots to tramp the woods, but nothing like those well-worn war horses, my Montaine's.
My first pair of classic oxford Earth Shoes: orange leather, hard-soled, as uncomfortable as they were interesting. I wore them until my blisters turned to callouses, but never got used to them. The 70's, Wells College and those Earth Shoes will always blend together in my memory- closet dreams.
Cowgirl boots that are always beautiful art but never seem to fit; square-toed, round-toed, high or walking heel; ropers or fancy-worked leather...my best memory is "scoring" a distressed suede walking-heel pair in Pasadena, at a thrift store, for two bucks. I wore them to the pool hall that night, drunkenly tottering around the table, accepting bets (unwisely) from the "sharks" who inhabited the club...then shocking everyone as I won game after game...(Wonder where those boots disappeared to?)
Rainbow sponge sneakers and one particular love, who gave me my most (at the time) pricey pair, for Valentine's Day. (As the relationship fell to pieces, so did the sneakers.)
The weirdly wonderful non-shoes, made for surfers and hippies and rebels of all ages; usually organic and looking hand-made; often using materials like hemp and gum-rubber and sustainable fabrics...Sanuks got me through my last year on the side-streets of metro L.A.; Toms' shoes offer a simple solution that is great for the conscience and planet's kids...Simple was a wonderful outfit with amazing comics included in the box, until it sold out and began to make shoes that were just not as comfortable or...dare I write: simple.
I'll still check out Earth Shoes and Birkenstocks, hoping to find a pair that is as comfy as they look (at a price that doesn't burn my wallet)...I'll always be looking for another seventies fashion fad (to complement our white carpenter's pants): shit kickers--that orangey leather lace up waffle-soled workboot that even the famous pianist, Mona Golabek, wore, the first night I met her in upstate New York (along with tight bell bottom jeans and a real fur, full-length coat...) I swear I can die a satisfied woman if I can find another pair of those funky work boots that I ripped off from my younger brother, just before heading to Wells.
And, of course, I must mention, my sister's favorite "clogs"; my best-friend Marcia's ubiquitous (and now making a comeback--which gives me hope about the search for excellent shitkickers...) Dr. Scholl's exercise sandals, with the wooden sole. (I never understood these one-strap platform sandals, but then again, I've never been a professional dancer!) These are my private, fetish-fueled dreams, in a rainy August.
Thirty-five years ago, I made a prediction, to the same lover who bought me the Valentine New Balance classics: if the world wore sneakers, everyone would feel better.
I'd like to expand that: if every person in the world bought a pair of sneakers for someone who didn't have any, the world would feel much better.
I truly believe.
Perhaps it was when I realized: so many people in the world have no shoes. Nor sneakers. No boots of any kind...and the ground they walk upon is not safe...
My remaining "addiction" is to shoes that get me someplace. Shoes that protect and comfort me and make me feel like moving. Shoes that carry me over miles of glass or rock or burning macadam but also leave my toes and heels unblistered. Shoes that are a wee bit distressed--they show the miles they have earned. They boast "dangerous roads crossed" or "we've experienced something remarkable". Shoes that are at home in the pine-needle carpeted forests of New England or the rocky coast of both shores. Shoes that cradle me and make me want to attempt the next mile.
I am in a constant search for "the perfect adventure shoe"--even as I am in a constant reverie about the perfect adventure. I don't know if it will be a short hiking boot or a tall cowgirl fancy-stitched wonder. Maybe a hand-sewn chukka will enter my field of vision. A double-sewn Indian-made moccasin, deer-tanned and fitting like newskin across the face of my sole? Fur-lined or sheep-lined or gum-soled and supple; ready to be pulled on after the beach or before the blizzard. Brilliantly hued and high-tech or canvas based and low; made for people who really don't want to have to wear ordinary shoes but need the support (in more ways than one).
Never sandals--not even Birkenstocks! Nor flip-flops...too many twisted ankles and blistered between-toe injuries--even sun-burned foot-tops! Give me sneakers or give me death. Like the young boy in the Bradbury novel, DANDELION WINE, I want spongey new spring-colored lightning on my feet for the beginning of summer--even if I'm fifty-seven and more sedentary than my youth. My spirit sings with sneakers.
Some fetish moments: The first time I finagled boys' high-top basketball sneakers--almost. White and really tennis "shoes", Mom let me get them by accident. The local shoe store was out of "Keds"...I wore them to a Catholic Girls' Retreat Weekend, secretly stashing them in my luggage and only taking them out when we arrived. Yes, I wore the requisite linen, flowered dress, but my sneakers snuck me through, intact.
My first really amazing hiking boots: Montaine's. Thick, black, oiled leather. Women's size 8--to allow for the best hiking socks I could find. Worn on most backpacks during my years at The UCI Farm School, and packed to make the move to L.A., when Farm School went "kaput". (Sadly left in L.A., as I was called East.) Never replaced...at least not yet. Now, I have some fabric and suede light boots to tramp the woods, but nothing like those well-worn war horses, my Montaine's.
My first pair of classic oxford Earth Shoes: orange leather, hard-soled, as uncomfortable as they were interesting. I wore them until my blisters turned to callouses, but never got used to them. The 70's, Wells College and those Earth Shoes will always blend together in my memory- closet dreams.
Cowgirl boots that are always beautiful art but never seem to fit; square-toed, round-toed, high or walking heel; ropers or fancy-worked leather...my best memory is "scoring" a distressed suede walking-heel pair in Pasadena, at a thrift store, for two bucks. I wore them to the pool hall that night, drunkenly tottering around the table, accepting bets (unwisely) from the "sharks" who inhabited the club...then shocking everyone as I won game after game...(Wonder where those boots disappeared to?)
Rainbow sponge sneakers and one particular love, who gave me my most (at the time) pricey pair, for Valentine's Day. (As the relationship fell to pieces, so did the sneakers.)
The weirdly wonderful non-shoes, made for surfers and hippies and rebels of all ages; usually organic and looking hand-made; often using materials like hemp and gum-rubber and sustainable fabrics...Sanuks got me through my last year on the side-streets of metro L.A.; Toms' shoes offer a simple solution that is great for the conscience and planet's kids...Simple was a wonderful outfit with amazing comics included in the box, until it sold out and began to make shoes that were just not as comfortable or...dare I write: simple.
I'll still check out Earth Shoes and Birkenstocks, hoping to find a pair that is as comfy as they look (at a price that doesn't burn my wallet)...I'll always be looking for another seventies fashion fad (to complement our white carpenter's pants): shit kickers--that orangey leather lace up waffle-soled workboot that even the famous pianist, Mona Golabek, wore, the first night I met her in upstate New York (along with tight bell bottom jeans and a real fur, full-length coat...) I swear I can die a satisfied woman if I can find another pair of those funky work boots that I ripped off from my younger brother, just before heading to Wells.
And, of course, I must mention, my sister's favorite "clogs"; my best-friend Marcia's ubiquitous (and now making a comeback--which gives me hope about the search for excellent shitkickers...) Dr. Scholl's exercise sandals, with the wooden sole. (I never understood these one-strap platform sandals, but then again, I've never been a professional dancer!) These are my private, fetish-fueled dreams, in a rainy August.
Thirty-five years ago, I made a prediction, to the same lover who bought me the Valentine New Balance classics: if the world wore sneakers, everyone would feel better.
I'd like to expand that: if every person in the world bought a pair of sneakers for someone who didn't have any, the world would feel much better.
I truly believe.
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