The Shoes!

“Good morning!” I hear the hearty hail before I see the source. Pause for a moment on 31^st street near the end of my morning walk. She’s across the street, a tiny little old lady. You know the type: 90 lbs., strange colored dyed beauty parlor helmet curls hair, generic leisure suit. But this one sports something else that catches my eye:

            Tie Dye shoes! They are a phenomenal vivid florescent colored rainbow; even from across the street, I can tell that they float her above the pavement by at least a couple of inches.

            I call back, delighted as usual to talk to my neighbors, most of whom I haven’t met before the pandemic. Now everyone wants to chat. It’s one of the good outcomes of all the isolation. “How’s it going?” I grin, still staring at her shoes.

            “Fantastic!” she beams back at me.

            “Cool….I like your shoes!” I can’t help it; they call out for oral admiration.

            “Thanks! They’re very comfortable!” And this is the most important thing to little old ladies, and,  well for all of us, isn’t it? I glance down at my own worn sneakers. Damn. They are a sight. They used to be white 20 years ago, but after tromping through the moonscapes of China’s city and rural streets, back and forth to BART here in the Bay Area, and now my Pandemic Pacings, well, they are a dirty grey hue. And….they are no longer comfortable.

            Were they ever? Those days in China when I was so lonely and walking was my solace, even in the freezing cold winds and dust, I’d venture out behind the university where I was teaching and march around the dusty track. Students and neighbors would jog around this track, wearing face masks (Yes, this was almost 20 years ago to keep from breathing the polluted air. China knows about face masks!). I’d keep my head down, trying not to be noticed, but this was a challenge with my blonde hair and Gianna Panna’s gigantic purple coat. I was a target for staring at the very least and an opportunity to practice English at the very most: “How old are you?” Damn, I got so sick of telling them that’s not a polite question to ask a middle-aged Western woman; they would nod at me and repeat the question, “How old are you?” till I finally, after a few weeks of this, just gave up and told them, “43”. Which is so young now, right?

            Yet, these shoes, that I wear now, still get me where I want to walk. And though I know I need new ones, and am curious about Tie Dye’s shoes origin, I don’t stop today to ask about it. I wave goodbye, even though I can tell she wants to talk. I’m tired and hot and need to get home to set the VCR to tape The Young and the Restless.

            None of the women on Y&R wear walking shoes! They all just click click click along in their high heeled summer sandals (It’s summer fun week on Y&R). These women aren’t really walking anywhere except around the pool or to get cream for their coffee at Crimson Lights. Nope. The women of Genoa City aren’t walkers. They have more important things to do: plotting corporate takeovers from sinister rivals; stealing shenanigans to seduce their daughter’s boyfriends; and recovering from medically induced comas and/or amnesia at Memorial Hospital. None of these activities take much walking.

            But I can tell, that Tie Dye Lil Ol Lady is a walker. At least as much as these women walk. Like Owen Hill’s mom, Dot, with her ‘Turtle Walk’ around the block. It’s slow so slow and methodical, but she does it!

            And at 86 years old that’s something!

            I only hope I make it to that age and, if I do, I’m still walking round the neighborhood.

            Though by then, I hope I’ve gotten some new shoes, preferably Tie Dye, of course!

            I turn the corner and head up Roosevelt.  Murray the Mockingbird trills a hurry home to me as I pass the cactus house, my worn shoes plodding along for another day.