An Ode to Red Shoes

I don't how or why it began, but red shoes have always been the stuff of legend. They seem to always be associated with magic and idea that right will always prevail. Examples can be found in many of our favorite fairy tales: It is the legendary ruby slippers in The Wizard of Oz that not only have the ability to restore Dorothy back to her true home, but forge the major plot line of the story. In the Snow Queen, Gerta tries to to sell her beautiful new red shoes for information about her kidnapped friend, Kay. This leads to a series of events resulting in his recovery, adding to moral of the tale, which emphasis love, friendship, and sacrifice. On a more morbid note, the original Grimm version Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, has the Evil Queen paying penance for her cruelty to the young princess by dancing at her wedding in red hot iron shoes. Luckily, no one knows about this ending to the story due to the more popular animated version. (10 points for you, Walt. Having the Evil Queen get crushed off stage by a massive boulder by her own undoing is much more poetic and easier on the kiddies!) The point is, a pair of scarlet shoes can symbolize a time when fantastic things happened. I've come to learn this for myself.

A couple of years ago, my younger sister and I traveled to the strange and remote world of Alaska. It was a hard adjustment for us both, but I came to love it! It was wild and untouched, still full of the courageous spirit that led to it's settlement in the first place. We were working as housekeepers on a cruise line lodge, but it was anything but luxurious for the employees. Kait hated it. She's not the type of girl who likes frontier living. She didn't enjoy the hour and a half drive to the nearest town, and certainly didn't appreciate the occupational hazard of the occasional stray bear in our maids closets. While I was spending my day off venturing off to the local Sled Dog kennels and immersing myself in Alaskan culture, she hopped on the nearest shuttle and traveled three hours to the Anchorage Mall. It's not all that great, but at least it wasn't a place where taxidermy was the decorator's theme.

I had celebrated my 21st birthday out there, and I felt at first that the only noteworthy thing that was going to happen was that all the Bulgarians up there were going to bombard me with requests to get them alcohol. But then Kait surprised me with a present: a pair of red mary janes. They were simple, and hopefully not too expensive, but I fell in love with them the moment I saw them. They were instantly comfortable, and I wore them all over the mountain, and even had them on when I returned home.


For the past couple of summers, they have been my allies in adventure. I wore them when I went clam digging on the Puget Sound, near Seattle, (and dang near lost them to the tide! But I persevered, by golly!)



when I hiked the Mount Olympic Forest, when I danced around Utah lake, and when I'd take my dogs out for a run. They've showed up in art projects and on temple trips, and their range of travel extends from the ocean of the West Coast the Red Rock Deserts of Southern Utah.


It is now with heavy heart that I am forced to place them in retirement. The soles are worn so much that a hole the size of dime has formed. When I toss them out, I hope that I'll be able to retain all the good memories that came with them. I'm not sure to worry about this too much, because as one last parting gift to me, my shoes have given me something I'll never forget:





this totally gnarly tanline.







Sceptics may read my blog and decide that I have nothing but fluff for brains, since this is now the second time I have written about a pair of shoes that have elicited an emotional response from me. What can I say? I love the simple things in life.