(With a nod to RobinFre of Yorktown on that title; scroll down to see her square.)
Thursday, I went with my friend Nina to the Campbell knitting group I rarely get to, I think only once all last year; faces lit up as we came in, the last to arrive. Carol ran in the back and grabbed two more chairs for us and set them up where there was a bit of space to squeeze us in.
Next to someone who, awhile into things, started sniffling and coughing.
Already exposed. There was no escape.
I so cannot catch that right now.
And… I was wiped today. A rare nap helped, and then I finally got myself out the door in the late afternoon to the place Michelle had thought my best and closest bet in my shoes search, a Nordstrom Rack.
I went down the 6.5 aisles. It was laughable, as I expected. I decided to try the 7s, and there in the sea of towering heels and bright sparkly straps was a sensible pair of Clark’s in wide–not quite too dowdy, not quite too casual. And black. The heel was about 2″, twice what I want, but I could actually get my foot into them, unlike anything else I’d seen. And they were comfortable!
A few hours later, there was this odd feeling like my feet seemed a little big in them–well yes but–so I pulled one off, wondering–turns out I had bought 7.5s that had been misplaced. A full size too long.
Which is what I had always had to buy in the days before I started wearing Birkenstocks. The shoe universe had kicked me back to my teens and twenties.
And I can wear my thick black wool socks in them in the snow and they are not open-backed clogs like my others. They will do.
At that store, going towards the checkout, my other problem was suddenly solved. I hadn’t thought I was going to be able to do anything about it at all, but there they were: wide-brimmed black hats, in a very soft wool (you sure this isn’t cashmere, I wondered, checking), half price, to make being outside when I have to be graveside just a little bit safer.
There were two. I liked the one with the sassy suede tassel dangling off the side but that nagging inner voice seemed to insist in spite of me that the other made more sense.
There was a petite Asian woman trying on hats in front of the same mirror, and we kept carefully stepping out of each other’s way, deciding, going back to the earlier one, being careful not to hog reflection time.
“I like that one on you,” she said, pointing at the other.
Standing there in my old Birkenstock sandals, I explained that that tassel appealed to the hippy in me. But I did have to admit I was going to a funeral.
Ah. “That one’s more formal,” she affirmed.
I thanked her and put the betassled back and bought the formal one, marveling that she’d opened up and spoken to me and had said what I’d needed to hear. She was right.
And then I hightailed it to Purlescence for their last 15 minutes and got to see DebbieR after her class was over and to meet her husband before they made their long drive home. It was wonderful to see them! Till we meet again at Stitches. I’ll probably be wearing Birkenstocks, with, of course, handknit socks. Ya gotta keep that hippy thing going, y’know?