SHOE SERIES, INSTALLMENT 2







A few weeks ago I went into Town Shoes to “browse”. I should know myself well enough by now that by browse I mean buy. And I did find a sweet little number that made my heart skip a beat, were comfy and would fill that gap in my shoe wardrobe that I always convince myself that I have (the gap never seems to close). I slipped one on and he sales woman cooed, the gal beside me trying on Puma’s told me they looked great and when the cartoon birds and chipmunks brought me the second shoe, my feet were magically transformed. I looked a the price tag, it was totally do-able.
I had a quick question for the sales lady though, about quality. Excuse me miss, I didn’t catch the make of these, could you tell me? Why yes dear, they are by Jessica Simpson.

*crickets*.

Whaaaaaaa?

How did this cat:






go from being badass, to wearing HER




shoes on my feet?

Well, I obviously got over it and bought the shoes, but note to Britney Spears – don’t even try bitch, I’m not buying.

(the shoes are cute though, right?)

Yesterday was completely void of television. It was filled with doing volcano experiments, reading books, doing puzzles, dashing outside when the sun was shining and dashing inside when the heavens poured rain.
It involved a drive out to Nanny and Grandads house where we played Battleship, poked at the frog who lives in my parents pond. It involved strolling through the garden, looking at the beautiful specimens my parents have so lovingly tended to for the past 35 odd years. The girls picked different varieties of mint leaves, crushed them in their little hands and inhaled and marveled over the aroma. They also cooed over the baby zucchinis with their giant yellow flower hats. There were giggles when Grandad pretended to stab himself slowly with a pen and more shrieks when he dramatically removed his thumb (he’s so full of tricks that guy!) There was peace and quiet on the deck when Nanny brought out some snacks, juice boxes and beer.
Later, dinner at home was a quiet affair, outside on the bistro, none of us very hungry, but happy to sit and chatter away about nothing in particular (Edie is particularly adept at that).
There was laughter after bath time when we ran outside and played one of Grace’s complicated games (involving a dump truck you pedal, a pink princess ball, and Edie charging down the driveway in the truck yelling Tractor coming! Tractor coming! all while wearing her best Tinkerbell gown while Grace tried to headbut the ball in the truck loader). Then there were shouts of glee when Jo came home earlier than expected.


There were a lot of shitty things that happened yesterday too, that I won’t get into here. But I’m glad to be able to hold on to the good.

If you had the opportunity to take a 5 year sabbatical from your 9 to 5, do you think your kids would benefit more from you being home for them in the summer/after school at the tender ages of 4 and 7 or the potentially difficult pre- and adolescent years?

Just askin’……your insight is valuable to me.

Have you all been wondering where I have been? No? Oh.

Well, for my own documentary purposes, I am going to tell you. Bluesfest 2009. A little run-down on the fun I had, with commentary:

Ben Harper – he was great. Don’t know a whole lot about this guy, but I liked the music a lot. He also seems to inspire people to spark one, up, so the fragrant air was kinda nice too. Oh, I love that he had a button down on with jeans and loafers. Well played Ben. He did an AMAZING cover of Red House.

Metric- Fun, boppy. Girlfriend looks a lot like my sister in law. Freaky.

Steve Earle – Meeellllloooowwwww. Liked it better when I saw him at Barrymore’s over a decade ago, when you could still smoke in bars. All about the atmosphere I guess.

Jackson Browne – I didn’t know him from John Doe, and while his music isn’t my cup of tea, what I loved about him was that he was so happy to be here. Whenever I looked at him through the binoculors, he had a twinkle in his eye and seemed to be amazed at the reception he was getting. And the 50+ crowd really seemed to dig him!

Brian Setzer – Front stage for this one. The Best. This guy knows what he is doing, what to say and when to say it. It was an awesome show. I was hoping for more rockabilly eye candy (pompadours and tattoos) in the crowd – who is representing the rockabilly crowd in Ottawa these days?

Estelle – she’s actually a great performer. Brought Grace and Edie to this show – it was rainy and icky, but fun nonetheless.

Stone Temple Pilots – I didn’t go, but Jo did, and the fact I found a little note from him the next morning with “I’m in the basement” scrawled on it indicates that it was a good time.

The National – so glad I caught them. New faves for me.

BEAST – impressed me with the ability to keep audiences attention, as they were opening for…

KISS – vocally they suck, instrumentally - meh, but they can perform! It was really fun.

Blue Rodeo – always good, have seen them before, and found them a little mellow. But wow, do they ever draw a crowd!

Paolo Nutini – So glad I cut out of Blue Rodeo to go see him. Great performer, smallish intimate crowd made for a great show. Oh, and he is Hotness.


Yeah Yeah Yeahs – these guys were great! She is a wonderful performer. Kooky and crazy, but she was having a great time. She is such a strong singer and so full of beans. It was great show. Judging for the age of the crowd, I felt like I should be slurping up Metamucil instead of beer, Jo and I were pretty old compared to those around us.

We also saw some wonderful, wonderful blues acts. Real dirty blues.

I’m exhausted, broke (babysitters have practically bankrupt us), a few pounds heavier (so much beer and bad for you food) but will do it all again next year.

I love that Ottawa has this festival. Boo to all you haters. The spirit and vibe is just so wonderful, I don’t really understand how anyone could be bitter about it.

THE SHOE SERIES, INSTALLMENT 1


And your Mother wears combat boots....

Well, I haven’t put them on for awhile, but these babies are probably the ones that could talk the most.

I purchased these little drill boots after I decided to commit whole heartedly to the punk scene. After a trip to the army surplus at the age of 12, nothing else graced my feet for the next 3 years. This was a time of much drama in my life, not fitting in here, not fitting in there, experimenting with this and that. It was also a time when doc marten boots were becoming popular, but if you wore them you also risked getting rolled for them. Terrified of this prospect, I remained satisfied with my steel toe boots, polishing them up diligently on a daily basis.

These boots got me out sticky situations (I kicked a guy in the berries who was trying to have his way with me). They clocked quite a few miles (I once walked to Manotick from Hog’s Back after a night of excess). They got me made fun of. They made me feel tough. I felt complete with my boots, like they were part of me, part of my uniform. Even when I gave in to my mom BEGGING me to wear something nice for a special event, those boots would top the outfit.

They collect dust now, but when I look at them I am overwhelmed with the memories they bring back. All at once I am nostalgic for the good times, sad for the lonely girl who wore them and mad at certain memories.

I’ll never throw these puppies out, and will likely insist that my girls wear them on their first dates.

My Michael Jackson memory.

Like most 11 year old girls, I was crazy about Michael. Innocent and young enough that it wasn’t a lust thing (unlike my ongoing issues with Mike Ness) but rather an obsession that made me smile, dance and yearn to hear his music all the time.

These were the days of Samantha Taylor on Video Hits. I would rush to get my homework done so I could sit thisclose to the T.V. and she teased us with what videos should would be playing that day. Can you imagine in the days before MuchMusic that we were allocated only ½ an hour of music videos a day? At any rate, during the Thriller album days, chances are Sam would play a couple of his videos a week. Sometimes I would get my tape recorder and tape the song off the t.v. (seriously - you can imagine the sound quality of this with the sounds of my Mom making dinner in the background).

I also had Thriller on vinyl, and would play it over and over and over again, skipping past certain songs (Human Nature, The Lady in My Life) and warping the tracks of others (I just loved The Girl is Mine). I don’t remember anyone in the house complaining either about playing these songs so often – maybe I’m romanticizing here, but it seems like everyone liked Michael Jackson.

So, back to my memory. My folks would pack me up every second summer for a road trip to go camping in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Because of our age differences, my brother and sister stopped joining us on these trips and it was just me, my mom, my dad, and the CBC (or the equivalent torture of whatever state/city we happened to be crossing). My folks favour opera and classical music. Like finger nails down a chalk board for an 11 year old (and sometimes for a 36 year old).

Part of this trip included a trip to downtown Boston. This would be an awesome trip because I would see soooo many walks life (Black people! Punk rockers! Hare Krishnas, oh my!) It would also be a fairly stressful trip because my dad behind the wheel of a big ass, two toned green van in a very busy downtown core which he was grossly unfamiliar set his anxiety levels at an all time high. I’m sure the steering wheel (also green) had his finger nail marks on it.

Anyhoooo, I had been whining and complaining on my sticky green vinyl seat about the radio station they had on. To shut me up, my mom found a pop station, and lo and behold, Billie Jean came on the radio.

I screamed. I screamed as if Michael walked right up to the two toned van (with matching curtains I might add) and asked for directions. I screamed like an 11 year old who had not heard her mostfavouritesongintheworld for over a week and a half. I screamed like only an 11 year old girl can scream.

My dad slammed on the brakes in the middle of downtown Boston rush hour. Concerned that he had hit someone or I had seen someone murdered on the street, he asked what the bloody hell was wrong. D-uh! Michael Jackson’s on the radio Daaaad! *Crickets* You know that quiet angry that parents get? When they aren’t quite sure how to pick the words they want to say and it’s really scary? My dad didn’t do it often, but I’m sure the whole of Boston felt the chill that fell upon the big ass two toned green van with matching curtains and vinyl seats.

The radio dial was promptly turned to, and remained on a classical station for the duration of the trip, and I had a walkman for our next road trip.

Rest in peace, Michael, thanks for the memories.

I bought the most beeeeuuutiful shoes on Monday. I am writing about them because I just took them off to put on my sneaks for my lunch time constitutional and I think I actually cried a little when I took them off. I must take a picture and post for you all to see. I would be torn if I was to ever made to choose between a child o mine and these shoes. They are just that Awesome.

I am finding it difficult to find things to blog about these days – p’raps I should do a shoe blog. An entry for each pair of shoes I own, going back to my combat boots from the mid-1980’s. What do you think? Most of them have a story (or two) to tell.