MY black Dansko clogs are back home where they belong and Katrina's shoes are with her. At yoga tonight we exchanged stories of where they had been.
My shoes went on MAX light rail to her house - a journey they didn't expect - where they waited patiently while she cared for her cat that had just been spayed. (They must have felt honored to be in the company of such a responsible pet owner.)
Then the shoes kept her company as she started a new book, "The Wicked Lover." I read the first page on Amazon - and my, oh, my! Sounds like a great bodice ripper to me. If only my shoes could read. Well, one thing at a time.
During yoga the shoes must be placed in a rack outside the room since the floors are soft, cushiony jigsaw puzzle pieces made only for walking barefoot and laying on. So I'm sure Katrina's clogs and my clogs had a good chat. I'm not sure my clogs care for cats, but I didn't mention that to her.
Her clogs may not have cared for the restroom in the Chinese restaurant, where I took them. Oh, well! Cest la vie. It's good to have your own shoes back - ones that fit just right. Katrina said mine were a little too tight. I found her left foot is bigger than the right - or the shoe is, anyway. We both agreed, however, they are comfortable shoes.
Here is something I found today while trying to round up some order in our home office. It's a strip of self-portrait photos I took in about 1988. I scanned them in from a contact sheet that I made when I was doing a lot of photography and had my own enlarger and darkroom, aka my bathroom. Enjoy - femminismo