Disco, July, 2012As you may or may not know, I have been moving during about half of the time since January, most of it clustered into the last four months.  Now, this is part of the topic I’ve been promising for a while, e.g., the s**tstorm that has been 2010 and when it will ever end.  But this is a story about shoes.  And a spirit.  And the spirit of shoes.

I have a pair of black patent leather penny loafers that I love very much.  Of my low-heeled casual fall/winter shoes, they are probably my favorites.  In the two-plus moves we committed this summer, somehow, they were lost in the shuffle.  Keep in mind that a good half of my house is in a storage unit nearby, so anything I can’t find might be in there.  In a box.  Amongst many other boxes.  And furniture.  And two bikes with flat tires.

Sorry, again, the story of the s**tstorm will be next.

Back to my shoes.  I had looked high and low, hither and thither.  I devised an ingenius inventory system for the moves, so almost everything could be found fairly easily.  (Planning two or more moves in short succession?  Call me today for tips on inventory!)

Alas, my list revealed nothing.  One box held some promise:  it contained items from the same area in which the shoes lived in our old house.  I dug through it, only to reveal a number of robes, evening bags, two favorite dolls from childhood… no black patent leather penny loafers.  Sigh.

Then I remembered that I have often called upon my late husband’s divining skills with some success.  Why didn’t I think of him before?  “Tim,” I pleaded, “I sure could use your help finding my shoes.  I’m also looking for the Dust Buster, the framed pictures of the elephant and the tiger, and my bath rugs.  I’d appreciate your help.”

First thought in my head:  “The shoes are in the attic.”

Second thought in my head:  “I live in an apartment and I don’t have an attic.”

Somewhere down the line of thoughts in which I argued with Tim’s suggestion, the thought arose:  “My mother has an attic.  And I put some of my things there.”

Well, I high-tailed it to my mom’s, scooted up to the attic–and, there, amongst Christmas wrap and suitcases, was a black plastic bag in a box.  Inside the bag were–ta da! (Oh, nevermind, you knew this was coming)–my shoes!  Along with a few other pairs, yay.  AND under the bag, in the box, what to my wondering eyes did appear?  The Dust Buster!  Another yay!

The two framed pictures and the bath mats have yet to appear, but I was pretty darned grateful to Tim for his help.  Sure, maybe I’m accessing my subconscious, or maybe I’m talking to Tim and he to me, or maybe it’s The Great Gazoo from “The Flintstones.”  Does it matter?

I got my shoes!  (10-25-10)

Update:  After yet another move in November of 2012, the tiger and elephant pictures and the bath mats all showed up!  It was like a treasure hunt in which I found lots of treasure!

"Sh**-Storms Happen" or "Even Metaphysicians Get the Blues"
Manifesting: A House Story