Sueded Shoes

Evelyn: Ed took my shoes with him to Bean Town, where he sueded the soles, and I finally got them back on my feet for a run. It is nice not having to replace the moleskin on the bottom, and spins seem a bit less effortless.

Light through Limbs

Evelyn: Swing dance at Zendah. The light behind the swirling skirts and limbs is always fun to watch.

The Current Pace

Evelyn: Today was Jamie's wedding shower. One thing I love about Jamie are the fabulous shoes she chooses. We have tried going on shoe adventures, but my feet are too rustic and finicky and adhere to the belief that the closest thing to naked, flat, and grounded, the better. But, she is my little shoe goddess.

Monica: (Evelyn writes...) So, I understood that Franklin's retreat burned down today after a late day conversation with Monica. Of course, as remote as they all are, and so close to state lands and miles of dry nature, a parade of firefighters from the local casino and towns were very busy over the next few days. I was sad to hear that flames were adding to the stress of acclimating to Wilbur. Regardless, I also heard the depth of gratitude for the firefighters and their diligence.

Shoes, Really?

Heading Out

Evelyn: I have to comment. I love my dance sneakers. I had been dancing night after night since my return, and flipping off my shoes late after Ybor, I couldn't help to appreciate how much they are being worn, the scuffs and battle wounds of a busy dance-floor beating... and the joyful tassles that are my laces.

Left Behind

Evelyn: I had a visit that graciously interrupted my isolation this weekend. We disappeared in the late afternoon for a nice walk on Clearwater beach. Later, we plunked ourselves in the sand, cameras at attention to capture the sunset, wildlife, and interesting people wrapping up their Thanksgiving weekend. It felt sweet and warm to be caught in the embrace of friends, and not feel quiet so isolated on the quiet walk I have taken these last few days.

Monica: We decided to take our time and the scenic route home—Highway 101 to Highway 1 up the coast through Big Sur. We stopped in Lucia around 3:00 and rented a cute little cabin by the sea. We hiked up a hill to settle ourselves on a bench and watch the sunset. Numerous others before us had visited the same spot and etched their initials in the wood railing. We decided to add ours to the mix, using a sharp stone we found nearby.

Wednesday

Evelyn: The last day of August, over 2 months since I put the house for sale and started the process of clearing out. It is also the first week that I am starting to see how I fit into the college, becoming part of the faculty's world, getting organized, sorting through books and technology. I was determined, however, to take a walk at the beach before going home, and managed to arrive for a spectacular sunset and an array of brief encounters in the dimming light of ocean oddities. Shells and grasses, leaves like little boats carrying foam and sand. Even a pod of dolphins, taking leaps from the water to check out the spectacle of the setting sun. My favorite, as always, are the things I capture when up close and personal: rainbows of light reflected in quickly popping bubbles settled on a small leaf in the sand.

Monica: In the midst of doing the rounds this evening, I turned the corner and there was a mess of shoes on the Farmhouse porch, the colorful cast-offs of the high school students that are staying here this week. I noted that not much has changed in the way of teenage footwear; it's still hip to wear colorful sneakers and to lace them creatively.

At Ease

Evelyn: New job, day one. Red sneakers to keep me company—to help me feel at ease on my feet—at ease in a new environment where everything is learning and adjustment. It felt comforting to have something that represents me, my attitude, my world in this new space.

Monica: At the Fort Bragg farmer's market, I noticed this little dog tied in front of the Advocate News building, his tongue mimicking the waving flag behind him. Adorable.

What Goes & What Stays

Evelyn: My red shoes, sitting empty, in yet another place I can call home away from home. We drove back to Orlando from St. Petersburg today, only to unpack and repack Monica. Regardless, sad as I may be to wave my little sister off, knowing it will be another long stretch until we can play in each others company, there are always calls, and friends, and the planting of my feet on many places along the way that keep me connected, whether it be a thought, or a picture, or the sound of her voice. Meanwhile, my red shoes are busy moving through each day, on different adventures, on different planes, on different footing.

Monica: It's my last day in Florida and I'm dragging my feet, avoiding the inevitable need to pack my things and get ready for tomorrow's early morning flight home. There's a heaviness to leaving that I don't enjoy. I felt it when I left home, in spite of being excited to see my family; I feel it now as I leave my family, in spite of being excited to come home to Michael's open arms. There's a melancholy that overtakes me, reminding me that life is an ongoing series of departures and arrivals, goodbyes and hellos, endings and beginnings.

Keeping Watch

 

Evelyn: All these gizmos, and meters, and wires, and lines. Every adjustment results in the adjustment of half a dozen other things— pillows, blankets, IV lines, table, monitors. I fall asleep to the breathing-wheeze of a saline pump regulating his IV fluids. Something feels comforting about it, monotonous and ambient-like. His little breath exercise gadget waiting for more practice, more breathing deeply, in the disco lights of the child ward. 

Monica: When I got home yesterday, there was a package waiting for me: a belated birthday present from my best friend containing a shared art journal, some alphabet stamps, and monkey slippers. MONKEY SLIPPERS! I love them. Every time I look down at my feet when I'm wearing them, I crack up. Monkey slippers make me happy.

Shot of Pink

Monica: I heard this great RadioLab podcast about being your own worst enemy and the methods different people have used to get unstuck. The story hit me like an arrow of truth to the heart. I recognize the ways I get in my own way and keep myself from doing the things I profess to love. I've been browbeating myself to write every day in an attempt to revive my enthusiasm, only to find that the resistance comes up ten times stronger. There's a big part of me that is mortified by treadmills and rat races, of binding what I love to do for fun to how I earn my living. I fear losing sight of the present moment and the pleasures of living when play becomes work. The irony is that I'm on a treadmill of stuckness, a routine of inertia, and I don't want that either.

Evelyn:  I haven't had this many people in my home for a while, and as with any living space extended to loved ones, there is evidence in small ways that we are all sharing common space. I loved the colorful array, like a sea of laces and leather, right at the gateway to my home - a resting place for just a piece of who we are...

Gap

Evelyn: I got to thinking that between all things, even down to a molecular level, there are gaps. That closeness is all relative to when a connection is felt, and that the gap that still exists holds us as individuals, separate. I spent the day at Disney, and by the end of the day my already tender sciatic decided to spread its distress through my entire left hip and into my left thigh and knee. As I stretched, pressing my feet together in the locker room, I was greatly aware of the gaps between my two feet, in the ways I am all one piece yet unconnected enough to create spaces, the space that allow things to move internally: the gaps in my spine and how the muscles hold. I was also aware of the connection between my friend and I, and the inherent gaps no matter how much connection exists, that it is filled by the mind and spirit more than mass and physical contact.

Monica: There's a gap under our porch that I suspect hides a direct passage to the inside walls of our house. In the darkest hours of morning, I've been startled awake by a small animal's muffled screaming, followed by the unmistakable and increasingly unbearable stink of skunk. The first time it happened was right before my family arrived for the holidays. Our house reeked of skunk for over a week.  It happened again a few nights ago. I cannot figure out what is going on. Is something swift and slithery dragging its screaming prey "home" somewhere in our walls?  Or do we have a couple of skunks mating behind our bathroom sink? I'm not sure what the right course of action is to take in this situation. How do you get rid of a skunk?

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10/10/10 B

This is today's picture, chosen by ourselves, intuitively.

Coming & Going

Horns & Heels

Dance of Despair