Historical June 1986 report or notice. Original dates, prices and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
As noted elsewhere in this gala issue, the now-annual RAGS TO RICHES neighborhood “trade your junk” sale is about to begin. There’s something about a rummage sale that brings out the best in humanity. Old toys are discarded along with unfulfilled dreams and worn-out shoes.
If an undergraduate archeological student can tell a lot about ancient Greeks by the remnants of their garbage, think what we can all know about each other by perusing the “for sale” pile down the block!
Our garbage contains, surprisingly, things we value. Think about that for a second: sure, we throw away things that are no longer useful to us, but they obviously had utility and value in the first place or we wouldn’t have had them to throw away. Archeologists find pottery, coins, and tools, all items of worth. You never hear of an archeologist finding a TV Guide, the Globe’s editorial page, or road map of LaDue, now, do you? Of course not! Those things just weren’t important to the people of ancient Greece.
Now I’m not against rummage or garage sales, mind you.
In fact, I suspect that it’s only because my household has had such sales that my marriage has survived ‘lo these many years.
My wife, you see, has an absolute fetish for shoes. Somehow in her early childhood, my wife’s mother must have made her wear shoeboxes or soupcans to school (maybe that’s why her nickname was “Campbells”!).
At the very least, whenever she did get to purchase new shoes, she wasn’t allowed to wear them home from the store.
Well, you can imagine how she reacts to that now that she’s an adult with her own charge account(s). (Charge accounts which she never ceases to tell me are based on her income.) Karleen has so many shoes that when you look in her closet, it looks like her shoes have shoes!
She has spring shoes, sandals, fall shoes, prom shoes, summer shoes, open-toed shoes, athletic shoes, casual shoes, formal shoes, winter shoes, • boots, comfortable shoes, (many) uncomfortable shoes, tall shoes, soft-soled shoes, borrowed and unreturned shoes, virgin shoes still in the box,” toe shoes, and semi-casual shoes. Then she has shoes that she actually wears, all of the above again only this time in her size.
If you gandered in her closet, you’d think there was a shoe convention taking place. What’s worse is that not only is her walk-in closet full of shoes, they’re not even arranged in any logical semblance. I’m not an orderly person, as my desk (and life) will attest, but everyone knows that at the very least, shoes should be arranged heel-toe-heel-toe. Shoes should be lined up in an array, wing-tip to wing-tip, not unlike the American bombers when they were attacked at Pearl Harbor. Granted, it almost cost us the Pacific at Pearl, but no one is going to bomb the shoes.
At least you could then have a reasonable chance of getting a matched set on the first one or two or eleven tries.
My wife is unfailingly late and most often it’s because she’s looking for “the other shoe.” I swear, sometimes I think that there is no “other shoe”; it’s like an apparition, the “other shoe” is somewhere with Judge Crater, Amelia Earhart, and the Treasure of Sierra Madre.
In the mad hunt not to be later than we already are, the shoes she grabs are like snowflakes: no two are ever alike.
If the shoes can’t be lined up, they should at least be arranged by color or season or arch support.
But not my wife, no siree!
Her method for arranging shoes is to throw them in the closet on top of one another. Karleen has the Darwinian philosophy of shoe survival.
She kind of figures that the strongest shoes will win and rise to the top. Years ago we found that someone had come in the house and used a Swiss Army Knife to slash the insteps of all her shoes.
The police came and told us that they knew of the criminal although they were unable to identify him other than that he was some kind of arch-fiend. Back to the marriage: Why, you ask, is it only because of such household sales that my marriage has survived?
Because at every sale my wife sells a pack of her shoes. That’s right, the shoes listed above are those left after several garage sales where hoards and teeming masses of her shoes were sold. It’s kind of like the desert, though; I mean, you can sell some sand, but the Sahara is still the Sahara.
Without the sales, her shoes would have grown and multiplied, not unlike the scene in Disney’s “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.” Can’t you just see Karleen, I mean Mickey, wearing his sorcerer’s hat and using a broom, fighting against her shoes as they pour down the stairs?
My wife is the only person I know who couldn’t understand why Mrs. Marcos was criticized for her shoe collection. It’s not as if Karleen even wears the shoes. There’s just something about all these shoes in her closet that she enjoys. I personally don’t understand this. I mean, I have a clock collection, a cigarette table lighter collection, a book collection, am beginning to collect chess sets, and love to buy funky old statues, but that’s different.
At least you can use the things I collect. – Anyway, on RAGS TO RICHES day, if you’re in the Rosedale neighborhood looking for size 5½ ladies shoes, you’ll know where to go.
If you’re looking for shoeboxes (empty or full) you’ll also know where to go. And, while there are no guarantees, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Mrs. Marcos shows up with her credit cards or gold bullion in hand.
If she does, I’ll be the first to say, “I toed you so.”
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, June 1986.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1986_06.pdf, printed page(s) 4; PDF page(s) 4.
