I can see them all, clearly organised, pristinely stood in rows. Myriad colours though I never saw green in the mixture. The smell of leather I remember strongly (now distasteful to me) but at as a child seemed the norm so to speak in such a place.
Why were there never green ones, I used to think.
The smell of rubber also merged with leather, it emanated from the soles of plimsoles. For those who do not know what plimsolls are, they are rubber soled shoes that have canvas on top, good for sports (or when older they serve well on a summer's day if you are fond of them :)) To this day the smell of new plimsolls is nostalgic to me.
When one entered the shop, I am talking about an old shoe shop here - the carpet seemed to pull at your feet, it was sticky to walk on and had seen better days. I think that carpet remained the whole time the shop existed. It only recently closed so that carpet stood the test of time, however threadbare it became.
I remember the light from the window had faded some of the shoes but the owner never used to be aware of it. I always wondered how he sold those that were faded and if he did, did he offer a discount :) It is comical to think on now.
The cobbler himself was a polite man and always happy to try and fix the problem you brought to his attention. So was the case one day, a tragedy had happened, the heel on my favourite pair of boots had snapped off! As a teenager, this was of course one of the most hideous tragedies that could happen to you :) Strange how growing older changes your perception about what is important.
Anyhow - short story made even shorter, the boot took one hour to fix but in that space of time, my Dad and I had walked all over town and managed to buy some necessities for Christmas. It remains one of my fondest memories to this day. I can still smell the tinsel bought for the humble tree. Christmas decorations - at least the old type - used to have a certain fragrance to them, anyone remember that?
Personally, I always felt let down by Christmas, I think a lot of people do as they grow up and they realise Santa is nothing more than a story but who am I to judge whether such a story is cruel or not? All I know is that for me, being more spiritual than religious, Christmas never went as I imagined.
After returning to the shop where the boot had been mended with a new heel, I decided to wear them on my way home, even though it had started to snow again and the ground was already icy so any further snow would be extra slippery. This didn't seem to bother me at the time and I was even happier as I had been bought a pair of the much loved plimsolles to roam around in while the boot was being fixed.
Replacing the low with the high (as the plimsolles are flat heeled and the boots were high heeled), we left the shoe shop smiling and ready to go home where a coal fire roared to warm us on arrival.
As we approached home, I remember my Dad's words spoken to me in regards to my fear of falling on the ice - to walk slowly with focus and take one small step at a time, to see past the flurry of snow to the goal - these words settled somehow in my mind for future years of my life. I have always reasoned that if you can't take leaps then at least small steps will get you where you need to go in the end as long as you keep the focus in mind.
I learned a few things that day. Not just that faded shoes radiate a certain charm but that there is beauty in decay and decay in all beauty. Most of all though, I learned that broken things can be fixed if one is willing to patiently walk the extra mile to fix them while focusing past the storm on faith and courage.
Somehow, I feel less broken when I reflect on this.
No snowfall lasts forever, eventually we learn to walk on ice without fear because life is worth living with one heel or two.
Story©Words Among Trees
Image - free domain from Pixabay
Comments