Red Suede Shoes

There's a pair of red suede flats I've got my eye on.  I have a pair of its sister shoes, in a grey suede, heels. Over the years I've almost stopped wearing heels, claiming I'd rather be comfortable, which generally, yes, I'd rather be comfortable.  But.  Ah, there's the rub (pun intended).  These red suedes are so cute, my heart actually beats a little faster just looking at a picture of them. Okay, confession time.  I was raised to not want 'things'.  One of six kids of parents who got through the Depression and World War II with a minimum of things, we kids wore uniforms (twelve years in plaid!) and had school shoes, play shoes and one pair of Sunday shoes.  Not so much a problem when everyone you knew was in the same sartorial situation.

These little desires creep in, don't they?  Duh.  I was  trained in a sort of Franciscan ascetic to turn away from the lures of the world and focus on higher things.  I love focusing on higher things. I could not count how many books I've read on 'higher things' and how many conversations I've been part of on 'higher things'.  I often think I have lived 'in my head' for a whole bunch of my life. But, again, there's that but.  I don't live in my head.  My head does not have a cozy bed to snuggle in, does not cook tasty meals, does not air condition the house in summer or heat it in winter. And my head has absolutely no need for red suede shoes.

That is some other part of me that wants those red suede shoes (I'm still waiting for the right occasion to wear the grey suede heels). It's not my feet so much as it is my soul.  Yup, soul.  One of my go-to books is Thomas Moore's Care of the Soul.  He claims that our soul needs ground us in the real world, the world of things, of textures, tastes, smells, and by extension, red suede shoes.  I don't claim to know if he ever thought of his work as a justification for the desire for red suede shoes, but, there it is.

Now, I think I'd like some breakfast.  Mmm.  I've got some yummy blackberries and blueberries waiting on the counter to be smothered in creamy Greek yogurt.  There's that soul again.  Better answer its call.