something about orange shoes

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Summer, 1986 :: Hotel Del Coronado, San Diego
My mom and her brothers threw a swanky celebration for my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary. Fancy hall, nice food, beautiful setting, professional portraits of every family. The works.

During the meal, my mom exhibited a touching slide show (real slides in those days!) of photos showing my grandparents as young, tweedy, hat-wearing adults in New York City, later as parents in Southern California and Spokane, Washington... finally, as bronzed, retired grandparents in San Diego, basking in the sun, far away from snowy NY.

As the slide show clicked on and on, a theme emerged. In what seemed like every fourth photo, my grandma, who always had a matching purse, (and in the right decade, a matching hat), sported these cute orange pumps. Or maybe they were flats? Who knows. The only thing people noticed -- and these shoes became a bit of an on-going punchline at the anniversary celebration -- was the color. ORANGE.

Who wears orange shoes?

Well. Apparently, I do. And... these days, they are definitely the go-to dress-up item in this house.

Oh, and: Do not try to touch these shoes. I tried to wear them, you know, outside today. Tears, tears, tears.

Feelings for orange shoes run, apparently, very deep.