On Wednesday of the is week, our temperatures zoomed above freezing! (Well to tell the truth, they didn’t “zoom.” They crawled to 32 degrees.) It was a day for celebration. A day to open all the window blinds and let the sunshine pour in. A day to wear sandals! Yeah. Right.
As I sat in my chair writing the final chapters of “Grounded No More,” the UPS guy
dumped dropped a package on my deck and ran for his truck like his life depended upon that one second he could have used to knock on the door. I have grown to hate shopping, except for browsing through thrift shops, but the internet has given me another option and since my Social Security checks started arriving in September, I’ve been doing some damage letting my finger tips click and save!
I waited a few minutes for the rude UPS guy to drive off and then secretively retrieved my latest package from the porch and brought it into the house. With a quick flick of a carpet knife, (over the past few months I’ve become quite proficient with this tool), I had the box opened and gazed upon a pair of Clark’s metallic sandals. I took them out of the box and gazed at their beauty. These two shoes had to be one of the most stunning pair of summer shoes I had ever seen.
Patience is a virtue and in situations like this, I am not virtuous. I shook off my fur-lined slippers with a quick kick and reverently adorned my feet in the beautiful sandals. The pewter color of the leather gave my feet the appearance they belonged to a princess–or at this stage of my life, a queen, and I pictured my yet-to-be perfectly manicured toes with a summer shade of peach polish light up the exquisite shoes.
I slipped my ugly winter toes into the sandals and voila! They fit like a cobbler had made them for me. I imagined myself strolling through the throngs of tourists in the Straw Market in the Bahamas. Then I lazily stretched out on a chaise lounge on the top deck of a cruise ship while a handsome waiter brought me a umbrella-adorned tropical beverage in a tall glass. Next I sauntered down a white beach in Jamaica. Before I knew it, I was driving through the Art Deco section of Miami in a convertible with the top down. Graceful palm trees danced in the gentle breeze as my right sandal pushed down on the accelerator and I buzzed passed them.
Yes, winter cabin fever can make a person do screwy things. I’m happy to tell you I didn’t take off my precious new sandals all day. I let our large DuraFlame heater assure my toes they would not freeze as I exposed them so prematurely. But for eight hours, while my new sandals and I got acquainted, we dreamed of our debut in the warmth of eighty degrees and sunny. Not a bad winter day at all.