Pretty sunrise

You are reading http://livinginthehood.blogspot.com

Offer your feedback and comments at Rogi's Kitchen Table.

Oh, I can tell it's still bitter cold outside. When the heater kicks off, a chill backdraft snakes low through the apartment. Most days, my heater only kicks on about three times a day. It's fired up five times this morning!

That poor homeless guy, sleeping in the yard of the vacant house across the alley!

I just cleaned mascara smudges from my eyes with a swab dipped in hand lotion. I've got my first cup of coffee. I'm threatening to get dressed.

Today is the first trash day after xmas: a lucky one, as xmas was yesterday. I must go trash picking! But I'm dreading it.

My legs and back are stiff and sore. I stood too much at Joey and Stu's house last night, because chairs hurt me. And I was wearing heeled boots. True, the heels were only an inch. But the toes were pointed. Something about the way I had to stand in them affected my entire skeletal structure and caused pain in areas unfamiliar with standing in heels.

I love those little boots. I rarely get to wear them, as they're no walking shoes. They're made for women who are transported by automobile. But they look like Victorian boots. They're black suede, with eyelet cuts over the instep. They come just above the ankle and tie like skates.

They're my Little Women boots. Whenever I wear them, I imagine abolitionists and suffragists. I imagine the Alcott women, the Grimke sisters. I always wished I could have lived then. I admire those women, more than I can say.

So, every year, I find one occasion during which I can wear my little boots without killing myself. I carefully brush them with soapsuds on a finger nail brush, pat them dry with the softest kitchen towel I own.

They're so close-fitting, they can only be worn with stockings. Last night, the stockings were white, with white, embossed doves with tiny, rhinestone eyes at the calves.

Today, I'll carefully stuff them with plastic grocery sacks, so they'll maintain their shape, cover them in loosely-tied bags, and replace them on my shoe rack, high up, where no other shoes can touch them, until the next time I can wear them.

I've owned those boots for ten years. I found them in the garbage one day, when I first moved here.

I suppose they're Mexican cowgirl boots here.

But they're my Little Women boots.

The sun's up now. The pink overcast has transformed into pale, blue skies with whispy clouds.

It's time to bundle up, grab the dog and the cart, and head out to trash pick.

brrrrr