So that title's not meant to make any sort of comparison between me and creatures of the equine variety. It's a broader remark. Meaning, it's not a ringer, I didn't quite hit my mark, but right now, today, I'm having a little love affair with my town.
Add Shoe Repair to the places I can get to on foot. I've had those Dansko sandal-y clogs languishing, dust gathering, in the backs of many closets now for years. I remember wearing them when I was pregnant with the boy, twisting the brittle, stretched-out elastic around a safety pin, a temporary fix, all the while meaning to take them to a shoe repair shop. I drove past one often, then. I would see it and think, I should grab the shoes, stop here sometime, bring them in. But I never did.
I consulted my yellow page directory a few weeks ago and, yes. That independent shoe store up the way? The one that sells the Birks and the Danskos and the Keens and those sorts of shoes? Why, they're a full service shoe repair, too. And just a few blocks from my house.
I took them in and the small section of elastic on each shoe (a tiny section attached to the buckle, funny how such a small piece has such a huge impact on their wearability) was replaced and they were ready the next day for a very respectable ten dollars. Not bad for a pair of shoes I picked up long ago, for about the same, off eBay.
What are the odds that if we lived in Portland again (oh Portland, I still love you best, but. . .), if we made it back to the place we missed for so long, if we were in that same hip northeast neighborhood that formed us in obvious and important ways, that I'd be within walking distance to. . . a shoe repair shop, an independent toystore, a second run theater, a new and used bookstore, a natural food store, the library, a thrift store, a drugstore, a non-chain movie rental store, parks a-plenty and a McMenamin's brewpub? Yeah. That's a tall order from any one spot. But that's what I've got here. In this little surprising place.
Add Shoe Repair to the places I can get to on foot. I've had those Dansko sandal-y clogs languishing, dust gathering, in the backs of many closets now for years. I remember wearing them when I was pregnant with the boy, twisting the brittle, stretched-out elastic around a safety pin, a temporary fix, all the while meaning to take them to a shoe repair shop. I drove past one often, then. I would see it and think, I should grab the shoes, stop here sometime, bring them in. But I never did.
I consulted my yellow page directory a few weeks ago and, yes. That independent shoe store up the way? The one that sells the Birks and the Danskos and the Keens and those sorts of shoes? Why, they're a full service shoe repair, too. And just a few blocks from my house.
I took them in and the small section of elastic on each shoe (a tiny section attached to the buckle, funny how such a small piece has such a huge impact on their wearability) was replaced and they were ready the next day for a very respectable ten dollars. Not bad for a pair of shoes I picked up long ago, for about the same, off eBay.
What are the odds that if we lived in Portland again (oh Portland, I still love you best, but. . .), if we made it back to the place we missed for so long, if we were in that same hip northeast neighborhood that formed us in obvious and important ways, that I'd be within walking distance to. . . a shoe repair shop, an independent toystore, a second run theater, a new and used bookstore, a natural food store, the library, a thrift store, a drugstore, a non-chain movie rental store, parks a-plenty and a McMenamin's brewpub? Yeah. That's a tall order from any one spot. But that's what I've got here. In this little surprising place.
2 comments:
Isn't it great to live in such an accessible spot? I have been falling for our little place all over again with all the walking we've recently been doing.
I've been wishing I could have found a house right near the downtown. I love the house I'm in though. But it so awesome to be within walking distance of things and I feel I'm just a little out of the comfort zone.
Still, I love this town.
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