They were the most expensive pair of sandals I had ever bought. After wearing them only once, the recession hit and my salary was promptly cut. As a result of this misfortune, I went directly into buyer’s remorse. During the checkout, I inquired if the shoes came with a warranty, but they did not.
In addition to being both pricey and exquisite, the Stuart Weitzman sandals were and are, infinitely wearable. I imagine one could traipse all over Italy on cobble stone streets in these shoes, and never get one blister. I’d love to try. Groupon, where are you?
Aside from the fact that the shoes were, and are, stellar; there was another reason that I spent almost $400.00 that particular day. My oldest friend from childhood, Karen, told me to buy them. She said, “You have to get them. They’re gorgeous. You’ll wear them forever.” Coming from a woman who was dying of cancer, the irony of her pitch was stunning.
I didn’t know it, but this would be our last girlfriend outing ever, in life. It was our final lunch at The Cheesecake Factory and, our final romp through a shopping mall, albeit slowly. K, as many called her, was smack dab in the middle of her second round of chemotherapy, but bless her heart – she walked proudly. Exhibiting amazing spunk, she defied the chemo-fog in her head and the weakness in her muscles. Despite the tumors in her lungs, brain, bones and breasts, we lived for the moment and had a blast that day. Clearly, my buying those shoes and going into debt made Karen very happy. And there was nothing I wanted more than to make Karen happy. As a result of our final outing, those Stuart Weitzman’s became “our sandals.” When Karen passed away 7 months later, I wore “our sandals” to her memorial.
But a few months after Karen died (and while still grieving mightily), something lousy happened. I put on the precious shoes, and noticed that the back of both heels, were gouged out. Wha??? It was crazy. Could not believe my eyes! It was as if someone had taken an ice pick and attacked the smooth and shiny wedge backs. The damages made me ill. I even got out of bed at 3 a.m. and looked at them again, just to see if the whole affair wasn’t my imagination. But no, the sandals were trashed. And now my grief was doubled. The shoes represented the last vestiges of my earthly connection Karen – before the final horrors of cancer kicked in.
K was my oldest and dearest friend. We had been whooping it up and making trouble since meeting at the age of 18. Throughout the years, she had been my “wingman” and my witness. Karen and I were Thelma and Louise; Oprah and Gayle; Kathie lee and Hoda… Our special shoes were ruined, and I had not even paid off the Nordstrom’s card.
After a few days of feeling sorry for myself, I remembered a quote by iconic folk singer, Joan Baez: “Action is the antidote to despair.” So I went into action.
My first plan of attack was driving to Luis, the most famous shoe repair in West Los Angeles. Luis was a landmark place and had been on Santa Monica Boulevard for over 30 years. Early, on a Saturday morning, I headed over Laurel Canyon Boulevard from the San Fernando Valley to Sunset Boulevard and hung a right. From Sunset, I made a left onto La Cienega and then another right onto Santa Monica Boulevard.Traffic wasn’t too bad. I was feeling lucky. After much circling the bustling neighborhood, I parked in front of The Palm restaurant (before it moved to Beverly Hills), and paid a million dollars to the parking fairy. Carrying the magic sandals in a plain brown bag, I headed out on foot towards Luis, the brilliant, one of a kind, shoe repair.
As I stood on the sidewalk, staring at Luis’ famous storefront, my eyes came into focus. When that happened, I quickly discovered that I was not staring at Luis at all. Luis was GONE. It had been replaced by yet another California cuisine restaurant. Wha???
Crushed but not daunted, I rushed home and cruised the Internet until I found four high-end repair shops, relatively nearby. Within an hour, I headed out again. Upon approach and systematically on cue, each repair “expert” shook their heads gravely and said, “No lady. I can’t fix them.” “No lady. I can’t fix them.” Exactly four times, I got “No lady.” With each dismissal, I became angrier and angrier. By the end of the day, I was just a little out of my mind. Frustrated, I drove to Hobby World with the insane notion that I could fill in those gouges with some kind of plaster, putty or filler material and then re-paint – just like cosmetic bodywork on my Elantra. It seemed genius, but once inside, I became dizzy and fled. All the choices overwhelmed me. DaVinci I am not. Before leaving however, I saw Kevin Nealon.
For the next few days, I continued to chew on the problem. Then, out of the blue, I remembered something. I remembered that my neighbor’s best friend, Mimi, a prop-maker, was well-known for creating bizarre and brilliant props, for films, television, commercials and music videos. I thought maybe, just maybe, if Mimi had time, she might see a creative solution.
I waited until 9 a.m. and called my neighbor, Debra. I inquired as to whether Mimi would be willing to take a look at the damaged shoes and advise… all the while, hoping not to insult her professional expertise and reduce her to a shoe repair service. Ever the artist and game for a good challenge, Mimi became intrigued by the challenge. She told Debra, “Let me have the shoes for a week, and I’ll see what I can do.” And when I sent the shoes to her, it felt a little like sending my kids to camp and not being able to call.
Within two weeks, the Stuart Weitzman shoes were returned to me perfectly restored. When I say “perfect,” I mean they looked BRAND NEW. It was miraculous. Mimi, the exquisite prop-maker, did not say “no lady.” She saw a challenge and went to work. And by the way, Mimi did not know the “back story” on Karen and the shoes, until after she had completed the job. And although she tried to refuse, I paid her.
This seemingly pointless story has a point.
A year following Karen’s death, I prepared for the gargantuan job of marketing, and selling my very first book; and this prospect gave me hives. Like my experience with all the shoe repair stores, I was terrified of being told “No lady.” But let’s get real please – massive rejection is an unpleasant experience that all authors endure. I knew that, and I know that. Just to name a few, the unparalleled Stephen King, and John Grisham experienced hundreds of rejections. It was also not lost on me that Karen had cancer and I had fear. Two different planets…
During this prep, I walked into my closet and saw the Howard Weitzman ruby slippers on the floor. I stared at them. I thought about Karen’s noble fight, always with humor and no complaints. Right there, right then, in the middle of my divine walk-in closet, it struck me that all I needed was the same true grit in regard to selling my book as I exhibited in getting “our shoes” perfectly restored. Like Dorothy in Oz, I clicked my heels and found courage. It wasn’t enough though. I also needed a strategy, a philosophy and most importantly, a football “cup.”
The old me would not have exhibited such fearlessness. Whenever I experienced rejection in the past, I ate dark chocolate, slept for days, and wept. This was no longer the case. Drawing on my great success in restoring the Stuart Weitzman sandals, I became more determined. With every literary rejection, my resolve becomes greater. Karen bequeathed me an invisible gift – the power of intention, aka, the power of shoe repair. to infect the quantum field of my dreams.
I wore the sandals the other day. No less than five people said, “God, I love those sandals!” Each and every time that happens, I am certain that Karen gets more wings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Someday, the Stuart Weitzman sandals will fall apart. When that sad day occurs I will take them to Aaron Brothers and have them framed in a Lucite box, affixed to a Tuscan orange background. I will hang “our shoes” in the warm and luxurious office of my Tuscan home – when I get that home – when I sell that book. One thing I know for sure: The divine is always present in the mundane. The power of shoe repair is really, and only, about the power of love.