CAT DANCING AT THE LIMINAL

There’s a certain time of the morning which has no specific name.

It’s the time before the sun has peeked between the clouds, but after the darkness of the night. It’s not yet dawn. To call it pre-dawn would diminish the intensity of the feeling, as if it’s a false start. This moment in time stands on its own, silent yet powerful.

The air is hazy, no matter what the season, be it winter or summer. The feeling of throwing off blankets while still half asleep surrounds me, precious seconds of quiet and calm. Its counterpart has to be the same as twilight is for sunset.

It’s the time before the rooster crows, the time before the rest of the world has turned off the alarm to get up and go, do what needs to be done, before heading back home again, to watch the sunset. There's a fairyland atmosphere, a sense of wonderment and awe before the brightness of the sun has shown it's true face.

It’s the time when walks are taken, to smell the crisp of the leaves not yet fallen to the ground, the waves pounding on the shore. The air is electric with an oncoming storm, causing the wind to blow between the branches like a carnival pipe organ, resting on one note before it moves on to another. Branches slap against the sides of barns and houses, as if they know their place in this symphony of sounds. The orchestra of the Lake is magnificent.

The barn cats sing their own good morning song as they meow for their mother, or saying hello to the passers by. For now I can only call it Cat Morning, for I haven’t a clue what it’s called. But I know it’s by far my favorite time of the day.

There has to be a name to this time in the morning. Someone once said to me it could perhaps be called the liminal, the state of in-between. I don’t know if its accurate, but it seems fitting.

May our eyes open again tomorrow to view the miraculous liminal. The tangible example of peace.

STEP ON UP

I love shoes.

Of all the things that I could buy in this world, it always comes back to shoes. I don’t think it’s an obsession really; but, somehow, I seem to gravitate towards shoe stores no matter where I am.

They can be made from the finest leather, online or available at Bloomingdale’s or knock offs from Payless, it doesn't matter. The heel can be flat, or quarter inch, or hooker length, as my daughter calls them. It never matters.

Suede loafers at J.C. Penny for Autumn, wood sandals by Candies in the Summer, leather sling backs by Highlights for the Spring. Then there are the special occasions, such as weddings or funerals that require studs or velvet. Whenever a new dress was bought it just didn't seem right to wear "old" shoes with them.

My relationship with shoes began when I was thirteen years old. For many years previous my mother had taken my sisters and I to purchase white patent leather shoes to go with a new Easter Outfit. It was the only time I got new shoes, the other being School Shopping Day, where I would be the lucky recipient of Hush Puppies when they WEREN'T cool to go along with my plaid jumpers. One time I snuck my tap shoes into my gym bag because I wanted to wear heels. I must have been a sight click clacking down the street. But I felt great.

That year was different, however. It was as if a light had been turned on behind my eyes, all these beautiful objects of fashion sprung to life before me! I couldn't believe the difference between the different manufacturers and the styles. It was nirvana. The smell of finely made shoes is intoxicating.

It was also the first time I was allowed to wear High Heels. A white patent leather shoes with an ankle strap and quarter inch heel, I was forever hooked on what was the precursor to the Pump. It made me feel so grown up, so special.

I was a woman.

The only problem was that I was a clumsy woman.

My mother wouldn't let me get them unless I "broke them in." I think she just wanted me to practice walking in them so I wouldn't kill myself.

Now I can run the 100-yard dash in them (and have on a bet when I was 25. Ah, youth.) Having all those kids strengthened my ankles and tightened my calves. I could wear three-inch heels to a dance and not feel a thing. Nowadays they make them in 5 inch, but I know that’s a recipe for disaster for me.

I know I'm going to end up as one of those old ladies who has lipstick on her teeth and a poodle by her side.

But, hey. I'll be wearing some great looking shoes as I drag that walker behind me.