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diamondshoes.html
© Copyright 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001 K. Weston,
all rights reserved
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"The holy teachers were right; telling a story
is a kind of prayer, a kind of
meditation,
a sacred act. It makes magic happen. Or is
the story itself the magic?"
Erica Jong, Inventing Memory
© Copyright 1997, K. Weston
All rights reserved
Eighteen years ago, not long after my mother died, my Papa sent us two boxes of "donations." At the time, my children and I lived in the Trailer-Shack Condo in the Upper Meadow on some friends' property way up in the Sierras. Way back in the woods... so far back that the sun set between our "house" and the road. It was a hard time in our lives. We did not have electricity, running water, indoor plumbing, a refrigerator, etc., etc., etc. I had a CETA job, making $3.10 an hour, so you know we also had very little money.
The property where we lived was a 40-acre family compound belonging to some odd (but wonderful) friends who had taken us in upon our escape from the last of the abusive relationships in which I had involved us. This was near the end of my 7-year alcoholic phase and we had really hit bottom. A good part of the little money we DID have went for Mama's beer rather than necessities. Strangely enough, though, the girls tell me they remember living there as one of the BEST memories in their lives!
Anyway, the two boxes arrived and we were unpacking them. Papa had written to ask if we needed anything and I had told him the kids needed school clothes. So he sent two boxes of clothes. We cried when we opened them because they were clothes that had belonged to my mother... and she had become quite large in the years before she died. They were all new or nearly new, but we couldn't use them. And while there was enough fabric in them to make something else, we couldn't do that, either, because we had no electricity to run the sewing machine. In his grief, I think he was not thinking clearly.
So, anyway, we were still looking hopefully through the boxes but we were really sad and disheartened. Then we came across the pants belonging to the top my mother wore in her half-open casket and I said, "Omigawd, Nana went to heaven with no pants on!" And we began to laugh...
And then we came upon a pair of slippers. They were red velvet and had
huge fake jewels all over the toes. We started to laugh because these slippers
were really tacky, so then I put them on and said, "Look! I have on my Diamond
Shoes! Now I am very tall, very thin, very rich, and very beautiful!" We
laughed and laughed while I strutted around showing off my new look.
Those Diamond Shoes became a sort of totem for us. When things would
be bad, someone would say, "Mama, put on your Diamond Shoes!" And I would...
and suddenly I would be very tall, very thin, very rich and very beautiful!
And we would laugh. Sometimes I would put them on without saying anything
— to see if anyone would notice the change — and they always did;
someone would say, "Gee, Mama, you look awfully tall today!" or something
like that. Sometimes one of the kids would put them on, just to see if they
worked... and they always worked; we always laughed and the world seemed
a bit brighter.
I still have those Diamond Shoes. They are thin, the soles are slick, and the elastic has lost its ability to keep them on my feet. That's how much they have been used. But sometimes I put them on again... and they still work; the magic of the Diamond Shoes is still there. And we still occasionally say to one another, when times are hard or spirits down, "Put on your Diamond Shoes!"
I wrote down this memory on 3 September 1997 and sent it to my children, along with the following poem, which wouldn't make any sense to anyone who didn't know the story...
DIAMOND SHOES
©1997, K. Weston
When times are hard and things are rough, and life does you abuse,
Don't be worried, don't be sad, put on your Diamond Shoes!
You'll be tall, and you'll be rich, and beautiful and thin,
And you'll forget, for just a bit, the funk you've gotten in!
Diamond Shoes are wonderful. Red velvet! Jewelled toes!
And suddenly the world will seem to smell just like a rose.
You'll forget your troubles, forget to gripe and moan,
'Cause Diamond Shoes will give you the courage to go on.
I put on those shoes today, and thought so much of you,
And how my foolish choices made life so hard, it's true.
So one small hope I'll leave with you, a hope that you'll recall
Your crazy, laughing Mama, who loved you best of all.
P.S. When Papa found out about this, he felt really awful... and he bought school clothes for my children and then my grandchildren most years for the rest of his life.
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(Page added 09-06-97)