Shoe Biz

First came the invitation, then the R.S.V.P-ing, then lining up behind the red velvet ropes, and finally, after actually being on The List, ushered in.

What on earth am I prattling on about? Well, I must back up a moment. Nicknamed Cinderella for a reason, me likey shoes. Regardless of what anybody says (evil stepsisters included), I think I have great taste in footwear.

A woman at the Eugene Saturday Market recently asked me where a great place to buy shoes in Portland was. My answer was the brand new John Fluevog Store of course! So imagine my surprise when she replied, “Oh, is that where you and your friends get your clunky, old-lady shoes?”

Insert the loud sound of a vinyl record being scratched here.

My what? Did she say clunky, old-lady shoes? I had a minor heart flutter. And then I burst out laughing. Not for one second have I ever thought of my designer shoes as invoking images of either clunky or an advanced age bracket. No, no, no. Young, hip, stylish maybe, but definitely not what she said.

But to answer, yes, the Fluevog Stores in New York, Seattle, San Francisco and now, finally closer to home in Portland, are the places where Groom, my friends,and I buy our funky (rhymes with clunky), quirky, and colorful shoes.

And we were invited to the Launch Party! What’s a four-hour round trip drive when the opportunity to meet Himself is presented? We spent yesterday in Portland, hanging out with friends, enjoying the sun and rubbing elbows with the creative genius, John Fluevog.

Secretly, I was hoping for one of those posh gift bags, or a special sale, or some form of contest that would provide the winner with a pair of groovy shoes, but facing the longish drive home, we opted not to stay very late, so we don’t know how it ended.

But while we were there, oh what fun. Loads of great Fluevog shoes on display and even more on the feet of all the guests. It was one big gawk fest, everybody admiring what everybody else was wearing.

We were provided with refreshments and a D.J. in the corner kept the music flowing. One distraught man spilled red wine on one of the brand new leather display tables. Betcha that’s gonna stain. In his case, no matter how cool they were, we did not want to be standing in his shoes.

Hailing from Vancouver, B.C., John Fluevog has “provided unique soles for unique souls since 1970.”

Before I ever tried on my first pair (Thank you Kimmmmm!), I was drawn to his humor and philosophy.

Question: “Are John Fluevog Angels really satan resistant?”

Answer: “You’re wearing Angels right now, right? Look around - do you see him? Nope! I guess they are resistant. (Good thing, too. I heard he was asking about you.)

My philosophy? Shoes should make you smile!

Birthday Blob

My mother called what I write a “blob.” She asked me yesterday, “Have you written any more on your blob?” I’m still laughing.

And today is her 80th birthday! She just informed me that she is no longer responsible for anything she says because she’s going to play the “old lady” card from now on. One of the things I love best about my mom is her sense of humor and her ability to make me laugh.

Speaking of aging gracefully, to borrow a much overused phrase from Britney Spears “Oops!...I did it again,” I just got my hair cut. Again. To be fair, the last time was in September, but as you know, I’m always changing my hair. One day short, the next day long, I like being a brunette, trying out the whole red-head thing, curious if blondes do have more fun…

Back to the salon: My stylist also just returned home from vacation, a three week trip to Costa Rica and Guatemala. While in Costa Rica, she visited a coffee plantation. There, the owner asked her how old she thought he was. Taking a hard look, he appeared anywhere from his late 40’s to early 50’s, so she settled on the median age and answered 50.

He laughed and told her he was in his late 60’s. His skin was beautiful. “What do you Americans do with your used coffee grounds?” the youthful plantation owner asked her next.

“Um, compost or throw them out.”

“Not anymore,” he told her. “From now on, put your used coffee grounds in a lidded plastic container and while you’re in the shower dip your hands into them and use them all over your face and body as an exfoliating scrub. It’ll do wonders for your skin.”

My stylist tried it with great results and now Groom and I are doubling our pleasure in the shower by recycling those coffee grounds (um, the first pleasure is drinking our favorite beverage!) and applying them to our epidermises, epidermi? hides, pelts, fur. No, scratch that, trust me, you do not want coffee grounds in your fur.

I just thought I’d pass along that beauty tip ‘cause you know I’m all about the coffee, and the hair, and the shoes and the –

Whoa, it snowed here yesterday, did it where you are? We had a fun walk in the flurry and then Groom grilled surrounded by the cold, fluffy white stuff. He’s like the mail service; rain, snow, sleet or hail, it doesn’t keep him from the barbeque.

Happy Birthday, Mom, we love you!

Frida’s Favorite F-words

Bonjour! As 2008 fades into the annals of history and 2009 is ushered in with colorful confetti, hiccup-inducing bubbly, midnight kisses and the famous ball dropping in Times Square, it’s easy to feel like little pieces of the sky are falling with it.

Since it’s New Year’s Eve, we could prattle on about resolutions, no-interest payments until 2010, or the Inauguration, but I think those angles will get coverage-exhausticus.

Let’s talk about something new and fresh, such as politely reminding all you holiday decorators out there to please throw away your Halloween pumpkins, for crying out loud! Moldy jack o’lanterns and December wreaths don’t go together. FYI: rotting orange and mildew drab are not the new red and green. And while we’re on the subject of things past their expiration dates, the election is over people, so you can remove those decomposing campaign signs. Sheesh.

What else to discuss - weight loss, the economic forecast, global cooling? Nah, too bloody depressing. Oh, I know, how about satan? I saw a man at the Holiday Market in a T-shirt bearing the message, “Everybody is satan to someone.”

Thank goodness I was wearing my John Fluevog boots, made for stomping out evil (yes, they are actually “satan resistant”), because Boogie monsters from my past momentarily loomed large as I nodded in agreement with the cotton billboard’s sentiment and gave a sinister snortle. “Sure are,” I mumbled to myself, quickly running through my highly prized list of grievances.

Even though I wake up at the crack of Don every morning (private joke unless you worked it out that I have a bird’s eye view of a human thusly named), this one dawned slowly over Frida County. Who did his T-shirt say satan was again? Everybody to somebody? What in the blazes does that mean?

If by “everybody,” that includes moi, I think the T-shirt is sadly mistaken. I could not possibly be a satan or even one of his little elves to anyone. Well, there was that one time. Crikey, I just thought of something else. Ooh, and that was naughty, too.

As I began to think of the few unkindish words I’ve softly uttered, the discernment I’ve exercised, grudges I’ve gently nurtured, it occurred to me that the casually worn slogan might be a fair assessment after all. It’s easy to recall the injustices done to us, but it takes a bit more effort to acknowledge the ways in which we’ve played the Villain in other people’s dramas.

So with the New Year in the forefront of our minds, let’s make a group resolution that we blah de blah flowery rainbows fairies and Kumbaya. Ha, you thought I was going to get all sentimental, maudlin and preachy, didn’t you?

Pssst, when it comes to our mistakes, may I suggest allowing bygones be bygones? What say we let ourselves off the hook? Let’s put all unpleasant emotional sensations behind us, let it go, man, no need to hold on, history is history, what’s done is finished, am I right?

In the spirit of forgetting the past and moving forward, let’s frolic through a few of Frida’s favorite F-words. Fluevogs? Absolutely. I’m a proud wearer. Forgiveness? Yep, we can check that off our list. How about all things frenchy, food and fashion? Oui, fa and la.

Now that my appetite is whetted and I’m in a très good mood, I must wax poetic about friendship. Years ago, when I met my bon ami, Christine La Bean for the first time, she introduced herself as being “emotionally French.” She described liberating her mother’s shower cap, placing it on her head at a jaunty angle and pretending she was wearing a beret in her make-believe Paris.

Christine La Bean never made it to Paris before she died. Drats. There are many of us out there missing loved ones, or frustrated at times by the ones still around. Too bad there’s not a celestial swap meet we could go to once a year, say on New Year’s Eve, where we could make a deal on our satans in exchange for the angels who have already passed. “I’ll trade you two sotted uncles for one slightly used Grandma.” Oh, don't act so shocked, you know what I'm talking about. Wait a minute, what if somebody invites us to the swap meet?!

One final F-note before Auld Lang Syne: Food. Props to Fleur De Lis, a Patisserie & Café in Cottage Grove, Oregon for their Quiche Lorraine, Fraisier (strawberry pastry) and Mexican mocha (mai, bien sur) and beautiful mural of Notre Dame. On this magical day, while stuffing our faces, it was easy to imagine sitting at an outdoor café and staring at the Seine. Planting a seed in the ethers of visualization.

To feed and water this seedling, Chakra Mom (a former French teacher and foodie tour group leader to Provence), cooked us Poulet en croute and Bûche de Nöel. Merci beaucoup.

Even so, Chicken Little, whether wearing polished horns, a rusty halo, or a plastic shower cap beret, Bonne Annee!