Writing assignment: The story of the single shoe by the roadside. Must include a used tea bag and a dirty coffee cup.

A Walk to Remember By Curlyfro
Tuesday, June 20
So Gilbert and I were finally taking that trip. We started out From Pitlochry and were making our way down the coast to see the castles of the Eastern Britain. Of course Gilbert has to drive with his shoes off. So I had the window all the way down ruining my pompadour, which I had spent an hour on this morning. I had never considered how difficult it would be to get ready in a motor home. We've raised two daughters and spent six years of my life dodging curlers and hairspray, still I had never had so much trouble moving around. After approximately twenty minutes of trying to explain to Gilbert that I had waited 30 years for this trip, there was no deadline on getting home and that I wanted to enjoy myself by taking the coastal roads. He stuck his head out the window and yelled "pick up your tent and move asshole" to the lorry in front of us. Shaking my head I decided to make myself a spot of tea for I definitely had some nerves to calm if we were both coming out of this trip alive. If I had thought getting ready in the bathroom was an adventure, then getting myself out of the seat was a real treat. My legs aren't what they used to be and I am not merely talking of appearance. When I had finally made my way to the kitchenette, which I had packed like a well ordered lunch box while Gilbert was off with his cronies playing Rummy, Gilbert decided he had enough and sped into the passing lane to overtake the "asshole". His acceleration threw me into the counter and once I had righted myself and walked towards the cabinet he slammed on the breaks mumbling something about eating smashed plums. Arms flailing I managed to land on the sofa slamming my shin on Gilbert's walker in the process. I decided Gilbert would probably enjoy the used tea bag that was currently being used by a fly and had been sitting in the sink since breakfast. Apparently in a better mood since he was "King of the highway" Gilbert started to whistle and ask if everything was "ok in the backside toots?". "Just dandy" I replied in an even tone. Bringing the tea up a few minutes later, Gilbert said he would rather have some coffee "if it's not too much of a bother love". So being the spend thrift I am I ended up drinking both cups of tea, fly poop and all, while Gilbert got his fresh coffee. Thank Goodness the rest of the afternoon was unadventurous, other than Gilbert's driving, which I just tried to ignore.
We arrived at the first castle around lunch time after a harrowing experience trying to get the "cheese wagon" ,as the grand kids call our orange mobile home, into a handicap spot made for a compact car. Due to the Medication I am on I need to stay out of the sun, but wanted to utilize a picnic table and enjoy God's green earth. While I packed the picnic basket Gilbert went around and kicked each tire...twice. I shouted that we were ready to go and he tottered over to the only table in the shade about 100 feet away. "Gilbert" I hissed "Gilbert", louder this time and finally "GILBERT!". I could hear his hearing aid buzzing as he whipped around. "Christ all mighty, What's all the racket for Dolores?" rolling my eyes and answering in the sweetest voice I could muster "Don't you think you should use your walker since we parked in the handicapped parking?" and of course his reply "No one will know it is ours". With that he turned around and continued walking, with seemingly more pep in his step. "If you are as fit as a fiddle maybe you could help me carry your lunch I shouted to his back. Miraculously he never heard that.
As I was getting ready to sit down I noticed a thong in the grass. "Gilbert, is that a thong over there by that tree?" oh boy was he up and investigating instantly.
"No, it is a flip flop Dolores, how can you confuse a flip flop for a thong?"
"That's what flip flops are called dear, and what were you so excited about a "thong" for anyway?"
The meal was finished in relative silence. Gilbert was fantasizing about the thong, I presume and I was playing Nancy Drew trying to figure out what a single shoe would be doing out here by the castle. It was a touristy site, who would come with both shoes and leave with one?

Monday, June 19th
We were finally taking that trip. Having missed out on a honeymoon we finally had the chance to take a vacation. Being in England, my husband Frank found a flier for a castle that puts all the lights on at dusk. "It's suppose to be beautiful" he raved. I made him trudge through the Victorian garden this morning, so a castle walk at night wouldn't be a big deal. Although I feel childish admitting it, I am very "uncomfortable" in the dark. Outside. In the middle of no where. The flier showed parking about a mile from the train depot which actually took you to the entrance under the castle, which had a moat, but not a working bridge. I copied it down on a piece of scrap paper with my lucky blue pen from Mexico. I suggested we get there early. If I had to walk a mile in the dark through a small canyon, I wanted to do it as few times as possible. Plus, I had added, we could see it during the day and at night for the same admission cost.We stopped at a little tourist town and grabbed some dinner. While waiting for our table I scanned the "things to do" board in the lobby. Apparently the village was warning people about a man holding tourists hostage for ransom. Nothing real informative was known at the time it was printed. It seemed a little humorous to me. The townspeople starting a neighborhood watch, but didn't want to give the person's identity away. We were seated and had ordered within the next five minutes. My husband claimed he ordered anything that didn't include "bangers" and I had a cucumber sandwich which arrived with a dirty coffee cup and some instant coffee. Bon Appetite as Julia Child would say- in well, France.
We hopped back in the car and figured we were about 10 minutes from the castle parking.
The castle was very secluded. Nothing but cattle and rolling plains from the little town until we got to the parking, though the road was pretty busy.You could catch a glimpse of the castle roof from the road before we made a turn into the parking lot, but it was up a hill and behind a woods. There was a small canyon about 500 feet from the parking lot and the train depot was beyond that. The place was jumping with people and I wondered where everyone came from. There weren't that many cars on the road! I grabbed the camera, the information I copied, and the flashlights and were on our way. There had been some sort of explosion or rock slide in the canyon and there were clusters of people clambering over the rocks, so we set off to join in. It was then that I realized more people were leaving than coming in, although their were still quite a few people in the canyon going towards the castle. By the time we got through the canyon my feet were cut up and bleeding, what a genius wearing flip flops, and it was almost dusk. We sat down for a moment so I could inspect my feet and Frank brought it to my attention that the last few people were coming out of the canyon and there was no one behind them. "No one wants to climb thorough that twice in the dark!" I concluded and we got up to finish our hike to the depot. It was a beautiful night, cool, breezy, crickets chirping in another country. The depot had white lights strung up on the roof and looked like some dilapidated pioneer barn. With lights.
We got our tickets to the castle, the next "train" left in 5 minutes, so we hurried along. As we turned down the hall to the boarding area the last people were getting on and the "conductor" was claiming "doors are closing". We ran up to it as it was pulling away and I tried to swing a door open as it picked up speed. Just then a man in jean shorts and no shirt walked up from behind us and asked to see our itinerary. I dug it out of my purse and gave it to him. He grunted, smiled, and walked through some doors in the back of the room, shutting them behind him. When I glance down at the paper, wondering what was so amusing, I saw that I had written in red pen next to this train "NO". I was shocked. I didn't have a red pen when I was coping this down, but it was in my handwriting. I asked Frank if he had seen it and he claimed he found it odd that I had written it when he had looked at it earlier. Befuddled we sat on the benches and waited for the next car. 30 minutes later I walked back to the front counter to inquire about the next train. There was no one there, I searched, calling out "anyone there?" and the place was empty. Frank came up after hearing my yelling and I decided we were just going to leave. I was creeped out. A little weirded out himself, Frank and I headed back to the canyon. Being paranoid now, I kept hearing noises and insisted we walk faster. The flashlights were dollar specials and didn't do a whole lot of "lighting", more targeting our location than anything else. The rocks were really tearing up my feet now and I realised as we neared the exit that I was panicking. Frank shushed me and we could hear little rocks still falling behind us. "There is someone back there" Frank finally admitted. We were on the last few boulders out of the canyon in less than a minute and sprinting now. As we rounded the picnic area my flip flop broke and Frank hissed "I can't find the keys!" When we got to the car we huddled, crouched down on the driver's side and listened. I couldn't hear anything over my own breathing and heart pounding, and searched my purse for the extra key. "I've got it!" I yelped as I heard someone on the stone lot. We scrambled into the car, me in the back, him driving and whipped out of the spot, hitting something with a thud. We drove back towards the Inn and debated what to report if anything, I mean, we hadn't actually seen anyone and didn't know their intent. Just then the car started driving funny and Frank said "We have something stuck to the car!" We drove the rest of the way swerving back and forth until whatever it was finally came off. When we got to the Inn we locked up and ran inside to call the police. We stayed inside until we say the lights of the patrol car and then hurried out to meet them. It wasn't until the police wanted to see the car that we noticed it was dented and bloodied...

Later Tuesday June 20th
After a lovely lunch, though quiet I had come to the conclusion that a group of young adults had been gallivanting around and one of the boys threw a girls flip flop out of the window as they were leaving the castle. That, dear Watson is what must have happened. Young love. With that I looked over at Gilbert and smugly thought, those kids will one day grow old like good ol' Bert here. Gilbert caught me staring at him and mistook the look for let's go. He grabbed up the picnic basket and said to go ahead and start up the machine, which was a description of how I walk before my knees limber up again, he'd catch up. He had put the basket in the car and meet up with me 100 feet from where we'd sat and said "How do you reckon we'll make it up that?". I was so busy watching my step that I didn't see the path was covered with falling boulders. "Well craps almighty!" I exclaimed "That really busts my buttons!". No signs or nothing indicating that the park was closed. In fact there weren't any people bustling about now that I actually took it all in. "No point in standing here watching the crickets jump, let's head on out" Gilbert exclaimed. Probably secretly thrilled at the idea of knocking a few hours off the trip. So we shuffled back to the car. "What did you hit Gil?" His face got red and before he was able to get out a defensive retort I had pulled the yellow banner off the hood. Whipping my glasses off my blouse I read "CRIME SCENE" several times across the banner. "By George Gilbert! Someone was killed here and we disturbed the evidence!" Mumbling, Gilbert took the banner and came to the same conclusion "best be heading out then" he added and we climbed aboard. Gilbert pulled out of there with a little more gusto than necessary while I looked at the map for a local sheriff department. I bantered that we should at least let them know we meant no harm. Gilbert said we were NOT stopping, we had a vacation to finish and we were going to do just that! We settled for stopping at the Loch side Inn. mostly because Gilbert needed to use the facilities and I refused to sit through that stench in the car. Again, parking was a nightmare and 15 minutes later we were walking towards the front door. Gilbert went his way and I confessed everything to the desk manager. She said the murderers had actually eaten at that very restaurant the previous day and for a small charge we could sit at their table. "Lord have mercy" I exclaimed, "what happened?" I guess a couple had gotten spooked and backed over someone, they had been taken away in the police cruiser. When Gilbert came out I explained everything and we went directly home. I would wait another 30 years before going on vacation if I had to deal with a bunch of hoodlums!



THE REBEL SOLES by Lamommasita

Have you ever wondered why there is just one shoe along the roadside, in a ditch, at the beach or in a parking lot? Are there individuals somewhere out there carrying on their lives with only one foot shoed. At any given time did a passenger in a moving vehicle just randomly put down the window and decided to see if their shoe could keep up with them, either by flying or taking off running beside the vehicle? Then when they realized their hypotheses hadn't been well thought out; are they too embarrassed to ask the driver to turn around to retrieve their bruised up shoe. How and why are all these different sizes, shapes, and brands out there in the elements and their owners or mates aren't out there rescuing them. Well after many hours of research and interviews the questions have been somewhat answered if you believe the explanations.

Before we begin let me introduce myself. My name is Lil Shoehorn and I'm a freelance writer. I am originally from the great state of Illinois but I go wherever there's a story to be told. Around the circuit I'm known to be the one that can wiggle my way into an interview and slip out with a story that other reporters would never have seen news worthy. Some of the shoes, flip flops, boots, tennies didn't want to talk to me at first but with a little coaxing I got them to come around. It seems as if the footwear world has it's share of rebels. So without further delay lets get to the interviews so you can understand a little bit more of what you have been seeing.

Ms Fancy was spotted in the theater district in downtown Atlanta. She is a thin single-strap, 4" spike high heel, striking red patent leather with a shy demeanor. We decided to meet at a quaint little tea shop for the interview.
"Welcome Ms Fancy, is it alright to address you as Ms Fancy or would you like me to address you in some other manner?" I asked as to open up the conversation.
"Oh please call me Ms Fancy, my daddy always called me that and I am taken up by that name. My daddy was a wanderer I have always been told" She replied with a tense smile and sipped some tea.
Man...I felt like a used tea bag in a dirty coffee cup next to her. "Please tell my why you are not with your mirrored image or with a wearer instead out here by yourself." I asked pointedly.
"Well I just couldn't take it any longer in that dreadful one room box. The Wearer had 76 boxes and each box was assigned to an outfit. My mirror image and I were assigned to a short, sateen, red cocktail dress. If the Wearer didn't want to don the dress we remained in that prison box. I must have some of my daddy's leather genes in me because I began to plot my way out of there. I just hatred that dark, dark place." Ms Fancy dotted the corner of her eyes and took another sip of tea. "I'm sorry for that weak moment I won't let it happen again." "Take your time," I tried to comfort her and had a spot of tea myself.
"I'm better" she said after a substantial pause and continued. "My Wearer and her husband had a fun raiser to attend out of town. She packed our assigned dress so we had some freedom ahead of us. Yes this is when I put my escape into effect. When she was packing to come home she accidentally set me on the edge of the bed. While she was in the other room I slid off the covers and hid behind the bunched up comforter. Here I am today a wiser and happier red patent leather. I have experienced a wonderful life and have never wanted to walk back."
Our next guest is a robust, tooled, brown, cowhide leather cowboy boot which naturally wants me to call him Rex Tex or just Tex. We meet at a local barbecue diner for a beer in Kidder, S.D.
"Good evening Mr. Tex, thank you for meeting me here." I greeted him as he waited for me to take my seat.
"Good even'n Mam" he said with that southern draw and a welcoming smile.
"Would you like to tell me your story and how in the world you ended up here in South Dakota?" I coaxed him to stop drinking and start talking.
" Well ya I wreck'n I mize well get started here before dem routies gets too loud at da bar & you can't hear me" he said in his slow manner as he leaned back in his chair and tossed me a wink.
Wow what a charmer! Well back to the questions before I forget why I'm here.
"Yep I was just like any other cow boot in Texas but I wanted to see this here beautiful countree of hours. Ya can't blame a guy for just pick'n up & move'n on now can ya. Hell I got tired of that same old shit. Day in and day out stepping in horse shit, cattle shit and taken shit from the foremen. So one day I just jumped out the back of de horse trailer Here I am enjoy'n the good ol' life out here under da stars like my ancestors." With that Tex downed another beer. Tex was proud of his heritage and continued to talk about everything unrelated to my topic. Hard as I tried Tex kept veering away from the subject. He had several more beers and became one of the routies before the night was over. I bid him good night and left him with his buddies.
There are so many footwear rebels but we are "running" out of time so I will share with you one more story. No the running used previously was not an accident. Our next guest is a man-made upper done in navy and yellow with leather tread. He is a running shoe called Tenny.
"Well how are you doing this beautiful morning Tenny?" I greeted him as he entered the park near the duck pond in lower New York City. Tenny was without laces and seemed to be enjoy the cool breeze.
"Yo Babe you got somethin hot going on there girl" Tenny did some groovin' moves as he slid over next to me. "Yeah yous and me could get somethin goin' girl"
"Tenny I'm glad you could break away for this interview and answer some questions for me." I tried to keep him at shoelace distance but this dude was really full of himself. " Now tell me why you decided to live on the streets and not with your Wearer."
"Well it's like dis Hot Stuf, how in the world could a star stud like me be stuck with just one Wearer. Get real...I belongs to da world. I enjoys my laces lose & fancy foot free life. I don'ts have to ant sirs to no one and can be where ever I wants to be when I wants to be, dog. Me and my homies gots da life and the rest of da footies just keeps follow sum body elses rules. Hell day can't even decide if day want to have dem fat o' sticky feets in dem all day. Day can't even have a freakin' day off. That ain't da life for me. Me was made for playin' Baby and dat is whats me's gone ah do. Now if yous don't mine, I gots to be chillin' with sum bros n shoots sum hoops." Tenny no more than finished the last word and took off. I didnt' even get a chance to ask him how he made it to the streets.
I have interviewed millions of loners or Rebels, as they prefer to be called, and found out some of their rules for survival. If you recall you never see a Rebel in the upright postion. This isn't an accident. If a vehicle or human is within a mile radius they lay down. They have picked this tactic up from the opposum clan. Now if they are going to rest they usually do this in a secluded area but sometimes the route they are on is too busy and they can't take the risk of being seen moving. So the weary traveler will just lie down in his tracks. Whatever you do...don't touch a Rebel! They fear being taken back to the life they walked away from and they will kick and thamp and then walk all over you. Now think about it....is it worth your reputation. Do you really think anyone is going to believe a shoe with no Wearer could do that to you!
Thank you for letting me slip into your lives and remember the club motto of these Rebel Soles. "You can only feel like a Heel if you don't follow your Sole!" Until next time.....Good Night....Lil Shoehorn.