Quest

Tuesday I noticed that one of my favorite pairs of flats were ready for the trash heap. Now, I am not one to toss clothing and shoes if they can be repaired, but the challenge of finding a shoe repair place in lower Dutchess County seems to be akin to seeking the Holy Grail, which in my case is either finding a hairstylist with a modicum of trend awareness and skill or a clothing store that fills the fashion gap existing between ho-hum and just-plain-ho.

The hair issue is really bugging because it's time. I need a trim, and there's no going back to the last place. While there are a deluge of hair salons in lower Dutchess, there is a genuine derth of shoe repair shops. In Manhattan, you need only hobble to the cobbler for sole salvation, but I have driven around and around without spotting a single "shoemaker". That is what we called the shoe repair shops in my neck of Pittsburgh. I suspect that, at one time, those old Polish and Italian guys did actually make shoes.

I suppose in lower Dutchess County, no one worries about repairing worn shoes. I suppose hunting shoes and hip waders don't wear out, and for those non-hunting and non-fishing moments, bare feet or flip flops seem to fit the bill. I suppose those who can afford the mortgage and taxes on a five-bedroom house and the gas bills for three SUVs are not into repairing shoes. Repairing is so "borough". Besides, how else will we defeat the terrorists and show our solidarity if not by plastering our gas-guzzling vehicles in bumper stickers and consuming? Stimulate the economy -- Consume! Consume! Consume!

Lately, I have been a little down-and-out. I turn forty in mid-June, and I think I am in the midst of some sort of crisis. I am acting out of character. I have been noticing "hot" guys. Normally, one might think that such behaviour suggests something is afoul between my man and I, but that is not the case. I am not looking around. I am not looking to trade, but I am suddenly, inexplicably l-o-o-k-i-n-g. I have never been the l-o-o-k-i-n-g type. I do not assess men as meat. I do not have lust in my heart for strangers.

And yet, I am fantasizing about a motorcycle ride with the tattoo artist near my favorite Vietnamese place. I am dreaming about loft living with an artisan/carpenter without electricity. I am not seeking someone, but something. I feel restless; I need an adventure. A bit scary, as I can be rather impulsive at times, and I shudder to think of the consequences of piercing my lip just to feel adventurous, hip, and relevant.

Speaking of hip and relevant, I finished knitting Lasso, but I was too busy hunting for a hair salon that actually means "Walk-ins Welcome" to be bothered to troll the aisles of a big-box craft retailer in search of the hardware needed to complete the belt.

Pictures tomorrow -- provided I haven't run off to join the circus.

Edited to add: I took the liberty of looking up "shoe repair" in the Dutchess County phonebook. I choose that over the Hudson Valley phonebook because I didn't want to know about the 100 shoe repair shops in Galupville or Hoosick. There are eight shoe repair shops listed. One of them is actually in Putnam County, and two of them are in the state of Connecticut. That leaves THREE. I do not exaggerate the sad state of affairs in these parts.