Shoes for defense. No, shoes for de feet.

Robi, was that us when we were younger? Anyway, I went shoe shopping yesterday. Not because I'm a girl and "needed" them. But because both pairs that I wear to work and to church need a trip to the shoe repair shop for new heels.

After putting the first coat on the trim around the window, I sluiced off and drove to the Galleria. This is a place where, years ago, a local DJ said that people went to Valley View to buy clothes good enough to wear to North Park in order to buy clothes good enough to wear shopping at Galleria.

It may not be that ritzy now. But I did put on my best jeans and a scarf and earrings. And I got exceptional if unfruitful service at Nordstrom's, where I confirmed my suspicion that the patent Dansko's were not going to have enough give at the ankles for my poor abused feet.

So I ambled on down to The Walking Company and walked out with a black pair and a brown pair in basic leather in the closest men's size. I've been wearing men's sneakers for two or three years now. Just a little bit wider. Just a little bit higher in the arch. Bliss.

I then walked over to Pottery Barn and spent the last of the gift cards on a short bench or tall footstool. It will go in front of my favorite chair. The red velvet upholstery should be a close match with the red circles on the seat cushion. I just plunked the stool down in front of the bookcase and headed straight for the kitchen.

I had promised to take brownies for the YW fundraiser. I didn't promise to bake them. So three big brownies from Braum's on a plate and into a gallon bag. Times six. A bowl of raisin bran and back out the door. The last time I ate spaghetti at church, my ankles blew up. I dropped off the brownies, said hi to some of my friends, and made a quick run to the grocery store. Then home and reading and bed.

Weird dreams. I think I must be processing the stress of the past few weeks. Government plots. Sabotage. People glowing in the dark. It was something of a relief to wake at 3:00 for a comfort break.

Church in six hours. And only the barest idea of how to manage Sharing Time.