Zero Waste Wednesday: How I (sorta) saved my favorite sandals

Once upon a time, like when Jared and Brandi got married in 2007, I bought a new pair of Taos sandals to wear to their wedding.

Those things cost $60 on sale, but they were comfortable and, as I couldn't find anything else that would work--with time running out, naturally--I just went with it.

That was maybe the best $60 I've ever spent because I still have those sandals, and they are my favorite. They're super comfortable and they've worn like iron. Just by looking at them, you'd never guess they were eight years old.

Well, when my feet are in them, anyway:

Thank you for not making fun of my feet.

Here's what they look like without my feet. Not quite so great:

Thrashed is an understatement.

I took them to a shoe repair place a couple of years ago when the insoles were just beginning to tear, but the guy didn't have the resources--or maybe the resources don't even exist--to actually fix the problem. He just put some kind of resin or something on the holes and called it a day. But that wasn't the permanent fix I was looking for, and, to top it off, the insoles began to rip even worse after treatment.

Irony! But I still couldn't bring myself to toss them. I like them that much.

Now here's where our story takes a turn: Last fall, when I went into one of our local shoe stores, I saw a display of these:

Made in Oregon!

They're called Soxsols. Here's how the website explains them:

Soxsols are 100% machine washable, hybrid socks/insoles, designed for use in a variety of sockless footwear such as: sandals, high heels, flats and many children's shoes. Soxsols provide clean, reusable comfort and extend the life of your footwear.

So I was all like, huh, this might be perfect for fixing my sandals. I actually bought two pairs--one for my sandals, and another for these little cuties. My feet do not normally smell when I wear shoes, but wow, they really do when I wear these. And the Soxsols have really, really helped.

Too much info, probably. You guys, a blogger's life is an open book. Except for all those chapters I refuse to write.

So anyway, Eric cut a set to fit my sandals, and here's how we look now, with feet... and without:

Sorta better.

Maybe I should have chosen the beige insoles?

Hmm. It's obviously not a perfect fix, which bums me out. And okay, the Soxsols kind of slide around when there's no shoe wall to bump up against (I don't have that problem with my other shoes). So it turns out that I'm going to need to buy a new pair of sandals anyway, but for $15, at least I was able to keep these old standbys in the closet and out of the landfill. I figure I'll just use them like I'd use flip flops, were I still buying flip flops (kind of miss them, not going to lie, but I can't bring myself to purchase something that will literally end up in the dumpster at the end of the summer).

And that's how I (sorta) saved my favorite sandals.

The end.

Surprise!

Figure 1

It's not every day you come home from school and find an Easter egg hunt in your yard, but that's exactly what happened to Johanna Friday afternoon.

Let's set this up a little: Fridays are generally my early days off from work, and Johanna had requested that I pick her up instead of waiting for Eric to come at 4:15 p.m. When we drove up to the house, Johanna was like, Mom, what's that egg carton doing on the driveway? and I was all, oh, probably just a flyaway from the recycling bin.

I asked her to pick it up on her way in the house for me. Because I am lazy. She did, of course.

Turns out it wasn't a flyaway egg carton after all. Johanna had been "egged" by an anonymous person who had hidden 12 plastic Easter eggs in the yard (Johanna was perplexed at first--we have three yards and she wasn't sure which one to start with), 11 of which were filled with candy and surprises. The 12th egg was empty, like the tomb. Well, that's the whole point, you know.

Johanna actually asked for permission to start hunting--uh, what? She found eight fairly quickly, and lined them up by color (lucky she's organized like that, 'cause she realized there were two of each, which helped narrow down what she was looking for at the end).

Whoever hid these did a REALLY good job. It wasn't a throw a bunch of eggs in the yard and call it a day kind of thing--those puppies were hidden very carefully, and very well. The very last egg--a purple one--was hiding in the phlox. At that point, I was wondering if maybe we'd never find it. 

That was a whole half-hour of entertainment. Super, super cool.

I have a feeling this is the work of the Jesuit volunteers in town--they have lots of energy--but the two I talked with at Mass that night denied any responsibility.

Curiouser and curiouser.

So that was unexpected. Here's a closing shot of Johanna with her color-coordinated eggs. I just realized she's got them rainbow-sorted:

Figure 2

Thank you, anonymous egg hider! That was fun. :)

UPDATE: The Jesuit volunteers all deny responsibility, so now I'm really stumped...

Anxiety Level: High

Source

Remember how George W. had that terror warning system that told us where the national threat level was at? That's what came to mind this week in regards to my anxiety. Anxiety Level: High. Scratch that: It's super high. What's higher than high? It's a red alert kind of ordeal.

I feel terrible.

I'm at a loss in regards to why my anxiety is through the roof. I filter all my emotions through my stomach, but as I tried to think of what might be causing me stress, I kept coming up blank.

Work is going well. My house is uncluttered and relatively clean, thanks to a Monday-night all-family on deck dirt smackdown. I've been eating well (no three-ingredient mints or chips for me). Eric is fine, the girls are fine, even Skilly is fine. Things are fine.

So why is my stomach all DANGER DANGER DANGER?

I have no idea.

Maybe there's nothing to analyze. My first instinct when things go south is to try to figure out why. Maybe there is no why. Maybe this is just what it's like to be me. Maybe I'm just anxious because I am.

Huh.

The dumb thing is that, as I've written this (the whole ten minutes that took), I've started to feel better. So either the meds are kicking in (a couple hours late, the jerks) or writing helps. It's probably both.

Hey, have you guys heard about the gut brain? Here's some junk I found on the internets that explains all that:

Here
Here
Here

I think it's rather fascinating, and it makes me feel better in a general kind of way, like I'm not really crazy, it's just that I have a highly developed gut brain. Although, irony, as I was researching, I started to feel worse. And now that I've stopped, I feel okay(ish) again.

Whatever, I guess. My stomach sucks.