I am more or less recovered from my trip to California and trying to get back into the swing of things.  Actually got back into writing (or at least plotting) today.

But I wanted to relate a funny thing that happened while I was in California. 

Rob's mother lives in a shi-shi retirement community by the beach.  All of her loved ones know to take their shoes off before entering her apartment, to avoid getting sand on everything.  We all leave our shoes lined up outside the door, which opens out into an interior hallway in a secure building.

So one afternoon we are preparing to go out to dinner, and I walk out to get my shoes, and one of them is missing.  Just one.  Everyone else's shoes are present and accounted for.  We launched a search; we went up and down the hallways, checked the trash room and out by the pool and anywhere I'd been (lest I'd become distracted removing my shoes and left one someplace, which isn't out of the realm of possibility).

No shoe.

We contacted the front desk and checked the lost and found.  We talked to housekeeping and maintenance people.  No one had come across a lone athletic shoe.

The shoes were a bit worn, and it wouldn't have been such a tragedy but for one thing: my custom orthotic was in that shoe.  These suckers cost hundreds of dollars to replace.  Worse, if I had to truck through airports and parking lots in bad shoes with no arch supports, I would be in a world of pain.

When the shoe failed to turn up, Rob and I borrowed my m-i-l's car and drove to the local mall to try and find replacement athletic shoes.  But no one carried the brand I prefer, and I didn't want to spend a lot of money on shoes I might not like.  So we stopped at a drug store, bought some Dr. Scholl generic orthotics, and went home.

I put the lone remaining shoe outside the door, thinking perhaps it might replicate itself, or call to its mate.  And that is exactly what happened.  The next day the shoe reappeared, complete with orthotic (though missing a sock).

We still aren't sure what happened, but here's the theory:  An elderly person walking a big dog failed to notice when said pooch picked up my shoe.  Some distance away, the dog owner discovered his or her dog had a new playtoy but had no idea where it came from.  Then, on another walk down the hall, the owner spotted the shoe I'd put out as bait, put two and two together, and covertly returned the purloined footwear.  (Perhaps Fido ate my sock.)

And that is the tale of the missing shoe.

Thanks for visiting,

Kara