Grandma Eve’s Baby Shoes

Last week, while scrolling on Bluesky, I came across a post by a photographer who usually posts photos of mushrooms.

Yes, I follow him for his mushroom shots, they’re quite spectacular and a nice break from ::: waves widely at the all.the.chaos ::: 🙂

However, on this particular day, he posted a vague inquiry about baby shoes which has since been deleted.

Alas, it got it me thinking about my Grandma Eve’s baby shoes that were left to me when she passed away in 1997.

They’re like tiny Mary Janes and worn to bits.

They have (what was once) an off-white canvas exterior, hard soles with metal nails, the sweetest little buttons, and a fluffy, cozy interior.

Probably not incredibly comfortable for her little feet, but she wore them none-the-less and she wore them until her tiny toes started wearing their way out the front, as they tend to do.

I don’t pull them out often, but I wanted to hold them while it was all at the top of my mind, so hold them I did.

I reflected on how fast our babies become children before becoming teens and then striking out in independence…

Our children grow up, create their own lives, and maybe have children of their own.

And the cycle continues.

I never knew Eve the baby or Eve the child…

I didn’t know sulky Eve or newly in love Eve…

I didn’t know pregnant Eve or Mama Eve…

I only knew Grandma Eve, on the other side of her life spectrum…

After her baby girl had a baby girl.

I knew the Eve that smelled of cigarettes and black coffee…

The Eve obsessed with the colors black, white, and tan…

The Eve who spoke of Jazz music and poetry and her Daddy, Dutch, who was her hero and made the most marvelous oatmeal raisin cookies.

But once upon a time she was little and those tiny shoes fit on her tiny feet and she prattled about surely talking someone’s ear off about something because I cannot imagine she didn’t come into this world chatting from go.

Life moves swiftly. Let’s not run too quickly through it, OK?

Onward,

Melissa