Becoming doctor Shoesenstein. Part 1.

Shoes and the Frankenstein story have not much in common. But in my case it has. Doctor Frankenstein created a monster by putting together animal and dead human parts. What I did? I didn't went that far away to bring my 'creature' to life, however I created my kind of monster. I will brag a little - mine came out beautiful.  

Several years ago in the window shop I saw violet sneakers who looked like Converse kind. But only looked like. Even blind could recognize that it wasn't. Nonetheless I liked them, the price was less than 10 euros and I needed simple, but cheeky shoes. All conditions worked together perfectly well to the only outcome - the purchase. Did I expected quality? Not so sure. I expected to be lucky enough to pay a little and accidentally get that one pair out of hundreds which will be actually made good by shoe gods out of bad and pretty bad. My luck took a rain check that day. Or it was another proof that neither gods nor good quality cheap shoe pairs exist. Just after several walks and one heavy rain I realized that my new shoes started to leak and my feet are wet. On the sole I saw holes. Practically they were made out of paper or dissolving chewing gum. What do I expect. I never wore them again but couldn't just throw out, because the rule 'Scrooge pays twice' would be proven once again. 

So I did what we all do in this kind of situation - took a bag and out of my sight swearing to deal with this problem later or until I forget that there was a hesitation and put shoes in the garbage where they belonged. It's not only with the shoes that I have a problem to throw out. The same with clothes. That's how my wardrobe becomes bigger and bigger, almost exploding and the end result 'I have nothing to wear' with the beginning of hoarding. 
They sat in the back of my wardrobe for couple of years. The only light of day they saw was when I accidentally took the bag for other one thinking that there are my summer shoes. But one day I remembered my love to fixing what is broken. Somewhere in my mind is a ball of thoughts about the things which are tore apart but still might be useful one day. I have ideas how to make them good again or incorporate somewhere, but sometimes it feels like waiting for other parts to appear that I could start or finish. Sometimes those parts are time and will.  

With violet sneakers I wanted to see my own limits or lack of them, because I just like to do the impossible. I just can't agree with common sense 'if shoes are torn you bring them to a shoemaker or you throw them away. You don't try to fix them yourself without proper equipment'. That's why sometimes when telling people that I'm sewing and fixing my shoes makes me crouch, like I'm stepped into the territory where I'm absolutely out of my league and I'm so unprepared that it's almost a straight railroad to big embarrassment. No one sews their shoes at home. No one. Unless they are shoemakers. I'm positive that I don't fall in that category. But still my urge was bigger than my fear of future shame. Like doctor Frankenstein I was lead by ambition. And ambitions are train wrecks. I wanted to try, wanted to see if it is possible. It is. This spring my shoes will start their first season as a green with white flowers pair. And only then I will see if my ambitions misled me like the doctor and I will lose something. Like the shoe sole and my pride. In public.