Piles of Shoes

I realized this week that few things make me feel more at home than big piles of shoes. I'm not talking about opening my closet door to loads and loads of fabulous shoes in shiny red, rough brown, or nautical blue--although, who doesn't love a grand collection of fantastic footwear? I'm talking about the piles of shoes that accumulate next to the front door when family gets together. At Christmas the kids rejoice over the piles of gifts wrapped in green and red Santa paper stacked under the fresh-cut tree, while I rejoice in the piles of shoes dripping with clumps of dirty muck lying in puddles of melted snow inside the doorway. Those piles mean Aunt Marilyn's homemade toffee in the kitchen, pillow forts and mattress bunkers in the basement, and laughter in the living room from memories of dressing up in old-prom dresses just to test the constitution of potential sisters-in-law.

Whether it's piles of sandy sneakers and fish-scented flip flops, or snowy boots stuffed with soggy socks, even dirty hiking shoes caked with twigs and mud, if those piles of footwear mean crowds of family, then start tracking up that freshly-mopped entry way and come on in. Leave your shoes at the door.