When I was six years old, my big brother got married on a snowy day in February. I was the flower girl with ivy in my hair and a green velvet dress to match the big girl bridesmaids. My shoes, purchased from Karlson’s Shoe Store in Hinsdale, were custom-dyed green to match my lovely dress. I felt elegant, even though my feet were squeezed tightly in the green shoes, the formerly white Kickette pumps, that betrayed because they shrank during the dye job. They pinched my feet. After the wedding, it was snowing outside and my shoes got wet on the way back to the car. When we got home and the shoes came off, some of the green in the shoes washed out, but my lacy white ankle socks and feet were green. The little green shoes live on in a plastic bag on a shelf in my closet, waiting for someone to pick them up and remember.