My grandmother is never without a pair of slippers. She has big pairs and small pairs, new pairs and pairs that are so worn that you can feel the cold floor beneath your feet as you walk. At her house it is an unspoken rule that everyone wear slippers. No one lets their bare feet touch the cold tiles of her floor. 

My grandmother grew up poor, a Jewish girl in a war torn country. So now, to protect your feet, or her feet, or that young girls feet, she never walks barefoot. She has more pairs that I have fingers to count them with. She gives that girl’s feet a chance to rest.  Whenever I go to her house, I go to her closet and take out my pair of slippers - soft, fuzzy, size 11 slippers she bought just for me. Because my grandmother cannot stand to see another child with cold feet like hers. 

My grandmother is always moving,  always busy, always bustling around. She stands as she cooks and as she cleans. I never see her sit down and take a break. She is always on her feet, always in slippers.

My grandmother loves people with her slippers. If she loves you, she will give you two pairs: one for you, the other for her to at your house. I would know. My house is full of her slippers. My grandmother’s house is also full of slippers, and my grandfather’s feet never get cold.

My grandmother goes to the pool every week. Even then, she is not barefoot. She wears pool shoes in the water; her feet never touch the smooth bottom. And when she gets out, she steps into her flip-flops, always sitting by the water’s edge for her. When she sleeps, she wears socks. 

I have never seen my grandmother walk barefoot, never seen her feet touch the tile floors of her house without a pair of slippers.