This February is the eleventh anniversary of my mum’s death. I still can’t fully comprehend where that time has gone. So much and so little has happened in the intervening years:
- Four family trips to Jamaica, the land of her birth.
- Our daughter going to university.
- Brexit in the UK.
- The global pandemic.
- Liz Truss.
All the above would have involved some active participation and discussion with mum.

So today, in celebration of her life, I want to share a short story based on the boots we found while sorting through her belongings:
Lime green cowboy boots
The three of us gaze in silence at the boots tucked neatly inside a tissue-filled cream cardboard box. Laughter follows, mixed with some hysteria, as we throw back our heads and howl.
Questions tumble out as each of us struggles to make sense of what we have uncovered, sorting through mum’s things.
It’s the lime we comment on first.
‘Is that for real?’
‘Where did they come from?’
‘Why lime?’
One of us, I can’t remember who lifts them from the box, which is when we discover that they are cowboy boots with toes so pointed it doesn’t seem physically possible for anything to reach the end.
This additional discovery, a winkle-picker boot with a two-and-a-half-inch Cuban heel, send us off again.
‘They must have been a bargain she couldn’t resist.’
‘She might have bought them for Jamaica.’
‘Are they brand new?’
We examine the boots more closely. There are no visible marks or creases on either foot.
I trace my fingers along the dark stitching that swirls around the top of the foot and winds its way to the pull strap at the top of the boot: Julianne, my middle sister, takes a big whiff and comments on the clean new smell of the leather.
Belinda, our youngest, turns the boot over and examines the sole.
‘Look at this,’ she points at a speckled stain, a rough patch. We take turns rubbing our fingers over the textured surface and realise that these boots have been worn.
They have been out in public.
We are silent again as each of us struggles to picture our 70-year-old mum in a pair of lime green, mid-calf length, winkle-picker cowboy boots complete with Cuban heels.
There are more questions as we speculate on the number of times Mum has worn them. All three of us agree, more than once, judging by the condition of the sole.
‘Girl’s night out?’
‘Must have been. Did she ever mention line dancing?’
‘Can’t remember, I bet it was a Christmas do. Someone will have pictures.’
Now the boots are out of the box, the next logical thing to do is try them on. Like one of Cinderella’s sisters, I go first as I pull and squeeze my size 7s into the boots. My two sisters double up again as I totter slightly; it’s been years since I wore anything higher than a one-inch heel.
Feeling the sharpness of the toes, I’m impressed that anyone could walk in these, let alone dance in them. And looking down at my lime green feet, I wonder what our fashion-conscious mum chose to wear with them. I share this with my sisters, and the three of us come up with two viable options:
Option one
A pair of jeans, no one thinks a skirt is credible – accompanied by a stripy top, most likely blue and white with horizontal stripes. Vertical stripes were never mum’s thing.
Option two
White trousers narrow enough for mum to tuck them inside the calf-length boots, and a plain denim shirt, possibly accompanied by a scarf.
We agree that option two makes more of a statement. If you choose to wear a pair of lime green, winkle-picker cowboy boots, there is no point in putting them on unless they are going to be the centrepiece of your entire outfit.
‘Go, mum.’
Until next time.
Janice Taylor
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