The other night, I pulled over on the street to change from flats to heels while walking from my apartment to a party in the East Village. As I approached the last 2 blocks, I found a public stoop and took a seat.

I pulled out the right platform boot, and pulled off my slip on sneaker.  As I did this, I had a thought: this is very James Bond.

And with that thought, I got nostalgic for my father, who loved James Bond films. He was a formal man who did very little to enjoy life.  But he did enjoy Bond.  We watched many classics together over the years of my childhood.  So even though die-hards swear by Sean Connery, the Roger Moore ones of that era are my favorite.  The Spy Who Loved Me, and Octopussy, even the not so good A View To A Kill.  Christopher Walken and Grace Jones!

Maybe it was the furtive moment, wanting to be invisible while I changed my shoes, that caused it.  The memory chain that ensued was what I found fascinating.  How an act as ordinary as changing my shoes—something I do every day—that particular moment brought me into my childhood living room, back in a chair next to my father–who has been dead for 12 years–watching a death-defying, slick Bond move from helicopter fight scene to satin sheets to  casino and back again.