Cobbler Comparison and Dream: Yellow legal pad + Uttering of French words = Supernatural Communication

So, I had a crazy dream last night, which left me feeling inexplicably guilty the following morning. I think that the dream stemmed from my recent involvement with a site which promotes international communication - I initially created my profile on it so that I could practice French in a practical environment.
In any case, the dream began with my arrival at my mom's house, presumably coming from my father's house. As I walked up onto the porch, I saw my mother clutching what seemed to be a yellow legal pad, completely absorbed in its contents. Gary stared open-mouthed over her shoulder, and as I took all of this in, I saw Wesley through the window of the front door as he approached with a can of Coke. He opened the door, walked onto the porch, and greeted me, rousing everyone from their yellow-legal-pad-induced reverie.
"What are you guys looking at?" I asked curiously.
"Well," my mom began cautiously, "it seems we've somehow come into contact with a deceased person through this yellow legal pad," at which point she turned the legal pad, where I could see about half a page written in a cursive-like scrawl which was unfamiliar to all of us. It was also around this time that I noticed my French-English dictionary, which I had been given at a book sale, sitting next to her on the porch bench.
"Why is that there?" I inquired, pointing to the heavy book.
Gary answered this time, "Oh, we've found that the 'ghost,' 'phantom,' what-have-you - it seems that it will only respond when we question it in French, but when it responds on the pad, it responds in English."
"That's weird," I said, though curious now to undertake this challenge of French speaking skills. "Let me try for a minute." I took the legal pad and walked to the opposite side of the porch, where I read and absorbed the contents of the ghost's answers. It seemed like my mother had been questioning the ghost mainly about the circumstances surrounding its death, which had, or so I read, something to do with the deceased's father. My mother proceeded to ask something along the lines of "Did you and your father always have problems?" because the answer scrawled after the first one involved an abusive childhood dominated by the austere presence of a belligerent, drunken-father. I pondered what a good follow-up question might be to this.
"Apres que vous avez demenage de la maison de votre pere, est-ce qu'avez-vous passe une vie contente?" (which translates to "After you moved from your father's house, did you have a happier life?"). I thought that this question would work, owing to the fact that it wasn't nearly as personal as my mother's two previous questions - it left him room to fabricate, if he needed to - and it dealt with his joy rather than his sorrow. Standing with the pad on the wooden banister of the porch, I asked the question aloud in French. I felt silly, and I decided that I would only stand waiting like an idiot for a minute before giving the pad back to my mother. However, just when I was about to rejoin my mom, Wesley, and Gary on the other side of the porch, the cursive-style writing began to appear, and as I squinted my eyes to discern the beginning of the sentence, I woke up, feeling at first extremely exasperated that I didn't get to read the message, and then oddly guilty, what with my unconscious mind straying toward these strange depictions of the occult, which is never a good thing to mess with. In any case, it was an interesting dream.
I finally spoke aloud a riddle-type thing that I have been composing in my mind for a while now, which I have entitled the cobbler comparison, due to its ability to extend to just about anyone's general unsatisfaction with relationships, from common friendships to those which may be far more complex. My audience was Wesley and my mom, as we were walking Kalyn and Bear in the neighborhood tonight, and they offered an interesting commentary (the reason I started to ramble about it in the first place was because Wesley had a falling-out with one of his friends and was starting to vent about it, and so I figured the cobbler comparison would fit into the conversation quite nicely, which, surprisingly, it did). Anyways, here is a rough written version.
So, there's a poor cobbler who lives on the outskirts of a fairly-large city; he's taken up the family job, which is obviously cobbling, and he's good at it, and mostly content with his life. Now that his parents have passed away, the only thing that he lacks in his life is a wife with whom he can settle down and start a family - so he whittles away his days, making shoes and selling to the occasional customer, wondering when the love of his life might walk in.
One day, an unexpected woman, a resident of one of the more lavish apartments of downtown, wanders in curiously after taking the wrong bus. Charmed by some je-ne-sais-quoi which dominates the atmosphere of the shoe store, she shops around for a while, assisted by the eager cobbler, who is just as interested in her as she is in the store's atmosphere. She finds the nicest pair of women's shoes in the store and decides to buy them; while ringing up the shoes, the cobbler promises that if she returns at least once a month, he will continually update his women's stock, making finer shoes even than the ones that she purchased. Pleased with her purchase and entertained by the cobbler, she promises - and indeed returns.
Each month he supplies her with new shoes (each pair with a considerable discount that she knows nothing about) and as the months progress, their small-talk between purchases transforms into the chatting of friends. They go out to coffee a few times, and the cobbler begins to wonder if he has found the girl that he has been looking for. However, after six months of good fortune, things begin to go downhill - one month passes without the girl coming back as she had promised; he sadly stores away the shoes on the very last hour of the last day of the month. When she comes back half a month later and the cobbler asks for an explanation, she explains briskly that she had received a promotion, which made her life twice as busy as it was before - meaning also that she didn't have time to go out to coffee with the cobbler that night; in fact, she chooses to add, she has a date with one of her colleagues. She doesn't go out and say that it is a date, but as the cobbler rings up the shoes, he can discern what she expects of it from the light in her eyes. He closes shop up early that night, sad and unsure of what he should do; yet, he is convinced by this point that Fate has intervened in his existence - this girl has so radically changed his life from how it was before that she must - she must - still have some part to play. He decides that it is his turn to act.
From beneath his bed he pulls his secret stash of the finest shoe-making materials available to any cobbler - using all of the skills taught to him by his father, he begins to piece together the most beautiful shoes he can imagine, crafted, of course, for the beautiful woman whom he wants to make his bride. He determines that if he puts three months of work into the shoes, they'll be ready by Christmas - then, he plans to declare his love to the woman.
The months pass, and the woman doesn't break her promise again; however, her visits are short and aloof - occasionally she talks on her cell phone the whole time that she is in the store, and she never goes out for coffee anymore. This distance only makes the cobbler work harder on the gift he is secretly crafting for her.
One morning in November, he goes into work to find that his stash of fine leather has been raided in the night - furious, he stomps back into the security room to watch the footage from the cameras. Around 3 in the morning, he sees a car which is unmistakably his beloved's car pull up outside of his store; from the passenger seat emerges a strange man whom he has never seen before - it is this man that steals the materials, and his beloved who drives the getaway car. Hoping that he is mistaken, he waits a whole month for his beloved to come to his store - when she doesn't, he contacts one of her colleagues and inquires about her whereabouts.
"Oh, she didn't tell you?" the colleague says into the phone. "She moved up to Ontario and married some cobbler - his father had a store up there, and now he makes tons of money off of his fine Italian leather shoes. As for her, she's got it made." The cobbler hangs up the phone. He wonders how the girl of his dreams could have allowed another man to steal his materials for the former's benefit. Most of all, and this is the question - If you were the cobbler, would you destroy the shoes that you had made (assuming that they were crafted specifically for this woman and could never be the gift of another) or would you somehow get them to the girl in Ontario, owing to the fact that the shoes, through the beauty of the cobbler's selfless art, represent a person's purest ideal form - and the fact that the person that the girl once had been must still reside in her somewhere - (and in any case, the shoes would be of no other use) - ? Which one?