Confessions of a Grandma

I wrote this poem in 2010 and posted it once before.  In light of my recent shoe obsession and the fact that April is National Poetry Month, I repeat it here. Shopping for School Shoes From the parking lot of Abernathy's-- where Dad waits, listening to the Red Sox, playing ersatz head coach and umpire both shouting over the static of the car radio-- Mom and I walk through the back door, right into the shoe department with its unctuous wooden panels and little altars lined with footwear, the air thick with the incense of leather. Mr. Adams, priest-like in his dark suit, cloud-white shirt and shiny black shoes, greets us, solemnly nodding his head. Quietly I sit beside my mother. The worn seat gives a soft whoosh and the chrome edge cools my shin. My yearning eyes take in penny loafers, white Keds sneakers, and -- Oh -- buttery soft slip-ons with ribbon bows. A fetish chosen, I bow my head in prayer... " Thou shalt not put false gods bef...

Seriously???!!!??? The always charmingly amusing Margaret Finnegan  has posted about ugly shoes.  I would say that these qualify for that designation. Beyond that--poster child for ending violence against women?  This is surely kin to foot binding, when broken, folded up feet that hobbled women was the ideal.  A helpless women is a sexy woman?  Really, are there still those who believe that? ***   

I read recently that the expensive walking shoes actually are hard on the knees.  This gave a slight bit of vindication.  I do have walking shoes that I wear out on a regular basis.  I have always hated spending the money for somethng that just does not last very long. Part of the problem, perhaps, is the shape of my feet.  With narrow heels and wide forefoot (Hm, sound duck-like), something is always rubbing or pinching.  Holes wear into the shoes OR (worse) into my feet.  In either case, out those shoes have to go. However, a couple of years ago, I bought these Speedo brand flip flops.  They are by far the most comfortable things I have ever had on my feet except warm, cozy socks.  And I can wear them while walking, even a brisk exercise walk, if the weather permits bare toes.  They cling to my feet--no rubbing, no pinching.  There is enough cushion on the bottom and a quick swish in sudsy water and a rinse off keep them fairly clean...

It was here this morning--a covering of frost on the car and the lawn.  Now we know it is really autumn.  I took a ride to my daughter's yesterday.  She was busy preparing and painting the floor in Kristen's new bedroom.  My son-in-law had put the windows in and was working on siding the house exterior.  So it was play time for grandma and the kids and we were off and running for the day--plenty of silliness and fresh air.  I slept really soundly last night.  I probably wasn't the only one.  Great to have fun and feel useful at the same time. Today was spent doing some "put the gardens to bed" chores.  It's a process, a work in progress.  The garden I can most easily see from the house is still ablaze with marigolds and phlox so I can hang onto that summertime feeling a bit longer even as I put the sandals in storage boxes (ready to load into the car for the trip to Florida in January) and pull out the thick socks. PhotoXpress.com ...

The theme of the poetry workshop I am attending this month is "school." This was what I was inspired to write. Shopping for School Shoes From the parking lot of Abernathy's-- where Dad waits, listening to the Red Sox, playing ersatz head coach and umpire both shouting over the static of the car radio-- Mom and I walk through the back door, right into the shoe department with its unctuous wooden panels and little altars lined with footwear, the air thick with the incense of leather. Mr. Adams, priest-like in his dark suit, cloud-white shirt and shiny black shoes, greets us, solemnly nodding his head. Quietly I sit beside my mother. The worn seat gives a soft whoosh and the chrome edge cools my shin. My yearning eyes take in penny loafers, white Keds sneakers, and -- Oh -- buttery soft slip-ons with ribbon bows. A fetish chosen, I bow my head in prayer. " Thou shalt not put false gods before me ." On this, Mother and Mr. Adams agree. In stocking feet, I step on th...