My mother was frugal by nature but when it came to purchasing school shoes for our feet money was no object. She often told us that such a luxury was impossible in her big immigrant family. As the youngest child she always wore hand-me-down shoes that were often so badly worn that there were gapping holes in the leather soles. Her mother cleverly inserted cardboard inside to keep them useful for a bit longer. Mama never complained about her childhood predicament but I suspect that it was a source of embarrassment for her. She rectified her own want by providing me and my brothers with sturdy, well fitting footwear that came from the finest makers of children’s shoes. In fact, we regularly visited the local Lippies’ Shoe Store where the parents of one of my classmates were maestros of quality procedures that insured that the shoes we purchased would hug our feet like soft gloves.
I appeared to have fallen arches so Mr. and Mrs. Lippies insisted that I wear oxfords with a steel support to hold my flat feet in the correct position. Finding just the right pair for me was a tedious process that often took well over thirty minutes of intense consideration of my physiological needs before the kindly owners of the store felt that I had the most perfect pair for my feet. Mostly the style never varied. Virtually every time that Mama bought me a new pair of shoes they were saddle oxfords that I might wear to school. I would then use them until I had outgrown them and my toes were pushing painfully at the edges. Continue reading “Saddle Oxfords and Loafers”
It’s been quite some time since I was the mother of elementary and middle school age children. I remember those days as being some of the very best years of my life. I love little babies and toddlers are quite cute but parenting them is extremely exhausting. Ten and twelve year olds on the other hand are pretty much at the perfect time of life. They mostly fend for themselves and they are still innocent enough that they are loads of fun. Still, being responsible for children no matter how old is always very hard work, a full time job. It’s little wonder that nature gave that task to young and energetic adults.
My grandfather was essentially an orphan. His mother died when he was only days old and his father left him in the care of an elderly lady that he called “Grandma.” When he was thirteen his adoptive mother died and he became a ward of the court under the guardianship of an uncle. Somehow in spite of growing up in a most unusual situation he became a great man whose integrity and love were legendary. My father-in-law was raised by an uncle and then later by a group of unmarried aunts. He too is an incredible man who has never had any problems adjusting to life and forming healthy relationships with people. Then there are my brothers and I who grew up in a single parent home plagued by sporadic poverty and mental illness. Somehow we all turned out to be just fine, actually even better than fine. What was the key to all us navigating through life without major problems? I suspect that it was just plain and simple love.
I’m sitting in a waiting room at Methodist Hospital while Mike has some minor surgery. He tends to get cysts in his back that grow until they are pressing on nerves and they sometimes get infected opening the possibility of MRSA. He’s had a couple of the culprits removed over the years so it is a somewhat routine procedure but as we all know anything can happen whenever someone receives an anesthetic and goes under the knife. I suspect that we’ll be headed home in a few hours but I don’t take the process lightly given the seriousness of the pre-operative paperwork and preparation involved. 
All It Takes Is A Little Love 