10 Things: Shoes

Name the first 10 Things that come to you when I say the word “Shoes.”  Then scroll down to see what I came up with.  Go! Run! Shoe!

~

~

~

~

~

~

~

~

~

~

1.  My stepfather’s boots.  

2.  My Teva sandals and my running shoes.  I’m usually barefoot.  These are the most likely shoes to find on my feet. 

3.  My $3 black heels from Savers in Albuquerque.  The only comfortable pair of heels I’ve ever had.  I’ve worn them twice.  

4. Screaming shoes, a.k.a. any shoe for Sonar X7 up to a pair of red Keane’s last fall. Child hated shoes for most of his life.  Not just that he didn’t want to wear them.  They caused him to melt into a screaming mess as if they were burning his feet.  

5. Brand new white soccer cleats.  I guess these make me a soccer mom again?  Reminds me of an Everclear song.  Except I drive a VW, not a Volvo.  Also no experience in adult media.  *cough* Never mind. 

6. I do not comprehend the fascination of some people with designer shoes.  They look like torture.  Maybe @shaydenFL gets them?  If not he can add them to his list of #shitidontget

7. In middle school I really wanted a pair of huarache sandals.  I got them eventually.  I never ever wanted a pair of jellies though.  Or crocs.

8.  Baby shoes are completely pointless.  Ditto baby socks unless it’s cold.  Just one more (small, easily losable) thing to keep up with. 

9. When my brother (five years younger) grew to have the same size feet as me.  I was in eight or ninth grade. We shared my huarache sandals for an afternoon. 

10.  White canvas Keds.  This was my go-to shoe for many years.  Cheap and easy.  In high school they were my marching band shoes.  We slathered white shoe polish right on the canvas to cover stains.  When they were too raunchy for marching band, I’d scribble all over them. 

Bonus: “SHOES” by Kelly. Betch. 

Comments:

This list was strangely difficult for me.  I got sort of stuck on details for number one.  A snapshot of the details…

My step-father grew up in New York State, where he started his career as a police officer.  I don’t know what kind of shoes he wore there.  Some sort of standard issue glossy black dress shoes, I suppose.  But when he moved to Albuquerque he always wore black cowboy boots with his uniform.  They probably took twice as long to polish as dress shoes.  He had a boot jack to pull them off of his hot feet at night.  When he went to plain-clothes work, he still wore boots.  Usually brown.  Still took forever to keep polished.  He wore his service weapon in a holster on his belt or under a sport coat.  He loved cowboy boots because he could keep a small gun in a clip holster inside the top of his left boot.  Just in case.  Cowboy boots as secret weapon cache. 

What were your 10 Shoes?  What kind of shoes do you wear to work?  Do you have any shoes with a story? 

When the kids go to school, a fantasy.

Next week, all of my kids will be in school for the first time.  Some parents might feel a bittersweet sense of melancholy and excitement over this milestone.  I’ll save you that cliche.  I’m excited for them, but mostly I’m totally thrilled to recapture some independence from my kids.  To reclaim an identity independent of being a mother.  People keep asking me what I’m going to do with my time when the kids are at school.  Generally I glare at them and say that I will do all the stuff I do now, just alone.  You know, the laundry and bread and groceries don’t leave when the kids do.  When I’m feeling friendly, I tell people that I’m going to write.  But there will be so much more than that. 

Here’s what I’m going to do.

I will eat whenever I want, or not at all.  I might drink beer with lunch.  I will write all day long.  I will listen to NPR and hear every story from beginning to end.  I will listen to loud music or no music at all.  I will spend all morning in the art museum in front of one painting, then write about it all afternoon.  I will sit on the beach in a sweater when it’s cold, writing and eating an apple.  I will run if I feel like it.  I will buy groceries at the speed I choose, with no arguments about cereal.  I will write about the produce manager singing in the deli.  I will read whole chapters and articles without interruption.  I will have tea with friends, uncensored.  Occasionally I will nap.  I will kidnap my spouse for lunch sometimes and make people gossip.  I will hang out at the library for hours, reading and writing.  I will plan and build and write and make.  I will figure out what I’m going to do when I grow up. 

Then I’ll be waiting with snacks when the kids rush through the door. 

Random Thursday Question

This is a placeholder. A diversion. So you won’t notice that I haven’t posted promised blog entries. Hey! Look over there!

How did you come up with the name of your first pet? 

Have you ever seen an Irish Setter? They’re really beautiful dogs. Their fur is long and silky, in tones that range from shiny copper penny to rich chestnut. 

Part of my family always had dogs, but my first dog was an Irish Setter named Rosie. We were puppies together. I was her person. As she grew into a large dog, she guarded the perimeter of my blanket and play space. She prevented my escape with gentle nudges. She growled-a deep, quiet rumble in her chest-at any approaches she did not approve. If the story is credible, she once faced down an uncle—hackles raised, fully snarly and scary. Rosie died when I was in high school. Partly crippled by arthritis, and mostly blinded by cataracts. She lived a good, long, happy life in a big yard with a warm bed. 

I don’t know who named her. I was barely more than a baby. Two years old. She was pedigreed, so Rosie was only her nickname. Her full name is lost to me. The nickname was surely chosen in part because she was a red dog. A beautiful, shiny, red dog. 

How about you? Any pets? Any good names? How did you choose the name?

Eglentyne and Rosie. She’d just had her first puppies. From the pants I’d guess around 1976 or 77. Why don’t I have pants like that now?!

Absurd Self-Revelation

I carry one bag (loathe the word ‘purse’) most of the time. Sometimes, I use a second, slightly larger bag instead. Very occasionally, I use a behemoth bag. This is what I carry with me.

Bag 1: The every day bag

Contents of my bag, click to embiggen (I hope)

From right to left (more or less): the Texas wallet (you’ll just have to imagine the cards, bills, notes, and sometimes money in there), sock yarn, pens, two packs of gum, band-aids, knitting needles, keys, and trash (tissue, wrappers, wadded up note, and movie stubs).

Bag 2: The slightly larger, slightly nicer bag

The additional contents of bag 2. Let me know what happens if you click it.In this bag I carry everything from bag one (I just dump it in there) plus: more knitting needles, writing implements, and tissue, chapstick, spare change, and random niceness cards (for leaving randomly to spread niceness—yeah, I do that sometimes, but don’t worry, I’m still a hermity misanthrope at heart). The blue paper with tic marks and a thank you message used to be wrapped around a pen from the first bag, but was co-opted by a child for a boredom project.

Bag 3: The gigantic purse with purple zebra stripes

The contents of bag 3. Does this one get bigger?

In addition to many things from the other bags, this monster mom-bag contains: more pens and change, crayons, playing cards, a notebook to jot down books to read, sticky notes, hair-taming devices, tiny altoids, a volunteer badge from the kids’ school, two buttons, paperclips, and a rock. I don’t know where the rock came from, from I’d be willing to bet all that change that I know who put it in there.

What’s missing:

The cell phone (charging), the camera (sometimes), a water bottle (in the fridge), a book, children’s hands, and my sanity.

What’s in your bag? 

A Shout Out to Sonar X9 edition of 10 Things: Running

Tomorrow is Armed Forces Day in the U.S., a holiday to honor soldiers serving in our five military branches.  Corpus Christi, Texas will also host the 35th annual Beach to Bay Relay Marathon.  Teams of six runners, in the heat and humidity of the early Texas summer (with a threat of thunderstorms), take to the streets, traveling from North Padre Island, over the John F. Kennedy causeway bridge, through Naval Air Station Corpus Christi, and finishing at Cole Park in downtown Corpus Christi.  Each runner takes a leg of about 4 to 4.5 miles beginning at 7 a.m. and finishing when the last walkers and runners cross the finish line and stumble into line for beer and pizza.  

This is no little deal, my friends.  An astonishing 15,000 runners and walkers from all over the world are participating this year.  Among the runners are Sonar X9 and his team of classmates from school.  Eight fourth-graders (some will do their portions together), nine and ten years old, will run the course, each for the first time.  Am I proud?  Heck yeah!  Am I nervous?  Hell yes.  Ok, I’m actually a little scared.  But good scared, excited scared.  Amazed at the perseverance of these kids.  Hopeful that their hard work the past few months will culminate in a good experience for all of them.  

We asked Sonar X9 what it feels like when he’s running.  He said at some point, it feels like his brain is floating free, like his legs are moving by themselves and that they’ll just keep going and going.  How far will they go?  We don’t know yet.  Hopefully they’ll carry him safely through his 4.4 miles tomorrow.  

In honor of these eight kids with a running bug (and the other nearly 15,000 crazy people who’ll be on the course with them tomorrow), I’ve dredged up an old 10 Things about running.  Cheers!

Make a list 1-10.  Tell me, what are the first 10 Things you think of when I say the word RUNNING? Go!!

[Don’t worry, we’re not running out of room.  Just leaving a little breathing space.]

1.  Speed and exhilaration, thrill and fear (of falling, of hurting, of failing)

2.  Blood pounding

3.  Brain free

4.  Muscles sore, then stronger, with sharp edges.  I aspire to the use of the word “chiseled” in my dreams.

5.  Time.  Must squeeze and lever to make the time. 

6.  Energy.  Too easy to give in to other demands and not run.  But when I do run, there is so much energy and electricity. 

7.  Fleeing.  To escape. 

8.  Approaching.  To speed the arrival and diminish the anticipation. 

9.  Racing.  Myself.  A clock.  Other runners.  The pursuer. 

10.  The electric twitch of muscle fiber as it cools and slows and begins to unwrap and build new edges.  

Where will your list run?