Shoe Envy

I saw a woman go into the coffee shop yesterday wearing tight blue jeans turned up at the bottom, a form fitted black T-shirt, and a pair of high-heeled, pointy-toed, ankle strapped red shoes. She looked radiant. I know it was the shoes. A woman could conquer the world in shoes like that.

When I was a child I wanted a pair of red shoes. I saw them at the shoe store, shiny red shoes with bows on the toes. I could have been a princess in those shoes. I could have been a ballerina. But my mother wouldn't buy them for me. "Only whores wear red shoes", she said.


My mother definitely bought shoes in the "stump-along-like-that" category, as in the following poem:

Frida Wolfe
Choosing Shoes

New shoes, new shoes,
Red and pink and blue shoes.
Tell me what would YOU choose
If they'd let us buy?

Buckle shoes, bow shoes,
Pretty pointy-toe shoes,
Strappy, cappy low shoes;
Let's have some to try.

Bright shoes, white shoes,
Dandy dance-by-night shoes,
Perhaps-a-little-tight shoes;
Like some? So would I.

BUT Flat shoes, fat shoes,
Stump-along-like-that-shoes,
Wipe-them-on-the-mat shoes
O that's the sort they'll buy.


The working girl in this poem must have taken off her red shoes:

e e cummings

raise the shade
will youse dearie?
rain
wouldn’t that

get yer goat but
we don’t care do
we dearie we should
worry about the rain

huh
dearie?
yknow
I’m

sorry for awl the
poor girls that
gets up god
know when every

day of their
lives
aint you,

oo-oo dearie

not so
hard dear

you’re killing me

The Road

I read some very good books over the summer. The one that I think about the most is The Road by Cormac McCarthy. It starts with a sentence that is almost poetry:

"When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he'd reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him."

Civilization has ended and the man and his son are on the road, moving towards the coast. We never find out what ended civilization. There are no big-headed aliens attacking humans, or anything like that. We don't even know for sure why the man and the boy are walking towards the coast, except they need to keep on the move, and the coast is warmer than the mountains.

There are gangs of "bad people" who roam the earth, seeking out the weak to kill them and eat them. The man and boy need to stay away from the "bad people" while trying to survive, and trying to remain one of the "good people". The man's wife kills herself before the book starts. She couldn't stand the fear of what might happen.

The book asks some basic questions: If all of civilization was gone, what would you need to do to survive? And more importantly, what would you be willing to do to survive? Would you be willing to kill to survive? Would you be willing to prey on the weak and eat them? Would you remain one of the "good people" even if it cost you your life?

Can we defeat terrorism by turning into terrorists ourselves?


I am reminded of a poem by Stephen Crane:

A man feared that he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find a victim.
One was more wise than the other.

For Grady

Grady died this week. I think he was ready to go. He didn't want a funeral, didn't want a minister talking about him, so they will get together and celebrate his life. I can't be there, but I will be remembering him, too.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant,
and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.


As Befits a Man

I don’t mind dying—
But I’d hate to die all alone!
I want a dozen pretty women
To holler, cry, and moan.

I don’t mind dying
But I want my funeral to be fine:
A row of long tall mamas
Fainting, fanning and crying.

I want a fish-tail hearse
And sixteen fish-tail cars,
A big brass band
And a whole truck load of flowers.

When they let me down,
Down into the clay,
I want the women to holler:
Please don’t take him away!
Ow-ooo-oo-o!
Don’t take daddy away!

Langston Hughes


If I should go before the rest of you,
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone.
Not when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice,
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must,
Parting is hell,
But life goes on,
So sing as well.

Joyce Grenfell

A Poem for Grady

I found this poem in the Washington Post Book World Poet's Corner on Sunday.

Grady is a Viet Nam Veteran and a drummer. He married my sister many years ago, worked hard, liked to hunt, road a motor bike and occasionally raised hell. Now he's in Hospice care.

Morphine

The man lying in bed is dying
from cancer, flecks of bone
flow like ice in his blood.

Outside it’s snowing,
lightly in the street, white petals
from a pear tree.

Everything is starting
to feel immense. His children,
like four pylons,

quietly resemble each other.
They pull at glasses
of Dewar’s. They can’t help

but notice the petals, the snow
blowing together in the street.
They chat politely, take salt

from his forehead,
on their lips, as they go
out the door, agreeing

he looks bad. They don’t know
the man’s floating on
a blue raft, an ocean, a small

Pacific. He’s smoking
a pleasant cigarette; it’s nice,
lukewarm, no undertow.

James Hoch

I Shopped Today

I didn't mean to, but I was at the mall waiting for my hair appointment and I wandered into the book store. I got three paperback books off the "3 for 2" table, paid for them, and walked out feeling a little guilty, but not much.

You will have to forgive me; I have already forgiven myself. We are leaving for Watervale next week, and the thought of a week at Watervale without a stack of new books to read was too dismal to contemplate.

So what did I buy? What brought to an end my year of not shopping?

"The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini, recommended by my sister;
"The Road" by Cormac McCarthy, recommended by my new boss and an Oprah's Book Club selection; and
"Blink" by Malcom Gladwell, the author of "Tipping Point", a book I really enjoyed.

This doesn't mean that I am going to go crazy with shopping. I plan to overlook this little lapse and continue to resist mindless shopping for the balance of the year. Not buying new things has helped me to appreciate the things I already own.

Two poems today, just because I like them:

Lending Out Books
Hal Sirowitz

You’re always giving, my therapist said.
you have to learn how to take. Whenever
you meet a woman, the first thing you do
is lend her your books. You think she’ll
have to see you again in order to return them.
But what happens is, she doesn’t have the time
to read them, & she’s afraid if she sees you again
you’ll expect her to talk about them, & will
want to lend her even more. So she
cancels the date. You end up losing
a lot of books. You should borrow hers.


The Fiddler of Dooney
William Butler Yeats

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,

He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With "Here is the fiddler of Dooney!"
And dance like a wave of the sea.