Learning to Tie My Shoes

When it was time for their child to start kindergarten, parents in my neighborhood chose either Cleveland Hill or St. Aloysius, the local public or closest parochial school.  Cleveland Hill admittance criteria stated that a child had to:

1.       Be 5 years old by October 1
2.       Know their name, address, and phone number
3.       Be independent in the bathroom
4.       Be able to tie their shoes

A mid-September birthday made me one of the youngest in my class.  Recitation of my contact information was easy – Marilyn Huebel; 489 Huxley Drive, Cheektowaga, New York; Parkside 4704 – and I had the third requirement down pat.  That last issue of shoes presented me with my first deadline.  The proper manipulation of shoelaces involved dexterity and meant doing a task instead of performing.  I was good at the latter, not necessarily so good at motor skills, and back then most shoes had shoelaces.  Loafers other slip-ons were for older boys and girls.  Flip flops or sandals were not for school and Velcro hadn’t been invented.

That summer I remember sitting on the back step trying to tie my saddle shoes.  Sandy, the fifth grader who lived next door, did not teach me a cute little ditty about the bunny going through a hole that helps today’s kids associate tying motions with a rhyme.  She just helped me figure out the around, under, and through actions.  I practiced over and over until I felt confident and suddenly this daily ritual where I had relied on others became routine for me to do on my own. 

My mother registered me for school in August and simply attested to my eligibility and abilities.  There was no demonstration of my knowledge or expertise, no certificate for shoelaces 101. 

Isn’t that true of so many of our accomplishments of which we are personally proud?  Graduations and ceremony mark the culmination of exams, term papers, and pop quizzes, but it was when the Pythagoras theorem suddenly made sense that I wanted applause.  Those situations teach us to be proud of our accomplishments and that our success and learning may be the only reward.
 
My shoe-tying equivalent for these times is mastering some bit of technology.  Whether it’s doing a formula on a spreadsheet, downloading a book to my MP3 player, or changing the time on the clock in the car, I am proud when I figure out how to do it and am successful.  My guess is that you have something comparable for which you’d like acknowledgement.  Here’s a generic High Five for today, but anytime you need a “Tying My Shoe” fanfare, you let me know and I’ll help you celebrate.

 

Marilyn

“The joy of discovery is real, and it is one of our rewards. So too is the approval of our work by our peers.” Henry Taube, winner of the Nobel prize in chemistry, 1983

Turns out I was wrong

As my brother and I discussed what to get our dad for his 75^th birthday we focused on one thing – what would engage his interest as the early stages of dementia crept through his being?  We decided on an aquarium.  It would be something he could watch, might be able to care for, and might remind him of all the good times he had fishing. 

Turned out we were wrong.  Our mother was the one who enjoyed the aquarium and when they were ready to sell the house and move into an apartment, one consideration was there needed to be a special place for the fish.

One Christmas a friend’s brother and I ignored conventional wisdom and got her a kitten.  We thought we knew best and that once she saw it she would realize it was just what she really wanted.

Turned out we were wrong.  She was quite happy with the cardboard cut-out of a cat we got as a replacement.  It only requires dusting occasionally.

Ruth and Elaine were two sisters who grew up in the house next to my two-flat in Chicago.  They both were executive assistants at important firms in the Loop, took advantage of the city, loved to travel, read, garden, spend time at the pool.  Neither of them ever talked about wanting a pet, so when a stray dog chose their back door as a place to rest, I figured that being the kindhearted people they were, they would care for it while they waited for Animal Control.

Turned out I was wrong.  “Jenny” lived with them for more than a decade and has been followed by others, leading up to Zoe who is today’s faithful companion to the one sister still in the house.

There are many summary remarks I could make given the title and topic, but I will close with this.  These stories came to mind because Saturday would have been Dad’s 98^th birthday, because one friend struggles with the health challenges of her cat, and because a colleague was suddenly presented with the heartbreaking necessity of saying goodbye to her 4-legged family member.  If you are an animal person, you know they joy they bring to our lives.  If you never have been, perhaps you would like to reconsider.  It could turn out you have been wrong. 

Marilyn

"If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans." James Herriot

 

Grace Period

The elderly man in front of me in line at Kohl’s was returning a green pullover sweater he had gotten for Christmas from his daughter.  He told the clerk that he wanted a red plaid flannel shirt and she explained he could have a store credit and shop for one.  When he asked how long the store credit was good for she replied, “There is no grace period,” and he nodded in understanding.

As the casual observer to this interaction, I believe the clerk meant “there is no expiration date” and that was what the gentleman understood as he walked away smiling.  As someone who enjoys words, I worried about such misuse but then I thought:

                “There but for the grace of God go I.”

We learn about grace periods when we are young.  A parent threatens, “I’m going to count to 3.  One…” and a child hustles to get the toy picked up or their teeth brushed.  Well, they hurry a few times until they figure out how things really work in that relationship.  We get used to penalties being waived and the first time they are not, we’re surprised.  “The professor really demoted my grade because I was a day overdue?!” or “There’s a late fee charge on my bill?!” or “What? They kicked me off the team because I didn’t get my part done on time?”  

In this electronic age there is no grace period once we’ve hit ‘send’ or hung up after leaving a message. When someone shares a story about a too quick response that they now regret, we can think:

                “There but for the grace of God go I.”

Advertisers play to our egos telling us “I’m worth it.”  This is the opposite of the theological issue of ‘grace’ which stated simply is ‘the unmerited favor of God towards man.’  Many believers base their faith on a concept that whatever good we get in life we do not deserve but receive because of the Creator’s grace and love.

For all good things most of us are grateful, and many spiritual people offer up grace before or after a meal or begin and end the day with a feeling of gratitude.  We read the headlines and think:

“There but for the grace of God go I.”

I have written before about our fear of delighting in the good times because we might jinx it or because we are conditioned to expect the bad.  I am no theologian, but the Being I believe is out there does not work that way, does not keep score.  Life works that way.  The human condition is such that there are good times and bad times.  And times of grace.

Marilyn

Any Place I Hang My Hat

A fortuneteller once read my tea leaves and said that even if I lived in a tent I would have flowers in a vase.  Her intuition wasn’t so much about decorative style as it was about my need to create a space that is comfy and cozy.  As I pack up and prepare to move I have been thinking about what makes a home and some aspects of the ones I have lived in.

Four walls.  For one year I lived in 14’x14’ room in a boardinghouse.  I had a black and white TV that I’d bought for $25 and since it was the only one in the house, folks would cram into my four walls to watch reruns of the original Star Trek.  When it was time for me to move, everyone helped. Four walls can box you in or expand with the support of others.

Shared space. In college we had inspections, so roommates had to keep their space at least tidy. It was in my first place after college that I really discovered people have a different sensitivity about what defines ‘clean.’  More important, I learned about my need for community.  That’s what helped me make the decision to buy a house with two friends.  What was lacking in that first apartment I gained a decade later in a 2-flat, where friends lived upstairs and I lived down.  We each had a home within a home.  Shared space does not always mean connection, commonality, or family.  But it can.

Windows:  My first apartment on my own was in a building similar to a motel where you walk along the row of picture windows and front doors.  Everyone knew who lived where and, because you could see in to their unit, the style and layout of their furniture.  Today my condo building is in the middle of shops on a main street.  From my 5^th floor unit at the back of the building I have a clear view overlooking a neighborhood of families in bungalows.  I love walking here and being able to see through the windows to what and who are inside the houses, but these neighbors cannot do the same with me.  Only the birds on my balcony for their breakfast or mid-afternoon snack know what’s going on in my living room.  One-way windows are isolating and require extra effort in order to be friendly.

I grew up in one house in New York, have lived in nine places in Illinois, and will soon move to the 10^th.   After assessing my experiences and hearing from those who have not ventured far from where they started off or those who have lived around the world, here is my conclusion: regardless of the number of structures we inhabit or the people living with us, an old proverb rings true - A house is made of walls and beams, a home is made with love and dreams.

How are the love and dreams within your walls and beams?  I hope they flourish this year.

Marilyn