The Shovel

I was swapping texts with son Tyler about Christmas this afternoon. We starting joking around about gifts like the old "lump of coal" thing. I recalled when I as 8 or so my Grandma gave me a robe for a gift and I thought of that as my "lump."  My Grandpa had retired from Pontiac Motor Company. From what I saw I thought they were rich and I was hungry for one thing and one thing only... toys. The bigger the better.  That sure didn't work out.

On further thought, I recalled about the same time when my brother David Claud William, our folks and I lived at 35 1/2 Taylor Street in Pontiac, Michigan for a while in the mid to late 50's.  My Uncle Everett, Dad's brother and his family lived in front of the house and we were in the back. Our address was "35 1/2 Taylor Street."  My Aunt Alma, Dad's sister and her family lived in the home offset behind us. Dad's other brother Earl and his family lived a couple of miles away. All the Dad's were factory workers at Pontiac Motors or General Motors. All the Moms were stay at home Moms.

(Dirt pile is where our home was.  Boarded home
in back is where Aunt Alma and her family lived)

Here is a recent picture of the set up there courtesy of Google Maps. Among the 5 kids in our three families on Taylor, three of us were boys around the same age, Alma's son Dennis, Everett's son Phillip and me.  We had recently arrived from living in Willow City, North Dakota, dirt poor with every earthly possession and the four of us piled in and on top of a '49 Pontiac.

It was blue collar all the way except for Alma's husband Joe who was a white collar something with General Motors. Dennis happened to be their only surviving child after a few earlier miscarriages.  He was spoiled, Phil was doing okay and I was down the ladder somewhere, harboring all the bad feelings of the outsider.  I mean I was jealous, hyper critical and probably some other stuff I don't recall at the moment... all the pettiness a little kid is capable of.

One day, the three of us were playing in the basement of the front house.  We had a coal furnace down there that served both families. Dennis said something whiny (at least in my recollection) and I picked up the broad based coal shovel and smacked him with the flat side it.  Of course, there was much commotion but that thoughtless act established me as an equal member of the pack and from then on, Dennis paid attention when I said something.  He also let me play with all those great toys he had. Thanks Dennis.

Beware The Velcro Shoes

I was slipping on my sneakers to head the gym this morning.
I keep them tied loosely so they will slide on and off just like a pair of loafers.  I learned this from watching my kids do it (no idea where they learned it) some years ago and it works great, especially if your work involves a lot of air travel. You can just pop those puppies on and off in seconds at both ends of that old airport security line while others are mostly looking for places to sit and tie their laces.

Anyway, I was slipping them on and my pitiful mind briefly flashed on sneakers that close using velcro straps. When I have seen these on others over the years I have felt sorry for those wearing them.  Sort of like; "OK, I am getting so old now I will just buy these things so I won't have to spend all that time bent over trying to tie a damn lace that doesn't want to cooperate with my arthritic (enter "knees, fingers, back" or whatever here)."  I suspect other infirmities of aging apply as well.

So, if you feel this coming on, be advised you can take a pair of regular shoes or sneakers and tie them in your lap, leaving them loose enough to slip on your foot.  You might want to try a few different levels of tightness to get it just right but then you are set. You can just leave the knot in place to slide them off or on anytime you please.  That way, you won't have to wear that velcro badge that says you have some limiting infirmity.  After all, we aging boomers have enough to deal with without that too right?!

I'm sneaky that way and you can be too.