Does anyone actually use shoe horns?
It seems a fairly simple and rudimentary kind of technology, but I'm not even sure how to use one.
If your shoes have to be horned on, isn't it time for new shoes?
Perhaps this is just another way I have failed to assimilate into polite society. This is always a possibility when it comes to things I don't understand.
"Oh, dahling, this shoe horn is just mah-velous! Where ever did you find it? It horns my feet so smoothly. It's just like butter."
I like butter.
I'm skeptical of recipes that insist upon margarine or butter substitutes.
I don't know when butter became evil.
Sure, it's fatty, but it's natural fat. Fat that's supposed to be there, not fat that has been chemically engineered to kill rats and chickens.
Were people eating sticks of butter like Popsicles and then someone in the Department of Appropriate Foods declared that this nonsense must be stopped?
It's not like we're all getting any slimmer with the Pop-Culture Moratorium On Butter.
There are so many things I don't understand about my own culture.
Like how you're not supposed to eat two pieces of cake for dessert when you're at someone's house for dinner.
Why put out two different kinds of cake if I'm not supposed to eat a piece of both? All the men did it and no one commented on that.
One of them was a delightful pound cake, scented with lemon and nutmeg. The other one was a gooey store-bought chocolate mess. Both delicious in their own ways. I also drank eight cups of coffee.
Apparently that's strange, too.
I was trying to keep my mouth full so I wouldn't say anything about guns.
If I knew how to use a shoe horn, I wouldn't get into these kinds of predicaments. I'm almost certain of it.
I know how to shoot a gun. My dad made sure I learned how to so that I would never think it was a good idea to keep one around. My mom taught me how to churn butter. My dad tried to make cheese but it smelled like feet that had been too long horned into shoes, so we threw it out.
I know these things. I know how to bake bread and grow vegetables, how to clean a fish and how to sew. My friend taught me how to forage edible plants in the city. Come the revolution, I'm all set. I also know how to do a specific Filipino folk dance with long sticks. That might come in handy some day, too. Come the revolution.
Unless it's a footwear revolution that requires the use of shoe horns. Then I'm sunk.
I know how to do a lot of things. I have spent a lot of time and energy over my lifetime thus far learning how to know things. Is it the onset of early dementia or aged wisdom that I'm starting to feel that I know the wrong things or not enough things or there are too many things to know or that it's not important after all to know anything? I don't know. I don't even know how to use a shoe horn.
Maybe I should learn the art of Photoshopping aggressive rhetorical nonsense.
There are so many things I don't understand about my own culture.
I think I'll wear shoes that fit me and have another slice of cake.
It seems a fairly simple and rudimentary kind of technology, but I'm not even sure how to use one.
If your shoes have to be horned on, isn't it time for new shoes?
Perhaps this is just another way I have failed to assimilate into polite society. This is always a possibility when it comes to things I don't understand.
"Oh, dahling, this shoe horn is just mah-velous! Where ever did you find it? It horns my feet so smoothly. It's just like butter."
I like butter.
I'm skeptical of recipes that insist upon margarine or butter substitutes.
I don't know when butter became evil.
Sure, it's fatty, but it's natural fat. Fat that's supposed to be there, not fat that has been chemically engineered to kill rats and chickens.
Were people eating sticks of butter like Popsicles and then someone in the Department of Appropriate Foods declared that this nonsense must be stopped?
It's not like we're all getting any slimmer with the Pop-Culture Moratorium On Butter.
There are so many things I don't understand about my own culture.
Like how you're not supposed to eat two pieces of cake for dessert when you're at someone's house for dinner.
Why put out two different kinds of cake if I'm not supposed to eat a piece of both? All the men did it and no one commented on that.
One of them was a delightful pound cake, scented with lemon and nutmeg. The other one was a gooey store-bought chocolate mess. Both delicious in their own ways. I also drank eight cups of coffee.
Apparently that's strange, too.
I was trying to keep my mouth full so I wouldn't say anything about guns.
If I knew how to use a shoe horn, I wouldn't get into these kinds of predicaments. I'm almost certain of it.
I know how to shoot a gun. My dad made sure I learned how to so that I would never think it was a good idea to keep one around. My mom taught me how to churn butter. My dad tried to make cheese but it smelled like feet that had been too long horned into shoes, so we threw it out.
I know these things. I know how to bake bread and grow vegetables, how to clean a fish and how to sew. My friend taught me how to forage edible plants in the city. Come the revolution, I'm all set. I also know how to do a specific Filipino folk dance with long sticks. That might come in handy some day, too. Come the revolution.
Unless it's a footwear revolution that requires the use of shoe horns. Then I'm sunk.
I know how to do a lot of things. I have spent a lot of time and energy over my lifetime thus far learning how to know things. Is it the onset of early dementia or aged wisdom that I'm starting to feel that I know the wrong things or not enough things or there are too many things to know or that it's not important after all to know anything? I don't know. I don't even know how to use a shoe horn.
Maybe I should learn the art of Photoshopping aggressive rhetorical nonsense.
There are so many things I don't understand about my own culture.
I think I'll wear shoes that fit me and have another slice of cake.
I am speechless, but sadly not because my mouth is full of scented pound cake and coffee. I adore your connections here. Instinct tells me we differ a bit on gun policy, but no matter. I love our common ground for what it is, and that is vast. Garden, sew, forage, churn, and folk dance away ma'am!! Stay safe. If you ever visit the Lazy W I will make sure you are welcome to eat as much cake as you want! But not to keep you quiet.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Marie! I will come and eat all of your cake. I will also procure the recipe for the pound cake I had because it is AMAZING and I will send it to you.
DeleteMy dad had a shoe horn and used it to put on his Sunday shoes. Now that I think about it, that would have meant they were too small, right? We used to play with it and pretend to use it for our shoes.
ReplyDeleteI once went to a wedding reception where they had probably ten different kinds of cake, but you had to choose one. I thought it was sort of cruel.
As for the dance, when I was in elementary school, we had an assembly where some dancers came and performed that kind of dance. I thought it was magical and dreamed of being able to do it. I'm sure if I tried, I'd just have black and blue ankles.
(I don't talk about guns because I grew up in a family of former and present gun owners, and I like our family gatherings to be peaceful.)
Jealous about the shoe horn.
DeleteThat is just stingy and mean with the wedding cake. Of all things.
The dance does, in fact, cause a great deal of black and blue ankles and shins, but it is really fun once it clicks.
I manage to offend someone everywhere I go with something I believe. I am deciding whether I should get over it or just stop talking.
What a perfect, perfect post. You did a much better job of addressing the gun issue than I did, I think. I also think I'm not finished ... WHATEVER! Thanks for a smile on a grim day.
ReplyDeleteHi Debbi! Thank you. There's so much to say, so much being said, and it seems no one is listening except to know when to shout back. If you stand at a distance (with your mouth full of cake) and don't listen too carefully, you can start to hear what nonsense it really all is.
DeleteDamnit. We all deserve a slice of both cakes. I don't know how to do any of those thing you know how to do. I can catch a fish but not clean it. I can pitch a tent and start a fire. I know how to use a shoe horn because my grandfather had a magnificent one shaped like a silver beetle. I wish I knew how to make us all lay down arms. Mostly, though, I want to see your folk dance.
ReplyDeleteYou can teach me how to use a shoe horn and I will teach you how to clean your fish.
DeleteThe folk dance is truly a sight to behold. I may be a little rusty, though.
Great post, made me smile....and crave lots of cake.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Tamara. You didn't crave a shoe horn?
DeleteIn my extended family, it is expected to hear the phrase, 'one of each please,' when standing in front of the dessert table. It's part of my DNA, I guess, becuase I make two different kinds of cake for all of our birthdays.
ReplyDeleteAnd I much rather have more cake and tons of coffee than discuss my views on guns or the new Hobbit movie.
See? You get me, Michelle. You get me.
DeleteTwo things: I can do the dance, too. Haven't done it since fifth grade and can't say I'm eagerly looking forward to doing it again...but come the revolution, that's one thing we'll have in common. ;)
ReplyDeleteSecond: All the photoshopped vitriol is exhausting me. I mostly don't respond but I feel the life being sucked out of me every time I stumble across one more ridiculously mis-attributed quotation from one more dead Founding Father or ex-game show host or...or... Bottom line: The fact that the simple-minded always seem to be the ones with the most to say about complex issues causes me great despair. (That's a spectacularly bitchy and elitist thing to say and for the record, I don't mean to imply (nor do I believe) that disagreeing with my position automatically makes one simple-minded--just that the people who seem to be making the most noise on all sides never seem to be the ones who have examined an issue from more than one side.)
Oh my, MM! I do so think we should start an online Tininkling club! How much fun would that be.
DeleteI agree with you about the vitriol. I try to ignore it mostly, but it's everywhere, from all sides. I have a whole nasty post about it that I will probably never publish, but the simple-mindedness is just rampant. That bothers me WAY more than anyone's particular politics - the lack of critical thought and just plastering nonsense and ridiculous ill-thought rhetoric for its shock value or something. That, my friends, is what we call propaganda. Ack. Blood pressure increasing. Deep breathing.
We should bake bread together. And if you have an extra shoe horn, I could use it for the shoes I have that are too tight... if shoe horns stretch them out, that is... because I'm not sure what shoe horns do either.
ReplyDeleteShoe horns do not stretch out shoes, they somehow help you put your shoes on. I'm not entirely clear either.
DeleteI love to bake bread. It is so satisfying.