July 4th Announcement

 Everyone is invited to Houston Great Books' annual July 4 celebration on Sunday, July 4 from 10:00 to noon.  We will hear a speaker from UH Law School discuss recent and upcoming Supreme Court decisions.  This year's program is on Zoom.  You can RSVP at houstongreatbooks.net.  Please join us for an interestoing and thought-provoking program.

Father's Day Tributes

 To my father:

     He was a thin, medium sized ma with a voice so soft you could hardly hear him.  He dressed modestly but always wore a hat.  He was just an ordinary guy, but to me he was a hero. He was my role model, my teacher, my cheerleader, my confidante.  When he died and we brought his things home from the hospital, I asked for his hat.  It hangs now on a hatrack in my living room, a symbol of my dad.

To my son:

    He, too, is a quiet man but he has been a wonderful son to me and a loving father to his daughter.  Like my dad, he is a hero who has worked hard, triumphed over setbacks and made me proud every day.

Books of May

The Plot:  I enjoyed this story of a writer who was a one-book wonder and because of his stalled career is teaching creative writing at a nondescript school somewhere in New England.  One of his students tells him the plot of a novel he's writing.  It's awesome.  When he learns that his student died, he writes the book himself.  You have to read on to find out his how life changes to the good and not-so-good.  And no, I didn't figure out the ending although some reviewers on Amazon did.  Even if I had, I would have enjoyed the story.

The Last Thing He Told Me.  After her husband goes missing and leaves her with his daughter, she learns what really happened.  It's on the best seller list.  I give it a B+.

A Gentleman in Moscow.  The story of a man under lifetime house arrest in an elegant Moscow hotel and how he makes the best of it.  A charming story, lovely writing.
 

Signs of Our Times, Part 2

 Sign on a Maternity Room door: 

Push. Push. Push.

Sign at a car dealership:

The best way to get back on your feet--miss a car payment,

Sign outside a Muffler Shop:

No appointment necessary.  We hear you coming.

Sign in a veterinarian's waiting room:

Be back in five minutes.  Sit. Stay.

At the electric company:

We would be delighted if you send in your payment on tine; however, if you don't, you will be de-lighted.

In a restaurant window:

Don't stand there and be hungry; come in and get fed up.

At the front of a funeral home:

Drive carefully.  We'll wait.

At a propane filling station:

Thank Heaven for little grills.

In a Chicago radiator shop:

Best place to take a leak.

On the back of a septic tank truck:

Caution:  This truck is full of political promises.

Birthday, 2021

 At 9:15 a.m. today, I became exactly another year older. My daughter asked me the other day if I was excited about my birthday.  "Not so much," I told her.  "I've had so many."  Indeed I have, but this one was especially lovely because I was able to celebrate with my children in person.  My daughter came yesterday and my son and daughter-in-law today.  They brought me the cutest birthday gift ever--a drawing of a cat wearing glasses and reading To Kill a Mockingbird.  So funny.

This has been a weird year, hasn't it?  COVID lockdowns, people unrecognizable because they're wearing masks, vaccines, elections, and Zoom, Zoom, Zoom.  I wonder what to do with the masks I have collected in various colors to match my clothes.  Save them in case there's another spike of the virus?  Give them to Goodwill?  But who would want them?  Maybe just keep them as a memory of this crazy year.  

I wonder if people will continue online shopping now that stores are open again.  Will Zoom's stock go down?  (I don't know if they're listed on the stock market.)  How long will the toilet paper that people hoarded last?  Will sour dough bread replace whole wheat?  How many projects begun during lockdown will be completed? How many hobbies taken up out of boredom will continue?  Will people give up their sweats for business attire or will extremely casual become the new office-wear?  

I am only hoping this next year will be calm and safe and normal again... for all of us.

Signs of our Times, Part 1

 

Sign on a shoe repair shop:

We will heel you.

We will save your soul.

We will even dye for you.

Sign on a blinds and curtains truck:

Blind man driving.

Sign at a gynecologist's office:

Dr. Jones, at your cervix.

Sign in a podiatrist's office:

Time wounds all heels.

Sign on a septic tank truck:

Yesterday's meals on wheels.

Sign at an optometrist's office:

If you don't see what you're looking for,

you've come to the right place.

Sign on a plumber's truck:

We repair what your husband fixed.

Sign at a tire shop:

Invite us to your next blowout.

Sign on an electrician's truck:

Let us remove your shorts.

Sign in a non-smoking area:

If we see smoke, we will assume

you are on fire and will take appropriate action.

Enjoy!  To be continued next week.

A Memory for Mother's Day: My Mother's Shoes

 My mother was a tiny woman, barely five feet tall, with dark hair and blue eyes.  The youngest of six children, she grew up in an immigrant family in Omaha, Nebraska.  There were few luxuries for the sisters in their home.  Her one indulgence was shoes.  Once when she was a young girl, a shoe manufacturer remarked upon her small, pretty feet and asked her to model his brand of shoes.  Elated, she asked her mother for permission.  It wasn't granted.  In my grandmother's eyes, model equaled prostitute and in no way would she grant her daughter's request.

Mother grew up, married and moved to Austin, Texas, where she gave birth to my sister and me.  Although she dressed us in outfits from Neiman Marcus, lavished us with music lessons, dance lessons, tennis lessons, private preschool and elaborate birthday parties, she never spent much on herself.  Except for shoes.  Her love of footwear continued through her life.  She wore size 4B, the same size as shoe store samples, and she filled her closet with every sample she could find--high heeled pumps and sandals, white shoes and black, spectators and sporty wedges.  My sister's boyfriend once said, "Mrs. Dochen, you're the only lady I know that wears high heels in the kitchen."  Of course she did; they made her taller.

She gave me and my friends her old shoes and dresses to use in our endless games of dress-up. One of my friends was crestfallen when she outgrew Mother's sample size shoes.

High heels were her pleasure and in her old age, her downfall.  One day she tripped going up the stairs to the porch.  Her glasses fell off and the earpiece pierced her eye, leaving her partially blind.  She never wore high heels again.

When dementia stole her memory, her communication skills and her awareness of the world around her, my sister and I moved her to a nursing home.  There she wore ugly shoes, "old lady shoes" she would have called them if she'd been able to comment on them.

After the move, my sister and I cleaned out her house.  We saved her room for last.  When we opened the door of her closet, there were dozens of pairs of her shoes.  Memories of our mother's life, lined up two by two on her closet floor.