Papa needs a new pair of shoes

I’ve never enjoyed shopping for shoes. I usually only buy new shoes once the old ones wear out, so I’ve never been one to see shoes in a store and have to buy them. I have like four pairs. I just don’t care what I wear on my feet as long as I’m comfortable and appropriate.

I have memories of shoe shopping as a child and they are not fond. We’d be in Kmart or somewhere with Mom trying to find something that fits with both of us getting annoyed and aggravated. I just hated it.

So there is some cosmic justice, maybe the echo of parental laughter floating through the decades, as I am now the one buying shoes for a child. I took our son to look for shoes at several stores before school started. We couldn’t find anything he liked and the shelves seemed depleted since it was Labor Day weekend and every other parent had picked those skeletons clean. His current sneakers were OK and still seemed to fit so I thought we could wait a little. I’ve been trying to be judicious with buying his clothes because he’s just going to start outgrowing them and I want to minimize the amount of immediately obsolete clothes we’re buying.

The other day when I picked our son up from school, his shoes were all torn up. I don’t know what happened but the canvas top was ripped and hanging off. The shoes were also starting to look generally shabby. He couldn’t go to school in them the next day.

I summoned my courage and we went to the mall that night. He picked out a few pairs of sneakers he liked but nothing fit. The employee helped us figure out his size, because I didn’t know. We went to another store and of course, he wanted Air Jordans or Kyrie Irvins. I told him they’re too expensive and I didn’t want to spend the money on something he’ll grow out of. So it was back to the original store to try on some of the same shoes again. We finally found shoes that fit. It wasn’t his fault it took so long since he kept finding shoes he liked and striking out in the size department.

I was stunned when I got home and we had only been gone a little over an hour. I was trying not to rush him because I didn’t want him to say the shoes he was trying on were fine just to shut me up. He seemed OK with what we found. It just seemed to take forever and I remembered my childhood and how annoying I must have been at those fluorescent-lit Kmarts in the ‘80s. 

Buckle Up

I think the impeachment inquiry in the House is the right thing to do. If the president did withhold financial aid from Ukraine to get them to investigate his political opponent, it’s a grotesque abuse of presidential power. It would be a president subverting foreign policy to benefit himself. That’s worse than Nixonian.

This move does not guarantee impeachment or conviction and removal from office but it will get the public closer to knowing what’s in the whistleblower’s complaint. The conduct in the complaint reportedly goes beyond a phone call to Ukraine and we need to know the full story. The withholding of the whistleblower’s complaint from Congress in itself violates the law. I think the inquiry throws real weight behind the ongoing investigations.

Many people are skeptical of gaining public support for the impeachment process but I think this scandal would be easy for the public to understand. It’s not as labyrinthian as some of the other scandals of the last few years. If the allegations are true, it’s a clear-cut crime, as bribery is one of the few offenses explicitly listed in the Constitution as impeachable. It also could damage our national security. (The president keeps changing his story on withholding the aid, which does not inspire confidence.)

There are political risks to this, of course. I’m sensitive to the idea that this could backfire for the Democrats but I think even an acquittal could spur voters to the polls. There had seemed to be a prevailing view that we could solve the problems with the administration by voting it out. Given that the president has blatantly said he would accept foreign interference in this election, we need more than a vote to keep him in check.

Even if the Senate acquits the president, it’s important that the House do its duty and act as a constitutional check on an administration that has time and time again shown that it thinks it’s above the law. The alternative to this inquiry is to sit there and take it, to let witnesses give Congress the finger during testimony, to issue toothless threats and condemnations, and the country can’t accept that.

If nothing else, this fascinates me. Buckle up for a bumpy ride.

Tastes Like a Sweater

Ahhhh, fall. Autumn! A gorgeous time of year. The season that comes in between bitching about the heat and moaning about the cold. There are so many beautiful fall traditions in my life and I want to share all of them with you. All of them.

Fall officially begins at our house when I place the Official Autumnal Tablecloth on our dining room table. It has leaves and acorns and everything on it. Steve and I lay this out on the table with great ceremony (and we are thrilled to pass the beautiful tradition down to our son!) like one would unfurl an American flag. Then we sing the official Song of Fall, “The Next Time I Fall” by Peter Cetera and Amy Grant. Usually we fake-fight about who takes which vocal part—it’s all part of the fun! This sacred ceremony takes place at precisely the beginning of meteorological fall. So whether it’s the middle of the night or middle of a school and work day, we rearrange our schedules to gather together.

What would fall be without a drink to warm us on chilly days? We celebrate the season of autumn with frequent drinks of apple cider mixed with hot chocolate. Mmm—tastes like a sweater!

Gourds are a very important part of fall, of course. When the season begins, we clear the house of all the old gourds, which have been there since the previous autumnal equinox, to make way for new gourds. Everyone who comes in the house is encouraged to write or carve their favorite thing about fall into these gourds.

Fall foliage is gorgeous, so we usually take off the entire month of October to seek it out. We’ll look up photos of pretty trees around the country and drive to those specific trees, from coast to coast. Also, I really love the smell of burning leaves. I love it so much, in fact, that I will take a flamethrower to trees in the park and just burn them right there. It’s much more efficient and it provides the most pungent smell.

We like to go to Linvilla Orchards and roll around in the hay for hours. We’ll get caramel-covered apples, smear them all over our faces and then roll around in the leaves. It really immerses us in autumn. We buy a ton of pumpkins, as many as we can fit in our car, and take them home for the traditional carving and use in prognostication rituals. 

“But wait,” you say, “aren’t you leaving out pumpkin spice, one of the things most associated with fall?”

Rest assured, I am not. The thing is, I don’t drink pumpkin spice lattes or anything like that. I snort pumpkin spice. I just pour out fat lines of that magic blend of spices and snort it all, and it’s like I can see God.

Happy fall!

I Skip ‘Darling Nikki’ Just Like Tipper Gore

Of course, in Tipper Gore’s heyday skipping involved yanking a record needle or pressing fast forward on the tape deck as if it were a panic button. Me, I hit skip surreptitiously as soon as the first bursts of Prince’s straining guitar erupt in the car. My son will have to wait to hear about the titular woman masturbating in a magazine as “Darling Nikki” dissolves into desperate shrieks of “grind grind grind.”

I didn’t want to be that parent like the senator’s wife, lumping “Sugar Walls” and “Dress You Up” in with every record that, played backwards, would start heads spinning and spraying pea soup. I saw myself answering his questions about human sexuality with a maturity and calm that would instantly set him on a course of healthy male reproduction.

But like that harried ‘80s mom, I lunged to skip the song, figuring the day was too crammed already to explain what Nikki was doing in that hotel lobby.

What will happen when Betty White dies?

They will break into our TV shows to tell us the news, of course. Even streaming services will somehow get the news live. “Betty White, television icon, dead at age 1??.” Tornado sirens will sound. Our iPhone XVIs will alert us, trembling and keening in electronic mourning. We will all remember where we were.

Schools will close, I imagine, with teachers too distraught to go on. Offices will probably dismiss workers early, and then close again on the day of the funeral. American flags will fly at half-staff and there will be a statement from the president, sober yet majestic. Miami will belatedly adopt “Miami, You’ve Got Style” as its official anthem. All TV stations will show only Betty White shows.

Social media will grind to a halt as civilians, celebrities and heads of state pay their respects. So many people will post the Golden Girls clip of Rose Nylund shoving a little girl out the door and grabbing her stuffed animal while saying “Sometimes life just isn’t fair, kiddo,” that this clip will become the most viewed online video in history.

Betty White will lie in state in numerous locations, her body traveling the country so mourners can pay their respects. First her coffin will be stationed on a major street in Minneapolis in honor of her time The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Then she will rest on a specially constructed artificial island in Lake Erie, marking her role in Hot in Cleveland. After that, Betty travels to the recreated set of The Match Game so mourners can gather.

They will wait in line for many hours to mourn Betty White. Rich, poor, powerful, powerless—all will wait in the same line, equalized and humbled by the experience. Their tears will start to wear away at the gold coffin.

Finally, Betty White will come to her final rest on a lanai at a house in Miami.

The ceremony will be powerful. Heads of state will praise her: the president of the United States, the prime minister of Canada, the president of China, the king of England. Everyone who ever worked on The Golden Girls will eulogize her. If they are still alive, Kirk Douglas, Olivia de Havilland and Cloris Leachman will do the readings. There will be many clips from Betty White’s decades of TV, from well-known staples like The Golden Girls to obscurities like Just Men and Life With Elizabeth.

Most of the planet’s 8.5 billion people will watch via TV, streaming and their implant devices. The crowd will overflow onto the Miami streets, unable to squeeze into the packed lanai. The New York Stock Exchange will close for the funeral. Broadway’s lights will darken. Nobody will go to work or school.

Then, the emotional closing: “Thank You for Being a Friend” will play as the planet weeps. Betty will be laid to rest amid Miami palm trees and roses, gone but immortal.

FAQ: Changing the Toner in the Office Copier

Q: OK, OK. Toner’s out. Um, OK … what do I do?

A: Start by opening the front panel of the copier that contains the toner. This is highlighted on the screen of the toner. The panel is also marked “TONER.”

Q: You mean here?

A: No. It’s the panel marked “TONER.”

Q: Got it. I think.

A: Pull out the cyan toner. It’s marked with the big “C.”

Q: Wait, what? What is “cyan”?

A: Blue.

Q: Then why not just call it “blue”?

A: … Pull the toner out of the copier.

Q: Ohh, I don’t want to get ink on me! I’m calling IT.

A: You don’t need to call IT. Just pull out the toner. It comes right out.

You won’t get ink on you.

Q: OK, here goes … Got it! It came right out!

A: Next, get a new canister of cyan toner. It’s in the cabinet to your left.

Q: Right here?

A: No, your left. The cabinet is labeled “TONER.”

Q: Got it. “Cyan” toner. Now what?

A: Remove the cap from the end of the toner. It’s labeled “REMOVE THIS END” and there’s an arrow on it.

Q: Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure about this. I don’t want to get ink on me. I’m calling IT.

A: You don’t need IT. You can do this.

Q: I’m calling IT. I don’t want to break the toner.

A: Don’t call IT. They’re busy. Just pull off the cap. You won’t break it.

Q: OK, here goes nothing … The cap came right off! Just like you said!

A: Insert the toner into the copier. The canister is shaped so that there is only one way to insert it.

Q: But how do I know I’m inserting it right? Is there a diagram? I don’t want to break the copier.

A: You don’t need a diagram. There’s only one way the toner can physically fit in the copier.

Q: I’m calling IT.

A: … Just. Insert it.

Q: It fits! Hallelujah!

A: Now close the panel on the copier.

Q: Just … close it? Is there any special way I should be closing it?

A: Given the laws of physics, there is one way it will close. Swing the door on its hinges.

Q: OK, here goes … OK. It’s closed. Now what do I do?

A: Now you can print or copy again. Just try not to set the office on fire.

Back to Whatever

There’s just a bare hint of a smile on our son’s face in the photo I took in front of our house this morning before the first day of school. He did not want to go back. A few minutes earlier, he told me why he didn’t want to go back, putting on a short one-act play in the kitchen that expressed his (just slightly exaggerated) misgivings about returning to school. He does well and doesn’t have any discipline problems but just doesn’t want to be there.

I know how he feels. I can’t tease or scold him too much because I never wanted to go back to school either. I got good grades and didn’t have any real problems but I always looked at going back to school like adults look at going back to work: You’d still rather be on vacation.

I still love summer. Back then, we’d be outside all day with our friends. My brother and I would be at the pool every day. I swam so much that my hair would start to turn blond with the chlorine, and I had a deep tan. We would go on vacation every year and there would be all sorts of fun things going on.

I remember hearing adults saying things like, “You’re glad to go back,” in what may have been just a bit of projection. I was supposed to want to leave the pool and dusk-to-dawn running around to sit in a classroom and get drilled by a nun about fractions? What are you, drunk?

It was different after I turned 16 and started working. By the time I was in college, I would work 40 hours a week all summer and during breaks, as well as part-time during the school year. But I still always cherished my summers and the relative freedom they brought. Today, I don’t think that attitude has affected me negatively. I love to learn new things today and if I’m awake, I’m reading.

So I never had any warm memories about the smell of freshly sharpened pencils or anything like that. I used to greet a new school year with a sigh like my son does. It was OK but I would rather have been doing something else. I’ll always encourage him to like school, of course, and I won’t let any bad attitude wear off on him, but I can’t revise history and pretend like I was any more enthused.