Mother Buys Me Shoes

If she were not in her seventies and also my mother, I would swear she has a shoe fetish. I no longer buy my own shoes, I don't have to they are running out my ears.

I'm not the only beneficiary of this goodwill; she buys for my brothers and my sons as well. She never told me why she chose shoes to become her gift of choice. On that I can only guess.

Mother was raised hard. Life on a subsistence farm in the thirties on poor land was a hardship I'm thankful I'll never have to endure. But it didn't make her bitter. I guess it was because of all the love. She knew that no matter what, if her daddy had a nickel in his pocket, if she asked for it, it was hers. She seldom asked. As a young girl, she often only owned two dresses growing up. She never mentioned how many shoes.

She and her sister cackle like hens when they get together. They retell old stories about people like Sam and Tiddle. These local old widows would burst through the door every time it thundered and would walk right up to their beds and whisper "Is this where I shleep?" they would crawl in bed with who ever said yes.

They tell the story about the time the widows inquired about the storm. They would ask "Is it fixing to stop?" to which my grandfather would respond "Oh no it's getting worse". The lie would make them gasp, shake and cover their heads with the blankets. They laugh and laugh at that one. As they recollect that story the years melt away and I get a glimpse back in time. I can imagine my mother as a spry little rambunctious girl. It makes me happy.