THE REAL LJ IDOL: IN SOMEONE ELSE'S SHOES
May. 3rd, 2007 02:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shalannaFor The Real LJ IDOL: IN SOMEONE ELSE'S SHOES
"These are NOT my shoes," announced Blinky. She toed the heels of the muddy blue Grasshoppers until they fell off her feet. "See that blister? These are definitely not mine."
"Well, don't look at me. I can't wear nothin' except these backless slides." Pinky sank back on the garden bench, pulling off her muddy gloves and tossing them into the birdbath. (I quickly retrieved them and hung them over the side of a nearby bucket. My birds deserved better than to have to wade in her potting soil with Perlite and WonderGro.)
[Yes, once again Mama's "Stitch-and-Bitch" Gin Rummy Occasional Players were meeting at MY house. Today we were in my garden on the stone patio. Blinky took a seat at the umbrella table, Stinky and Pinky sharing the porch swing--the metal 1950s kind with its own base that goes back and forth, so no worries about them pulling out the eyehooks overhead, since there are none--and Nod hopping into our hammock in the shade.)
"I'd know if I got on the wrong shoes right away. I got custom foot-doctor insoles. Cost a small fortune." Stinky moved to pull off her steel-toed boots, but Mama quickly stopped her. Probably recalling the last time Stinky took off her shoes in public. (Patients with lung disorders suffered immediate attacks. The general area had to be evacuated. Homeland Security was notified.)
"How could you get the wrong shoes on?" Mama inquired, reasonably enough, I thought.
"Took 'em off when you were sprayin' that hose at 'Full Power' instead of 'Gentle Mist' setting. Whole side yard is a loblolly of mud now. Wanted to keep from ruinin' another pair of good shoes. I washed my feet in that there wadin' pond." Blinky gestured towards my Pomeranian's little sunflower-shaped wading pool, which we'd used earlier to cool him off. "Get that at Dollar General?"
"Yeah, last year. Isn't it a shame that Wal-Mart bought 'em and is closin' 'em down?" Mama sighed.
"You're kidding!" Stinky's cigarette fell out of her mouth.
Blinky whammed her fist on the table. The umbrella shuddered. "Nope. That woman, richest in the world, she ain't happy bein' one of the biggest stores. Has to be the ONLY one. I hate that. Why'n't they leave some of the business for somebody else? They got enough."
Pinky, finished examining her blood-red oxfords, raised a finger. "It's not Wal-Mart buyin' them. It's those people bought Safeway."
"No, it's not. I read it in the Morning Snooze."
To head off an endless "Yes, it is,"/"NO, it ain't" match, I said, "I hope that isn't true at all. I love Dollar General."
"Well, the manager of the big new one over on Coit--you know, where Colberts used to be--told me they'd been bought and he was losing his good insurance. So take that as you will."
"Damn!" Stinky shook her head. "They ruin everything good."
"Can't blame the guy for selling. Probably got a lot of money and now he can retire."
"I wish I was in HIS shoes," Blinky said. "I'd fix things right up."
"No, you wouldn't. You'd be true to your original mission of creating a national Dime Store. Now that Woolworth's, T G & Y, and the other greats are no more." Mama looked out over the meadow wistfully. The pond splashed at her elbow, and she took the last seat on the old metal chair off of Auntie's 1950s front porch. Nearly all of its original green enamel finish was missing, but we still used it. "One of these days I'm going to paint this," she added, rubbing her thumb along the curve of its arm.
"I just can't understand why somebody would give up the store, though. It was doing so good."
My Pomeranian frolicked over to me and jumped into my lap, exhausted from barking back at the squirrels. A strip of blue canvas dangled from the corner of his mouth, and I suspected I knew who had found Blinky's actual shoes. I thought better of saying so and blathered forth in illustrative literature instead. "In 'To Kill a Mockingbird,' Atticus explains to Scout that 'You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.'"
Blinky sent me a withering look. "In somebody's skin? That's just creepy."
"But it isn't literal. It's about gaining a new perspective. We are all prisoners of our own points of view. To escape that for a few minutes and really experience life as it might be for someone on the Other Side of whatever divides us . . . it's a gift from the Universe."
"I'd rather win the lottery, if the Universe is inclined to gift me."
I sighed. But I'm stubborn. "Remember the old song, 'Walk a Mile In My Shoes'? Think of it that way."
Nod woke up long enough to murmur, "Walk A Mile In My Shoes"--recorded by Joe South and The Believers, written by Joe South, peaked at # 12 in 1970." She's kind of a walking jukebox like that about popular music of that era.
Stinky frowned. "Wasn't there a similar song eventually done by Elvis?"
"Whatever." Pinky waved it aside. "Before you pass judgment on me, first walk a mile in my moccasins." She was getting it.
"I hate moccasins. They're like having your feet in cantaloupes--that raw suede." Stinky shuddered. "That's creepy, too."
Pinky stuck out her tongue. "That's not the point. To walk a mile in my shoes means learn to have empathy, not just sympathy, for others. I want to feel what they feel. Not just parrot, 'I feel sorry for them. That situation must be terrible.' All while I'm a-sittin' in the catbird seat."
My Pom perked up and started looking for the cat/bird. I scratched behind his ears.
Blinky considered. "Well . . . maybe it's not ALL terrible to be on the Other Side. There must be merit even in being a Republican, or God wouldn't have created them."
Stinky scowled. "God didn't create Republicans." She glowered.
Nod popped awake again. "What--the Devil can create stuff?"
"No! That's not what I meant. I meant, somebody else made up being a Republican. You can be one because God gave us free will, but He sure didn't intend anybody to really Become one."
"Must be some good ones out there," Blinky mused. "I liked President Reagan. And Abraham Lincoln, there's you another one."
"That was my POINT . . . that if you were in their position, you might act exactly that way."
"'Cause I wouldn't know any better." Stinky stubbed out her cigarette in my strawberry pot. I made a note to cruise around getting those things out as soon as they left.
Blinky inclined her head, as if to allow that this could be one of the explanations. "Or you sincerely believe in what they're saying."
"If they sincerely believe all of that rot, then bosh. They need to walk a mile in THESE." Stinky offered her feet up. Her surplus-store Army boots teetered. Everyone covered their noses. "Quit that. I'm not gonna take 'em off."
"It's not that politicians actually believe all that stuff they say," said Blinky. "I think some of 'em just hate Hillary Clinton so much that they'll vote opposite of anything she says."
"Well, maybe if they saw ol' Hilly through my eyes, they'd see her differently, shallow Hal." Stinky fired up a new Tareyton.
"Everything's a matter of perspective. Frames of reference. . . ." I trailed off because I knew better than to get into Einsteinian relativity. "As I told someone the other day, I like to see someone's paradigm shift and then hear them go 'Ah!' as they suddenly step into those other moccasins. Some people have never realized they COULD go into another POV like that and understand it. After the first time, they figure out how to do it for themselves. Sometimes. Sometimes they don't."
Mama was studying her feet, having slipped them out of my jeweled slides (she didn't ask before borrowing them, and now they'd be all stretched out of shape.) "I have duck feet. They're splayed out and EE wide. I wish I could wear those high heels, but I never could." My shoes teetered on the edge of the pond. The koi eased halfway out of the water to sniff them in case they were food. "My feet are fat like my daughter's."
"Your feet are fine. So are mine." I snatched my shoes away before they could fall into the pond. "I enjoy walking in my own shoes, down my own path. I believe that the universe is unfolding as it should. Difficult as that might make my path seem. It's still my path, and that's my destiny."
Blinky slammed the pack of cards down on the umbrella table. "Oh, shut up and deal."
[Poll #978112]
(If you enjoyed this entry, you can VOTE FOR ME HERE.)
# # #
"I'm descended from a very long line my mother once foolishly listened to."--Phyllis Diller
"It's like magic. When you live by yourself, all your annoying habits are gone."--Merrill Markoe
"After you've dated someone, it should be legal to stamp them with what's wrong with them so the next person doesn't have to start from scratch."--Rita Rudner
"These are NOT my shoes," announced Blinky. She toed the heels of the muddy blue Grasshoppers until they fell off her feet. "See that blister? These are definitely not mine."
"Well, don't look at me. I can't wear nothin' except these backless slides." Pinky sank back on the garden bench, pulling off her muddy gloves and tossing them into the birdbath. (I quickly retrieved them and hung them over the side of a nearby bucket. My birds deserved better than to have to wade in her potting soil with Perlite and WonderGro.)
[Yes, once again Mama's "Stitch-and-Bitch" Gin Rummy Occasional Players were meeting at MY house. Today we were in my garden on the stone patio. Blinky took a seat at the umbrella table, Stinky and Pinky sharing the porch swing--the metal 1950s kind with its own base that goes back and forth, so no worries about them pulling out the eyehooks overhead, since there are none--and Nod hopping into our hammock in the shade.)
"I'd know if I got on the wrong shoes right away. I got custom foot-doctor insoles. Cost a small fortune." Stinky moved to pull off her steel-toed boots, but Mama quickly stopped her. Probably recalling the last time Stinky took off her shoes in public. (Patients with lung disorders suffered immediate attacks. The general area had to be evacuated. Homeland Security was notified.)
"How could you get the wrong shoes on?" Mama inquired, reasonably enough, I thought.
"Took 'em off when you were sprayin' that hose at 'Full Power' instead of 'Gentle Mist' setting. Whole side yard is a loblolly of mud now. Wanted to keep from ruinin' another pair of good shoes. I washed my feet in that there wadin' pond." Blinky gestured towards my Pomeranian's little sunflower-shaped wading pool, which we'd used earlier to cool him off. "Get that at Dollar General?"
"Yeah, last year. Isn't it a shame that Wal-Mart bought 'em and is closin' 'em down?" Mama sighed.
"You're kidding!" Stinky's cigarette fell out of her mouth.
Blinky whammed her fist on the table. The umbrella shuddered. "Nope. That woman, richest in the world, she ain't happy bein' one of the biggest stores. Has to be the ONLY one. I hate that. Why'n't they leave some of the business for somebody else? They got enough."
Pinky, finished examining her blood-red oxfords, raised a finger. "It's not Wal-Mart buyin' them. It's those people bought Safeway."
"No, it's not. I read it in the Morning Snooze."
To head off an endless "Yes, it is,"/"NO, it ain't" match, I said, "I hope that isn't true at all. I love Dollar General."
"Well, the manager of the big new one over on Coit--you know, where Colberts used to be--told me they'd been bought and he was losing his good insurance. So take that as you will."
"Damn!" Stinky shook her head. "They ruin everything good."
"Can't blame the guy for selling. Probably got a lot of money and now he can retire."
"I wish I was in HIS shoes," Blinky said. "I'd fix things right up."
"No, you wouldn't. You'd be true to your original mission of creating a national Dime Store. Now that Woolworth's, T G & Y, and the other greats are no more." Mama looked out over the meadow wistfully. The pond splashed at her elbow, and she took the last seat on the old metal chair off of Auntie's 1950s front porch. Nearly all of its original green enamel finish was missing, but we still used it. "One of these days I'm going to paint this," she added, rubbing her thumb along the curve of its arm.
"I just can't understand why somebody would give up the store, though. It was doing so good."
My Pomeranian frolicked over to me and jumped into my lap, exhausted from barking back at the squirrels. A strip of blue canvas dangled from the corner of his mouth, and I suspected I knew who had found Blinky's actual shoes. I thought better of saying so and blathered forth in illustrative literature instead. "In 'To Kill a Mockingbird,' Atticus explains to Scout that 'You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.'"
Blinky sent me a withering look. "In somebody's skin? That's just creepy."
"But it isn't literal. It's about gaining a new perspective. We are all prisoners of our own points of view. To escape that for a few minutes and really experience life as it might be for someone on the Other Side of whatever divides us . . . it's a gift from the Universe."
"I'd rather win the lottery, if the Universe is inclined to gift me."
I sighed. But I'm stubborn. "Remember the old song, 'Walk a Mile In My Shoes'? Think of it that way."
Nod woke up long enough to murmur, "Walk A Mile In My Shoes"--recorded by Joe South and The Believers, written by Joe South, peaked at # 12 in 1970." She's kind of a walking jukebox like that about popular music of that era.
Stinky frowned. "Wasn't there a similar song eventually done by Elvis?"
"Whatever." Pinky waved it aside. "Before you pass judgment on me, first walk a mile in my moccasins." She was getting it.
"I hate moccasins. They're like having your feet in cantaloupes--that raw suede." Stinky shuddered. "That's creepy, too."
Pinky stuck out her tongue. "That's not the point. To walk a mile in my shoes means learn to have empathy, not just sympathy, for others. I want to feel what they feel. Not just parrot, 'I feel sorry for them. That situation must be terrible.' All while I'm a-sittin' in the catbird seat."
My Pom perked up and started looking for the cat/bird. I scratched behind his ears.
Blinky considered. "Well . . . maybe it's not ALL terrible to be on the Other Side. There must be merit even in being a Republican, or God wouldn't have created them."
Stinky scowled. "God didn't create Republicans." She glowered.
Nod popped awake again. "What--the Devil can create stuff?"
"No! That's not what I meant. I meant, somebody else made up being a Republican. You can be one because God gave us free will, but He sure didn't intend anybody to really Become one."
"Must be some good ones out there," Blinky mused. "I liked President Reagan. And Abraham Lincoln, there's you another one."
"That was my POINT . . . that if you were in their position, you might act exactly that way."
"'Cause I wouldn't know any better." Stinky stubbed out her cigarette in my strawberry pot. I made a note to cruise around getting those things out as soon as they left.
Blinky inclined her head, as if to allow that this could be one of the explanations. "Or you sincerely believe in what they're saying."
"If they sincerely believe all of that rot, then bosh. They need to walk a mile in THESE." Stinky offered her feet up. Her surplus-store Army boots teetered. Everyone covered their noses. "Quit that. I'm not gonna take 'em off."
"It's not that politicians actually believe all that stuff they say," said Blinky. "I think some of 'em just hate Hillary Clinton so much that they'll vote opposite of anything she says."
"Well, maybe if they saw ol' Hilly through my eyes, they'd see her differently, shallow Hal." Stinky fired up a new Tareyton.
"Everything's a matter of perspective. Frames of reference. . . ." I trailed off because I knew better than to get into Einsteinian relativity. "As I told someone the other day, I like to see someone's paradigm shift and then hear them go 'Ah!' as they suddenly step into those other moccasins. Some people have never realized they COULD go into another POV like that and understand it. After the first time, they figure out how to do it for themselves. Sometimes. Sometimes they don't."
Mama was studying her feet, having slipped them out of my jeweled slides (she didn't ask before borrowing them, and now they'd be all stretched out of shape.) "I have duck feet. They're splayed out and EE wide. I wish I could wear those high heels, but I never could." My shoes teetered on the edge of the pond. The koi eased halfway out of the water to sniff them in case they were food. "My feet are fat like my daughter's."
"Your feet are fine. So are mine." I snatched my shoes away before they could fall into the pond. "I enjoy walking in my own shoes, down my own path. I believe that the universe is unfolding as it should. Difficult as that might make my path seem. It's still my path, and that's my destiny."
Blinky slammed the pack of cards down on the umbrella table. "Oh, shut up and deal."
[Poll #978112]
(If you enjoyed this entry, you can VOTE FOR ME HERE.)
"I'm descended from a very long line my mother once foolishly listened to."--Phyllis Diller
"It's like magic. When you live by yourself, all your annoying habits are gone."--Merrill Markoe
"After you've dated someone, it should be legal to stamp them with what's wrong with them so the next person doesn't have to start from scratch."--Rita Rudner
