Shoes Drop...Deal With It

Sometimes I sit down to write something and find myself without a subject. You might attribute this to mid-life doldrums or my apparent inability to leave the city to find adventure, much less take a different route to work or try a new cereal. It's times like these, when I'm in a bit of a rut, that I fear a life altering jolt the most. It's not so much the other shoe dropping as it is the first shoe dropping. Nobody ever worries about that...It's after the first shoe drops that we walk on eggshells until the second one hits. And no, I have no idea where that idiom was born. Legend says that it was a guy from Pawtucket, standing under a power line staring at a pair of shoes, laced together, hanging 20 feet above his head. He was walking his dog and noticed them, wondered how the hell they'd gotten there in the first place and stared at them until Rover urged him home. Three weeks later, he noticed there was only one shoe, dangling by a thread. It really perplexed him at this point, so he waited, breathlessly, for the other shoe to drop. He knew it would; gravity demanded it. But when and why, he might never know. So we watched when he could (without losing his job or being accused of being crazy) to no avail. One day, on his customary walking of Rover, the other shoe was gone. He'd waited, nervous for the conclusion to the mystery, and it happened without his knowing. He was devastated. Then he got over it. A week later he tied his old running shoes together and lopped them over another power line on a different street in order to torture some other bastard.

The first shoe drops more and more often as we age. Life clips along at whatever pace we choose for it, and then it happens.
Your car breaks down in the middle of a rainstorm.
An old friend has a heart attack and never wakes up.
Your boss tells you that your postition is being eliminated.
The stock market falls like a house of cards in a Kansas dust devil and you lose your kid's college fund.

Having the first shoe on the ground should be a relief. We already have the pain and angst. We're already in fight or flight mode. If Jason jumps out from behind a tree sporting a bloody hockey mask and a pickaxe, you crap your pants and start to run. If Freddy Krueger pops out behind him and takes chase as well, it's really no big deal. In all likelihood, if you simply outrun Jason then Freddy will get tired and just slaughter him and leave you alone. You could even become friends and have a laugh over a beer about the whole thing later.

So, right now I'm in the mode of waiting for the first shoe to drop. How sad is that? I'm assuming that life is so simple and natural and gliding along at such a terrific pace, that there must be a slasher behind one of the trees I'm about to pass when I'm walking my dog. What a stupid way to walk the dog.

There are roots in my fear; they're based in past experiences and faith and reality. Life is abrupt. In the grand scheme of things, it starts and stops like a trigger thumb on a stopwatch. Babies are born every second, and bodies are lowered into the ground almost as often. Three different people inside one city block could be minding their own business when one will trip and break their arm, another crash their car into a fence and the third will be laughing with gusto at a joke. Life happens. Shoes drop. Waiting for it is ultimately the biggest sin against proper use of your time that you can commit.

I want to dedicate this roustabout of non-linear thought to my little brother, his wife and their daughter. She was born about a year ago and she is perfect. She arrived just in time for them to be able to handle the other shoe dropping. Their first "kid" Maddie, was a beautiful Golden Retriever who buried her head in your crotch, not to sniff, but to hug you. She was regal. She was 11 and lived a stellar life of love and happiness in the confines of a terrific Colorado yard and many hiking and camping adventures. She had a brother Goldie named Charlie added to her world, and she loved him too. When her human sister (my sweet niece Quincy) joined the team, I think Maddie realized that the other shoe could drop and it wouldn't break a house of cards. Love and bravery make us ready and capable of handling anything.

And just so you know, that pair of shoes I hooked on that power line in 1999 are still there, swaying lightly in the afternoon breeze. And I don't care. Sweet dreams, Maddie.