The Importance of Assembly Manuals and Shoe Polish

Posted on by Kristine

Recently I had to polish my patent, ruby red Tieks. It’s something I have to do every few months or so to keep the leather nice and shiny. As I sat down at the kitchen table with my polishing cloth and shoe polish, I was suddenly sucked back in time to when I was a little girl.

I remember my dad used to polish his leather dress shoes the same way, sitting at the kitchen table with his shoe polish kit. These days, people in the medical field wear comfortable scrubs and sneakers. Back then in the early days at his job at the hospital lab, he used to wear slacks and a lab coat. Polishing his shoes was a weekly ritual.

He would apply the shoe polish gingerly to different spots around the shoe. Then using an old fashioned horsehair shoe polishing brush, he would buff the polish out, paying special attention to the toes.

I never payed attention closely, but I was usually nearby either sitting at the kitchen table eating my breakfast or on the couch a few feet away watching cartoons. It was a mundane task that my dad periodically engaged in, like cleaning his rifles, so it never really interested me. Little did I know, my young mind was recording every detail: his long strokes, brushing the shoe brush across the leather, the sharp scent of shoe polish.

My dad and I at the Founder’s Parade. This was probably 1986 or 1987.

When I got older, I would have many more opportunities to make memories like this with my dad. Last weekend I spent several hours assembling a new dresser that we ordered online. It took several hours and a lot of patience, but there was something about the smell of the composite wood and veneer that reminded me of the times I spent assembling furniture with him. The distinctive texture of the leather furniture we’d assembled felt special to me; so much that I felt that I had to find more info about it. I thought of the garage in my parents house, the tool shed filled with all his power tools. I thought of how skilled he was building and assembling things.

“Don’t tighten your screws individually when you attach a piece,” he said. He taught me to turn the screws just enough to make sure the piece is on straight. Then you hold it in place while tightening all the screws last, moving from one screw to the other until it’s attached.

He also taught me to read the assembly directions. Why? Because he never read them himself. So I often found myself correcting his mistakes because I was the one reading the manual. He was funny like that.

Today December 12 marks 5 years since my dad passed away. I think one of the things that’s hard for us to come to terms with when we lose someone dear is that we lose the opportunity to make more memories with them. Our time with them stops and we hope that we garnered enough wisdom from them before they left. But I guess in my case, I can just dream of a life where he’s still alive, advising me on my various home projects and being the helpful dad I know he would have always been.

When Izzie Cries, I Cry Too

Posted on by Kristine

Sunday morning I was feeling a little energetic and decided to take Izzie for a walk. During our neighborhood walks, we make one lap one street over and come back, but this time I wanted to head up the main road to the new Racetrac that opened a few weeks ago.

I thought I’d get some coffee, maybe a biscuit, and then we’ll walk back. All the while, Izzie will be able to get her sniff on.

The weather was overcast and mildly cool. It was a perfect day for a stroll, and it’s not often that Izzie and I get to spend time together just us girls.

Everything was going great. When we arrived at the Racetrac, I left her tied to one of the tables outside while I went inside to get my coffee and biscuit. She was upset that I left her, but I wasn’t gone long. We stayed there a few minutes, watching the cars at the intersection go by. She and I shared the biscuit while I sipped my coffee. It was turning out to be a pleasant morning so far.

We started to make our way back. I had my coffee in one hand, Izzie’s leash in the other. Halfway back, Izzie walked into a patch of wild grass in between two office buildings. It didn’t occur to me that she would come across anything devastating to our morning.

But it wasn’t until we started walking again that I noticed her right paw began to develop a significant limp. I bent down and checked her. That’s when I discovered the nasty burrs.

If you’ve never walked through an open field in Texas before, you’ve probably never caught a burr on your shoes or the ankles of your jeans. These can be annoying little suckers. Sometimes they just get stuck in clothing, other times they can be downright painful and thorn-like. The ones that Izzie picked up were the thorn-like kind.

I managed to remove most of them from around her legs, but there was one bad one that got caught in the pad of her tiny paw. That’s the one that was causing her to limp.

I tried to pull it out, but she would protest by giving me a warning nip as if to say, “Ouch! Get away from there, bitch!”

We still had a ways to go, and I was no where finished with my coffee. I figured Izzie was what? 15 lbs.? I could carry her AND my coffee home.

However, it’s amazing how quickly 15 lbs. grew to be 100 in a short amount of time. And no amount of arm switching could relieve the weight I bore in one arm. Oh, but Izzie didn’t care. She looked up at me lovingly like, “Man, this is the best walk ever!”

I measured my distance home by the number of office buildings we passed before we finally made it to our group of cul de sacs. I had two more office buildings to go which meant two more cul de sacs before we reached ours. But I couldn’t do it. Izzie was getting heavier with each step. I had to let my coffee go.

And well yes, I could’ve called Craig to rescue us, but it wasn’t an emergency, and the only major loss was my 99 cent coffee (R.I.P.). So I drank as much as I could before picking Izzie up with both hands and heading home.

When we arrived back, I told Craig all about our walk and then explained to him about Izzie’s minor injury. So like a good Dad, he brought out a fresh, clean towel and spread it on the couch while I examined her foreign objects. I found two more burrs that I hadn’t caught before.

Then came the last one–the one that stuck in her front paw. Anytime I would touch it, no matter how gentle I tried to be, she would let out this high-pitched howl, “Arrooooow!!”

“AHHH!!!” I screamed. “OH MY GOD!”

That’s the level of pain she was in. When she screamed, I screamed too. I was so close to tears.

Craig grabbed pliers and treats and started to distract her with it. While she was distracted, I managed to clear enough of her fur from her pads to be able to see the burr embedded.

“Ok, honey, it’s out in the open now. I’m going to have to hold her down so she won’t bite you,” he said. “But you’re going to grab the burr with the pliers and pull as fast as you can, ok?”

I nodded.

I held my breath.

Craig poised himself at her head; I was opposite him with pliers in hand. Then I went in.

Izzie let out the most painful howl as I deftly grabbed the burr and pulled it out. And in an instant, we both let her go, and she quickly twisted out of our grasp and scampered away.

There I was, holding this ugly little thing in my hand that had pretty much exhausted our morning and Izzie was back to normal, prancing around as if nothing had happened. What a relief.

Breaking Barriers by Breaking Wind

Posted on by Kristine

“Oh, by the way, you farted last night.”

If you ever want to know what married people talk about first thing in the morning after waking up. It’s this. “What?” I asked. “Really I did?”

“Yeah,” Craig said nonchalantly. “I was so shocked. Not only did you fart once, but you farted twice. In your sleep.”

I started laughing. See the thing is, for Craig, passing gas is like breathing. It’s the part of the Vegan/Vegetarian creed. You know, “Thou shalt not eat meat. Thou shalt not eat dairy or eggs. Thou shalt fart every hour of the day or at least when no one is looking.” So he is shocked that in the two years we’ve been together that he’s never heard me lay one. In fact, he was beginning to think I was an alien or some kind of android. “It’s unnatural!” he would say.

It’s not that I never farted, it’s just that I farted discreetly. And I never have to fart as often as Craig does. So to learn that Craig finally heard me pass gas was a relief (no pun intended).

“So I farted, huh?” I said. “What did it sound like? How did it happen?”

“Well, it was shortly after you got into bed. You immediately fell asleep,” he said. “Then I heard this ‘pff..fft!’ Wait, no it was more like ‘pffffft!’ Yeah that’s exactly how it sounded. And I thought, wait what was that? Surely that wasn’t me. Then, it came again, ‘pffft!’ You tooted a second time! It was glorious!”

I was literally rolling around in laughter at his story. “I was so excited I finally heard you fart,” he said, “that I couldn’t even go back to sleep. I couldn’t wait to tell you about it!”

So that’s it. That’s my story about the night Craig finally heard me fart. In a way, it’s made our relationship stronger.

“We’ve reached a milestone, honey,” he said. “Then the day will come when we’ll be farting… together.”

Ok, that’s way too far. But he’s good at making me laugh and that’s what matters.

An Ode to the Man I Married

Posted on by Kristine

Friends, let me tell you a story.

I know this man who has a magical power. It is a keen ability to wedge his way into the cracks of a person’s wall and turn their frown upside down. This man just happens to be my husband.

Now I am not talking about people he knows. I am talking about complete strangers. Let me give you an example.

This morning, we were leaving the gym when they started playing one of his favorite songs from A Tribe Called Quest. “Hold on one second, let me chat with the front desk,” he said.

I wonder what people think when they see a guy like Craig approach them. He’s not very intimidating when you first meet him, but I suppose in the right setting he could look like a customer about ready to whine and complain about something. And I’m sure considering this girl was working the front desk of a bare-bones gym, complaints were probably all she ever dealt with.

He asked her a question about the equipment, and she responded with a cordial answer. Then he asked what station they were playing today over the sound system.

She was a little hesitant to answer. “I don’t know really. We don’t control the music. It’s set to whatever the managers leave it on. I just press the power button and that’s it.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to say this is a funky mix you guys have on,” he said. “It really got me going during my workout. Great choice.”

And as soon as she realized this dorky, middle-aged white guy just used the word “funky” in a sentence, her face just lit up with a smile at his silly banter and she laughed. “Well, I’ll be sure to let her know,” she said, and she wished us a good day as we left.

It is hard to believe that Craig was once painfully shy all throughout his childhood as well as a majority of his adolescence. He told me he used to be terrified of talking in public. Although I don’t see him running for public office anytime soon, I think he’s come out of his shell since then. Seeing him interact with people is such a delight. I found a good man with a good heart who’s a good person to be around.

Photo: Adobe Stock.

The Other Side

Posted on by Kristine

For the first time in about 10 years, I was summoned for jury duty. This time it wasn’t the dreaded Frank Crowley Criminal Courthouse. It was the slightly more refined George Allen Civil Courthouse on Commerce Street. And not to say that Crowley is the bad seed, but let’s face it. It’s on the other side of the smelly tunnel. The trains don’t even stop there so you have to take a bus. And it just looks oppressive with Lew Sterritt looming right next to it. Oh and did I forget to mention all the scary looking bail bond places across the street. Get a bond your family requires with Danville bail bonds. Now I can say I’ve officially been to both courthouses.

Ok so back to my jury summons. I decided to take the train since the West End DART station was only 2 blocks away from the courthouse. My fare was free of charge on the way there (and yes, I said on the way there, more on that later).

Like the responsible little researcher, I planned my morning route adequately. I would take the 6:48 AM Red line and arrive at the West End station at 7:21 AM.

The morning commute wasn’t so bad. Getting out of bed at 5:00 AM was the worst. I prepared the night before by taking a shower and packing my things: some light reading material, my phone charger, my journal, assorted pens and pencils, and my Kindle. So really all I had to do in the morning was wake my ass up, drink my coffee, eat something light, change clothes and head out for the day. Craig was a darling and made sure I got out of bed on time.

I’m very fortunate in that the Arapaho station is really close to my house. The temperature of the air was mild but I could already tell it was going to be a scorcher. There were around 3 other commuters waiting on the platform once I arrived and it wasn’t long before our train arrived.

It’s not often these days that I get to explore and do new things by myself. Now that I’m married, I almost always have a husband in tow. In some ways, being able to take the train downtown by myself freed me from the burden of having to drive. It allowed me to just sit back, read my Kindle while listening to music and occasionally glance out the window to watch as the suburbs gradually changed into an urban landscape.

The West End station was my final destination. It was the closest stop to the courthouse, which was only about 2 or 3 blocks away. Although the train station was populated with what seemed to be loitering vagrants, the city sidewalks were practically empty. I guess no one else really walks through downtown.

I spent maybe 2 hours at the George Allen building before I was finally assigned to Justice of the Peace court in northwest Dallas. According to the jury clerk that our small group spoke with, JP courts don’t usually have trial cases but when they do, they usually call the county courthouse to send jurors to their district for the jury selection process (voir dire).

I was disappointed because I couldn’t spend more time exploring the city. I had to report to the other courthouse at 1:30. This gave me just enough time to grab something to eat, hop on a train back home to get my car and maybe catch a quick nap before going heading back out.

Rather than strolling into the closest McDonald’s, I decided I would serve the local economy better if I chose a restaurant that I’d never heard of or been to before. Something that wasn’t a chain.

I stumbled across this place called The Purple Onion. A quick Google search from my phone called it a Greek place, but when I walked in, it seemed more like a bar that served a diverse menu of cafe staples. Still there were a few people seated at tables throughout so it couldn’t be that bad. Plus they were open for breakfast and I was dying for eggs and home fries. After breakfast, I made my way down Field St. to the Akard Station on Pacific and began my trek home.

As I walked through the city and gazed up at the tall buildings, I realized there is a certain level of independence that I miss now that I’m married. Even though Craig does his best to give me space when I ask for it. I can’t just take a day trip on a whim by myself without having a good reason.

I remember at one point in my life, I wanted to move to a metropolitan area. I loved the diversity you can only find in urban areas. It inspires a sense of adventure. Now, however, I find myself looking forward mornings when it’s cool enough for me to enjoy my cup of coffee on the front porch. I think of plans for the yard and I look forward to the potential unfolding in the garden.

My day in the city was a reminder of a dream I used to have, but no longer yearn for. Because I’m happy now where I’m at, and even happier that I have someone to share it with.

Photo: Kristine Macabare.