The Prairie Spy

Alan “Lindy” Linda

“Death cleaning.” A recent article that was so labelled was about what we old farts leave behind us for our children to take care of. Clean up. Oh, sure: We get old and talk a good fight about getting rid of the stuff that has accumulated around us–Okay, let me change that from “us” to “me.”

And yes I am getting rid of stuff. Unfortunately, as a child of “The Greatest” generation, more stuff draws itself to me. I fight it, but it is a continuing phenomenon with which I fight and fight, but the fact is my parents did it to me, so genetically I am likely to do it to my children. For example, I grew up on a three-generation Iowa farm. Stuff from not only The Great Depression–and an associated “waste not want not” mindset–but also from horse farming. Waste not want not is a contagious mind set. Parents pass that along.

And I got it.

Anyway, the article mentioned an old pair of boots that was left behind in the house where the parents had spent most of their lives. Their parents came through The Great Depression. You didn’t throw stuff away. So there was a pair of boots, one of which had a large hole in it. Said the parents, who had moved out into town, “You never know when you’ll need one boot.”

I acquired a 1936 Plymouth that my father had acquired from his uncle, who had purchased it new. In the trunk of that coupe was one cowboy boot that had been left there by Uncle Wilbur. (I am enclosing a painted picture of that boot, which I gave to my daughter to use as a subject for students where she teaches drawing and painting and such.)

One boot. And it was a nice one, as you can tell from the painting.  Hardly any wear. Just one. Where’d the other one go? How can a pair of boots end up so asunder?

As I’ve told you in past articles, if you cannot see a solution, think up three possible ways something could be done. So what are three ways one boot left home?

Solution one: Perhaps they both were there once, and one fell out? Nope. Dad says one only, ever since he acquired the car back in the fifties, when Wilbur passed.

Solution two: Perhaps, as indicated under the “possibly need just one” up above, he met a cowboy who had one boot with a hole in it, and needed just one good one. Doubtful. This is Iowa we’re talking about, not Texas.

Solution three: Perhaps he took one of these, his favoritest boots, with him into the Hereafter for a pattern, where there were Better Angels, some of whom were Everafter bootmakers. And now he is wearing boots made of Good Memories, sewn with Golden Threads of Forever.

Bet you didn’t see that solution coming. But I like it the best.