Eccentric – Page 126 – Deborah Makarios

July 19, 2014

the Relentless Rhythm

About three or four weeks after your DNA was composed, when you were about the size of a pea (and a very small pea at that), something remarkable happened.

A little tubey squiggle in your pea-sized self started to pulse rhythmically. Not very dramatic, not very noticeable, even, but there it was.

Over time the tubey squiggle got rather more complicated as it developed, but the beat went on.

It’s carrying on even now, however many years later.

Except for major medical interventions (or situations requiring major medical interventions), that beat won’t stop until the day you die. It might speed up or slow down at various times, but the basic rhythm carries on.

Think back over your life: the ups, the downs, the scares, the joys. Through it all, your heart was beating away – despite what you might have felt at the time – largely unnoticed and generally unappreciated.

So today, why not do something nice for your heart in return? Eat another vegetable, go for a walk, or just take some time to de-stress. Keep your heart happy.

After all, it’s been with you longer than any of your friends (since you were a pea and it was a squiggle, in fact) and it’s probably let you down less often. It’s always there for you, just getting on with the job.

Speaking of which, why not consider donating your heart to someone else when you’ve finished with it? We don’t bury people’s tools with them any more, so why would you bury something as useful as a heart?

There are, sadly, many people whose hearts for one reason or another are not the reliable workhorses most of us enjoy (or more usually, ignore). Why not agree to pass yours on to someone who will really appreciate it?

July 16, 2014

Quote: Difference

“One person may need (or want) more leisure, another more work; one more adventure, another more security, and so on. It is this diversity that makes a country, indeed a state, a city, a church, or a family, healthy. ‘One-size-fits-all,’ and that size determined by the State has a name, and that name is ‘slavery.'”
David Mamet

July 12, 2014

Muse on Shoes

I am not the sort of woman who says she loves her shoes. But there is a pair for which I have a certain affection. They’re not Jimmy Choos or Manolos or Louboutins or anything like that. They’re thin black leather with a low heel – in fact, they look exactly like this.
Except older and more battered.

I used to react badly to people describing them as granny shoes. Until one day I happened to be in the shoe shop when a lovely LOL (Little Old Lady) somewhere around eighty was buying exactly this style. Well, fair enough. You don’t get to be eighty without knowing a decent shoe when you see one.

But what really got me is what she said as she handed them over to the sales-lady to be scanned. “This pair will see me out.” The sales-lady, naturally, made tut-tut-of-course-not noises, but thinking about it, the LOL was probably right. She was old enough that her shoes likely didn’t get devastating amounts of wear, and they are really good shoes.

I bought my pair for work in early 2008 because I was on my feet for hours and the pascals were killing me. They’ve seen a lot of wear since, having been my only decent pair of shoes for at least half that time. In order to keep them going, some small mends have been necessary. (Cobblers: Cheaper Than Buying New Shoes.) But on my last visit the cobbler told me the end was fast approaching.

Mended, they’d see me through the winter. Maybe approaching next winter. But sooner or later, the only thing to do, he said, was to go shopping.
My first thought was “what? but they’re only six and a half years old!” My second was “that’s worked out at about 50c a week – not too bad”. And then I thought “I could get some brown shoes” (for reasons which will soon become apparent). And then (some time later) I thought “do I really need another pair of shoes?”

I already have:
three pairs of boots – black leather; rubber (for wet); sheepskin (for freezing)
one pair of black walking shoes
one pair of black canvas sand-shoes
one pair of blue low-heeled shoes

one pair of black high heels (worn only with evening dress, i.e. about once every year or so)
and one pair of ivory satin boots (which get even less wear than the evening heels. What can I say? The sheepskin boots didn’t really go with my wedding dress).
And of course for casual summer wear you can’t go past the classic rubber jandal, which handily doubles as a swat for creepy-crawlies.

That’s nine different kinds of footwear, not counting the classic black pair rapidly approaching the day of their demise.
Do I need another pair of shoes? Probably depends on your definition of need. And unless you have a fairly liberal definition, the answer is probably no. Would I like another pair of shoes? Probably maybe?

As items in my wardrobe wear out I’m trying to replace them with things that actually suit me (revolutionary concept, I know) – more brown, green, and other ‘natural’ colours. I could do the same with my shoes – but it might make more sense to wait til attrition has finished altering my wardrobe, and then look for a suitable pair.
Attrition might have further altered my footwear collection by then too – after all, no matter how good the shoes I buy, I can’t yet say “they’ll see me out.”