Let us put by some hour of every day for holy things...

I will not doubt, though all my ships at sea
Come drifting home with broken masts and sails.
I will believe the Hand which never fails,
From seeming evil, worketh good for me.
And though I weep because those sails are tattered,
Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered:
I trust in Thee.
--Ann Kimmel

Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines, the labor of the olive shall fail and the fields shall yield no meat, the flock shall be cut off from the fold and there shall be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. Habakkuk 3:17-18

Friday, September 16, 2016


Go-go boots! The iconic footwear must-have that burst onto the scene in about 1965 and became firmly fixed in the cultural landscape when Nancy Sinatra came out with her famous "These Boots Are Made for Walking" hit song in February, 1966. Say "go-go boots" to anyone from the Baby Boomer generation and this is the image most of them will bring to mind:

Yes, those were go-go boots for the teens and twenty-somethings of that exciting decade. 

But for me, go-go boots meant something far less dashing, yet no less adored. When I think "go-go boots" I remember the simple short white boots so many little girls like me were wearing in the second grade. I remember when they came out, and how, one by one, all my classmates appeared at school wearing them. 

Ah, the envy of it all! Those coveted, darling, wonderful little white boots! How I wanted a pair, but alas...  Weeks went by and all I could do was sigh and gaze from afar. And then, suddenly, rather late in the game, my mom took me shoe shopping and I got a pair of my own!

Eat your heart out, Nancy Sinatra!

There was a big flurry of excitement when I came proudly into school the next day. My boots were spanking new and white, and the other girls' boots were looking grey and scuffed by this time. Oh, how I loved those wonderful boots!

Not all of us have such wonderful memories of receiving those coveted go-go boots. 

My sister-in-law's experience was singularly dreadful. A few years older than I, she was in 7th grade when she asked her mother for a pair of go-go boots for Christmas. White go-go boots, like the other girls were wearing. 

...and go-go boots for the pre-teen set, as well!

Long days--nay, long weeks--later, when the moment came to open the gifts, her mother proudly presented her with a large wrapped box. The go-go boots! The white go-go boots! Claudia thought rapturously. 

She tore into the package, her mother beaming proudly, and pulled out...

...a ghastly pair of white galoshes with round toes and fur lining, 
designed for little old ladies and worn by no self-respecting female under the age of eighty-five. Can you imagine the letdown?!

Somehow she kept her dismay from her benignly clueless mother and prayed that it wouldn't snow that winter, but of course it did snow eventually, and Claudia was forced to appear at school in those octogenarian horrors, much to the mockery and hoots of snooty classmates who'd been blessed with more sartorially savvy mothers. 

Ah, memories.... Funny how someone's bliss is someone else's complete bummer, huh?

God pity them both! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
                                   --John Greenleaf Whittier, "Maud Muller"

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