Imperfect World
.
I watched my father
polish his shoes at night.
A good spit shine, he called it.
Brush, spit, brush, spit.
The right one drying on the newsprint.
polish his shoes at night.
A good spit shine, he called it.
Brush, spit, brush, spit.
The right one drying on the newsprint.
He could never get them clean enough.
.
.
Willow, 2009
hi willow, i remember a time when shoes were always polished before "events". picking up the little round tin, twisting the funny shaped little handle that locked it shut, the smell of the wax and the lovely creamy feel of it on a cloth before applying it. then the rubbing into all the wrinkles and around the eyelets and then after feeling the shape of your shoe through the doubled layer of the soft cloth and the skin on the palm of your hand - leaving it.
ReplyDelete"leave it to settle".
finally, polishing it to a sweet sheen that was redolent with softness and the smells of leather and wax.
good times. steven
A different era, when polished shoes were the sign of a person who cared about his appearance. I don't think I ever polished my shoes, nor had them resoled. We just give away, throw away these days.
ReplyDeletemy military man still polishes his shoes & boots. something so nostalgic about watching a man take such care & time.
ReplyDeleteLovely words willow and a gorgeous image. My friend Harry - ex-guardsman and ex-policeman - still ritualistically polishes his shoes each night.
ReplyDeletei remember painting the red shoe polish kit that still resides in my dads closet. he still shines his shoes.
ReplyDeleteYour words poignantly took me back to the kitchen of my childhood where my father bent over polishing his shoes while I stood next to him spreading white opaque polish to my school shoes with a little folded cloth...my shoelaces drying after being freshly scrubbed with Ajax. Thank you, Willow....lovely poem.
ReplyDeleteHi Willow
ReplyDeleteas we wore uniforms to school in NZ it was a rule to polish the shoes every night with Kiwi Nugget!
then put them to air in the bottom of the Hot Water Closet...
I can smell the nugget now and hear the swish swish of the brush up and down the length of the show...
I can also remember the little closing clasp that Steven is referring to.
Happy days
Oh, memories! You even found that brand of polish!
ReplyDeleteNostalgia time! My grandfather -- an Alabama farm boy who only got as far as the eighth grade -- went on to become president of the largest bank in Tampa. He polished his shoes every night and, if I was spending the night as I often did, he polished my loafers as well. It was a truly loving thing.
ReplyDeleteMy husband polishes his shoes still. Not every day, but when we have somewhere special to go. It's not as easy as it looks. I tried a year or so ago. He just laughed at me and took over.
ReplyDeleteWonderful poem...
Oh yes - shoe-polishing! Quite relaxing.
ReplyDeleteLovely poem, Willow.
Betsy, WT had that old polish in with the others in his polish kit. He never throws anything away, as you well know. :)
ReplyDeleteI have very similar memories, Willow. ♥
ReplyDeleteNeat memories, and sweet poem. We are such a throw-away society. We seemed to appreciate things so much more when we took better care and showed pride in them.
ReplyDeleteVery evocative--& a great pic to accompany it.
ReplyDeletegorgeous photo and wonderful tribute to your dad, willow.
ReplyDeleteAch! All that shinin' my old military boots! Nice poem, Willow!
ReplyDeleteHey Wills,
ReplyDeleteOur parents lived in a time when shoes had to be polished.
Those were good times.
Nowadays people just were sneakers.
I still have my little kit of shoe polish & buffing cloth. I wear enough leather shoes and boots.
But I also wear my sneakers a lot because they are more comfy.
Yes,My Dad was The Same......&,yes, Its a Military Thing I think.
ReplyDeleteAttention to small details gives the Bigger Picture?
Wonderful picture!
ReplyDeleteI polished as a kid...remember putting my hand inside the shoe and twisting about and getting the polish everywhere it had to go and more...then plop onto a newpaper for a bit...now i wear sneakers to work!
ReplyDeleteHow poignant that was. My dad also used to polish his shoes (and mine) at night - he had a special leather case with all the brushes and colours and it used to smell so nice. Oh what I would give to see him doing it still - the death of loved ones is the hardest thing to bear in life I think.
ReplyDeleteOn another -and jollier note - until you recently blogged about the film Sunshine I had forgotten how good it was. It was on amazon for just small money so I got it and loved it - thank you again. Keep the recommendations coming!
Lovely poem btw
Nice Willow.It brings back memories of my grandfather doing the same.
ReplyDeleteMy first job was a shoe shine boy. You had to learn how to make the rag snap. The brush was just the first part of the shine process -- the rag and that snapping sound was the finish men would tip for.
ReplyDeleteAudrey is on Pick a Peck of Pixels. You saw her with green peas all over her face. Now, see her at 9 with her hair blowing in the wind. Be part of history. Become a Follower or leave a comment. Tell you friends. Link up. Pick a Peck of Pixels
Beautiful poem-vignette from your childhood, Willow!
ReplyDeleteI hardly dare say so, but I still polish my shoes. Even sandals.
I don't wear make-up, though, except for lipgloss. Maybe that's the reason why I shine my shoes?
This remains me so of my father, Joseph, an old world Italian who "cleaned up nice" as he would say. he always wore french cuff shirts and polished wingtips.
ReplyDeleteHi Willow,
ReplyDeleteIt's as art I only see at the airport now....I still have my Dad's shoe-shine box.
-Jayne
My dad had a red, wooden shoe box that held all the shoe-shining paraphernalia. He would set up the box and it had a raised foot-form on it that he could put his foot on to shine the shoes. I remember the sound of that tin of polish opening up and the rubbing sound of the long-handled round brush against the leather. Mostly though, I remember the swish-swish sound of the full brush as he buffed them to a perfect shine. Finally, I can hear the sound of the flip-top on the box being slammed shut.
ReplyDeleteI haven't thought of this for years. Thanks, Willow! The poem is wonderful!
Kat
That takes me back.
ReplyDeleteSeems as though polishing shoes is a lost art.
Oh dear, this reminds me that I really should shine some of my shoes...eeek!
ReplyDeleteHmmmm...very telling! excellent, in just a few short words, Willow! Well done! I love it.
ReplyDeletethe smell of shoe polish stimulates a variety of memories for me.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed this very much.
thank you
Ribbon
LOVE the photo !
ReplyDeleteNothing makes me feel more 'dressed up' than a pair of shiny shoes!
ReplyDeleteOK. This is one of my favorites of your poems. Truly it is beautiful, a perfect poem in an imperfect world, a clear memory of your father. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteMy Dad still does on his 'Sunday go ta meetin' shoes'...thanks for the memories!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Susan. I was really pleased with the way it turned out. A little photoshopping is a wonderful thing.
ReplyDeleteWhat a memory. I can see my Dad running a brush over his shoes in my mind's eye now.
ReplyDeleteSame memory I grew up with. Just recently found an antique shoe shine box and it still had a well used can of "shoe cream" inside. A treasure, for sure.
ReplyDeleteWell done Willow.
Jane
Awesome poem. My husband still polishes his shoes and mine if I ask him. It brings me back to when my dad polished his shoes. Ah memories!
ReplyDeleteAwesome poem. My husband still polishes his shoes and mine if I ask him. It brings me back to when my dad polished his shoes. Ah memories!
ReplyDeleteI remember my grandfathers and Dad doing this when I was a kid. My Dad had his own kit. It was all about being dapper back then.
ReplyDeleteThat could have been written about my father, willow. In the days of leather shoes there seemed to be the need to have a high polish on them. My father used to clean all our shoes on a Saturday morning - and always to a very high shine. Thank you for the poem - it brought back lovely memories.
ReplyDeleteMy father used to shine his shoes as well. Kept the shoe shine box ontop of the fridge, out of reach of us kids. It was a round wooden box with a lid that he would turn over and a heel hold would be there.
ReplyDeleteNow that I think about it that was a very thrifty and wise thing to do.
I remember giving up on trying to perfect the spit-shine. The Army was none too happy about that. :D
ReplyDeleteThis is so much a part of my childhood..I can smell the polish right now, that tangy smell that could clear my sinus! I would place my shoes alongside Dad's, dab the smooth paste and stain my little hands, while Dad tried to shoo (sic) me away!
ReplyDeleteI had to polish my Dads boots, and he was never satisfied with my result! Bastard! LOL!
ReplyDeleteI loved to watch my dad polish his shoes and the smell of shoe polish is one of those memory smells that can magically transport me back to childhood.
ReplyDeleteMy job was to polish my dad's shoes every Saturday morning. Out came the black shoe polish, I remember the smell. Then the cloth I used to coat each shoe. After letting each shoe dry I took the wonderful bristle brush and sticking my small hand in each shoe, first the right, then the left as my father taught me, I brushed, brushed, brushed. Lastly came the black tinted lambskin shammy cloth for that final shine. Thanks for the memory!
ReplyDeleteWillow my friend, you have really stirred my memory pot on this one.
ReplyDeleteFrom my spit shined Piccalos and Penny Loafers to polishing my babies little white high top walkers. I had little bell things for the strings to fit in to keep them from coming untied. I always thought those were so sweet on my babies!
The last time I bought shoe polish -- liquid -- it was to change the color of a brown fedora to black.
ReplyDeleteWillow you bought tears to my eyes with this lovely, poignant poem. My Dad (battling aggressive cancer) is very big on shoe-polishing. I remember how we have photographed and filmed him shining my daughter's boots so lovingly. So much care and attention focused on those tiny boots. He has always cared about the details of his appearance. Not a wealthy man but very well groomed and always very shining shoes. It is amazing how such few words can conjure up so much in people's emotions. I am glad we do not have video cam on these Blogs so you are spared the sight of my Lancôme streaked cheeks!
ReplyDeleteps I also have those kitchen floor times. Quite a lot actually! We have the black and white checkerboard tiles and they show the dirt instantly. I am always on a mop xx
Nice poem, Willow, and memories to go with it. I wonder if I could get Steven to do mine?!
ReplyDeleteWhen I was a kid, Saturday nights were for shining shoes, washing hair and preparing for church the next day.
ReplyDeleteMy brother and I polished our own shoes.
My Uncle was in the Army for over 30 years, so before I went in, he taught me how to spit shine my boots and polish my brass. Make my bed so the quarter bounced, and polish the floors to look like mirrors. The funny thing was that you had to really use spit or it would not work. My boots still shined even 15 years after I had gotten out. Was kinda freaky, but also made me proud. Now they buy patent leather boots and very few know how to spit shine them. But it really was fun to do it as a group and just sit around shooting the bull while trying to outshine each others shoes.
ReplyDeleteThanks for bringing back the memories.
God bless.
You're inspiring all kinds of reminiscing for me today! I remember how fascinated I used to be with my dad's shoe shining kit. I used to get into it all the time! ~Lori
ReplyDeleteYou never can, can you? Lovely poem. Observational poetry, I would call it. The type that springs up unannounced and begs to be laid down softly on paper. When it comes to shoe polishing my OCD goes overboard. They have to be really shiny! Many thanks for the poem.
ReplyDeleteGreetings from London.
Wow my dad used to do the same, every Sunday night . .spit 'n polish, he learned it in the army and never forgot. He'd polish our school shoes as well, they were so clean that we'd deliberately scuff them up so that we didn't stand out! Pour soul, spent hours cleaning our shoes. I don't even own any shoe polish, just leather conditioner. Great photo.
ReplyDeletegreat. and very evocative
ReplyDeleteWonderful poem bringing back so many memories of shoe polishing sessions but in our home, being an army brat it was my late father, boot as well as shoe, polishing. All that spit and polish until you could see your face in the tips!! He taught me to polish my shoes and because his boots were done every day, so were my shoes!! I didn't like the task very much but I enjoyed being at his side. Later at boarding school I had to do it - twice a week for outdoor shoes. My husband spoiled the children - he polished their shoes for them when they were younger. He polishes his shoes and has something to say to me if mine don't quite hit the mark!!! So he does them for me too!.
ReplyDelete