Village Squire, 1978-12, Page 31Socks
by Helene Gatschene
Today marks the glorious end of an
agonizing era for me, mother of five and
grandmother of three. Today, Sunday of all
Sundays, after 32 long chaotic years of it. 1
finally matched socks for the last time
when Number five fledgling decided to fly
from the nest to "do her own thing".
What's so tough about matching socks
you say? Well, let me tell you... First of all,
I was born a disorganized sock organizer.
My earliest memories revolve around
losing a sock, putting holes in socks,
getting scolded for wearing Sunday socks
on weekdays and crime of all crimes,
swapping socks. No matter how scrupul-
ously clean my mother washed my socks,
neatly putting them together, I managed to
dirty them beyond recognition and lo and
behold. lose one shortly after the price tag
had barely been removed. Had I been an
organized sock person. I would have had
the "savoir faire" to lose both socks at the
same time. thus eliminating a problem for
my poor mother. However, when you're a
socks Klutz. you're a sock Klutz and that's
what I was and still am, a socks Klutz.
Mind you, there was a moment of
reprieve. My middle years I call my
"sock -free" years, that wonderful space in
time when I became too sophisticated to
wear socks, when owning and wearing silk
hose had become a must, the first tangible
step toward femininity and the wonderful
world of grown-ups.
Then came a three year stint in the
Airforce. Again, utter freedom from socks
as military dress specified silk hose and
oxfords. Leisure time was spent in running
shoes without socks as was the fashion.
Sheer bliss for me ... no socks to wash, to
lose or mend, my idea of heaven. When
you hate socks, you hate socks.
Near the end of my Airforce career,
while in Pat Bay, B.C. 1 met a man. At first
he seemed ordinary, just a nice guy, the
kind of fella you'd take home to mother but
"no great shakes". However, a second
look proved him to be a good dancer, a
gourmet cook, an enthusiastic eater, all
factors which appealed to me as they were
Not in Festival Square,
not in City Centre, not in Stratford Mall
... we're just in the most beautiful spot in the
whole of Stratford, near Waterloo Bridge, with a
view of the Avon.
That's just one difference between us and any
other bookshop — our prize location. Then
there's our wide range of hooks -in five ram-
bling rooms in the old Victorian house -on -the -
Park.
If you still don't know why our customers love
us so, come in and learn to love us too. We can't
get too much love! We're open Fridays till 9 p.m.
30 Waterloo South
fQr)f:Qre Hooks
„tea"He me
relentlesscuply but somehow, I just could not
feel my that he was the. one wpursuedith whom 1
wanted to spend the rest of my life. We
discussed many, many topics and found
ourselves to have mutual interests and
mutual goals but somehow, on my part,
"something" was lacking but I knew not
what. Then, out of the clear blue sky, the
discussion turned to "socks". Believe it or
not, he also hated them. To prove it, he
took off his shoes and what to my wondrous
eyes did appear but two big white toes
coming out of two large holes, one in each
sock. How that man hated to mend, wash
and keep track of his socks! Ah, at last, the
cementing factor needed to draw us closely
together! He was my man ... he also hated
socks. That was it. I said "yes".
Five children later, we were still going
strong and had faced the fact that ' `socks"
were an integral part of our lives, had too be
coped with and shutting our eyes to the
problem wouldn't solve it. As I worked,
Saturday was the day reserved for the
SEAFORTH
Imaginative
Toys Holiday
Gifts
Boos and
Games `;. Cards.
Christmas Car s
ClAnstmas `N t apping
DeCot atxons
Christmas Candles'
Gass, China'
9\uS our \arge
dry goods
departmect .
Where Shopping is
peg Pleasure.
eh1ber 19j8VillaRe Squire 29