Thursday, December 12, 2019 Dis ‘ere’s ‘ow to Tie Yer Boots

                                                     Dis ‘ere’s ‘ow to Tie Yer Boots

“I like me slip-on Sorel boots,” said Sven, sweeping snow from the toes of his ankle-high, leather-topped rubber-soled formerly-made-in-Canada insulated camp boots. “I can yust slip dem on and slip dem off, lickety-split."

“I prefer me knee-high leat’er lace-up rubber-soled insulated boots,” said Ula, adjusting the tensile strength of a squirrel trap door hinge. “I vear dem all year long. I like dere height and da security dey give me traversin’ da svamps and voodlands of my adversarial prey, aside from da protections dey render ‘gainst da deadly strikes of poisonous snakes.”

“I dunno,” said Sven, slipping his boots off before they entered Ula’s house. “Yer boots look exactly like me sister, Sandra Guysdottir’s leat’er knee-high corset-laced boots, especially vit dose full lengt’ zippers on da back and all dose leat’er straps and buckles on da sides. I’m pretty sure yer boots are vomen’s boots. Comfortable, are dey?”

“DESE ARE NOT VOMEN’S BOOTS!” snorted Ula, sitting down at his chair at the table, his boots atop a convenient woven rug. “Dese are aut’entic knee-high Lee’s Store lace-up, rubber-soled, upper-leat’er Minnesota ‘untin’ boots, ‘and-made in Wannaska, since da early 1900s.”

“Eh? But vy all da straps, buckles and zippers?” asked Sven, feeling totally ignorant of the fact there had been a shoe making business in Wannaska all this time. “Vy do dey include dem straps, buckles and zippers, ven dey look to ‘ave over sixty-inches of lacing on each boot? Seems as unnecessary as puttin’ pedals on a motorbike.”

“If you must know,” clipped Ula, quite impatient with Sven’s opinion about his favorite boots. “Dese laces are ‘ighly important elements of survival, as any real outdoors person knows, and integral to a hunter or trapper’s ability to endure an outdoor catastrophe, should vun arise.”

“Vat?,” Sven snickered, helping himself to cold coffee from Ula’s coffee pot on the stove. Putting his cup in the microwave to heat it up, Sven continued, “It looks as doe yer laces ‘ave been broken or cut and re-tied a dozen times, except at da very top of da boot. Yer overdue for ‘not’er pair of laces, eh. You can afford ‘em.”

“No, Sven, dese are special laces. Damn special laces. Irreplaceable laces, plus dese are strong as steel and capable of stretching to ten times dere lengt' and return to dere original size ... I kid you not,” said Ula, patting the side of one of his boots. “Dese are ‘and-crafted Great Vite shark ‘ide laces from Corsica, in da Mediterranean, you know. Laces like dese are even illegal to possess since da ban on killing Great Vites vas put in place. You must never tell a soul ‘bout dese ‘ere laces, Sven. Pinky svear.”

“You need a cup of coffee, Ula,” sighed Sven, handing him his warmed-up cup. “I’ll make anot’er.” He was used to Ula’s wild imaginative stories, further illuminated by a few glasses of wine and loud Irish or Blues music, but this was unusual being so early in the day, for Ula was as sober as a canoe paddle.

“Dese boot laces are dis long because I might ‘ave to sew meself into a hot bison carcass to keep from freezin’ to deat’ on a windswept prairie subzero night,” explained Ula, matter-of-factly. “Try doing dat vit yer no-laces boots, Sven.”

“Vell, since I don’t vear boots vit sixty-inch shark hide laces, someone like you might t’ink me stepson Yohn and I’d be in dire straights on a subzero evenin’ on a vindswept farm field vit a full-sized deer, minus ‘er guts, to drag back to me truck, eh Ula?” said Sven. “Vit its front ‘oofs vinched up roun’ by its ears, ve used me vun fifty-inch cow’ide belt to drag it two ‘underd yards ‘cross a frozen disked field. We dint try to crawl inside it to varm up, it vas too small fer dat.”

Ula got up to use the in-door toilet at that point of the conversation, his boot soles dripped-dry of melted snow from resting atop the woven Dean Brateng rug by his chair. Sven took the opportunity to find the box of hardtack in the hallway closet pantry amid the piles of one-handed right-hand gloves, knit scarves, and a huge collection of stocking caps.

Setting another cup of cold coffee in the microwave, he heard Ula run the faucet to wash his hands. “Okay den,” Sven continued, removing his cup from the microwave, “So vat’s vit da zipper, two straps and dose buckles, den eh?”

“I ‘aven’t ‘ad to use dem for any emergency--yet, but I keep dem oiled and supple yust in case I need to cross a flood svollen river or creek,” said Ula, carefully testing the temperature of his coffee before sinking his hairy upper lip in it.

“You lost me dere, Ula,” Sven queried, sitting down at the table across from his old friend. “You use dose straps and buckles ven you need to cross a flood svollen river or creek, eh. ‘ow vud you do dat?”

“Usin’ da four carabiners dat came vit dem, I’d affix da straps ‘round da boot lace bridge I had braided toget’er and t’rown across da vaterway at a height useful to my conveyance and no more, den pull meself across da aforementioned vaterway, hand over hand as I ‘ung upside down, ‘til I got to da udder side, vereupon gainin’ safe footing, I vood disengage said braided boot lace bridge vit a flick of me wrist from its secure-’old location ‘cross said vaterway and pull da braided boot lace bridge back to meself ‘cross da surface of da vater. Afterverd, ‘ringin’ da vater from said laces, I would unbraid da bridge, re-lace my boots, rebuckle da straps and go on upon my journey.”

“Dat sounds yust like somet’in’ straight from a product description sheet dat came vit yer boots!” laughed Sven, carefully setting his saucer of coffee down before it splashed across the table or onto the floor. “Hooyah! Dat sold you dint it? Seein’ yourself in darin’ predicaments ‘igh over angry flood waters, vit tree roots stickin’ out of da vater and bobbin’ ‘bout, cars going by half-submerged, dead cattle and bloated pig carcasses snockered ‘gainst da bank, and you on your vay to rescue some voman in distress. Did dat instruction book come vit pictures?”

“Vell, no ... dere vere no instructive illustrations per se, but an adventure comic book vas enclosed in da box, uh .. for kids, I’m t’inkin’,” Ula said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “You’re not goin’ to ask me ‘bout da zippers?”

“Duh,” Sven said, rolling his eyes back into his head. “Anybody could guess, you need da zippers to let da vater out of yer boots, right? Yer feet’d get all ‘rinkly and moldy before you’d get all dem sixty-inch laces untied. Whaddya take me for, a dummy?”

“Some days, you ain’t da sharpest knife in da drawer,” Ula casually remarked. ”Yah, Sven. Some days you are a dummy.”

“Da dummy dat believes you ‘bout yer boots protectin’ you from poisonous snakes in Wannaska Township an' yer laces dat are strong as steel an' stretch to ten times der lengt'?” quipped Sven. “‘rong dummy. Ain’t me.”

“Well, yust in case dere are any, my boots vill protect me better’n yours vill protect you!” countered Ula, emptying his coffee cup and setting it on the table. “A person should alvays be prepared.”

“Yer prepared all right. Let’s get back to dem laces again, Ula. Yer changin’ da subject,” Sven said, brushing the hardtack crumbs off the table into his hand, then dumpin’ em into his vest pocket. “So you’ve never untied dem, is dat vat you’re sayin? All dem knots in da laces are vere da mice ‘ave chewed dem? Or squirrels maybe?”

“No mice ‘ave chewed me laces, Sven. And certainly not no damn squirrels! Vy von’t you let dis go, you annoying little sh*t!” moaned Ula, thinkin’ it was getting awful close to his nap time. “Is dat your new smartphone I ‘ear ringin’? Lissen now ...”

“So vat yer sayin’ is you’ve never re-tied your boot laces since you’ve got dose boots?” Sven said, leanin’ close to Ula’s boots for examination. “I’ll bet you’ve glued dem at da top tied like dat from da store! You yust use dem dam zippers cuz yer lazy!”

“I’VE TIED BOOT LACES ME ‘OLE STINKIN’ LIFE!! DERE’S NUT’IN’ TO IT!” Ula bellered, his face contorted into something resembling a Rorschach test pattern.

“Prove it den, Ula, “ Sven challenged. “Tell me ‘ow to tie me boot laces! You can’t be drawin’ me any pictures eit’er. I’ll leave you to yer stinkin’ nap yust as soon as you tell me ‘ow to tie me boot laces.”

“Well, it’s an easy task even if you’ve never tied a knot before in yer life,” said Ula, confidently. “Now I’ll be taking fer granted yer sittin’ there dumb founded about vat to do vit dem strings run t’rough da pairs of eye ‘oles of yer boots, in my case bein’ twenty-eight, and in your case, take dis shoe boot ‘ere ... (reaches for an available low boot thereabouts) .. fourteen, per boot. Don’t be vorryin’ ‘bout dat now.

So’s you got dese ‘ere two strings, dat everybody in dis ‘emisphere calls ‘laces,’ on either side of da front of yer shoe, see? You’d be lookin’ down at ‘em ven you gots yer feet in ‘em, and you’ll be tyin’ vun boot at a time. Dis ‘ere ain’t no speed lacin’ t’ing, yer yust learnin’, see? Take t’ings vun step at a time. Nobody’s gradin’ ye ‘ere, ye’s yust learnin’, ‘member.

Okay, you takes vun of dese ‘ere laces in each of yer ‘ands, ‘bout mid-vay tveenst da ends of da lace and da eye of yer boot vit’ yer t’umb and first finner of yer ‘and. (It’s ‘andy if yer laces are da same lengt’, side to side, but don’ vorry ‘bout dat dis ‘ere time, you can fix dat later. No big deal, yust sayin’).

So yer graspin’ each of da laces ‘bout vere I told ya, vit’ yer t’umb an’ first finner and you cross ‘em, vun side to da udder side, changin’ ‘ands in da process, so’s yer right ‘and is ‘oldin’ da lace dat vas in yer left ‘and yer left ‘and is ‘oldin’ da lace dat vas in yer right ‘and yer makin’ an ‘EX’ vit’ ‘em, see? You vanna pinch da ex toget’er vit da t’umb and first finner of yer left ‘and ‘old it dere, see? As ya take da top lace of da ex you bend it all aroun’ da bottom lace, bringin’ dat lace up ‘gain inta da shape of a crazy eight, yust layin’ on its side. See it? Dere. Yah, gud.

Okay, ‘oldin’’ da two laces apart, you pull da ends opposite directions til dey tighten ‘gin da top of da boot. Take and ‘rap da left lace round yer left ’and pinky finner, t’ird finner and yer middle finner of bot’ yer ‘ands pullin’ da laces tight, den vit yer right ’and you ‘old da right lace straight up. Keepin’ da laces low-down and tight vit yer finners, take yer left t’umb, and ‘ook da outside of da right side lace, into a loop, bringin’ da lace around yer t’umb and to da ex at da bottom, pinchin’ it dere vit’ yer t’umb and first finner of yer right ‘and. Yah, gud den Sven.

Vit yer loop pinched tight at da bottom and yer right ‘and tight ‘gin yer ex at da boot, you loop da left lace ‘cross yer t’umb nail to ‘roun’ da bottom of yer right loop. Usin’ yer first finner of yer right ‘and, you push da lace t’rough da hole yer t’umb is in, as yer pullin’ yer t’umb out, makin’ a wee bit of room fer it. Grabbin’ bot’ loops, you pull da loops tight goin’ opposite directions. Dere it is. Ye can viggle dem loops tighter. if you vant. It yust takes practice.

Practice dat til you can do it in da dark vit out t’inkin’ ‘bout it. You’ll git da idea. Practice, practice, practice, eh.

It’s naptime now, eh. Go ‘ome, Sven.”