Writer Connie Rogalsky

The Missing Shoe
by Connie L. Rogalsky

Every family is occasionally inconvenienced by losing something, even if they seem to be perfectly neat to outside observers. Our very imperfect, not-so-neat family has developed the talent of losing things into a fine art. We have the normal trouble with socks, pencils, homework, library books and keys, but our specialty is losing one shoe out of a pair—especially if it’s a brand new pair.

I have devised a plan for finding shoes. I’m good at planning—not so good at following through.

The first thing you want to do if your child tells you his shoe is missing and he can’t find it anywhere is to take him by the hand and go look where the shoe belongs. It’s always a big shock but sometimes it’s there. Personally I believe there are some leftover tooth fairies who didn’t measure up to the requirements for their regular job. So, for revenge, they sneak in your house at night and craftily put things where they belong—just often enough to drive mothers of normal, untidy children insane.

The next thing you want to do is call his best friend’s mother to see if he left it there. He probably didn’t but this is always good for the return of a few jackets and books.

Third on my list is looking in all the places a shoe couldn’t possibly be. Let your imagination run wild here. I have found shoes in the freezer, in a box of cereal, rolled in the middle of a rug we hadn’t used for five years, in a used box of cat litter and stuck in the springs of my bed.

While this search is going on you’ll want to enlist the aid of everyone possible—of course, your children and your husband. The kids will disappear outside, making the search more peaceful. Your husband probably won’t help, either, but just asking him will suddenly make him remember all the chores he has been putting off for months. Our milkman is very good at finding shoes. So is the Avon lady. If you are bothered by door-to-door salesmen this is better than a no trespassing sign for keeping them away.

I hesitate to mention my fifth suggestion. I resort to this only for a very expensive pair of shoes or if I am desperate. Clean house! From top to bottom!

You may like the next one better.

If you have tried the first five suggestions and have principles which forbid cleaning house, I heartily recommend number six. It is foolproof. It has never failed me. Take the child by one hand, your pocketbook in the other and go buy a new pair of shoes. I guarantee that when you walk back in the front door, you will stumble over the missing shoe.

Note: “The Missing Shoe” was originally published in Family Digest, April 1975, pages 30-31. Family Digest was published monthly by Our Sunday Visitor, Inc., Noll Plaza, Huntington, Indiana, 46750. Shoe illustration from https://clipart-library.com.

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KIDNEY TRANSPLANT
by Connie Rogalsky

I breathe hope and fear
in this chrome and plastic place,
while supermen in green
work modern-day miracles
on your body.
The body I love.
The body I learned to love on.

Cold, impersonal steel penetrates
where I learned to caress.

I have argued with you:
for equality in marriage,
for time to be me,
that respect is better than need.
None of that seems as important
Now:
as time for you,
as time for us,
as the love I feel.

Note: This unpublished poem was written in the winter of 1982. Surgeon illustration from https://clipart-library.com.

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Connie Rogalsky spent her childhood in Kansas. She moved away with her husband when he joined the Navy. They moved a lot over the next twenty years then returned to Hutchinson, Kansas, where she was born. Connie loves spending time reading, writing, dancing, enjoying theater and visiting with family and friends.

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