Old Boots, Canned Biscuits and Other Things that Matter

Old Boots

Expressions of love are not always grand and elaborate. Simple actions can reflect love in a way that can’t be captured by expensive gestures. For me, old boots and canned biscuits reflect the purest form of love. I’ll start with the old boots. I grew up in a small rural town in the eastern part of Oklahoma. My mother was a single parent to identical twins. While I never knew my father, I was never without male role models. My grandfather and uncles provided all the fishing trips, nature hikes and car repairs I could have ever wanted.

I am certain I will mention them again throughout this blog because they were and continue to be very important men in my life. However, this particular explanation involves only my uncle, Howard Hess. “Uncle Wayne” as my sister and I affectionately called him was the husband of my mother’s sister. However, one might have guessed that he was the “blood” relative due to the amount of time he invested in us. He was a gentle spirited, brilliant man of Cherokee heritage. He could diagnose a car malfunction simply by listening to it run (a skill that would come in handy after he lost his sight). He purposed to make sure my sister and I never felt “fatherless” and he always included us.

Christmas means different things to kids in low-income areas. The awareness of limited resources impacts the children of working class or working poor families in many invisible ways. Often, it is reflected in the lack of expectation of traditional holiday celebrations. It is not that we were deprived of the most important elements of the experience. We always had gifts and a holiday meal, but we did not ask for nor expect the trendy or expensive items that filled the wish lists of our peers. The Christmas of my 8th grade year, the most popular gift was Doc Martin boots. At some point prior to the holiday, my aunt and uncle asked their daughters for suggestions on gifts for my sister and me. Although she was young herself and recognized that we would likely be unable to return a comparable gift, my cousin Stephanie suggested the boots.

I can still feel the excitement of opening the box on Christmas morning. I have never been so surprised by a gift. In my haste to remove the boots from the box, I broke one of the shoe laces. Uncle Wayne did not hesitate to stop and immediately remove the laces from his own shoes so that I could wear my new prized possessions. I wore those boots every day for the rest of junior high and most of high school. I wore them for my first day of college, on my wedding day (with his picture tucked inside) and I will wear them again soon when I cross the stage to graduate with my second doctoral degree.

Initially, I loved the boots because they represented the ability to fit in with my peers. I continue to love them (with their sewn back together shoe laces) because they represent love, kindness and generosity. I am reminded of the sacrifices that others have so willingly made for me throughout the course of my life every time I look at them.

Canned Biscuits

Now it’s time to talk about canned biscuits. I hate canned biscuits. It’s not that I dislike their flavor. Although I much prefer the homemade version my mom and aunt can make. It is simply that I hate their packaging. I am a professional adult. I have multiple degrees. I am a functional and logical woman. Yet, I regress to a frightened toddler when I must come in contact with canned biscuits. I will attempt to open them. I will pull the package open nearly to the bottom, but stop short of finishing for fear of the loud pop the can will make in order to release the contents. My best option in such situations is merely to throw the mostly opened can of biscuits on the counter-top while running in the opposite direction in the hopes that it will open.

My mother lived across the street from me for years. It is an arrangement that I enjoyed for many reasons; chief among them, canned biscuits. Even though she was a multiple amputee and I am in fact an adult, I was free to carry my canned biscuits across the street for her to open while I both closed my eyes and covered my ears (Remember, I told you I was a work in progress). We had the biscuit opening arrangement for many years and it was not until recently that I discovered that she hated to open them as much as I do.

She opened them because she loved me and she cared about my preferences. She was willing to do something that was uncomfortable so that I did not have to do it. He bought the boots because he loved me. He was willing to give me the laces out of his own shoes because he wanted me to be happy. Their example of unconditional love and generosity regardless of situations that has shaped the way I view the world. I hope to live up to that legacy throughout my work.

Other Things that Matter

Transitions rarely arrive with grand announcements. More often, they appear quietly, like worn boots waiting by the door or a simple can of biscuits on the counter, asking us to step forward even when we feel uncertain. Life has a way of carrying us through seasons of change that can feel lonely, confusing, or overwhelming. Yet none of us are meant to navigate those moments alone. At Turtle Shell Transitions Consulting, the work is not about dramatic reinvention or impossible expectations. It is about steady movement, small steps, and compassionate guidance through the places where life shifts beneath our feet. Like the turtle that carries its shelter with it, we all hold within us the strength to endure change and the wisdom to grow from it. Sometimes what we need most is someone willing to walk beside us for a while, offering perspective, encouragement, and practical tools for moving forward. Improvement does not come from perfection; it comes from persistence, reflection, and the simple reminder that even in our most uncertain moments, we are not alone.