A Man of Many Talents

Doug drew this whole thing upside down. Astonishing.

Mender of Soles

Alfred M. Jole (known as A.J. to his coworkers) worked for the U.S. Forest Service for most of his life, and in his retirement years repaired boots at Drew's in Klamath Falls, Oregon. He's kept Doug well supplied with boots, the most recent being a tri-tone pair that he'd rebuilt.

Doug (who is occasionally given to fits of verse) wrote this last night:

Boots: 10 inch packers



The last thing we talked about
Father to son, before he died
Was boots.
If a man works with his hands
And his feet
Balanced on fir roots, sweating on the fire line,
Raising sons out of the forests
he needs tough skin
good boots
to protect the tenderness
of the sole of the foot
of the soul.

The vamp–a dull color of blood and dust together,
the blood of his veins
the dust of the wild places he loved
Buffed and waterproofed
to keep my feet warm and dry,
I am wrapped tightly
by the work of his hands
embraced by his arms.

The 10 inch upper–black as Cascade duff in the snow-melt,
high to support the ankle
and keep me upright as I walked,
Upright as he walked and I followed,
10 inches high
he walked firm and strong,
and I followed him through the trees.

The laces–black leather,
earth tones and primitive
–he knew that woven laces wear out too quickly
in the wilderness
when you need them the most
so he wove thick, square laces
as long as my life
of my boots.

The heel counter–rawhide,
to protect against spurs
I will never wear,
rawhide white and strong as tough sagebrush country
sprinkled carelessly over basalt rimrock
the color of semi-arid soils.
The color of his face, worn as the seasons changed around him
faster than he could walk.
I was his spring, and his summer,
and I knew he would be my winter,
death under snow, waiting silently for rebirth.

The soul is eternal–
the sole is mini-Vibram,
not caulks for traction on the logs
not cowboy for ease in the stirrup
not deep cleats for muddy trails;
chosen by him
not for the dirt
the soils
the rock where he worked
but for my easier, paved trails.
He could re-sole them for me, he said.
And he has re-souled
I am his soul living in me.
These boots,
his loving hands reach out
practical, strong and rugged
built to take me into wild places
and even the wild places
he never knew
the untracked wildernesses
of college corridors
library carpets
worlds beyond his hillsides.

These are not new boots–
New, they would have been too dear.
Discarded, they became dear to him.
He re-crafted them, re-built them
turning waste into care
building leather into love,
using tools and hands and materials
a love for craftsmanship and raw, animal material
life and death crafted into usefulness
One thing, at least, that we shared
Deftly stitching a welt where none existed before
Because in his art, his craft,
he knew quality boots can be re-built.


He knew–
His own boots had passed through the years,
forward through my childhood, tattered and worn,
patched and replaced–all but the uppers were new,
but they were the same boots.
The supple texture of boot leather,
the smell of hides,
thread and glue
stitched us together in his heart.

My soles can be rebuilt
My soul stitched together with his,
father and son
His soul goes onward,
tattered and patched
to be rebuilt, vamp, upper, sole and counter
Into beauty and usefulness
by the Maker.

Husband Tag

I've seen this husband tag meme going around recently. I've been tagged by Bronwyn, so here goes!

What is his name? Douglas Martinous Jole. Martinous is a family name.
How long have you been married? Just over twelve years. (How time flies!)
How long did you date? Let's see... started dating right before Christmas, engaged in April, married in September.
How old is he? He's 43. Six years older than me.
Who eats more sweets? Ha. That would be him, since I can't eat sugar. If the question was just "Who eats more" that would probably be me. Even when I'm not pregnant.
Who said I love you first? He did.
Who is taller? We're very close to the same height. I think I'm actually a teeny bit taller, if we're both in bare feet.
Who can sing better? We both enjoy singing (I sing alto, he sings tenor, unless he's got a cold) but he's definitely better at sight reading than I am. And he has this knack for instantly grasping the structure of a song and will often make up his own voice accompaniment for a song he's never heard before.
Who does the laundry? Me, almost always.
Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? I do. Though when we were in Korea I slept on the left side. I think it was just the setup of the room.
Who mows the lawn? We don't have a lawn, but I imagine he would probably do it.
Who cooks dinner? Depending on his schedule, Doug does sometimes do a lot of the cooking. I tend to make the same things all the time, and he gets more creative.
Who pays the bills? I do.
Who drives? Any time we're going somewhere all together, he always drives. If we're on a long trip we'll take turns, but he still ends up driving the most.
Who is more stubborn? I don't know if I could really describe either of us as stubborn. We're both pretty laid back.
Who kissed who first? He started it. ;)
Who asked who out first? We had some friends in common at BYU, then ended up in the same ward and then got called to team-teach Gospel Doctrine together. He asked me out first (I think the first time he made me dinner, and then after that we went to a concert at the University of Utah that his band's vocalist was performing in).
Who proposed? He did. And then after we got the ring he proposed to me in Welsh. (I think he just wanted to hear what it would sound like.)
Who has more siblings? There are six kids in Doug's family and five in mine.
Who wears the pants? Again, we're both pretty laid back. Doug generally defers to me in matters of scheduling and food.

I'll tag Julie K and Mimi.

Ten Long Years

I've had the Steeleye Span version of "Ten Long Years" going through my head, which is actually about a prison sentence, but hey, it's a cool song.



We were married ten years ago today, September 6, 1996, in the Salt Lake temple. It's been quite an adventure, with nine months in Korea, then three years in Newfoundland--a lot of uncertainty and not being sure where we were going to end up. Since we've been in Washington a lot of things are more settled, but we've definitely found parenting to be the biggest adventure of all. And well, we're still not sure where we're going to end up. I'm thankful to have Doug to share this grandest adventure with.



Yesterday we went to the park with our Bishop's daughter to see if we could get some pictures. It was kind of rough. Kate has been developing camera aversion. And, of course, since we were at the park, she wanted to play, not pose with Mom and Dad. This is probably the best one that we got.

Doug and I both tend to be pretty laid-back people, and not overly sentimental or demonstrative, but I wanted to take this chance to express how much I love him. He's been my companion, my partner, my consultant, the father of my child, my support and encouragement. It means more than anything to have someone with me who cares about the things that I care about, who wants me to be happy, who's willing to work with my weird food problems and occasional crankiness. The fact that he also thinks a trip to the Indian lunch buffet and the bookstore is a great way spend a day is just icing on the proverbial cake. He's such a great dad and I love seeing his joy in just spending time with our daughter.

I asked Doug last night if he would write something for me, for our anniversary, and this is what he did for me (yes, I cried when I read it):

10 years.

Yup, a whole decade!

I think about various other milestones and experiences in my life. High school was 4 years. My mission was 18 short months. The longest I ever lived anywhere was 6 years (until Provo, which was a total of 11 non-contiguous fun-packed years.) I've been in school longer than I've been married--well, I guess that's where my priorities and opportunities were up to this point!

Then I think again, in wonder--I've been married for 10 years. I've got a wife --another person--with whom I've spent 10 years living, laughing, crying, driving, cooking, reading, sleeping, and lots of other -ing things. 10 years! Has it been that long? It must have, but it seems different because of the subtle changes that happen over time, and the fact that we have done some rather extraordinary things together.

Some things about my wife haven't changed--the oatmeal, the long showers, the orange juice in the fridge, and the desire to feed furry things. But other things have--there is a richness, and a depth, that happened in my long-term relationship with her, as I have shared experiences with her beyond what my own limited viewpoint would be.

I have also changed, in some ways. Marriage can do that to a man--take him out of himself and try to put somebody else's needs as greater or equal to his own. I can't think of anything significant, in my core, that I have had to sacrifice (as if that were a bad thing). There are things that I have chosen to change, but there are not many, and they have been minor.

And this is, in some ways, an important measure of our relationship. In the electromagnetic spectra of our lives, we share many wavelengths. (It is a measure of our fit that I can even use terms like this, and know that she will understand, and laugh!) I chose Helena, and to my astonishment, she chose me back. Out of many people, she chose me as the one she felt likely to succeed with. And I have never forgotten that.

It's not just compatibility. That seems to be a term to mean that something X will fit into a space in Y. Certainly, there are some gaps, some aches, from which our permanent loving relationship has erased chronic pain. We are not the same, and sometimes the gears don't quite mesh. But those were only a few, and then we find out that the important things are beyond the gaps. We fit, but we blend. We complement, but we also share important vectors. We experience failures, but do not isolate them as the whole of the being. It is incredible to me that we share, to a large degree, a destination, and the means to get there. Once the initial shock of what is termed love brings a person's life to a standstill, then this shared movement and desire is so far beyond it, that love seems to be a poor term for it.

But love is the word I will use, and hope that she can understand what it signifies. Here's to another 10 arbitrary measurements of distance and time! And then some more! Let us continue on our journey together, where we can help each other become the things we desire to be.