Remembering a Note or Two

Every time I step away from the computer for any protracted period, I can find it difficult to jump back on the bus and slip smoothly back into a groove.  My mental abilities, such as they are, have no problem shutting down if they are not exercised without at the least the occasional stroll. 

My brain after all, is sixty-nine years old now and was never much to crow about when it was peaking and I had more hair on my noggin and lead in my pencil. Rust sets in faster on old steel and connections created seven decades ago tend towards some corrosion.  

Bringing this loose dog back up to speed is often slow, mind numbing drudgery. My first few knee jerk efforts are akin to running through the scales on musical instruments. No music comes out but I hope to still remember a note or two. There is no doubt about it. Stop writing for awhile and for me the road back can seem daunting.

I will often, like now for instance, crank up one of the many music playlists I have created and stashed deep inside my computer. I slap some earphones on, turn the tunes up to wow and do my best to write some sense. If music untwisted does not do it alone, I may call on the bench and the stimulating/stupefying effects of Demon rum and the Devil's weed to loosen my writing tongue and shock it into a composing frame of mind. The result is always a crap shoot, with an occasional bright nugget shining through the darkness.

So let's see. Where are we now after a great dinner, some beer, a couple of shots, and some sweet herb rolled up for the perfect after dinner joint. The 3 hour playlist is half over and I am pretty sure tonight's effort will remain in draft form in the future. 

Or not.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .............................................

Shovel Feet

I am not sure why I have had a life long hatred of shoes.  Maybe it is the triple E feet I was blessed with by my mother's half of my DNA. She called them my "shovel feet". Maybe my shoe allergy was the result of the two years I spent as a wild child at Hickam AFB in Hawaii.  I still remember getting a tanning for throwing my shoes away on the way to school and showing up in class barefoot.  Regardless, as I grew up, I wore shoes as little as possible, even going so far as to try to go a complete year in college wearing no shoes.  I didn't make it, but I did last into December.

At some point I started wearing shoes more and bare feet less.  Seems it was around the time I got married about 33 years ago.  Marriage apparently brought quite a few changes to my lifestyle.  I would occasionally indulge in romping around the yard with no shoes, but for the most part, my barefootin days were over.  Being the responsible adult took over.  Responsible adults wear shoes.

So now it is 33 years later.  I grew accustomed to shoes.  I even had a couple of pair I really liked.  Until they wore out.  A few years ago I began to really hate shoes again.  Not the rebellion driven hate I had as a child, but the damn things became painful to wear for more than a few hours at a time.  My wife contended and still does that it is because I choose to wear bad footwear.  Flip flops, sneakers, slip on shoes, blah, blah  blah.  More sensible and higher quality shoes she said would solve my problem.

I bought more sensible shoes of higher quality.  Maybe there was some improvement, maybe there wasn't.  Since I have the history of bare foot rebel in my blood, I was not willing to recognize any tangible improvement that justified the price increase for the "more sensible shoes".  Shoes made my feet hurt and that was that.  Throwing $100 at a pair was not going to change anything.

Earlier this year the time line between no pain and true discomfort seemed to shrink.  Some pairs I owned I just could not wear any more.  I tried not tying the laces so tight, essentially turning the sensible shoes into non-sensible slip on's.  It was better, but I was still having issues after only a few hours with my dogs wrapped in leather and laces.

Must have been about the middle of April I began to go barefoot whenever I could.  I drove to the bike shop barefoot.  I worked barefoot.  And at home I stayed barefoot when not doing yard work or walking Stub over at Mary's Park across the road.

The result has been dramatic.  My feet have not felt this good in years.  Yeah, I've dinged them up some by stepping on some odd wire from a brake cable, or a screw carelessly dropped on the bike shop floor.  There is always something laying in wait for the fool who wears no shoes.  But cuts heal, bruises go away, and besides, the ding is local, not foot wide.  Should have done this years ago.

So this morning about 3:30 AM when I woke up and could not go back to sleep, I took a walk around my house and yard.  We had had some rain and when I walked back into the garage I left wet footprints on the garage floor.  I do not usually notice my footprints other than to acknowledge their existence.  But it was dark-thirty in the morning and with nothing else to do, naturally I thought I might as well have a Kodak moment.  The image at the top is the result.

As I had never really paid much attention to my footprints, I was struck by a couple of things.  It looks like I only have 8 toes.  The little piggies on both feet seem to have run all the way home and then past to some other home down the road.  Yet when I look down, there they are still attached in their original locations.  Guess they don't like getting wet is all.

I noticed my high arches were still high and had not fallen like so many that have walked the planet for 60 plus years.  And I assume that is a good thing.  I understand flat feet are no picnic.

I guess what I am taking away from this new found love affair with bare feet is that sensible shoes only make sense if they solve the problem.  Orthopedic shoes and their less expensive Dr Scholl insoles are only useful if they make your feet feel better.  I would say if your feet hurt and nothing else works, trying setting them free once in awhile.

Later..............................................

Post Election Reflection

I promised this election I would not fall into the pit.  I would remain calm, cool, and occasionally collected.  It is obvious I failed.  ..............Okay..............So what do I say now?.....................NYAH NYAH NYAH we won and you didn't?........................That would be so inappropriate and sinking to their level some would claim.  .............................. But the nasty side, the side of me that can't brush off the insults, disrespect and contempt the Wingers have been shoveling on me for the last many years....this nasty side wants to get up in their face....................... After all, I know if my shoe was their foot and their shoe was on mine they would be all over me like stink on shit..............show me no quarter and keep their foot on my throat.  That's the Winger way.

Taking a deep breath.   Filling these punished lungs with some of Maine's finest oxygen, I tried to calm down.  The calmer I tried to be, the angrier I became......................Well that ain't workin.  Instead I figured I would write down my impressions of this election and maybe some words of caution for the victors and a few well selected ones for the LOSERS.

Six Billion dollars

Hey LOSERS are you happy now?  Managed to turn corporations into people and prove that corporations know how to piss money down the drain better than a 47%er at Wallymart just after cashin their welfare check.  And like the shoppers at Wallymart, you came out with a shitty product that wasn't even worth half the price.

Negative Ads - Millions and Jillions of them

What the fuck are you people thinking?  And don't you smirk you loser Obama ad folks.  You have no reason to sit there all smug and shit.  You were almost as bad.  Remember this for next time.  I turned yours off as much as I did Romney's.  Cool it with the bad vibes, the lies, the technically accurate but when its put together makes the whole damn thing  a big fat fucking 30 second lie.  I am disgusted with the both of you.  Assholes.

The Media

I was not going to mention YOU DICKWADS.  I was going to keep you out of this.  You were just doing your job I know.  AND THAT'S JUST IT.  YOU WERE DOING YOUR FUCKING JOB!  And doing a mighty fine shitty job of it.

Next time stay home and watch Andy Griffith.  You only made a bad situation way way worse what with your endless polls, your mob of pundits puking up polarizing nonsense who ended up not knowing their ass from their elbow.  Here's a suggestion.  Take those polls next time and shove them up the nearest pundits ass.  And maybe instead of asking stupid questions just to fill air time, suck on a sock instead.

Romney

He lost.  A great concession speech, but the canceled credit cards took the shine off that moment.

Obama

He won.  And he better goddamned well stare those republicans down.  Take it to them Barry.  Find some Balls.  I'm giving you until next election and then you're outta there......

I feel better now.  And I know Life will return to normal in a few hours when I turn on the Patriots game instead of those assholes at MSNBC or Fox.

Ya'll have a nice day ya hear.............................................

High Top Chuck Taylors

As out of it as I have been these last 30 years or so, even I have taken notice of the Phoenix like rise from the fashion ashes of Converse's bedrock product, Chuck Taylor sneakers.   Millions of hip young folk are once again wearing the sneakers I wore probably at the same age.

I lived in Chucks for 10 years or so.  To say I know them well would be an understatement.  Unfortunately what is being foisted upon the public today are not Chucks in the pure form God meant them to be. The only decent Chuck is Black or White and high top.  Anything else is, well, not a real Chuck. I know some people think low tops are cool. But Chuck Taylor wore high tops. That's good enough for me. And he didn't cotten no red, blue, or yellow ones neither.

In Oxon Hill, Maryland in 1964 or 65, John Hanson Jr High was controlled by the "Blocks". Dudes with greased back hair, Ban Lon Shirts, and Big Mac Pants w/skinny or no belts. And what did these teen towers of Tough Guy fashion wear on their feet? That's right. High Top Chuck Taylors. They knew Hip like they were born to it.

Moving over from Virginia, I fancied the "Click" look. Button down shirts w/fruit loops, khakis or peg-legged Levis, wool sox to match the shirt and Weejuns on my feet. Needless to say, I was not immediately accepted by the Blocks in Maryland. After some rough re-education sessions, I conceded to some of their demands. I bought some high top Chucks and a Ban Lon or two. But I could never bring myself to put on those damn Big Macs or let a dollop of grease touch my hair. They dropped the hair and pant demands when I made the basket ball team and was suspended a couple of times for unruliness. Since I was a jock, and a troublemaker to boot, I was ok in a token sort of way.

The chicks who hung with the Blocks were bad ass also.  Big hair on top and quite often low top Chucks on the ground.  The real nasty ones wore high tops.   I took a shapely Block chick to my very first dance ever.  Besides the trauma of dealing with a female so close in proximty to my burgeoning libido, I had to deal with the Big Hair , and a Chucks attitude more macho than mine.   We had a great time once she took over control.

I often think about that year at John Hansen.  Another transient stop among the many I made as the son of a military man.  Maybe it was my age.  Maybe it was the circumstances.  But that year changed me.  I emerged from the experience with a chip on my shoulder I have been trying to whittle down ever since. 
__________________

Keep it 'tween the ditches...........................

Counting Some Blessings

Another late night hard at it before I am able to decompress and either sleep or write something here. I guess I don't need to tell you which way it went.

My wife informed me the other day that the gross sales at the bike shop were up 75% over the same January to June period last year.

I have learned not to get too excited over news like this. Gross sales are a far cry from what actually ends up in my pocket. Especially in the economy we have now saddled with the debt I incurred over the period 2006 through 2007.

Certainly good news considering where I could be. But again, I temper my enthusiasm because the better I do, the more I have to spend to do better. There seems to be a finite profit margin I can squeeze out of the store. And unfortunately, no matter how much there is left at the end of each week, it all goes to pay down debt or buy product to sell to pay down more debt in the future.

Funny where I turned up at the age of 58. Given the fact I never had a plan, I guess owning a struggling bike shop is as good a place to end up as any. While there is not much folding money to bank at the end of the year, I do have many bennies I would never have working for someone else.

I often overlook the blessings that come from owning my own business when constantly striving to overcome the obstacles that are inherent in a small retail operation in a struggling part of the country. So, I guess it's time to count some blessings.

I wear what I want - When the Sun grows hot and the grass begins to wilt, you will find me daily wearing shorts, a tee, and flip flops. Okay, so I don't present a very professional front. Hey, it's a bike shop. People expect eccentricities.

I sell fun and fitness. What I do often creates true pleasure for my customers. No one can know the satisfaction I derive from placing that first bike under the butt of some 3 foot scamp, or outfitting an adult coming full circle back to a conveyance they enjoyed as a youth. I have had grown men hug me. And yeah, it was weird. But how could I pop their bubble?

I get to work with my hands and my brain. Twisting wrenches and twisting my cranial abilities trying to keep it all going is about as rewarding an occupation as I have ever had.

I meet some seriously odd folks. From the town drunks who have lost their licenses, to the pillars of the community and pretty much every kid in town under the age of 15. Every one of them has a story and often I get to take the time to hear them.

My shop is but a short down hill drive or ride of 8 miles from my house. No lights, just some slow poke or lost tourists in the summer to impede my progress.

I am sure there are more benefits lurking in the shadows, but I just hit my exhaustion wall. I need to go to sleep. Let's just say no matter how overwhelmed or twisted around I become, there is always an upside to the situation provided I take the time to look for it.

Later....................

Shoe Shopping

So I have two more days to pad my blog count for the month. I could Bush League it and post a Utube video. I could just write a few words of nonsense like I usually do and say see ya..................

Or tonight I could write about Shoe Shopping.

Apparently shoe shopping is an activity all humans with money in their pocket share no matter what culture, mindset, or outlook they may have. Everyone wears shoes. They're kinda like assholes - everyone has them, only with shoes most of us have two. I am sure there are some small indigenous percentage who wear no shoes, but I would guess most of humanity is shod in one form or another.

Scribbit is over in India at the moment. So she is doing a travel blog for a couple of weeks. One post was about shopping Indian style. A really great post that imparted just how different shopping there is than here. From the attitudes of the clerks, sexual politics of shopping there, and the commonality of shopping that exists everywhere. She pointed out a couple of ladies in Burkas gently lifting their head to toe coverings to peak at the gaudy rhinestone shoes they were trying on.

Generally if I take the time to read a blog post, I take the time to comment. If nothing else to let the blogger know that yeah, someone does read their take on occasion. I commented about how shoe shopping was probably pretty universal, but it was broken down by gender. That men and women approached it differently. A man is more likely to try on a pair of shoes and close his eyes or walk around to get a feel for the fit. Women on the other hand more often than not look for the first mirror available to see how they look. From the huge numbers of monstrously non sensible shoes they will gladly put on their feet, fit is not the women's first concern. Figured I had covered it with my comment, I left.

I made the mistake of thinking about my comment later. I decided my comment only told a small part of the reasoning that went into purchasing new footwear. Men of course do care how shoes look. And most women, unless buying shoes for those fancy smancy Brou-hahas, will often buy for fit as well as looks. The difference in the male/female approach though is - a guy will decide the shoe looks good or bad before he even puts it on his feet. A gal will try anything on and hope it fits.

I won't get into the aesthetic parameters of shoe fashion. As far as I am concerned, feet are not the most handsome appendages we have, so why worry about how a shoe looks. They are all pretty damn foolish lookin in my opinion. Considering how foolish feet look and it's no wonder.

Now would be a good time to inject some education into this worthless post about shoes. But why spoil it now. Shoes have been around long enough that knowing when we started wearing them would do little to elevate the worthiness of this post.

I do remember as a kid hating shoes with a passion. I even used to toss them away occasionally and tell my mom, I lost them. Teachers take a dim view of students who show up shoeless in America. Parents take a dimmer view. Mine sure did.

But once I was in charge of my own clothing destiny in college, I did attempt to not wear shoes for a year while going to Towson State in the Bawlamer area. I was maybe 75% successful. Going to class barefoot was no problem. If someone whined, I stopped going to class. After all, I couldn't give in and toss my vows of shoelessness. One of them had to go. And it was damn sight easier to not go to class than to stuff my feet into a pair of Chuck Taylors.

You haven't lived until you can walk down snowy streets in bare feet. At the time I was sure I was just so cool. Now 38 years later, I realize I was a pretty stupid college student. Insisting on going barefoot was but the tip of the iceberg.


Onto another tangent..........................

Leather Friends

They were not expensive work boots. At the time, they might as well have cost $1000 given how much money was not in my pocket. But because of the kindness of the shoe store owner, I walked out with them for the money I did have in my pocket. I appreciated his gesture not so much for the shoes, but for the fact he allowed me to keep my dignity as I poured out my recent tale of woe. Somehow he knew I had to pay something and he managed to make it happen. Charity without leaving that bad taste in my mouth.

When I found these old leather friends stuffed in a box in the garage, memories came flooding back. Memories of failure and rebirth. Some memories I could have done without. Some memories lifted my heart on this rainy day in April, 2008. It was 13 years ago these boots brought me back from the depression of really failing for the first time.

Failure should come to everyone at some point. I think to really feel alive, falling on hard times can give us a perspective that makes Life that much more precious. To not have any prospects or sure thing in the future certainly tested my intestinal fortitude to the max. It was a month or so after my first bike shop failed that I realized this.

Forty something, my business gone and a family I was still responsible for. My initial reaction was to withdraw. Climb inside myself and build barriers between myself and everyone who mattered. I felt like I was slipping away.

I hated how I felt. I hated how I treated those I loved. I was not mean. I just wasn't there. The longer it dragged on, the angrier I became. At myself. At the World. Life seemed such a waste of time. You pour your soul into something only to watch all that effort and passion disappear into the back of a discounter truck in the parking lot as someone else takes down your sign.

My anger finally peaked and I went to the shoe store. I went there not just because I needed new work boots. But rather the trip represented my first salvo against the crater deep depression I had fallen into. That first step out of the depths and into that bright light Life always emits but is sometimes hard to find.

So I had the boots now. Finding a job was the easy part. As it turned out I was right. I went back to pounding nails and for the next 3 years my boots faithfully carried out their part of the bargain and I carried out mine. Together we managed to avert total personal failure along with the business failure. And because of this bond between me and my worn out boots, I cannot bring myself to throw them away.

They are back in a box I hope my wife will not find. Packed away as another memento of my past that holds more meaning than almost anything else I have secreted away for future reminiscing.


Post is now entered in Scribbit's May "Write Away Contest"

The Shoe Contest

I made the mistake of looking into one of the million jillion blog contests after a blogger I read won an honorable mention for her fine piece on libraries. Bragging rights and some nice small giftee the prize. Rejection is laid on gently. No nasty emails saying "You are a loser. You should take some writing classes, or maybe learn how to spell first, then go to class". There is nothing really on the line. For fun stuff. The only disappointment, not winning or scoring that almost as good, "Honorable Mention".

Scribbit is the name of the blog sponsoring the contest. Every month a new topic is picked. Bloggers wishing to compete send in their entry based on said topic. A guest judge/judges is/are tasked with weeding out the losers from the winners.

In a moment of grandiose madness, I figured I might like to throw my hat into this ring. Yeah, for moment I was feeling cocky and actually contacted Michelle over to Scribbit for all the pertinent info and requirements to compete.

So now I know. So now I have kinda, sorta agreed to fire off an entry the first week of May. The subject is "Shoes". Is that a chill I feel coming on inside those work boots?

I actually wrote a couple or so posts about shoes. I tracked them down. Re-read and found both lacking. Re- wrote one and am almost pleased. But with a subject or jumping off point as promising as "Shoes", I am sure I can come up with new ways to celebrate this most basic, yet stylish piece of attire we humans put on our feet everyday.

Besides the obvious physical, protective aspects of shoes that apply to all of us who wear them, shoes then become different things to different folks. My daughter never met a shoe she did not like. Al least that's the impression I get when I see the inside of her closet. A large quiver of shoes makes her feel warm and fuzzy. My wife looks to the functional mostly. Comfort with nice lines usually makes her day. She will actually throw shoes out once they wear out.

Me, well I find shoes to be a necessary evil. Another one of those must haves whether I want them or not things. As a child I would often conveniently "lose" one shoe on the way to school or on the way home. I lived to run barefoot. This yearning sits deep inside me to this day. I often work down to the bike shop with dogs "au natural". The occasional staple or cable end impalement, a small price to pay for such wonderful personal freedom.

Don't get me wrong. I have learned to appreciate the value of and the pleasure of placing my feet into a well made pair of comfortable shoes or sneaks. Shoes have saved me much pain and saved more than once my 10 piggie herd from potential seperation. I have also paid a stiff price for not wearing them when common sense screamed I should.

In the summer of 1971 I took way too much acid and walked around all night barefoot. Stepped on a coke bottle bottom and drove it through my foot. Spent most of that trip down at the emergency room bleeding on the waiting room floor and watching nurse faces melt or look all rubbery like they had just been molded out of silly putty. I appreciated shoes that night. Just a tad late. The upside was that was my first time getting stiches while high on LSD. I watched with rapt fascination as each stich was laid. No pain, but each time the doc drove the needle in, rushes swept over me.

I wonder if they ever figured out I was high?

Final Notes, then good night

This post written under the influence of Beck on the ear phones and the stench of old works boots wafting up from under the desk.

Another post started with a plan that soon went AWOL. Sometimes I think I know where I want to go, but where I end up is nowhere close to where I figured I would be.

Work Shoes

Running a small business in a small town with shallow pockets can be a tough row to hoe. The struggle to keep my head up in cheerful demeanor can sometimes be like pulling teeth. When vendors are barking at the door and that last repair was another nightmare in a string of nightmares, it is easy for me to fall into the "Feel sorry for my sorry ass" pit. So I look outside the normal defenses to this kind of funk for salvation. I look for perspectives that might refurbish the silver in the cloudy lining of my life at that moment.

The flip flops above represent one such search to redeem faith in what I do to put food on the table. They have been my work shoes for the last 3 months. Providing minimal protection from the normal accumulations on the bikeshop floor, they also allowed my feet the joy of working almost naked. Everytime I put them on in the morning to walk out into the world, they remind me that no one has more control over my life than I do.

Trade offs. Compromises made to acheive perceived ends. Giving up the bigger pay check working other people's agendas to search out and work my own. Creature comforts failed to do it for me. Wearing flip flops to work and cycling shoes for play does.