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..............................................

The Mohawk Gang

In lieu of children, friends, or not so favorite relatives, pets of different kinds will often fill those companionship voids.  Cats are cool, but totally undependable.  Fish, well, it there's nothing on TV I guess.  Hamsters are too small.  And Dogs, well, dogs can be everything you wanted out of a chum but would often like to drop off at the Bangor exit on your way to Canada. 

Bless her heart, I do love Stubby's brainless soul.  Stubeetchka is a sweet tempered canine.  But she is a dog.  Prone to mind numbing dog routines no one and in particular Stub herself understand why she does what she does.  It's as if she can't help herself.  When certain things happen, critters showing up on her radar, or a sound she may take a shine to, she goes crazy.  Breaking ice cubes out of the trays will send her into a manic barking jag no sharp word or threat will dampen until that last cube has been deposited safely into it's bin ready to be enjoyed in whatever cool drink comes to mind.

She gets along with the cats.  Even plays around with them some.  But they better not compromise her space on the bed or even hint at tasting her food when her head's in it.  A sharp snarl and a nip of usually air will keep the little feline bastids at paws length.

It's the semi wild friends outside that really switch on her mindless brain dead focus.  Specifically the Mohawk Gang.  A tough gang of red squirrels who take turns torturing her and teasing her by being just out of reach.  The fool dog will spend hours and hours trying to dig one out of the wood pile.  She'll park at the base of a tree and ten feet up one of the Mohawk Gang will scold her while casually munching on some nut, berry, or tasty bit of grain.

It's funny though.  The little reprobates are nowhere to be seen when one of the cats is sniffing around.  The Mohawk Gang know who's dangerous in our home who's the joke.  Stub's their patsy.  They work her for all she's worth.

See Ya...........................................

The Gang of 18 - A Close Encounter

Suddenly I was nervous.  Suddenly I was positive I was under scrutiny.  Yanked back by peripheral vision from my world far from here, I stopped typing.   I turned to the window on my left thinking it was just another wee bird stopping by for some bug or taking a moment to tease one of the cats.

It was indeed a bird perched not 3 feet from my window on the edge of the yard cart I left there in what appears to be it's new permanent parking space.   It was not the usual chickadee, cardinal, blue jay or sparrow.  This avian intruder of my space was much larger and it had its head cocked just right so one eye looked right at me.  The eye blinked.  Or winked.  Not sure as the other eye was on the other side.  What that eye might be doing was any one's guess.

What sat on my rusting yard cart not 3 feet from my window was a huge Tom turkey staring me in the eye.  The rest of his gang was busy picking and pecking at whatever it is turkeys pick and peck at when in my yard.   He regarded me.  I regarded him.  We both I am sure were amazed over the short distance that separated us. 

"Good morning Sir Turkey".

His head dipped as only a turkey's can and then another eye blink.

"What brings you to my window this AM?"  I looked past him at his flock romping in the yard.  "A fine brood you have with you this year sir."

Another head dip and then some shuffling of his clawed feet on the edge of the cart as he moved closer to the window.  The wind shifted.  Suddenly the distinct smell of poultry came wafting through the office.  Big Tom turned his head and looked at me with both eyes.  He gobbled once, blinked once and then was silent. 

It was then I noticed Stubby laying in her usual spot under the bushes about six feet away.  She was lost in lala land all stretched out enjoying soft snores and leg tremors as she chased squirrels in her dreams. 

As if on cue, she woke up.  Then all Hell broke loose.  Immediately there were turkeys in the air, turkeys running every which way, with Stubby in the middle of it all barking and having a grand time.  And still the big Tom sat on the yard cart looking at me not moving a muscle.

His flock scattered, I figured I should say something.  "Uh bud, maybe you ought to leave now."

He continued his perching stoically, grandly, just blinking and bobbing his ugly head.    Her job as watch dog having been satisfied, Stubby sat down in the yard and looked back towards my office window. 

Uh oh.  She spotted Big Tom.  Tom's head rotated 180'.  Still he did not move even as Stubby began her charge.  At the last second he turned back to look at me and then in a wonderful display of flight disappeared in an instant.

This happened a couple of weeks ago.  Every day since, the local flock has made my yard part of their daily circuit.  One morning I opened the garage door and the whole gang was circled around my pick up.  This morning, they hung out a few feet from the back door snatching bugs and gobbling loudly.    The brood of younguns are almost full grown now.  They can't fly yet, but damn, they are quick runners.  Stubby has been in dog heaven these past couple of weeks.   And obviously the turkeys don't see her as much of a threat.  Really not what one looks for in a good watch dog.

See Ya..........................

Captured On Film

This is called the Pink Lady's Slipper. Not sure why. After I downloaded the kodak moments I had earlier over to Mary's Woods across from my dooryard, I looked at this best ever effort of mine and decided they are not slippers, but complete women. Look at this image long enough and I swear I am looking at a female of some type. Arms are spread uncovering her small breasts which dangle under what would appear to be the latest and greatest of hat fashions. And those pink pants! Yeah this is no slipper.

These random moments of wild beauty are sprinkled liberally throughout the woods around here. On my walk, I counted 8 Lady's slippers. 10, if I count the 2 that had been eaten by some low rent local critter. Hope they got sick.

Apparently 4 types of Lady Slippers exist in Maine. This is the most common. I have never seen any of the other three.

Just wanted to share a picture I took this morning with Stub in the woods .....Later........Gotta get to work.

Spring Snow

I was up with the Sun this AM keeping the momentum going of the out of character Spring clean up I started some days ago. As I stepped out into the open to face the jungle, an early morning snow squall dumped a token dusting of snow. Just enough snow to mark a nice contrast to the insistence of Life in the face of whatever comes it's way.

Anyway, just thought I'd share before I headed to the bike shop.........See Ya.

Pay Back's a Bitch

Might as well clear up one thing. Why I thought that after many years of getting the same result from the same actions, I would think I might come through my last night's shot fest unscathed - well it is beyond my comprehension how stupid I can still be.

"Drink too much dumbass and tomorrow you will pay."

As predicted, I was but maybe 3 miles into what turned out to be a 17 plus mile endurance event when my stomach told me I was not doing it any favors. The only plus here is that I may have matured some after all. When I was twenty something I would have punched through the throbbing head, ignored the nausea and punished myself trying to prove to someone how much of a man I was by toughing the hangover out. This morning when I finally caught the group at the top of Shaw's Ridge, I smiled, admitted my previous nights stupidity and then turned around and rode back to the bike shop. They continued probably just as happy to be rid of me as I was to be rid of them. On a good day I am the slow poke. This morning I was an anchor.

The Rebel Yell Whiskey is safely tucked away again. The pleasant memory of sweet liquor has been replaced by a days worth of sour stomach. I am once again sober and hopefully this time a tad wiser.

Some of the Why I Have Been MIA of Late

This little project started when the wall you see had collapsed dropping the living room floor about 3 inches. I jacked it up, replaced the rotted plate with PT and then set the whole thing on concrete bricks.

Okay, problem solved. It's never that easy. Before I could rebuild the wall, I had to tear out the work bench that had been there for 50 years. Naturally I had to replace it. So I made it a challenge. I had to use recycled materials as much as possible.

With the exception of the bench vise and the two new ceiling lights, the whole bench and almost all the wiring is recycled. Excluding the vise and lights, cost to me was under $20. All for fasteners and a couple of electrical boxes.

I just cannot believe the amount of material I had kickin around the yard piled hither and yon. Light fixtures, old tables, brackets, plywood, ancient wood, Shit, I just don't know what I will find next. Even the Ghetto Blaster and the Univega clock are recycled. I found the blaster back in the 1980s. It rocks. Pulls in radio stations the high falutin stereo upstairs doesn't even have a clue of. The clock came with some merchandising stuff when I sold Univega bikes back in the day.

It is not completed yet. But soon I hope to find more material in the piles that will inspire the next improvement. At the moment, re-wiring as much of the house as I can is what I am into.



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

There is No Insignificance

I started a poem this morning. Managed about 8 or 9 lines and then I ran out of steam. Lost where I was headed. Couldn't capture the magic from the moment I became inspired. You could assume the dead tree picture to the left was my inspiration. You would be wrong. Just a cool dead tree I found on my walk in Mary's Woods across the road this morning.

I could have easily, and still might, tie in this ancient carcass to the point of the poem. Read the first 8 or 9 lines and you would not think so. But there is always a tie in. A link exists from everything in this world to everything else. Nothing goes on here that does not connect with everything in some way. Nothing. Every breath we take. Every bug we squash. Every flower that blooms. And yet we often look at the rest of the world around us and feel alone.

There is no insignificance. There is no "it's no big thing". There is only our self made list of selfish viewpoints and actions that somehow create the illusion some things do not matter. We talk of the "Grand Plan". "In the scheme of things" or other rationalizing garbage we use to justify our actions at the expense of some other thing, Human or not.

My mind continues to mull over the concept that this Planet is a living organism and all that exists on it are but the pieces and parts that make it what it is. How the interaction of all these pieces and parts create the living organism that is our planet. What they were before they interacted matters little. What they will become later matters little. It is the ongoing interaction of everything that is important. The Universe is a series of lost moments waiting to happen. The Universe is nothing but a system in decay and everything we do hastens it along.

The concept that nothing actually exists is beyond my comprehension. Out of death and decay something always evolves, erupts, grows. There is always something left. Bones, dead leaves, the refuse of previous civilizations from which new beginnings unfold.
______________________________________________

Not sure what to think of what I just wrote. I guess I just wanted to share the thoughts I had while walking in the woods this morning with my dog Stub. If there is some sense to be taken from it, great. If not, oh well.

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

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