In the long ago, before every store started hanging signs warning, "No shirt, no shoes, no service," I thought of shoes as optional. I spent every summer running around barefoot. The soles of my feet must have been tough as nails, not to mention wide.
That's my older sister, Chris, and me, trying to get a new perspective on life. I never did master handstands, not much better luck with cartwheels.
One Sunday, when I was about four, maybe five, I hopped into the back seat of the car all ready to go to church. Half way there I realized I'd forgotten to put on my shoes. I momentarily thought about whether or not it was necessary to tell. I didn't think Jesus would mind, but the minister might, possibly my parents and siblings. So I fessed up, everybody groaned, I was accused once again of being the cow's tail while Dad turned the car around and back we went to get some shoes on my feet. We made it to church just in time.
Once again, I've been spending a lot of time sans shoes. Pretty much every morning and every evening I walk around my yard barefoot. Sometimes, I stop to do some weeding in the perennial gardens or walk over to the cabin. I love the soft coolness of the grass beneath my feet. It seems to ground me ...
This afternoon, I decided to drive to town and get an iced coffee at the new cafe/coffee shop. I got halfway to the car before I realized I didn't have any shoes on.
Some things never change.
Here I am, all spiffed up. Shoes and all.