My friend of long standing sometimes tires of reading brainy posts about the latest scientific discovery or some Buddhist insight into human mental behavior. What is happening with me?
I email my posts to people I know as well as post them on a blog. Next spring, I am scheduled to do a presentation about blogging so the general subject is on my mind. I do see that the personal is interesting. Besides that, I feel as though effort and imagination are what make writing worth reading so what about discussing more personal subjects using some finger grease and little gray cells that Poirot often mentions?
Ok, I pick 'shoes'. I mean I could pick 'meals' (I have been trying to lose weight and have tried various approaches to less carbs and sugar, eating more unprocessed foods and allowing more fats and proteins -- nothing much happened in 2 weeks.). I could pick 'grounds', you know, the area surrounding the building where you live (now that the snow has melted and the temperatures are starting to climb, flowers, grasses and shrubs are making their presence felt, calling for care).
But I pick 'shoes'. I go through a pair of Clark Wallabees in about a year. They feel great and I can walk for a long while in them without pain or blisters. A new pair is ready to go as is, with a very smooth interior. They are the most comfortable, wearable shoes I know of but... They are heavy. They look a little lumberjackish, something my wife has frowned about since our college dating years and they have a plantation crepe sole. I don't know much about what that means other than the sole is thick (good) but wears down rather quickly.
Now, do you feel closer to me? If this line of thought is helping, I could go on to mention the other line of shoes I wear: Time Out shoes by San Antonio Shoes. I think of them as less clunky than my favs, but a group of dapper clothing salesmen made clear their opinions that the SAS shoes were for frontiersman while I was being fitted for pants. I could mention that the assistant to the No. 1 Ladies Detective, Mma Makutze, sometimes finds that her shoes say something to her, usually something petulant or smart-mouthed. But that is enough for now.
