These boots are made for walkin'

I purchased a pair of boots for this trip. They are made by a brand that makes motorcycle gear because they are perfect for wearing on a motorcycle- they have great tread, hard nose, and they cover my ankles. These are the boots in the picture (Cee Cee insisted on modeling in the photo-shoot, too). I am not used to wearing boots or any kind of shoe that is not a “croc”. As a real estate appraiser I wear crocs every day because they are easy to slip off when I go into people’s homes and they are dang comfortable to wear everywhere. Oh, and I can throw them in the dishwasher when they get dirty. And so I find myself trying to get used to these boots. …And that brings me to a story….. My Dad has worn all sorts of boots over the years. I vividly remember him lacing up his combat boots, even as a child. He had this way of “speed lacing” them so that at the very end of threading them he would yank on the laces hard and they would all tighten. It was a procedure that I found it really interesting as a kid. He ALWAYS polished his boots to a liquid shine before leaving. He also had tanker boots that did not have laces. He had hiking boots. He had snow boots. He was fastidious about footwear; I won’t even go into stories about his sneakers or church shoes! And then he had ski boots, which is what this story is about. When I was in 5th grade (and Nicole in 6th) Dad volunteered to chaperone his school’s ski trips. By doing this he received free ski lift tickets to “Shawnee Mountain” in the Poconos. We loved going up there. Now having been to Uncle Peter’s “Sierra Summit” in the Sierra Nevadas of California I know that Shawnee Mountain was a mere bunny slope of a ski resort but it was all we had at the time. It was our world of skiing and it contained some of the coolest experiences of my youth including, which makes it real special to me, some positive memories of my sister and I. My father skiied more than Nicole and I because he would go with the school as well. He felt he should get his own equipment since he was skiing so often. And so he went to the local ski store, where we had been renting equipment, and purchased skis and boots. They were very fond of Dad, as you can imagine. Dad had formed a great relationship with them there and may have even taught the owner how to work-out (I don’t remember exactly). But I do remember that Dad got a red pair of Dolomite ski boots. Not too long thereafter we were on the slopes and Dad had a problem with one of his boots. It broke! A rivet had completely come out of the boot. Rats! We had to call the night short and head home. Dad went to the ski shop and showed them the boot, requesting a full refund. They don’t give refunds for boots and it looked like there must have been some foul play on Dad’s part. The guy who inspected the boot went over it again and again in disbelief. He’d look at the boot and then look at Dad and then look at the boot again. He had Dad pull up his pants and flex his calves. He gave Dad a full refund. Dad’s calves muscles get so huge when he flexes them that he literally blew the rivets out the side of the boot! When Dad realized this he was no longer angry or upset in any way; he was proud of the boots destruction. …Another casualty of Jim Disanza’s morning calf lifts.

Note to Megan: behind a pillow