I live in an old house. To go without socks in the winter time is to court cold feet. I stress that fact with The Boy on a regular basis, but he likes to think that our gas bill is paid by the same mythical fat cat who brings gifts at Christmas time. I know what I'm buying him for the holidays: sweaters, fingerless gloves and nice wooley socks. Can't get enough of those wooley socks.
I know that whenever I have guests over that I leave it up to them whether or not they want to take off their shoes. When I returned from Japan it was a different story, as I was militant about doffing those zapatos. All shoes off at the door. Had plenty of slippers that I brought back with me to help make the experience fun and comfortable, but folks just looked at me as if I was full out weird, as if I came back from my overseas experience with the pox or a terrible accent, not just a desire to keep my rugs clean. So now I don't worry about it too much. Shoes on or off at the door, it's up to you. I sweep daily and vacuum once a week so it can only get so grubby.
But I can understand the hesitancy. Once those shoes come off you get down to a fairly private part of your wardrobe. It's somewhat like showing off your underware, which seems to be a very big thing in our contemporary culture these days. But socks are a bit different, are closer to the bone in other ways. You take off your shoes and it means you are staying awhile. That you plan on or want to get comfortable. Relax. Take the visit to another level. Whenever folks take off their shoes in my house I feel inclined to put on the hot water kettle, or fire up the fireplace, or get in the kitchen to fix something to eat. Open a bottle of wine. Turn on the tunes.
At the very least I want to be able to have my shoes off, too, and let my spine relax in my easy chair or along side my guest on that very comfortable and easy going leather couch I have. M, you must remember that couch. It was the scene of many a conversation, many a parlor game. It was the place where we sat each and every time you trounced me in Yahtzee. It was the sittee where we listened to music before the road. It was our grand avenue to holiday celebration, where Valentine's gifts were opened, where Calcopo books were read, where plans were discussed, made, executed and in the end, shelved.
But all the time we sat and played and discussed your socks were on display. You had quite a grand collection to go with those nifty slip off shoes you always wore. So I took it upon myself to look for a pair of socks to go along with the ones that you already had. Figured it was a good host thing to do.
But where and when and all that. Had to be special. Christmas was coming, why not try to build that purchase into that holiday. And we did. We took in a day trip to Seattle in early December, had a grand day in the city. We hit up the Westlake Mall and lo and behold what kind of store should they have there but one dedicated just to socks! Only in America! So we cruised the aisles and you picked and chose and came away with a very nifty pair of ginko patterned socks.
Why ginko? We somehow became enchanted with those leaves, leaves off of a tree that somehow elluded us. But somehow I stumbled upon it, or finally recognized it, one Sunday while out and about on foot in town. I picked and culled together for you a small bouquet and took it in to you at work that day. I know how much you hated that, the fluster, the recognition, the "jig's up" flush that would rise up around your neck and fly straight into your eyes. I always thought it was sweet and part of the magic we shared. As magical as that day we found those ginko socks.
So it's coming up to winter again and I know that socks are the order of the day. I think it's time to look for my darning needle and patch up some of my heavy duty woolies, make sure they are ready for guests. No sense keeping folks from feeling comfortable when they come to visit. But no matter what others may do, I will always remember the ease with which your shoes came off, and the grand display of socks you awarded me with. It was a level of comfort, you see. You had found a place and you made it yours. Your home away from home.
It was nice to be able to help that along. My home, your special place and Ginko socks.
Your WHMB
I know that whenever I have guests over that I leave it up to them whether or not they want to take off their shoes. When I returned from Japan it was a different story, as I was militant about doffing those zapatos. All shoes off at the door. Had plenty of slippers that I brought back with me to help make the experience fun and comfortable, but folks just looked at me as if I was full out weird, as if I came back from my overseas experience with the pox or a terrible accent, not just a desire to keep my rugs clean. So now I don't worry about it too much. Shoes on or off at the door, it's up to you. I sweep daily and vacuum once a week so it can only get so grubby.
But I can understand the hesitancy. Once those shoes come off you get down to a fairly private part of your wardrobe. It's somewhat like showing off your underware, which seems to be a very big thing in our contemporary culture these days. But socks are a bit different, are closer to the bone in other ways. You take off your shoes and it means you are staying awhile. That you plan on or want to get comfortable. Relax. Take the visit to another level. Whenever folks take off their shoes in my house I feel inclined to put on the hot water kettle, or fire up the fireplace, or get in the kitchen to fix something to eat. Open a bottle of wine. Turn on the tunes.
At the very least I want to be able to have my shoes off, too, and let my spine relax in my easy chair or along side my guest on that very comfortable and easy going leather couch I have. M, you must remember that couch. It was the scene of many a conversation, many a parlor game. It was the place where we sat each and every time you trounced me in Yahtzee. It was the sittee where we listened to music before the road. It was our grand avenue to holiday celebration, where Valentine's gifts were opened, where Calcopo books were read, where plans were discussed, made, executed and in the end, shelved.
But all the time we sat and played and discussed your socks were on display. You had quite a grand collection to go with those nifty slip off shoes you always wore. So I took it upon myself to look for a pair of socks to go along with the ones that you already had. Figured it was a good host thing to do.
But where and when and all that. Had to be special. Christmas was coming, why not try to build that purchase into that holiday. And we did. We took in a day trip to Seattle in early December, had a grand day in the city. We hit up the Westlake Mall and lo and behold what kind of store should they have there but one dedicated just to socks! Only in America! So we cruised the aisles and you picked and chose and came away with a very nifty pair of ginko patterned socks.
Why ginko? We somehow became enchanted with those leaves, leaves off of a tree that somehow elluded us. But somehow I stumbled upon it, or finally recognized it, one Sunday while out and about on foot in town. I picked and culled together for you a small bouquet and took it in to you at work that day. I know how much you hated that, the fluster, the recognition, the "jig's up" flush that would rise up around your neck and fly straight into your eyes. I always thought it was sweet and part of the magic we shared. As magical as that day we found those ginko socks.
So it's coming up to winter again and I know that socks are the order of the day. I think it's time to look for my darning needle and patch up some of my heavy duty woolies, make sure they are ready for guests. No sense keeping folks from feeling comfortable when they come to visit. But no matter what others may do, I will always remember the ease with which your shoes came off, and the grand display of socks you awarded me with. It was a level of comfort, you see. You had found a place and you made it yours. Your home away from home.
It was nice to be able to help that along. My home, your special place and Ginko socks.
Your WHMB
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