My air conditioner died the other day, just as an August heat wave was approaching. How it knows when it's the worst possible time to break down I'm not sure, but it does. The one thing you can say about it is it's reliable in its unreliability.
I called our repairman, who amazingly said he could come in an hour, and the next thing I know I'm standing with him up on my roof, looking over the problem, which I'm happy to report was easy to fix.
Everything is cool.
But I noticed two things while up there. My bare feet had to keep dancing on the hot tin roof, and the repairman had two small bare feet tattooed on his forearm. He said they were his baby son's. I'm not a big fan of tattoos, but you've got to love a guy who would do such a thing.
Bare feet are so much a part of my life. I still remember my first pair of shoes. Buster Browns. Hated them.
I never wore shoes growing up. Maybe to church on Sunday morning and to school when fall arrived, but that was about it. I rode my bike, sprinted up the road, walked down to the lake, all in my bare feet.read more
