Pic of the day, from top to bottom: 1) Good but limited use, 2) allright but a bit worn, 3) hurt when used, 4) will get you thrown out from shabby places. What has this to do with ...
Heart & sole?
We have an ambivalent relationship with the heart, we middle-aged men. On one hand, it stands for passion. On the other hand, death. "Heart attack" is a leading cause of death and disability for men around my age. I've given it some thought myself.
DNA testing would have come in handy here: If I take after my mother's side, I'm probably immune. Their hearts stop beating only after they're dead anyway. Practically the whole clan is unfamiliar with that specific curse. On my father's side, it is not quite that simple. My father is safely into his seventies and still ticking, but then again he has worked hard all his life with plenty of fresh air. Well, OK, at least he has worked hard all his life.
You would think me a prime target for heart attacks. I'm almost collecting risk factors here: I'm male (boo!), single (hisss!), I have excess fat (eww!), I don't do sports (shame!) and I don't have sex (ouch!). And as recently mentioned, my attempts at drinking one glass a day of alcoholic beverage never last more than a few days, often less. Nor do I have pets, who for some obscure reason have the power to protect all those around them from hypertension and the associated heart attacks. I even drink milk and eat cheese, while skimping on fruit and vegetables. I only seem to lack smoking.
There's one thing I do, though: I walk. And walk and walk. I was a compulsive walker since early childhood, walking all over the fields and along the rivers and streams and through the woods and up in the mountains. I stick more to the roads now, or at least paths. And I wear out more shoes (and some socks) than any other clothes. (OK, boxer shorts are a strong contender, but let us not go there now.)
Just the other day I was in the city and looked for some new shoes. I really only have two pairs that don't hurt my feet, and one of those is a pair of jogging shoes. (Not that I actually jog, or at least not enough to speak of.) The other pair are thick black shoes, and I can feel them getting worn. The soles are still fairly thick, but they are getting uneven.
The shop had this big sale, but of course nothing on sale was in my size and shape. And even the shoes that were not on sale were few in my size. We decided that I would be better served by waiting till the autumn shoes came in. Or, I guess, I could go to another shop and try there. There are a lot of them; obviously I am not the only one to need new shoes now and then. In fact, I have already been in the big one in the main street. But it was too packed with tourists, or I guess they were tourists, people with a lot of time on their hands. I can't take a day off to buy shoes!
A major reason why I went to that other shop (the one not on main street) was that in the past, they used to sell my favorite shoes. In fact, I cannot honestly say that as a grown-up I have ever had any shoes that fit me quite as well as Clouds. And now for the funny thing that kind of closes the loop. These shoes are made in Norway, and not just anywhere in Norway either. They hail from a factory across the fjord from where I grew up and spent my entire childhood. For three years I went to school nearby (from grade 7 to 9). For all I know, some of the people I knew back then may be working there right now.
Hearts and soles indeed ...
Some sun, a little rain.
Visit the Diary Farm for the older diaries I've put out to pasture.