A Sad Farewell

They've finally seen their last kick-ass, those cowboy boots of mine.

I've had these boots since high school, when I was the weird kid who wore boots and jeans, and not go-go boots, either. I wore sweatshirts down to my knees because I was so thin I was embarrassed. Of course, now I wear the same sweatshirts because I'm NOT thin...haha! And, if I wasn't wearing Keds or Converse, I was wearing these boots.

I graduated high school in 1973...so that gives you a hint at their age...and mine, of course.

They've seen me through marriage, divorce, childbirth, several dogs and cats and helped me to line-dance with the best of the honky-tonkers in my day. They carried me to concerts – Moody Blues, Black Sabbath, Blue Oyster Cult, The Police and of course, Buffett. They've stepped in cow shit, dog shit and horse shit. They went with me to Ecuador, where I rode horses through the Andes Mountains and waded in pure mountain streams. These boots have been under many beds, and we won't go in to that here, she said, with a smile.

I've played pool in them, winning many games and losing others. I've shot darts in leagues and tournaments, prancing up to the board when I shot a cork and scuffing off when I didn't.

I loved these boots.

They were perfectly broken in and I could wear them without socks. I can get them off quickly when ocean sand called me and put them back on to drive away without a struggle.

I took them in to the shoe repair shop and the cobbler told me that it was pretty hopeless, because of the wear on the leather. "Nothing to sew it back on to," was his reply.

So, here's a tribute to my boots. Just another thing lost in the wind. And yes, for any of those people out there reading this that think I'm crazy, they will be buried. That should confirm it.