Lost Soles Remembered
For my travels back I had to shed a few items in order to get my bags under 23 kilos. Even after giving away Tulane shirts and a hoodie, with the additional Tim Tams, gifts, and a few souvenirs, I had to select a few items that would not be making the return trip across the Pacific.
Having walked to work, many times in the same shoes, the soles on my favourite pair of shoes had begun to wear away; near the end of my time in Australia I tended to squeak as I walked.
Many of you who know me know that I am usually reluctant to get rid of things that I like, even if they are nearing the end of their useful (non-squeaky) lives. Alas, I did not have the luxury of extra space (or any space, for that matter), so this time around I chose to send these shoes off in a bit more respectable manner, sending them to meet their maker in Australia, rather than run them into the ground (almost literally).
Really? Am I devoting a post to shoes? I am.
Picture it: Band camp of my first year at Tulane. It rained, and rained, and rained; as the week wore on and the skies never cleared. With our practice time running short we were forced to march through mud by the end of the week, ruining many pairs of shoes among us (not to mention giving us all horrible trenchfoot). As an apology for our waterlogged footwear, the band provided us with certificates redeemable at the Nike factory outlet toward Mid-City.
One day before classes started, a few of us overly optimistic freshmen set off, by foot, down Carrollton Avenue in the blazing sun to get shoes. I chose a pair of brown and suede understated sneakers, and happily toted my purchase back Uptown.
When I buy things I like I tend not to use them for a while. I know it is weird, but I like to admire them for a bit before I start getting the dirty. Fast forward a year or so, and I started wearing the shoes a bit. A bit turned into a lot, and three years later they had trekked (literally) across many states, eleven countries on four continents, and undoubtedly thousands of miles.
Alas, all good things must come to an end. Shoes, you shall be sorely missed.
Having walked to work, many times in the same shoes, the soles on my favourite pair of shoes had begun to wear away; near the end of my time in Australia I tended to squeak as I walked.
Many of you who know me know that I am usually reluctant to get rid of things that I like, even if they are nearing the end of their useful (non-squeaky) lives. Alas, I did not have the luxury of extra space (or any space, for that matter), so this time around I chose to send these shoes off in a bit more respectable manner, sending them to meet their maker in Australia, rather than run them into the ground (almost literally).
Really? Am I devoting a post to shoes? I am.
Picture it: Band camp of my first year at Tulane. It rained, and rained, and rained; as the week wore on and the skies never cleared. With our practice time running short we were forced to march through mud by the end of the week, ruining many pairs of shoes among us (not to mention giving us all horrible trenchfoot). As an apology for our waterlogged footwear, the band provided us with certificates redeemable at the Nike factory outlet toward Mid-City.
One day before classes started, a few of us overly optimistic freshmen set off, by foot, down Carrollton Avenue in the blazing sun to get shoes. I chose a pair of brown and suede understated sneakers, and happily toted my purchase back Uptown.
When I buy things I like I tend not to use them for a while. I know it is weird, but I like to admire them for a bit before I start getting the dirty. Fast forward a year or so, and I started wearing the shoes a bit. A bit turned into a lot, and three years later they had trekked (literally) across many states, eleven countries on four continents, and undoubtedly thousands of miles.
Alas, all good things must come to an end. Shoes, you shall be sorely missed.
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| Shoes: 2008-2012. |
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