‘Sock It To Me Baby’ and other Dr. Scholl’s tales | Jim Freeman

As I age, somewhere to the left of graciously, I find it amusing that I have, in recent years, begun to sacrifice style for function. Maybe after developing one’s own style, it is less necessary to borrow the alleged style of others. Last Wednesday, after successfully solo laundromating in that city north of us that none of us want to be seen in, I journeyed by Big 5 to say “hello” to Diane. A few months back, when I last made an emergency run to Wally World for mindless gifts, I purchased my first ever pair of Dr. Scholl’s shoes from her. Either my feet are swelling as I age or my fourth-grade socks no longer fit.

As I age, somewhere to the left of graciously, I find it amusing that I have, in recent years, begun to sacrifice style for function.

Maybe after developing one’s own style, it is less necessary to borrow the alleged style of others.

Last Wednesday, after successfully solo laundromating in that city north of us that none of us want to be seen in, I journeyed by Big 5 to say “hello” to Diane. A few months back, when I last made an emergency run to Wally World for mindless gifts, I purchased my first ever pair of Dr. Scholl’s shoes from her.

Either my feet are swelling as I age or my fourth-grade socks no longer fit.

My college roomie Skeeter cautioned me during his last visit to Whidbey to keep my “feet dry and socks clean.”

I was told the same thing in Marine Corps boot camp while we were out marching in mud during a sand-flea’d, South Carolina rain.

No wonder they all talk so slowly down there.

Who can breathe?

So, having just about worn out my first pair of Dr. Scholl’s shoes, white in honor of all nurses and Pat Boone, this week I decided to get a darker pair to wear while mowing the yard.

Nothing like spending $30 in gas to save $5 on zapatos.

Gas prices give new meaning to “shopping locally.”

For years our family considered “shopping locally” as the Northgate Mall and the space in between there and Anacortes.

Now Anacortes may as well be New York.

The Northgate Mall may as well be Las Vegas, only without the sunshine.

Last week my neighbor Terry said, “Freeman, you look older. I haven’t seen you around much.”

I wanted to say, “Thanks for your support. I’ve been in the tall grass, without a riding mower.”

Instead I said, “Good to see you. I don’t see much of my family either. The only gas we can afford should not be shared, so we’re all in separate rooms.”

Of course, I didn’t really say that, and we don’t really do that, but I did want to see if you were still reading.

Knowing that we have come this far together, maybe you’ll drop by the historic Dog House Tavern tomorrow night from 7:30 until 9 p.m. to enjoy our Island Arts Council Poetry Slam.

All ages are welcome.

We ask the audience to suggest a dozen or more words, three of which must be used by participants in individual poems created on the spot.

No pressure, just fun.

No fees to get in, just prizes-to-go.

If nothing else, come watch and help celebrate June 19, the birthdays of Lou Gehrig, 105; Elbert Hubbard, 152; Blaise Pascal, 385, and our very own hometown hero founder, creator and author, Susan “Pippi” Knickerbocker whose age will never grace the contents of this column.

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