Got up a little early this morning so I would have time to go out and clean up the snow so Carol could enjoy her morning ritual in comfort.
I was putting my boots on. I have a great pair of work boots that I bought when I went to work for a food distributor eight or nine years ago.
That job was a failed attempt to escape the low paying bartending gig I had at an American Legion.
I loved being a bartender but I was in the wrong place. When people consume eight drinks and leave you a one dollar tip, chances are you will not be contacting Edward Jones for investment advice any time soon.
"Twas a shame because I loved the job. I am fond of telling anyone who will listen that tending bar was the only job ever in my life that I loved.
It is true.
In my heart I am a performer and a faux celebrity. Being behind the bar is like being on stage; it fed my ego and I ate it up like a glutton.
There was a member there who owned a food distribution company. We got along well. He saw something in me and offered me a manager's position. He thought I was the right man for the job.
He was wrong. I was miserable there and the relationship was short-lived.
The good thing is I had to buy these boots.
At some point the laces broke and I bought rawhide laces to replace them. About two feet too long.
A normal human would cut the laces down to size, but I am not a normal human.
When I put these boots on I wrap the laces around the boot once or twice until it is a manageable length to tie off.
I enjoy that ritual.
As I do this, inevitably, Lakota wanders over and grabs at the laces as they fly around the boots. She always snags them and I have to gently extricate the lace from her paw or her mouth. It takes me two or three attempts before I actually get the laces set.
I enjoy that ritual as well.
It was cold this morning, it was windy, there was snow on the ground.
Not a recipe for contentment from my perspective.
But I had the boot ritual.
And that was comforting.