Donovan Lietch, dialectical materialist

I love my boots. I've had them for a few years now, so we have a kind of history together, a few small adventures my boots have made easier for me, like walks in deep snow or wet woods, winter workouts on a cold patio. So I try to keep them clean, let them rest and dry out, and do the occasional saddle soap and neat's foot oil treatment to keep the leather and stitching in good condition. They were once somebody's skin. They don't eat much and usually don't pee on the floor.

Does everyone feel this way about their shoes? You buy a pair of sneakers, you like the way they look, you get to know them, and the velveteen rabbit phenomenon happens, they get more real the more you wear them. Sometimes it's touch and go whether I break them in or they break me in, but usually I win because I'm too damn stingy to pay $100 for New Balance running shoes - the gray suede ones - and then admit it was a bad idea. If it takes a year and a thousand miles on the bike trail, it was worth it.

Then comes the long downhill slide from broken-in to broken-down. The creases lengthen, the scuffs deepen, the soles wear unevenly, and the stitching comes loose. Pretty soon my feet are sore after half a day, the beginning of the end of a relationship. That's were I am with my round-toed Rockports, the ones I bought on sale at Galyans with a gift certificate from my students at Westgate, how many years ago? They were a full size too big, but I like them so much I got them anyway and wore extra thick socks, no problem.

So anyway, the Donovan song (which album, Barabajagel?): "I love my shirt, I love my shirt, my shirt is so comfortably lovely...I love my jeans, I love my jeans, my jeans are so comfortably lovely...In fact I love my whole wardrobe." I guess that makes Donovan (and me) a materialist.