Shoes

Good morning, Heather Marie! Am I in time for your morning coffee?

I hear you got a promotion at work; which is great because you work hard and you deserve it and you have pretty, red hair. You should put all that on your resume because junk like that works.

You probably wear the nicest shoes in the land owing to your career, so I thought of you two nights ago when Ben was burning his two-year-old converse. He wore them the first year he staffed at scout camp, and decided to ritually burn them as part of his past. Plus also, he just likes to build fires in the fall. Those burning shoes sent up a burny, smokey, plasticky smell, forcing Ben to retrieve them before we died.

Ben really likes fire.

When he was a boy, I caught him setting a newspaper picture of John Kerry on fire. When the burn reached his fingers, he accidentally dropped it in Allen's house shoe. That incident was scary enough for me to forge an agreement that whenever he wanted to light a match, he could - as long as I was present. As a result, he would, betimes, approach me with the kitchen matches, and we would take time to light a few. As crazy as it sounds, he never tried to burn down our house again.

Actually, the above sounds a little dysfunctional now that I write it and read it. Can I get parental points for mere survival? I need some sort of category for that.

Allie adds that I yelled at Ben that day, then sicced his dad on him before the nice little talk about lighting matches together. Obviously, Allie has a poor memory....and lies.

On a side note, Ben is more politically moderate these days.

I hope you have a great day at work. You are to be admired for your independence, your mind, and your loveliness.

Don't burn any shoes.