Shoeless in Chicago

 

I have been griping around the house for some time now.  At the beginning of the winter I had located my snow boots.  Now, mind you, I have hiking boots I can wear, but with all the snow, it is so much easier to wear regular snow boots you can easily slip into.  And mine are gone.  And for me, being a guy and not having access to an Imelda-like collection that my wife has, it is more of an issue!

This “gone” thing is nothing new to me and the Koerner household.  Mary Kay doesn’t totally get it since she doesn’t, for the most part, have things that the guys would have wanted to snitch from her.  Not only have I had tools and technology that the boys have enjoyed and filched at times as the years have gone on, but we are pretty much interchangeable in sizes as well.  There are a few variations in these sizes but if it comes to a pinch we can pretty much fake it if we need to. It also lends itself to issues of property disappearance!

In the past few years, as boys have moved in and out of the Koerner Estate north of Chicago, this filching has become less of an issue. 

In the past, the way it works is that something would disappear, never to be seen again, and never to be explained.

Add into this mix the strange sort of what I call “Parma Paranoia” that I apparently own as one of my facets.  In Parma, as I was growing up, it was always very important to keep track of everything.  Doors always had to be locked: screen door, regular door, and possible locked with more than one lock. Windows were to be latched shut.  Having decorative items out of doors would beg for vandalism.  I remember the beautiful blue spruce we had in front of our home that we used to decorate with the large, almost kiwi sized lights.  When we decorated this tree at Christmas we inevitably had a large job replacing the bulbs as the local populace of Parmesan vagabonds would attack them and break them into smithereens.  I therefore am a little less trusting than your regular, run of the mill, Chicagoan.

So, back to my winter boots, I located them, had them out, and lo and behold, they subsequently disappeared.

First my “paranoia” set in and I started questioning people and almost “accusing” them of having my beloved boots.  This, apparently, is what I do; at least that is what they tell me.  Now, mind you, my boots are not necessarily the best boots on the market.  Enter here another facet of my character that is pointed out to me on an almost daily basis by my family and is called the “martyr complex.”  My mother taught this to me and my favorite example is at the dinner table, she would serve me the best part of the steak, let’s say the tenderloin, and she would eat off the bone or of a lesser quality portion of the steak.  If cookies are slightly burned, I will eat them first and give the good ones to others.  Honestly, I think it is a nice kind thing, but I take a lot of grief for it!  So, this pair of missing boots is not the best name, but not the worst either.  During recent weeks, when we have been out at local establishments where boots can be had, I have been asked to check them out and I have said, “NO!” all winter.   This stubborn streak is another aspect of my character as well.

So now, Mikey, upon his return home claims that he might have seen the infamous missing boots in a vehicle he traveled in.  This vehicle shall, for the moment, remain nameless. Now I cannot remember the name of the brand of these boots, but if I heard the name, I would know! Unfortunately, Mikey, in his detective work, didn’t manage to look at them closely enough.  So, now he is charged with getting more info.

Other than Mikey, both of my sons wear the same size shoe as I do…as this develops further, I shall report, but at present, the boots are still unaccounted for.

Up to this point, I haven’t as of yet mentioned my “cowboy” boots which have also been on the missing list for some time.  This is really a funny story as I have actually lent them out more than once, once to my son and another time to a friend who was going horseback riding and needed to try them out.  This set of boots has a funny story as do most of my possessions!  Years ago in Deerfield when we had a funny little corner shopping area at the corner of Waukegan and Deerfield Roads, there was a traditional shoe store owned by a funny guy who had the license plates  with “Shoedog” written on them.  He was a great guy, an old fashioned shoe salesman who really knew his products.  One time when I went in with the wife and kids, I spied a great pair of Frye boots, actually more of a “biker” pair of boots than anything, with square toes and gray and with black leather straps attached to a metal ring toward the bottom.  These boots were amazing and very cool to walk in and the price was one of those that I figured I would never see again. So, I bought them and whenever I went horseback riding or whatever, I would wear them.

Well, these boots, after being borrowed several times, returned home and then disappeared within the family house.  I have been doing all sorts of housecleaning and re-organization since “pretiring” and they have been missing for several years.  I cannot figure it out.

I am beginning to think that my “blaming” of my sons for these issues is perhaps the problem.  I think that perhaps, all along, that maybe there has been some sort of ghost or something that perhaps just likes what I own and takes them.  I guess I shall just keep looking.  Meanwhile, I am “shoeless in Chicago!”

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