Rain and more rain. Lush grass. But at least the temps now seem to be 70 F or higher all the time, as befitting summer. Not that this weekend was “the beginning of summer.” Just the solstice.

Saturday was clear and warm, and I picked out these shoes for the day.
I’d acquired them in March at a resale shop, where they looked only a bit worn, but had forgotten about them until I was looking through a pile of shoes on Saturday, finding them in a small bag with the receipt still inside (the only reason I knew when I bought them). Most of the shoes in this house — the vast majority — are not mine. If I could acquire two pairs of shoes, one formal, one for comfortable walks, that would last the rest of my life, I would do that.

Of course, I can’t do that because shoes wear out. Sometimes I buy new, sometimes at resale, though that’s tricky, since my size is a little large. Anyway, I wore the pictured shoes during a drive to another suburb and for a little walking around. Not far at all — maybe half an hour walking all together, if that, plus time sitting.

As I drove home, the bottom of one of the shoes felt a little odd. Since I was driving, I couldn’t inspect them closely. When I got home, I did.

The sole of one had almost completely separated from the rest of the shoe.
Just like that. I didn’t kick anything violently or bang the shoe on a table Khrushchev style or do anything else that might account for a sudden separation.

I neglected to check the brand, but I did note that the shoes were made in Portugal. Make what you will of that. For all I know, Portugal has a reputation for the worst shoes in the EU. Or maybe it just exports the weaker product out of the euro-zone.

The person who owned the shoes before me probably wore them exactly to their natural limit and then, luckless me, I bought the one-hoss shay the day before it fell apart. Then again, I think I spent all of $4, so the loss wasn’t vast.