ask not for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee, Chacos
My Chacos were laid to rest in Galilee, after four great years of service. May their memory live loudly.
For the past four years, March through November has been Chacos Season. There is no outfit too formal for Chacos or situation too messy. Open toes, free souls.
Two (ish) months ago, a faultline appeared in the sole beds of both my right and left foot Chacos. I emailed their support service, begging them to mend them.
“That is not normal wear and tear,” said Chris, the Chacos sales rep. “We can’t help you now.” Chris wondered why the sole of each specific Chaco had been worn down into an invisible pulp, leaving the footbed (that thick rubber cushion of ergonomic joy) vulnerable to the impact of foot on pavement. I guess Chris doesn’t wear his Chacos March through November!
I was holding onto them for an inappropriate amount of time as the sole was slowly splitting into two halves underneath me, but I finally left them in Galilee, because I had impulse-bought three olive wood bowls from a fair trade store and needed space in the backpack.
Women be shopping.
Despite a commitment to voluntary poverty, I touched down in Palestine and felt my blood run green with American dollars. Paint me orange and call me Trump because I’m grown convinced it is my God-appointed duty to write stimulus checks to every Palestinian shop owner who hollers “ahlan wa sahlan” at me in exchange for various material items, justified in their purchase as “gifts.”
And so the Chacos have fallen victim to capitalism, concrete, and my credit card and were left behind in the land where Jesus walked. I can’t think of a more fitting place to leave them though. Plus, the footbed of smooth plastic is not the best for walking around, and I have had some close shaves on the slick Jerusalem stone paving the sidewalk in the old city. Saftey comes before Chacos, but just barely.
From Turkey to Iceland to New York City to Fire Island to Arizona to Vermont to South Bend to North Carolina to the Connecticut coast to Rochester and the Finger Lakes to San Antonio to Colorado to the 225 miles of sidewalk and trail in Eden Prairie, Minnesota to Chicago and to Jerusalem, they’ve had a good run.
Farewell, old friends. My feet hurt without you already.
