When you live in the woods, your driveway is gravel, and your front lawn is all green stubs in dust, your leather shoes need shinin’. We try to do it twice a year whether they need it or not. On a Sunday afternoon after church, Dad breaks out the rags, the shoe polish, and the shoe brush he got as a missionary in Argentina. Then as other people drift through, they ask if their shoes can get a polish too. Sure, says Dad, and pretty soon a whole swarm of shoes is awaiting their semiannual bath.

I get out the newspapers and keep the kids at bay. Here Sarah (at bottom, in fruit jammies) and Natalie observe and comment while Dad performs cosmetic surgery on Mom’s poor beat-up shoosies. Virtually all of our shoes* are free or drastically cheap (as in fire-sale-at-the-thrift-store cheap). The pair I’ve got on right now, for example, were part of a shovel-full crammed into a $2-a-bag-thrift-store sale, and my, are they handsome. They say “ecco” on the sole (I’m hoping that’s a hoity-toity European brand) and they torpedo my dowdy image, but unfortunately they’re too small. My feet expand to fill their every cranny, like that expandable foam insulation in a can. Well, that’s the advantage of not paying too much.

*In fact, virtually all of our clothes are free or drastically cheap. In fact, much of our stuff is free or drastically cheap. We’re cheapskates. Yahoo! (Ever notice how I take pride in my humility?)