Chuck's

Kind of a day short on compelling photography. I bust these Chuck Taylor's out three or four times a year. It is hard to imagine that these used to be our basketball shoes, not just out in the driveway shooting threes and free throws with no one around, but mixing it up on the hardcourts of Southern Oregon. Now, they're ankle snappers. I have to wedge sole supports in there now just to make it all day on these pancake-flat bad boys. Holy smokes, I'm old. I've got 'em kicked up on my desk, my piled-high desk. What you can't see are papers overflowing the desk, a William Stafford book of poetry, and my copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, which I have to read a chapter or two to catch up with the kids.