Labor Day, and another summer passed into history. To some that means back to school although, barbarically and, I'm sure, unconstitutionally many if not most schools start before Labor Day, apparently without protest. To others, it's time to take the boats out of the water, to close up camps, to go for one last swim or picnic. Still others--and you know who you are--lament the fact that, following sartorial etiquette, they must put away the white belts, white shoes, and probably the whale pants until Memorial Day. That may be the best feature of the holiday, come to think of it.
For me, though, this time of year means my days of walking barefoot are numbered, and I am saddened by that. As Job said, "Naked-footed I came from my mother's womb, and naked-footed I will depart." I may be paraphrasing slightly there, but you get the gist. Being in the condition of barefootedness is natural; being shod is not. Yes, I know, in certain latitudes that's easier to follow than in others, but still: why aren't we all naked-footed as much as possible? I would submit that wriggling bare toes in the sand or in the grass is both soul-freeing and soul-soothing, and that we could substitute soul's homonym and understand the benefits more directly.
Which is why I think it a shame that bare feet are banned in so many places. When I'm at Chautauqua, amid all of the white-belt-and-shoe crowd, I go barefoot everywhere I can: the library, the cafes, the bookstore, throughout the grounds. Basically, everywhere but the Amphitheater, which seems weird to me. It's just a roofed shed, and so basically outdoors, and yet bare feet are prohibited there. And, in truth, near the end of my stay this year I went into the bookstore to buy The Times, and a very officious woman came up to me and told me, in no uncertain terms, that the Chautauqua Bookstore simply couldn't abide bare feet sullying their hallowed floors (again, perhaps a slight paraphrase); I replied that I'd be glad to comply, but they really should have a sign on the door informing prospective patrons that they would not be welcome sans les chaussures, (to make this seem like a learned and thus worthwhile piece).
And yet frequently, as I wandered the grounds, I'd pass people--wearing shoes, of course--who would smile fondly at me and say "Isn't that just the Chautauqua way," or "It's great to see someone barefoot here." I'd just shake my head, bemused. "C'mon along," I'd think, or maybe even say. But it was clear that they wanted a surrogate, someone to be bohemian for them so they could feel that they belonged to a boho community but could still keep their standing in the straight world. So, gang, what say: join me this weekend--and as long as the weather allows--in being rebellious, iconoclastic, barefoot. Your feet'll thank you.
"Barefoot," "feet" and "foot" songs this week, then, among them
Barefoot Days Jackie Leven
Barefoot On The Beach Michael Franks
Barefoot-Dirt Road Mose Allison
Barefootin' Robert Parker
Take A Load Off Your Feet The Beach Boys
Feet Fall On The Road Bruce Cockburn
God Shuffled His Feet Crash Test Dummies
Fall At Your Feet Crowded House
Falling At Your Feet Daniel Lanois
Bad Feet Geoff Muldaur
Two Little Feet Greg Brown
Your Feet's Too Big Hank Jones, Ray Brown
As Soon As I Get On My Feet Jesse Winchester
Even His Feet Look Sad Leo Kottke
Back On My Feet Paul McCartney
Back On My Feet Again Randy Newman
Knocks Me Off My Feet Stevie Wonder
Barefootin' Johnny Winter
Foot Of Pride Dylan
No Footprints Bruce Cockburn
Foot Pattin' Coleman Hawkins
Stink Foot Frank Zappa
Blues For Big Foot Gene Harris
Get On The Good Foot James Brown
Footstompin' Music Grand Funk Railroad
Footloose Kenny Loggins
Footprints Squeeze
Tenderfootin' The Waterboys
All this on Tuesday, noon till two on WOOL FM, 91.5, and wool.fm. See you then. Oh yeah--thanks to Sam R. for suggesting this topic.
The crux of the biscuit is the apostrophe.
