Seattle, Washington
The first week of March in 2011

My computer crashed. Big time. First time.
Hence the delay in a new posting.
Little had I realized how slowly-but-surely computer use had become woven into the basic fabric of my life.
While waiting for the E-shaman to exorcise the digital demons I turned to retro-tools:  pen and ink and paper, and the soft ware of the raw meat between my ears.
It took awhile to get used to the old ways.
I noticed that working without a computer slowed down the writing process, but increased the amount of thought invested in the enterprise, and upgraded the pleasure of the writing.
Because of the speed of the computer, hurry seems inherent when using it.
The amount of hurry increases stress.
The amount of stress increases a sense of loss of quality of life.
And that leads to a sense of dying before you’re dead.
And who wants that?

So. What follows is like slow food - slow writing.

NOVA SOCCUS

“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“What’s new?”
“Not much - and you?”

A standard ritual exchange of greetings.
Not an invitation to really unload your personal baggage, good or bad.
We make that gesture of civility - and then pass on about our business.

But sometimes intuition suggests there is a hidden agenda.
For example, if we had run into each other out on the street almost any morning this week, and if we had said hello in the usual minimal cultural format, my demeanor would have made you suspect that I might be covering up something I really didn’t want to talk about.

Why had I been laughing when you saw me coming?
Why was I still smiling while we made our hello?
Why did I keep shuffling my feet while looking down at yours?
And why did I not volunteer an explanation?

Well . . . because sometimes it’s hard to hide the truth.
Admittedly my bland answer to your question would have been bogus.
A harmless lie.
I did not in fact feel fine. Not at all.  I felt groovy.
But if I had said that I would have had to tell you why.

There was something new.
And it’s true that I would not have wanted to talk about it.
Because it would seem so utterly simple-mindedly stupid and trivial.

The truth?
I was wearing new socks.
A brand-new pair of whoopty-do, high-tech hiking/walking socks.
The kind with fat padding and complex construction in all the right places.
New Super Socks.

It’s hard to explain or justify my New Socks condition.
Even I was surprised.
But the minute I put them on I felt a small surge of delight.
They looked good.
I felt good.
And I was amused because it seemed so ridiculous that something so small could provide so much pleasure, and launch me out into the day in high good humor, optimistic about life and my fellow human beings.

This is hard to share as important information.
“What’s new?” you asked.
Could I really reply, “Let me show you my socks.”
If I did you probably would have thought . . .
Really? New socks? That’s your secret? I’m speechless . . .

And we both would have felt awkward.
Adults don’t often talk to other adults about their socks - maybe never.
Certainly men don’t.
Sharing news of socks is not adult male-bonding behavior.
New tires maybe, but socks?
No.

So let’s get adult for awhile.
Sock is a word derived from classical sources.
“Sykchos” from Greek, referencing a Phrygian foot covering.
“Soccus” from Latin - a loose-fitting slipper worn by Roman comic actors.
Wearing socks is an ancient custom - Egyptians had the first knitted ones.
There was a sock boom in the 16th century when the sock knitting machine was invented by an English guy. Socks became plentiful and cheap.
Socks provide warmth and absorb up to a pint of perspiration a day.
They can serve as mittens in an emergency.
They are handy rags when worn out.

The rule at my house is “No Shoes Inside” - in the Japanese mode.
Most male guests will forego the offered slippers and remain sock-footed.
And in doing so will expose socks not meant for public display.
A little embarrassing.
Even they notice, and will sit with their feet folded back out of sight.
Most people - men especially - don’t notice when socks are worn out.
They seldom contemplate their socked feet.

Men’s socks are usually worn thread-bare on the bottoms - the side they never look at, though they may wonder why their feet are always cold.
The big toe area is often just on the verge of break through.
Or in fact, the toe has emerged victorious. 

(I do admire the thrifty types who wear two pairs of socks - carefully matching hole and non-hole ends of their socks to extend sock life.
The same effect occurs when tube socks are carefully rotated.)

Men’s socks come in black, white, brown, grey and sometimes blah.
That’s the color of most men’s socks: Blah.
Or, as they age with us, they turn a weirder color: Blech.

Sometimes my guests are wearing mismatched socks.
Not as a fashion statement.
More as a sign that they rise early and dress quickly in the dark.

Dressing in the dark is what got me into the New Sock Thinking.
I usually get up around daybreak.
I have two kinds of socks - black for dress up - grey for walkabout.
They are kept in two separate baskets - kept loose, not paired up.
And one dim morning I somehow tipped over both baskets on the floor.
Socks were widely scattered and inter-mixed.
When I turned on the light to re-basket the socks I could not help but notice the condition of my footwear.

Socks with holes; scabbed with pill-ups; tops with elastic failure; lean spots on the bottom or heels or in the big toe area.
As rags they might have some further use.
But as socks, no.
So. That’s how I came to have six new pairs of black socks and six new pairs of general purpose grey socks.
Which added up to twelve New Sock Delight events.
And these reflections.

_______________________________

Sock Thoughts Jotted Down in My Notebook Over a Week While Waiting for the Computer to be Healed:

Men’s socks are underwear for feet - not meant to be seen.

What are the Pope’s socks like? Obama’s?

The condition of the socks usually reflects the condition of the underwear.

Most people in the world don’t have new socks.
Most people in the world don’t have any socks at all, actually
Most people in the world don’t need socks.
Having twelve pairs of new socks might be seen as a sign of Western Capitalistic Degenerate Excess.

Shoddy socks are not a sign of spiritual weakness or moral turpitude.

Mis-matched socks are not necessarily a sign that you dress in the dark or don’t care, but may be a sign of creativity and artistic sensibility.
But probably not.

Wearing no socks at all is a sign of simplicity or poverty or cool.

But all this is not really about the socks, but how they make you feel.

It’s about the small, private pleasures that make a day go right.

There are others. I have been doing social research . . . asking friends and family about socks, an inquiry they didn’t expect or quite know what to do with at first.
Socks? You want to know about my socks?

Yes, and also I want to know:
How do you feel when opening a new bar of soap just before you shower?

Have you ever put on warm underpants right out of the dryer?
Or put on anything right out of the dryer - jeans, T-shirt, socks?

Do you know the feeling of finding that someone else has put a fresh roll of toilet paper in the holder?

These questions make for slow conversations.
Well . . . I . . . actually . . . yes . . . it is a good feeling . . . but . . .

The opposite of these small gems of private well-being is its own category.
They can give a whole day a toxic quality.

While eating breakfast you bite your own lip or tongue or inner cheek.

While headed out the door you find you’ve misplaced your keys. Again.
And you discover this after you’ve gone out the door and locked yourself out of the house. And you know where the hide-a-key is: Inside the house where you left it the last time you had to use it.

When there is no new soap, no toilet paper in reserve, and the socks you put on look as shabby as you feel.

We don’t talk about these things.
They seem so trivial compared to the real problems of the world.
But they have something to do with happiness.
Happiness is more often than not made of small moments that don’t last.
Happiness is transient, momentary, evanescent.
And it’s most likely private and personal.
Like a moment when the sun breaks through the clouds and shines for an instant on your face and hands on a dreary morning.
It can turn your day around.

And going out and about in the world in an upbeat mood can contribute to the overall social atmosphere.
And if all it takes is a new pair of socks to put your day into a groovy mood, then new socks are called for.

Righteous socks make for happy feet.
Happy feet connect to a happy body.
A happy body makes for a happy mind.
A happy mind creates a happy citizen.
Happy citizens make for a better world.
See, it all depends on socks, and new ones are the best.

Get some.
Warm them in the dryer just before you put them on.