Welcome to The Week of Tom.
Today I took a walk to a bakery that is something like 2 miles from my apartment, and then I walked back, with a detour to the grocery store before I returned.
It is a walk I do (usually with my sister) on occasion when time and weather permits mostly because I feel like I am entitled to eat a cheese danish if I walk four miles to get it and also because the walk brings me through the snooty-falooty neighborhoods of the East Side of Providence. I spend the walks feverishly imagining the kinds of fabulous lives I would lead if I lived in one of those houses.
From the huge million dollar Colonials and Victorians and fake Tudors on the Boulevard that fun to imagine though they are too big for my real-life taste…
…to the adorable bungalows and cottages I would actually want to own in Hope Village and genuinely aspire to live in.
When I get home from these walks, I usually peruse the real estate listings so that I can understand just how fully out of my reach these dreams are. I like to use the mortgage calculator, fill in the down payment field with $1000 and laugh at the figures it generates.
And by laugh, I mean cry.
Meanwhile, the whole point of this is that today while I was walking in the brisk fall air down one Burlington Street (on which I have decided to someday live), I was thinking how comfy my Tom’s shoes are for walking and how happy I am that I bought them.
They are delightful strolling shoes, and hold up easily to 4 mile walks. And maybe a lot of people think they are ugly (a kindergartner asked if I was wearing slippers on Friday) but I think they are adorable, albeit in a homely kind of way.
So there I was, admiring my comfy and wonderful shoes that have brought me nothing but happiness since I bought them and that were enhancing my already excellent walk, when I decided that this should be the Week of Tom, in which I will celebrate all (more likely only some) of the great Toms in the world.
Starting with my shoes.