Frankie
It's Derby time again and my thoughts go to Frank. I'll get all wrapped up in the race, the tradition, and my own memories of being at Churchill Downs on Derby day, but I'll also carry something of Frank with me. Time to tell the story again. I love how shoes retain the personality of the person they belong to; just lying around, or sitting neatly on a shelf, or even abandoned, lost, or separated, as they sometimes get, they continue to reflect the identity and appearance of their owner. I saved my shoes for last, like a special dessert. They were the last things to get packed, the last bit of jagged grain to finger, the last sorting out to do. In the corner of the closet, on the floor, coiled, like a pair of sleeping lovers, were my black leather cowboy boots. Small wonder I hadn’t worn them for a while, my days around horses had ended half a dozen years before and they weren’t particularly kind to my aging feet. Yet, they made me smile and would obviously require a pl