It's All In the Socks. If You Have the Right Socks, You Have the Right Pep In Your Step.

I bought a pair of orange and blue socks a few weeks back; actually, I bought two pairs. I sent one to the twins for their birthday, so now there are two sets of such socks living within shoes and upon "what are those" toes. I love these socks because they remind me of Syracuse and, well, because they're not just white, nor are they plain black.

Shout out to Burlington Coat Factory for hearing my wishes for selling funky socks for men. I'm keeping them in business, that's for sure.

And I wore my funky socks yesterday to reunite with Hill Central K-8, to strut quickly through IKEA (in pursuit of a cinnamon roll), and towards campus to have an impromptu graduation ceremony for my friend Deanna who finished her undergraduate degree as a grandmother. It was beautiful to see so many line the hallway as we sang pomp and circumstance and offered Deanna a well-deserved ceremony and round of applause.

I wish I could say that the socks were more productive than they were - Glamis and I walked and then I rested them while watching Empire. I took a day off from running (even though it was 75 degrees) simply because I'm sick of this head, throat, and chest thing. Every year. Every year.

But today is Thursday and I'm heading toward it with another pair of socks, that's for sure. Most importantly, though, is that I bought Pam a pair of plastic doll hands so she can be Doneese for Halloween. One week away!