I consider it a major victory if I can go 5+ days without wearing socks.  Flip flops, boat shoes, barefoot…whatever.  Just, no socks.

If I don’t have to wear socks, I don’t have to impress anyone.  I don’t have to worry if my belt matches my shoes.  Or if my freshly pressed shirt was frumpified during my commute.  Or if the crappy sink in the bathroom betrayed me to look like an incontinent moron.

If I don’t have to wear socks, I don’t have to wash and pair socks.

Really, going sock-less is wonderful thing. Sock-less = carefree.

I fear the tradition is officially broken.

For the first several decades of my life I celebrated our country’s independence from the shores (or off shores) of Lake Winnipesaukee, NH.  A generation(+) of bottle rockets and roman candles. “Beaver-go-boom“. And across-the-lake or down-the-shore “wow-that-must-have-cost-a-fortune” performances by similar lake side vacationers.

Last year my wife and I spent the Fourth of July to Baraboo, Wisconsin, celebrating the nuptials of a sister-in-laws sister.  We had a blast.  The setting was beautiful, the people were friendly, and the wedding was personal, genuine and very, very fun.  That said, it was my first Fourth away from my beloved Lake Winni.

Yes, we enjoyed Baraboo’s fireworks (from the high school bleechers.)

Yes, there was apple pie.

And yes, I even had a chance to take a dip in one of Wisconsin’s gazillion lakes. (Specifically, Devil’s Lake Park)

But despite all the fun and memories—it wasn’t tradition.

“It’s OK”, I said to myself. “Next year we’ll be back on ‘the lake’ and the tradition will live on. One year in an eon won’t really matter…right?”

Now I have to ask…What about TWO years?  In a row?

…across the board, the Preston ‘word-O’-the-day’ (or perhaps the summer) is “success”.  Say it out loud.  Draw out that last ‘s’.  Let it hiss and linger as you pump your fist and scrunch your face like you just got punched in the gut.  SucSESSSSSSSS!
Say what you mean, mean what you say.