Barefoot’in

Barefoot’in
2004

As a child growing up in San Diego, I fondly recall the barefoot’in days of summer. I seldom wore shoes and often played all day long in my neighborhood in Pacific Beach, while barefoot’in. Flip-flops or sandals were off limits during my beach excursions because the sand would get between my feet and the soles, making walking awkward. I loved barefoot’in and would grow up to continue the habit in my adult life.

In the fall of 1978, I moved to Phoenix, Arizona. By the first summer, I learned to my dismay that my barefoot’in outside days were over.

Phoenix is a city built in the middle of a desert and is surrounded by mountains, and a bland desert landscape of cactus and sagebrush. Phoenix summers generally consist of 100 days of triple digit temperatures. The hottest day I recall was on June 26, 1990, when the mercury inched up to a whopping 122 degrees. Although Phoenix can lay claim to the hottest temperature in the country that day, top honors for the highest temperature on record in AZ, go to Lake Havasu City, AZ with the mercury recording 128 degrees on June 29, 1994.

A simple task like retrieving mail from the standard-issue metal domed mailbox located in front of my house requires wearing shoes for the trip and carrying a potholder to open the metal door!

Other than the summers, Phoenix weather is beautiful for 9 months of the year; is seldom overcast and does not rain much.

In defense of Phoenix summers and the triple digit temperatures, one must concede that not all hot is created equally. When confronted with my insanity in picking a desert to live in, I oftentimes find myself jesting, “but it’s a DRY heat,” comparing our surprisingly bearable hot, dry summers to the Midwest’s hot, sticky, and horrendously unbearable humidity.

Our local gift shops even market Arizona souvenirs depicting a skeleton leaning against a broken down car in the middle of a desert, with the same “but it’s a dry heat” caption.

Barefoot’in in Phoenix in the summertime can be deadly …

Bill was preparing to head out the door for a 10:00 a.m. meeting just as I stepped into the shower. Sticking my head out from behind the shower curtain, I reminded Bill to be sure to lock the doors on his way out.

Finishing my shower, I began readying myself for my meeting, which was scheduled for 11:30 a.m. After blow-drying my hair and applying my make-up, I slipped on the summer dress I planned to wear to my meeting.

I walked into my home office and printed out a business plan I prepared for the meeting. I then called my business partner to confirm the pick up time of 11:15 a.m. and told her I’d be waiting for her in front of my house at the appointed time.

I had no need for my shoes just yet and as I placed them by the front door, I noticed my dreary-looking Philodendron plant outside the window. With about 45 minutes to kill, I decided to go outside to water the plant. I stepped outside while barefoot’in, feeling the cool cement under my feet.

Ahhhhh, barefoot’in! I love the freedom of wearing no shoes and miss the opportunity to go barefoot’in outside in the summertime.

After watering the plant, I came back inside, locking the door behind me, as is my habit when alone.

I then headed towards the living room’s French doors and noticed that the door was slightly ajar. “Terrific, Bill” I quipped to myself sarcastically, “Some security I have with you – you lock the doors but you don’t shut them! Well, at least I don’t have to unlock the door to open it!”

As I stepped onto the patio, I shut the door behind me and prepared to water my patio plants.

I hesitated as I began to walk across the gravel next to my patio to turn on the faucet. The gravel was a little sharp on my tender barefoot’in feet and it was starting to warm up in the mid-morning sun. I quickly pointed the hose to water the gravel beneath my barefoot’in feet enough to protect them from scalding my for the walk back to the patio and proceeded to water my desert-sturdy plants.

Finishing, I stepped back over the gravel to the faucet and shut the water off. “A job well, done! My plants may survive another day,” I sighed.

Jumping back onto the patio, I grabbed the door handle and was bewildered to discover the door didn’t open. I attempted to turn the handle more forcefully this time, thinking perhaps I just didn’t turn it far enough to dislodge the catch. The door handle still wouldn’t budge and I discovered to my disbelief that I was locked outside!

“No one goes barefoot’in outdoors in Phoenix in the summertime! How am I going to get out of my yard?” I fumed aloud.

In a split-second, I snapped, “Ohmigosh… T h e M e e t i n g !!” I was frantic. This meeting was the final-produce-the-material meeting for my business partner and me, and our client was a well-known community leader.

I always heard that burglars have an uncanny knack for opening any door in less than a minute and I immediately began trying every maneuver I could think of to open the door, short of breaking the molding and dual-paned glass. “Wow, have I got security in this door,” I lamented.

Panic then began to set in. Bill was in another town for a meeting, my business partner would be arriving in about a half hour to pick me up for an important business meeting for which I was half dressed for the occasion, the business plan I created was on my printer inside the house and here I was … outside and barefoot’in.

Thinking of how helpless I really was without even a phone, the words to Roger Miller’s King of the Road came to mind… “No phone, no pool, no pets, I ain’t got no cigarettes… ” and I hummed the tune quietly as thoughts of survival entered my mind.

Then my heart began to race as I imaged the worst-case scenario. I’m going to dehydrate and die of thirst!! My throat began to feel parched. The summer’s heat was readily apparent and it was only mid-morning. I attempted to calm myself by breathing slow and deliberate as I thought my way out of this dilemma.

If I stay put in the backyard until Bill came home some time in the afternoon, I reasoned, I really wouldn’t die of thirst; I could always drink scalding hot water from the garden hose.

My mind soon became jumbled with questions.

Should I brave the jagged gravel and run lickety-split across the blistering rocks all the way around the house to the front gate? What if I get there and the gate is locked?

Once out front, then what do I do? It’s too hot outside to attempt to run across the sizzling city sidewalks to get to a neighbor’s house for help.

I could flag down a passing motorist on my quiet residential street. Who would I ask them to call? Should I have them call to interrupt Bill’s business meeting? Call my business partner?

I had a knot in the pit of my stomach and I wanted to kick myself for being so stupid.

I walked across the covered patio to the two east facing windows, hoping for the possibilities that the window locks were not engaged. Drat — neither of the back windows would budge. Two down, three to go. On the south side of the house, I had three more chances to break in.

I stepped off the patio and walked across to the south side of my lawn to better assess the risks of my getaway path through the gravel towards the front gate.

Hallelujah!! There was a miraculous strip of shade about 4 inches wide, running along entire side of the house! The gravel wouldn’t be too hot in the shade, I reasoned. I could stop at each window along the way to the gate, make a frantic break-in attempt at each one and just might get lucky.

Inside of less than five minutes after my grim discovery of being locked out, I determined that I should not quit my day job. Burglary will never be my vice. On the positive side, I learned that I have the most secure house on the planet.

After finally exiting my yard, I ran down the street like a raving maniac, knocking on the doors of my six closest neighbors and didn’t catch a soul at home.

On the verge of tears I ran back home and planted my barefoot’in feet in the shade of the shrubbery near my front porch, where I could still keep a good eye on the neighbors in case anyone came home. I paced back and forth for about 15 minutes, before one of my neighbors whom I have never met, turned his car off the street to maneuver into his driveway.

Not wanting to feel the hot sidewalk on my barefoot’in feet again, I frantically waved my arms back and forth and jumped up and down to get his attention. I hollered, but it was all for naught. My neighbor never turned his head as he drove his vehicle into the garage.

With at least another 20 minute wait for my business partner to arrive, I decided to chance it and run along the blistering sidewalk to this neighbor’s house. I literally flew over there in split-second timing.

My neighbor was just getting out of his car as I ran up his driveway. I was totally out of breath, and introduced myself between gasps. I sheepishly explained why I was standing in his garage and asked to use his phone, which he graciously offered.

Problem solved! I crazily laughed as I ran back to my shady spot near my front door to wait for help to arrive. Only I could entertain the survival mode so dramatically over something so minor in so little time!

After all, it wasn’t like I was stranded in the middle of the desert.

Or was it?

Postscript: My business partner arrived and offered to take me to the shoe store on the way to the meeting. Just as we pulled out of the driveway, Bill arrived home. It was 11:20 a.m. I quickly bid my partner goodbye, asking her to head over to the meeting so at least one of us would be on time. I ran into the house, took a quick shower, hopped into another dress, grabbed the business plan and my shoes on the way out the door and arrived at the meeting on time, looking cool, calm and collected.