With the flurries flying outside my window comes the childhood memory of the wet socks, and with that: the smell of damp felt and socks that accompany a stomp across the frozen tundra of Northern Illinois. Even worse: going hunting with dad in ten degree weather and stepping into a watery hole. Even worse than that: the two or three mile hike back to the truck before frostbite could set in.

That all changed around the time studded snow tires disappeared. Mom, bless her heart, thought I’d soon have nerve damage after enduring another soggy-footed winter. She bought my shiny-new MOON BOOTS (or perhaps the Monkey Ward’s version of them).  Oh my gosh, what a difference! If snow did somehow penetrate the tightly-sealed top of the footwear, it would magically dry using my own body heat.

Moon Boots are still around and so are the very effective knockoffs. The original is still produced by an Italian shoe manufacturer. The concept was inspired by the 1969 NASA moon landing and has been on the global market since ’71. Wait, so why did it take Mom five or six years to breakdown and get me some?