Shoney’s ice blog.

It’s been five years to the day since we closed on our little suburban house. It was a warm day, that April 10, and I remember sitting on the back steps with Lilly sleeping in the car seat nearby, taking in the mild sun. Lilly was very small. Now Ann is. But she will grow, too. The house won’t. It may be on the market as soon as next month.

Like many of us, I read some interesting news reports yesterday. One detail among many caught my attention. The following paragraphs are from separate news outlets:

“One man, in his late 50s, tore down a picture of Saddam wearing his trademark military beret and sunglasses. In a mark of the dramatic changes that were sweeping the city, he took off his shoe and used it to beat the image of the dictator's face — an act considered to be a great insult in the Arab world.”

“Cheering Iraqis, some waving the national flag, scaled the statue and danced upon the downed icon, now lying face down. As it fell, some threw shoes and slippers at the statue — a gross insult in the Arab world.”

You know, I think the Arabs are on to something. Shoes, which trudge through mud and dust and dung, in your enemy’s face. On the other hand, ever since I’ve had one of my feet in a cast, I’ve come to appreciate the engineering marvel that is the human foot. Shoes, those protectors of our feet, ought to get some respect.

I’m reminded of the time I whacked a photo of President Nixon with a shoe, in front of a live audience. I’m not making comparisons: whatever his shortcomings, Richard Nixon wasn’t a Kmart Stalin. Also, I’ve never (thank Allah) lived in a totalitarian state, so I cannot know the full depth of the righteous rage of the shoe-wielding statue-whackers.

Still, I had occasion to hit Nixon’s pic. In the summer of 1986, my friend David Lefkowitz invited me to participate in a piece of performance art at the Cheekwood Botanical Garden and Museum of Art in Nashville. I mention Dave’s full name, contrary to my usual practice, because I want to encourage — however remotely — the likelihood that people might buy his artwork. He’s now a teacher and artist living in St. Paul. I’ve always thought he did interesting works, sometimes fun works, and I own a series of his paintings myself, which I bought in the late ’80s.

(Also, Dave is the brother of the musically creative Paul and Jerry Lefkowitz. I don’t know what either of them are doing now, but 20 years ago, at age 15, Paul wrote a song about Shoney’s I’ve always recalled fondly, for an album called “Metropolitan Summer” by the Young Nashvillians. The song was “Shoney’s Ice,” and it went like this: "Kinda gooey, kinda chewy, kind of in one clump/Shoney's ice tastes like it's been taken from a chemical dump.")

But I digress. And I don’t have the energy to finish the Nixon story. Tomorrow.