Indeed.It’s also a great idea to switch to indoor footwear at the entrance of the house, keeping the germ-infested street-wear shoes away from things your hands are going to come in contact with.
LOL
I Started this years ago after my daughter got into the habit while living in Nova Scotia (her hubby was 'on loan' from the Navy as flight instructor to the RCAF) and in Canada it is custom, strictly observed, for everyone to take off shoes and boots when coming into anyones house.
So I made it a rule here - with a note in the door...and I wrote one of my columns about it, per:
Caution: No Boot Zone
Just inside my kitchen door, (the door we Mainers use as the main door – if someone comes to the actual front door, we know it’s a stranger,) I have an antique piano stool with a sign that reads: “Assez Vous! You have entered a no boot zone.” Beside it is a shelf with slippers.
I don’t know why it’s taken me so many years to put this into action. It’s not only a custom in many countries but considered common courtesy.
We did it on the farm back in the 30-40’s. Grammie Tucker’s wood floors – Birds Eye Maple – were always scrubbed clean and no one better not not take off their wet, snow caked or muddy boots.
When my kids were little, it was a rule also. I don’t remember when it ceased to be a habit. Maybe the years we lived in California where we weren’t confronted with snow.
But I’ve been back home t’Maine for a quarter century now and the automatic boots off ritual seems to’ve become almost obsolete. So I have been mopping up winter after winter – until this year.
My kitchen floor is very light and very big, as it also encompasses my dining area. Keeping it clean and shining is quite a chore, especially since my back is no longer what it used to be. One day, when I was cleaning up after another sloppy day, it dawned on me that it took me close to 2 hours to sweep, vacuum, mop and wax the floor whereas it would take less than 2 minutes for someone to sit down and take off their boots.
“It’s them or me!” I said to myself, digging a magic marker out of a drawer and making the sign. But I really had to steel myself to enforce it, almost as if I were the one being discourteous.
My daughter, with her 3 little girls – and all their friends – trooping in and out, made this “no boots” rule at their home when they were stationed at Brunswick Naval Air – Daddy’s a P-3 pilot – and everyone “obeyed,” big people as well as little. They are now stationed in Nova Scotia and she says she never had to say a word up there. She said it’s common practice with the Canadians. Indeed, they make a game of it when they entertain at one another’s homes, taking photos to see who has the biggest pile of boots.
I have friends in Denmark and it’s a common practice there. Of course, many wear the clogs even in winter, with wool socks, so it’s less cumbersome than taking off and putting on boots.
Cumbersome or not, I no longer have twinges of guilt as my company sit down and take off their boots. My floors stay clean and shiny for weeks with very little work.
Why in heaven’s name I didn’t do this years ago is beyond me. Everyone has been super congenial about taking off their boots – well, a couple have read the sign and then asked, as if it might not apply to them, “Do you want me to take of my boots?”
“YES. Thank you.”
(Now if I could just get the cat to wipe her feet.)
