A few stubborn grains of garden gravel were still wedged deep in the tread of my boot from my morning walk. I sat back against the solid base of the low oak footstool and laid my yellow sword flat across my knees. Holding a sturdy wooden toothpick firmly between my fingers, I worked slowly along each groove, levering out the gray specks until they clicked softly onto a folded napkin on the floor. It is proper discipline to care for what carries you across rough ground. Once the soles were clean and wiped smooth, I set the tools aside for the night.