My favorite shoes spend most of their time in a closet. I wear them occasionally on clear, sunny days so they won't get wet or muddy. They've got to last a long time because once they're worn out , I'll never find another pair exactly like them.

I blew it by committing my consumer loyalty to a product that was discontinued. It's a pattern that shows up in my life with irritating regularity. But I love the darn shoes anyway. Their rugged appearance suggests a wilderness adventure, but the lightweight construction makes them very comfortable. OK, let's drop the hyperbole: They're mock hiking boots, which makes them a perfect fit because I'm a mock hiker.

Unfortunately, they were made by a company that constantly redesigns every item to maintain its reputation as a trend-setting firm. One day the boots were gone from the display rack at my local shopping venue. Plenty of other outdoorish styles are available, but the newer models don't appeal to me. For one thing, they all have round laces now, and I like flat laces. But I never complain to the clerks because I strongly believe that nit-picking about trivial things like shoe laces is an early warning sign of a middle-aged guy who has begun the slow, inexorable journey toward Geezerville.

I was dismayed by the shoes' disappearance, but not surprised. The same thing happened a couple of years ago when I became emotionally attached to an excellent spray cleaner called Murphy Kitchen Care. It had a fresh lemon scent, and was great for cleaning counter tops and glass. It was also hard to find.

When I called the 800 number on the bottle, the operator gave me chilling news: Kitchen Care was only a test product, and my enthusiasm was not shared by other consumers. The plug had already been pulled at the factory. I raced around town and accumulated a small reserve supply, but now I'm down to the last few ounces in one last bottle. Stockpiling discontinued items isn't really practical, and can be socially unsettling. How would you feel walking into someone's home and discovering old boxes of Dromedary Chocolate Pudding Cake in a kitchen cupboard, or tubes of Macleans Toothpaste in the bathroom?

I can also foresee awkward conversations in the supermarket.

Clerk: Sir, do you need help selecting a proper shampoo?

Me: Not really. I'm just trying to estimate how many more years I plan to be alive, and whether or not I'm likely to go bald.

It's a grim prospect. Howard Hughes drifted into precisely that kind of obsessive lifestyle during his later years, so I'm determined to follow a different path. No need to hurry, either. A slow, steady pace is my favorite speed. And once in awhile, if the weather is nice, I'll even wear my mock hiking boots.

Jeffrey Shaffer is a Portland writer and radio commentator for Oregon Public Broadcasting. Michelle Kumata is a Seattle Times news artist.