My feet are freezing. It's my own fault. It's in the high 40s outside right now and I took Chloe dog out to potty. She was in her zen mode, which she lapses into as she stands there sniffing into the wind and contemplating where she's going to do her...duty. It's like a trance descends on her and there's no urging in the world that will get her to move any quicker than she's ready. But once she is ready, it's zip zip zip in a zillion directions 'til she's found her spot. What a neurotic dog. But could she be any other kind, having me as her owner?
As to my feet. I went outside barefoot. Which is the state I'm in most of the time year 'round. I don't have anything against shoes, really, outside of the fact that I find them so confining. I've even stood out in the snow, waiting for Chloe at 2 am in the dead of winter. I used to get spanked for going out too early in the year barefoot. My mom was sure I'd get pneumonia. I never did. Just like I never got sick from eating green cherries or apples. I got spanked for doing that, too, and forced to drink a big glass of milk after I'd been caught eating unripe fruit with the idea it'd make the fruit go sour on my stomach. It never did. I used to frustrate her to no end.
My feet are really ugly, according to my kids. I've broken most of my toes at one time or another. By the end of summer they're so calloused I can walk on pavement when the temps are in the 90s and barely feel it. I've never had a pedicure in my life. I have arthritis in some of my joints and they're swollen and give me grief sometimes. They are definitely not a vanity of mine. But sometimes I get to wondering how many miles these old feet of mine have taken me. A lot more than most people, I'm thinkin'. All the miles I walked in my childhood, to and from various schools. More evening walks with my mother than I can count. I didn't drive until I was 20 so I either walked everywhere or rode my 10-speed bike. I worked at a hospital in north Portland when I graduated from high school and lived in Vancouver at the time so if the person I rode to work with missed a day, I'd walk down to the bus depot -- a couple of miles -- and catch the Vancouver bus that traveled over to downtown Portland. I'd get off the bus at Interstate and Killingsworth and walk the rest of the way to the hospital. Miles. I speed-walked 7 miles a day for several years. I have walked miles and miles with my Dear Hubby. Miles and miles with my grandson Dylan. I've probably walked 'round the world by now, mile-wise. I'm getting tired just writing about it.
I'm actually quite fond of my old feet, ugly as they are. They serve me well and so far they've been very reliable. When I stand on them as I get out of bed in the morning, they're there for me. They guide me thru my day and get me where I need to go. A few aches and pains...so what? The older I get, the more thankful I am for the parts of me that are reliable. That remain dependable. No matter what they look like.