My Wool Socks
A while ago, my heart broke.
Shortly after that, my big toe turned an eerie shade of purply black. It scared me so much that I actually went to a medical doctor. “My toe is black”, I said to him.
“I know the cure,” he said, “Keep your feet warm”.
That’s it? Really? My blood is not pumping and all he could say was “Keep your feet warm”? Hmph. I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but I guess the lack of drama had me a little mystified. So I went and did what any one would do in this harrowing, numb toed situation. I went and bought socks. Not that I didn’t have socks, of course, but clearly they were not doing their job. So I bought warmer socks- diabetic socks, to be exact, and four pairs of big workin-man wool socks, too. For the next few days (I promise this engaging sock story is going somewhere) I took very good care of my feet. I soaked them and wrapped them in fuzzy things, and suffered through a few very hot nights in wool socks and flannel jammies, just to keep the blood, from that broken heart of mine, pumping and heading down towards my toes. And the blackness went away. And the socks- the big, blue wooly ones, have become part of a very important ritual for me now. They act as a symbol, and a reminder. They represent me, taking the time to take care of myself. Every morning, I warm up my feet, and put on my socks. And every night, after hard, busy days, I do the same. And every time I do, my socks remind me that the simple act of wrapping myself- my feet or my heart- in warmth and comfort and love- is important. That putting myself first, and not neglecting the importance of my basic needs like circulation and comfort and love, matters. So much. My feet are warm now, most days. And when they are not, I know I have lost sight of what is important. So I stop, put on my socks, and take better care to take care of me. The blood flows, and the heart heals. And I do, too.
February 22nd, 2010 at 10:21 am
love2eat was mentioned here