My hands get cold when I become frightened or nervous. My feet get cold in the winter. And they stay cold, it seems.
I am at home a good part of the day and so I have the luxury of not having to wear shoes often. I like that. Maybe it is my twelve years lived in Lexington Kentucky that sways my yearning toward bare-footedness.
Then also, it could be the sweet childhood memories I can conjure up of times my brothers and I romped and rolled around in the long, green grass on the front yard of my grandfather’s Wisconsin farm.
It could be the aging process adds something toward the yearning of soft, “free” feet not hemmed in by ill-fitting leather or canvass that scrunches the sole and pinches the toe. (I think it also hampers the soul within).
I try to buy correct-fitting shoes. But I have come to suspect that shoe stores have a secret marketing technology that they do not share with the unsuspecting public. I think they have a “magic floor” that I dutifully walk up and down, discerning that at last, “Yes this is the pair that fits perfectly, doesn’t hurt in any place, and looks good on my foot.” This is the pair for me.
Somehow, that same pair of shoes begins hurting on my feet within the exact week I brought my favored purchase home. That is why I have more shoes in my closet than I really want to have. I do not have a fetish to buy massive amounts of shoes. It does not excite me beyond reason to find my way to the mall for yet another pair of shoes.
I’d be satisfied with one casual pair to wear with knits and jeans, one dress pair that looks good with skirt or dress slacks, tennis shoes and gym/and walking shoes. That’s not asking much. But I have a few more than that because…..well, most just begin to hurt after awhile and I hold onto the fantasy that the next pair will be perfectly pleasing.
So in the meantime, I go shoeless a lot. In the winter, that means my feet are often cold. Until recently.
My good friend, Agnes, brought me two pair of personally knitted wool socks. If I could wear them outdoors, I would. Those socks are perfect partners to my feet. They hug them and follow every contour of my foot and toes. They are warm and I am mesmerized by the knitted patterns into both pairs.
They are an easy meditation in themselves and often in my resting position in my favorite chair with feet up, I enter easily into that quiet, sacred place within, feeling the comfort and warmth in my feet streaming all the way up to my heart.
They don’t fit like a glove. They fit like a pair of socks made with love.
That, to me, is a perfect fit!
Amen. Praying Feet.