A friend once told me there two things a woman should never try to save money on when buying... A pair of shoes and a bra. "Buy the best", she said."Because if your shoes don't fit right or your bra is to tight or flopping around you are going to be miserable." I was a young woman when I got this advice. I thought about following it.. for about a minute. We were young. Him was back in school. We had a mortgage with interest that would choke a horse. We were in a word, broke.
My first pair of good shoes (read expensive) were purchased when Curly was headed off to college. I wore those shoes nearly every day for 10 years. I almost cried when I 'had' to put them in the trash because they were falling apart. Literally.
My first expensive bra was purchased after Him retired. I have a hard time spending good money on a bra when I seldom wear one anyway. I usually put one on if I am actually leaving the house, unless I'm wearing a coat and won't be taking it off, then I won't bother with the retched thing. And frankly, nobody should be looking at my boobs to see if they are properly placed in their perky position. Sorry. That bothers some people, but... I'm a child of the 60's and 70's, Gloria Steinem, burn your bra and all that. Though I hardly qualify as much of a feminist. I just can't stand that bra pinching me and the girls are going to end up in the same place sooner or later anyway. My mother was proof of that, if she was awake, she was wearing a bra, until her later years.
But I digress.
I.Loath.Shopping. For anything. Anywhere. The exception to this deep distaste for shopping is when shopping for wool to spin, yarn to knit and the accoutrement that goes with those two hobbies. I have always had a hard time finding shoes, (or clothes for that matter,) I like. It has been this way from the time I remember being able to make my own choices about what I was going to have on my body. I hate shopping so much that in Jr. High School, I could never make up my mind about what to buy. Because I would take forever to decide on anything and was constantly taking my younger sister's clothes my mom stopped taking me to buy school clothes...She took my sister shopping and had her pick out my clothes in addition to her own. It was a perfect arrangement as far as I was concerned.
We still had a problem. I liked my sister's shoes too. My mom couldn't let her buy my shoes since she needed my feet with her when she got them. So I would often take my sister's shoes, along with her clothes of course. There was a bigger issue at hand, or foot, as the case may be... She wore a size 7, I was 8-81/2. I didn't care, I wore them anyway
I'm sure that those few years while my feet were still growing to their size 9, 91/2, or 10 shoe, depending on the fit, I may have squished things too many times in my attempt to make my feet smaller by wearing her awesome shoes. It didn't stop my feet from growing bigger. I probably damaged something. They hurt all the time. My heels feel like someone has taken a 2x4 to them.
Then, unexpectedly, a few months ago while putting some lotion on my feet, bemoaning their state, I actually looked at those poor, old, achey feet. I saw my mother's feet at the end of my legs. What? I had never realized I had her feet. Bunions, callouses, toe nails and achy heels. I, we, had always attributed her sore heels to the fact that she fell of a ladder and had broken a heel. I don't think that was the case. Whatever is making mine hurt is what made her's hurt. After all, I have her feet. I have the same quest as she did. To find a pair of shoes that don't hurt my feet. I haven't yet. This is a major factor in not buying spendy shoes. I don't want to spend a hundred dollar bill on a pair of shoes that hurt my feet and will go to the back of my closet in a week or two.
I look at the end of my legs and can see a little of her left in me. It makes me smile. Until I stand up or put them on the floor, then smiling isn't the descriptor I would use for what my face looks like. While visiting my dad a few weeks ago, a curious thing happened. I was whining because my feet were hurting so bad. He said, "Wait there, I have something for you." He then proceeds to tell me that his feet were hurting him really bad. He talked to his doc about it and the doc gave him some silicone heel cup inserts and a simple stretching exercise to do in his easy chair. He gave me the inserts. I did the the little exercises and put the heel cups in my slippers. It was magic! It was a miracle! It was the first time in over 20 years my feet did not hurt to put on the floor or walk on.
While thinking about how awesome my feet felt that first night, I realized I didn't just have my mother's feet, they certainly look like hers. But I have my dad's feet as well. They contributed equally to my poor feet. My dad was able to give me a solution to the major part of my pain... My mother gave me a physical, visual reminder of her.
This isn't, of course, everything my parents gave me. I have many physical traits that would tell you I belonged to them if we were all in a room together. I didn't think I looked like my mom much, until she passed and I was looking at photos. The same with my dad... I can see him in me too... there are parts of my body that are more visibly attributable to one parent or the other. But my feet? Both of my parents are squarely in my feet. I can thank them both for something about my poor, old, feet. And have a better appreciation for all that their feet have gone through.
What did your body get from your parents?
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