My achilles tendon has torn away from my heel bone and some other tendon did some straining, and some nerve between the two decided to get in on the action. I'm wearing one of those sexy walking boot/cast things.
My daughters are not happy girls lately, and really, is there anything more crushing than that? I don't think so. They're sick and whiny and emotional and generally dissatisfied. Though I know it's mostly not my fault, and mostly to do with the fact that they just don't feel good, it doesn't really stop the mommy guilt from striking up a parade in my head. Damn gloomy parade.
I'm constantly nagged with the feeling that I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing at any given time, rather than just STOPPING for a second and realizing that everything is okay. I'm doing okay. Really.
::::
The old woman in the waiting room at the podiatrist's office. She was so small, thin, wearing a loose, faded dress, face marked with blotches and age spots. She was wearing a green shamrock pin even though St. Patrick's Day is over. Violet was toddling around the small room and kept coming back to the old woman, ducking down to peer at her face through the bars of her walker and smiling. "Hi hi hi," Violet said in her sweet voice, and the woman played along, ducking down to smile back at her, leaning forward to say hi back. Violet would walk away, come back, walk away, come back. Just before I got called into the room, Violet was standing near her again and reached for her shamrock. I pulled Violet away, apologizing, and the woman said in a quiet, sincere voice, "Your girls are beautiful."
One beautiful thing I experienced today:
Violet's few years next to the woman's many, and everything a returned greeting can stand for. The small, precious question of a lifetime in Violet's "hi," the echoing affirmation in the woman's reply.
Listening: Jacob Perkins and the Nobody, "Rico Symphony"
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