The Old Coot isn’t flexible

(Article # 686 covering my battle through old age, written on my daughter, Amy’s back porch, at six in the morning, waiting for her dogs to do, what I let them outside to do, and not escape and get hit by a car like the last time I was charged with their care.)

I haven’t seen the bottom of my foot in years. I stepped in some pinesap the other day and my foot stuck to the deck. I know. I know. What’s an old coot doing going around barefoot; he should be in support hose and orthopedic shoes! But I was barefoot; I took a walk on the wild side. And, if it were the 1960’s, I’d be confronted with a sign at the entrance to every business establishment that said, “No Shoes, No Shirt, No service!” But, I wasn’t near a store; I was on my own property, trying to look at my foot to see if I could reach the sap and scrape it off.

I was standing up for my first attempt, but I couldn’t bend my leg and twist my ankle far enough to see anything. At least not in the four seconds before I started to lose my balance and topple over. Then, I sat down and tried again. I almost got my foot twisted into view when a leg cramp forced me to jump to my feet and kick it out before it settled in for a long siege. Bottom line. – I never saw the bottom of my foot.

But, I’m experienced at this old coot stuff, figuring out how to get things done with defective equipment. I didn’t need to see the bottom of my foot to solve the problem. I squirted some dish detergent on a cement sidewalk next to the deck, blasted it with a burst of water from the hose to get a sudsy froth and rubbed my foot back and forth figuring the combination of the soapsuds and the rough surface of the concrete would do the job. It did! Without me having to see anything, but still, it would have been nice to see what the bottom of my foot looks like these days.

It’s not just a bare foot with sap; it’s anything that ends up on the bottom of my foot: a sliver, a sharp pebble imbedded in it, a shoe with crud on the bottom. When I track something into the house I can’t answer a simple question, or follow a simple instruction: “What’s on the bottom of your shoe?”  (No answer) – “Check your shoes the next time.” (Can’t do it) So, I don’t wear shoes in the house; I kick them off as I walk in the door. My door. Anybody’s door. I don’t want to admit I’m incapable of looking at the bottom of my foot. And, it used to be so easy. Enjoy it while you can. Comments? Complaints?  – mlessler7@gmail.com.