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I’ve made no secret of the fact that I have the world’s toughest, driest feet.  I could walk a bed of coals and not feel it.  I could walk on the asphalt of a Texas parking lot in July barefoot.  I could strike a match on my feet’s bare skin.

You get my drift.

It’s so bad, I can’t deal with them myself.  I’ve got to have professionals chisel away at them with instruments that would make Medieval Dungeon Masters tremble with excitement.

I know many women like to have their toenails painted.  I don’t often bother with that…not because I don’t like a flash of color every now and again, but more because I really don’t feel the need to draw further attention to the crocodile skin that covers my feet.

I’ve had all kinds of remedies thrust upon me, by friends, family, podiatrists, even horrified, well-meaning strangers on the street.  None of them seem to be able to prevent the tough  (UNDERSTATEMENT) callouses from forming.

The problem with having to go to the pros, though, is that it costs money.  And, much like I’d rather cut my own bangs (and mutilate them in the process) than pay someone else to do it, I also would rather save a few bucks by limiting my visits to the nail salon.

So I wait until my feet are so dry and thick and cracked, they bleed.

(Who wants me now?!)

And that is when My Captain gets the SuperGlue out and cements them back together.

Sadly, I’m not kidding.

(He is SO lucky!)

Two nights ago, I was helping my critter get ready for his bath, and he was looking down with a concerned look on his face.

“Mom, what’s wrong with your feet?”

“They’re just dry, honey.”

“Well put something wet on them!”

***sigh***

And then last night as we were getting ready for bed, My Captain had the same look of concern on his face as he looked at my feet and he said, “When are you going to the nail salon?”

Now, it’s one thing if women notice my nasty feet.  I mean, women CARE about things like that. (or, at least some women).  Men don’t usually give a rat’s butt about feet.  Unless they have some kind of alien fungus on them…which mine DO NOT have.  Let me be clear about THAT.

But in the space of two evenings, both of the most important men in my life expressed thinly veiled disgust at my little tootsies.  And by little I mean a size 11, Wide.

Not wishing to be a source of repugnance in my own house, I hightailed it to the Poolesville Nail Salon, where a young man named Leo waited on me.

He takes one look at me and says, “I remember you.”

Great.  Just Great.

He’s got his tools out and he’s doing his darndest to make a dent in the layers and layers of steel-like epidermis on the soles of my dogs when I ask him, “You are going to use the Callous-removing acid, right?”

He nodded and says, in his thick, asian, matter of fact tone, “I see you coming, I get big bottle out.  Everyone only take one application of callous cream.  Not you. You need three.”

I believe I went down at least one whole shoe size when he was done with me.

So I’ve got that going for me.

You want to hear a sad story?

My kids were aching for a pet.  Someone to love.  Someone to love them.  Someone to play with.

My Captain was adamantly against any four-legged critters in the house because of the added workload to him and me.  That didn’t leave a lot left for pet choices.

I bought a fish.  I figured if the kids could show they were responsible taking care of a fish, My Captain might relent.

I didn’t want one that took a lot of trouble and Goldfish are boring as all get out.  So I bought a Beta fish.

He has coal black lined eyes and immediately reminded me of Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean.  I bought him a treasure chest to play with.  It seemed fitting.

The kids loved him.  They would rush home after school and talk to him and watch him.  And he pretty much just….

looked at them.

Sometimes he would charge them at the side of the bowl, but most of the time he just looked at them like, “What are YOU looking at?”

He’s really kind of a jerk.

We ended up adopting some feral kittens our neighbor John was trying to find homes for.  Not because the kids impressed My Captain with their ability to care for Jack Sparrow, but because once he held the wee little kittens in his hands, he couldn’t say no.

I wish I had thought about that strategy before I’d bought Jack.

I’m pretty much the only one who cleans his bowl, who feeds him, and who says, “Mornin’ Jack” every day to him as I pass him.

And he just looks at me.

Menacingly.

I believe if he had fingers he would flip me the bird.  Actually, I’m not entirely sure he’s NOT doing that with his little paddle/wing thingys.  He always looks at me with disgust.   I can never please him…it’s too much pressure.    It reminds me of so many of my failed relationships in college.  He’s like the ghost of relationships-past.

I never knew a fish could carry so much drama.

Isn’t that a sad story?

My Captain’s mother, affectionately known as “Goggy”, is a woman of many talents.  Besides raising three successful children (2 firefighters and a Media Specialist), besides leading many and varied community groups, effecting much change, besides being an incredibly fantastic wife to her husband (affectionately known as “Papa”), besides teaching (retired now) children with special needs, besides struggling daily with Multiple Sclerosis (and has for decades now), she is also a fantastic quilter.

Why does this matter?  It matters because when I married my beloved, she put months of work into a wedding quilt that so perfectly defines us, it takes my breath away:

The colors….EARTHY.   They remind me of both of us: Bold.  Distinct. Unapologetically Strong.

She took the time scouring the internet (yes, she is techno-savvy!) to find all those animals we have come to love so much on our trips to Montana.  Of course, the obvious, the Moose, in all his majestic ridiculousness.

and the birds of flight,

the ever familial, loyal wolf,

(and note if you can the detail.  She embroidered around the nose and eyes to help them stand out.)

and Mountain Lions…sleek, fast, strong, sly.  She embroidered these eyes as well.  I wish it would translate better in the picture; it’s really cool to see and touch.

She included blue patches to stand for the whitewater we paddled, and dark green for the forest we love. And of course, brown, for chocolate.  Which, though not indiginous to Montana, can certainly be found and consumed there.

She thought of everything.

I cannot imagine how much work she put into this.  She is creative, loving, passionate, smart, and kind.  All of that got sewn into this.  It’s so much more than a quilt.

It’s a blessing.

Those of you who know me in person, know that I can be such a pain in the tuckus.  I’m loud.  I’m opinionated.  I’m inappropriate.  I’m a glutton (and won’t hesitate to steal food off of your plate when you aren’t looking).  It is not many families that would have the patience or desire to allow, let alone welcome, someone like me into their arms.   And, frankly, not all of them did!  But she did.  And so did Papa (against his better judgement).

Speaking of Papa.  He is very quick to point out that, while Goggy put all her energy and talent into this amazing wedding gift,  he is the one who couldn’t walk on his living room floor for weeks, he is the one who had to wait patiently for her attention while she focused on this, and hey…he is the one who paid for it.

Credit is duly given, Papa.

Thank you both.  We love you very much.

A couple of years ago a young man came into the fire station where My Captain works, and asked what he could do for the men there as part of an Eagle Scout project.  I am not exactly sure how they came to the decision, but it was determined that a good project for the aspiring Eagle Scout would be to build some stairs for the men.

You see, the station sits on the lower end of an incline, and the shops the crew often go to during a shift are up-hill.  For decades they had taken a path that had been naturally created from literally hundreds of boots going up and down it.  It was pretty muddy and very slippery in inclement weather.  Stairs would solve this problem.

So the boy took a year to plan, earn money for, organize a team, and build this:

Look at that.  That young man even built a hand rail.  And each step was filled with water draining gravel. It was a monstrous job.  But to become the prestigious rank of Eagle Scout, it’s got to be an impressive project.  They don’t just hand those badges out willy-nilly.  (Eagle Scouts never use the term willy-nilly.)

SO much work had to go into that project.  Hundreds of hours.  Sweat, blood, and sacrifice.  That young man could have been out with his friends, or dating a girl, or heck, even just sleeping instead of working on everything that this project entailed.  But he chose instead to give his time for the benefit of others.

How proud his parents must have been.  What a success story of parenting!  And how noble an endeavor.  This boy built these steps so these firefighters could….

….wait…what is up there again?  Why did they want the steps built?

OH YEAH, there is a Dunkin Doughnuts, a McDonald’s, and a Wendy’s on the top of that hill.

The boy sacrificed a year of his youth so that the firefighters could………

……eat junk food without getting their shoes dirty.

I shudder to think of the sleep and girl-time this kid lost for that purpose.  I sure do hope that Eagle Scout rank gets him somewhere good…he certainly earned it.

At the very least, I hope it helps him get a date.