On... "Beautiful Feet"

	May 15, 2004 I wrote this for my mother just after mother’s day…

On …Beautiful Feet
An etched clear glass pitcher of lemonade chock full of ice took center stage on the table with two already used tall matching glasses next to it. I was fourteen and lying comfortably on a chaise lounge on our porch, feet dangling freely off the end in the midst of the summer solstice. Grandma, our resident second mother, was sitting poised perfectly in the fan back wicker chair, Adams Family style, next to me, her crossword puzzle in hand. I was designing dog clothes in my sketchbook. A more perfect afternoon, it could not have been. I loved my grandma and though we weren’t saying a word this particular afternoon, we were both having quality time, a phrase not yet invented then. Anytime was quality time, if I remember correctly…or was it just that I was fourteen and cares had not gotten in the way.

I remember the designs as if I was drawing them right now. There was a pink dress with puffed sleeves and a silver buckle. I was not planning to make a matching one for me, as I was known to have done a few years earlier. There was the one that was of polyester, a new fabric then…a pantsuit for a dog…hard to deal with the tail and the short legs of the dachshund on that one. Out of the utopic afternoon blue, grandma broke the silence, “You have such beautiful feet,” she stated matter of factly. I looked around. She was looking at my feet.

Ok, now, even at fourteen, when compliments are as welcome as pizza and the cute boy down the street, even then, I was not quite sure how to take this. So, having been taught by my mother to accept a compliment with a thank you, I said, “Thanks, Gram.” That’s what we called her…Gram. She signed her cards, “Metrically yours, Gram.” But, no the metric system did not come about as we all thought it would. If it had, I would not have a size 6 shoe for those beautiful feet.

I remember studying my feet after that compliment. Maybe feet aren’t so bad. Maybe Gram has something there. I polished my toenails, which in those days for a fourteen year old was a little bit racy. I wore sandals instead of tennis shoes, except when playing tennis of course, a sport that would not have mattered if I wore skis, I could no more get that ball over the net than I could get the cute boy down the street to deliver a pizza to me when I was barefoot…not that he would have noticed anyway. But, if Gram said I had beautiful feet, then I was going to dangle my feet, wear sandals, and paint my toenails. If you have an asset, you should show it off I thought, and if I was destined to have beautiful feet, then I was going to show them.
Now enlightened with this information, I was pleased with the opportunities that could present themselves. Foot modeling. After deep contemplation for an afternoon or so, I decided that the beautiful feet would not really do much for me.

Thirty four years later, while on a visit to my parents house, I was lying comfortably atop a quilt on their couch, feet dangling freely off the end. My mother sat across at her computer, her bare feet crossed over one another, one dangling. I was working on my laptop, she was working on her computer. It was a perfect day. Out of the utopic crisp afternoon, mom broke the silence, “You have such beautiful feet,” she stated matter of factly. I looked around. She was looking at my feet. She laughed and said that she was told by one of her friends just the week before that she had beautiful feet. I laughed and told her that it must run in the family. I told her that gram had told me that when I was a young girl. My mom is 78. And, she does have beautiful feet.

So, as a result for Mother’s Day, her children, all with beautiful feet, accessorized her feet for her…strappy sandals, an ankle bracelet, foot lotion, and even a toe ring and a pair of Capri’s to make sure those beautiful feet show! And my dad, always the gentleman, said to my mom, “It’s not just your feet that are beautiful.” And what you might think he meant is that she is beautiful, and she is, but what he really meant is that her heart is beautiful. Just like her mother, she always makes us feel good, she always compliments and says how proud she is of her six children, from head to foot, beautiful foot.

I got the thank you in the mail, because she was taught to say “thank you” to a compliment. She made the card on the computer and had taken a digital photo of her feet, her beautiful accessorized feet. She wrote a lovely thank you note, a personal note for all six of us, as she always does. In the note she thanked us for the gifts and went on to congratulate and praise her grandkids for different things they had accomplished recently. It was a warm spring day, one of the first perfect spring days when I opened the note.

My fourteen-year old daughter sat sunk into her beanbag chair in the family room, her beautiful feet dangling as she watched a video and held her Scottie dog dressed in the Emilynn original sailor suit, smiling at the perfect day. I said, “Emilynn, you have beautiful feet.”

The only thing this scene was missing was the lemonade…so some ice, a blender and some Country Time and we were good to go. I filled a plain clear glass pitcher and set it on the table with tall matching glasses next to it, and, of course the card with the picture of mom’s adorned feet.

Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Gram.