pretty toes

i read the first of suggestions from my old college roommate, snow flower and the secret fan, in three sittings last friday. wholly neglecting supper, bath, story, bed and all-heck-broken-loose times. i vaguely recalled later hugs and kisses good-night. it'd been a really long time since i sat down with a book. we had an affair.

it struck me how i was reading a tale about women whose futures were predicted almost entirely on the beauty of their feet. their feet after being bound and broken and reformed into 3" long 'golden lillies'. and when i say women, i really mean little girls. i realized i squint when i am horrified, and it's really hard to read while squinting.

i was born with feet. not raw golden lily material by any stretch of the imagination. as a child i used to imagine where they were. so odd the idea that a part of your being could be lopped off, bagged up and - incinerated like garbage. i finally expressed concern that my feet were just lounging around a landfill to my mother, and she clued me in. this eased my mind that they were not among mounds of disposable diapers nor would i one day bump into them floating in a big gallon jug along with the old basemented canning jars. i was 6 months old when they were removed and the process of reconstructing my knees began.

dad told me had i been born any earlier, and i'd have spent my life in an institution. earlier still, and society would have had my infant skull crushed against a rock. and in this day of ultrasounds, aborted.

i went to mexico my junior year of college. visiting the pyramids, my professor quietly told me had i been born in that ancient society, i'd have been considered a god. that still makes me smile a little, though i know i would have caved under the pressure. i mean a god. having my food brought to me while living in temple luxury is a nice idea, but i'm sure i would also have been expected to have grand thoughts. and possibly speak in public. i would surely have been found out eventually. or murdered by the Christian invaders. or on a really bad day, both.

after squinting and squirming for a good half hour, i had to laugh again. i can only imagine a matchmaker's reaction at seeing my toes. having a crushed skull might have been more out of bewilderment than brutality. and i have to let go of the idea wandering in the background that vern is a little off for finding what's left after my surgeries and amputations to be beautiful in its own right. i'd never considered a pretty foot or lower limb to be such a subjective thing. or at least extend so far beyond the preference of polish color and heel height. i so owe my husband a cookie. or at least one night off to sit and read si's 'brett favre' while i tackle the kids.