Funky Socks II
“It was a day of unexpected events and funky socks. I bought two pair, Knee socks in black, purple, burgundy, and golden yellow, with three dimensional squiggle lines that are raised up and travel vertical on the socks. The alternating colors are horizontal socks. There is a lot going on in that pair of knee-highs. The second pair of socks is black with mod-looking daisies in shades of pink. There was a woman standing at the end cap of winter clearance socks and I commented to her all is well in the world if you are wearing happy socks. She asked if I too had received a chain-letter. I replied, no? And she explained that she had to send odd socks to a person and she was hoping to receive in return 36 pairs of socks :-) I told her my mother’s way of making good after an argument was to go to K-Mart and buy you happy socks, so since my childhood the best way to lighten a mood is what I happen to choose to pull onto my feet.”
–from an old blog post
I am starting the week with funky socks and that is how I plan to end it as well. This week started with stripes, knee high, black socks with thin lines of lime green, orange and purple. It is a spooky Halloween week and I can take some chances on socks. Be bold. Lime green socks with black cats. New black tights and a wild skirt. Who knows what I will wear come Thursday or Friday.
I am recalling the woman in Target (no K-mart in Marquette, Michigan), the one with the chain letter. I am curious how many pairs of socks came to her. Were they biz-casual or wild and fuzzy? How did they brighten her life.
I have been missing my mother. Recognizing signs of depression in me that I saw in her. Already, the grayer days of October have an impact. I want to clip pictures of white sand beaches and pin them on the walls of my Creative Cave. I want to keep panic far from my sock drawer, keyboard or paints.
Maybe it is time to give socks. Start my own chain letter. Show up on people’s doorsteps with bags from Target filled with fun socks. My Grandson is almost the age of finding his feet. His socks should be bright primary colors. I could leave gifts of socks on teacher’s desks at the schools where I sub-teach. I could take socks to nursing hoems and sing songs to ladies who stare at walls all day.
Maybe socks have come to mind because of a poem I edited. An old poem about my mother. She lay in a coma and I rolled socks on her feet. In the poem, yes. But also on an ordinary day at Munson General Hospital. Warm socks. Soft socks. Socks that could not hurt her, anymore. She was covered in splotchy bruises. Liver failing. Life was hard for my mother so she drank herself to death. I wanted to be gentle. No sense in judging matters. No sense in having grudges. Just the bleeps of a heart monitor and the hush of an end.
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3 words on how I feel about this post: Let’s head to the store to buy socks! Lonely. Sorting.