Reflections -A Lasting Sparkle

Smartwool Socks

A week after country rifles shot in 2023, one memory outshines the Hallmark moments family, friends, and furry companions created for me during the holidays this year.

It began ordinarily enough with Spence’s observation on Christmas Eve. “You’re barefoot. You need to put socks on.”

“I’m not cold.” Our geothermal furnace kept the house barefoot comfortable. And I’d kicked my open heel slippers off so I didn't trip on the spiral stairs. Carrying my laptop, mug of tea, and eight o’clock pills, I climbed to the loft.

He followed, toting my princess blanket and the battery operated leg massagers I use for restless leg relief. “Your feet will get cold.”

Setting the computer on the sewing table, I clicked on Amazon Prime videos, selected Something from Tiffany’s, and cast it to the wide screen TV. “I’ll tuck my feet under the princess blanket.” I settled in the folding recliner.

Spence knelt to help wrap the massagers around my legs. “You need to put on socks.”

The buzz of the batteries pumping air through the wraps blended with the murmur of Christmas shoppers in the movie. I pulled the blanket over my legs, wraps, and feet. “I’m fine. Toasty even.”

Spence left.

On the screen, Daisy helped her dad Ethan select a diamond ring.

Footsteps thudded up the spiral stairs.

Kneeling in front of me a second time, Spence ripped open a clear plastic bag containing lavender and gray Smartwool socks. “Think of it as an early Christmas present.” He pulled my right foot out from under the princess blanket and fitted a sock over my toes. Though Spence pushed, it didn’t glide on as smoothly as Cinderella’s glass slipper. He seesawed the sock back and forth.

The sock felt warm, soft, and cuddly. Spence reached for my other foot. Together we pulled the sock on. He sat back on his heels. “Do you feel warm?”

“I feel like I want to marry you all over again.”

Blushing behind his beard, Spence crushed the plastic wrappings in one hand and grabbed the arm of the recliner with the other hand. He rose and departed quicker this time.

The movie drew my attention to the blue gift bags, one containing a diamond ring and the other containing earrings, on the New York sidewalk. No sparkling gift from Tiffany’s could beat the gift Spence had just given me. And I didn’t mean the comfy socks.

After fifty-four years, six months, and twenty-three days of marriage, he still treats me like a cherished bride. As if caught in amber, his caring gesture will glow in my heart. Forever. Whatever.

The sound of Spence’s feet thudding downstairs changed to his feet thumping onto the coffee table. He doesn’t keep me company while I watch movies in the evening—the last vestige of “princess mode” from my September surgery recovery. His concern for my well being only extends so far. Spence hates rom-coms.

 

Princess Feet