Now that’s some fancy footwork.

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I am a saver.

Some folks would call me a hoarder.

I’d settle for ‘thrifty pack rat.’

Yes, I still have a few t-shirts from when I was about thirteen, but that’s because there’s still good wear in them. And because I just finished reading an article about one hundred ways to reuse, recycle and refashion your old t-shirts. I’m now going to start on a latch hook rug and make a colorful wardrobe of tea cozies for the coffee pot. I’ve also sent out for the free blueprints on how to reupholster your car’s interior. Savvy, eh?

Of course, I do make mistakes in hanging on to a few things that should have been utilized before they became useless. Like everything with an expiration date. But if someone gives me a gift of luscious chocolate or expensive perfume or much needed tooth-whitening strips, I tend to put those bits up on a shelf and glance at them daily with a simple nod and a casual statement of, “Pretty soon, just waiting for the right celebratory moment.”

Then two years later, in a flash of what I consider to be weakness, I unwrap the chocolate to find weevil larvae, I spritz the perfume to find thick, rancid oil and I hunt down the whitening strips only to discover that the dog got to them first because he has a wonky addiction to toothpaste. But his teeth look fabulous, so who am I to complain.

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Last week, I finally got around to cashing in a gift certificate given to me by my mother for my birthday. Not last year’s, but probably one from 1992, or the one falling after the millennium. The voucher was usable dependent upon whether or not we’d all make it through the Y2K impending doom. Thinking we wouldn’t, I stored it with my emergency reserve of chocolate. It was for an hour of reflexology–which, at the time, I mistook to believe was like tarot card reading, or crystal healing, or saving up a supply of apricot pits in case I’d fall victim to a case of severe toenail fungus.

It wasn’t.

It was simply a foot massage set to a lush film score.

After seeing the gift certificate perched among the plethora of shoes I have—and don’t wear, but might one day if the situation called for it (like reintroducing my combo high heel/chia pet shoes or the treadmill trainers with the built in CD player)—I finally called the reflexologist and reminded her that somewhere around a dozen years or so ago, she cashed a check from my mother and could I now book an appointment.

She graciously did not feign ignorance, but I thought I felt a note of judgment on the other end of the line. Still …

I arrived at the tiny spa and was immediately enveloped by the pricey scents of sandalwood and patchouli—two fragrances I recognized from the myriad that lined my bathroom cupboards and filled my closet drawers, but were hands off except for the occasional sniff. I vowed to open one of those jars and jugs when I got home—just like I vowed to open a Garanimals clothing line for pets when I was nine and feeling entrepreneurial. It just ain’t gonna happen (although I have been making progress with the wool-lined wellington boots for the sheep).

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So, for those of you who aren’t keenly familiar with the art of reflexology (aside from my nine word definition above), simply put by my trusty rusty reliable source Wikipedia, it is thus:

Reflexology, or zone therapy, is an alternative medicine involving the physical act of applying pressure to the feet, hands, or ears with specific thumb, finger, and hand techniques without the use of oil or lotion. It is based on what reflexologists claim to be a system of zones and reflex areas that they say reflect an image of the body on the feet and hands, with the premise that such work effects a physical change to the body.

In other words, there’s a spot on each of your feet (and hands) that connects to all the other important parts, glands and organs of your body. Press a particular spot on your big toe and your nose can start leaking. Knead your instep and chances are you’re going to make your stomach rumble. Squeeze smack dab in the middle of your foot and you’ll likely have to rush off to the bathroom to relieve yourself. Funky stuff, indeed.

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Okay, it might not be exactly as I’ve indicated, but having looked at the foot chart on the wall, I’m going to go with ‘pretty close.’

The main problem I have with the idea of reflexology is that someone has to touch another person’s feet. And seriously, I can’t imagine enough money in the world to charge for that task. I remember my children’s feet when they were babies and how incredibly adorable they were. I tickled them, I blew raspberries on them and I put them all over my face to play peekaboo with. But then one day … BAMB! They turned into adult feet and I could not make a wide enough berth.

But before you judge me, it’s not just other people’s feet I am squeamish over; understand that I’m even repelled by my own.

Okay, that was a totally unnecessary rant, and I got a little off track, but my point was simply that someone else cared enough about my well being to bypass making comments on the amount of sock fuzz between my toes. Also, unlike my father and his weekly report when I was younger, she did not find it necessary to point out the fact that I will never be hired as a foot model.

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All in all, I was convinced of the enormous benefit of taking care of one’s health and happiness via one’s feet. Therefore, I am on a new campaign to look after them a little more than I have. I’ve gotten new nail clippers, a loofah sponge, a self-rolling foot massager, foot salt scrubs and aloe drenched socks.

Now they will promptly go into a drawer where I will gaze at them longingly …


**News Announcement for all you Peakers out there:**

Rob’s crazy cartoons are finally going to be available for your walls in the form of a  2015 calendar! But instead of us choosing our favorite doodles, we decided to leave it up to YOU. On the last blog post of each month, you’ll get to vote on the sketches in competition. We’ll reveal the winners one by one, and come November, If you’ve Gotta have a GOTT, you can place your order. Super simple. Simply super.

Don’t forget to check out what we’re cookin’ in the Scullery (here) and what we all talked about down in the pub (here). And to see more of Robin Gott‘s humor–all from the only pen carved from a human funny bone–click here.

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35 thoughts on “Now that’s some fancy footwork.

    • I think I’m crushing on your husband–although not in a creepy, stalky kind of way. It just feels good to find another human being who apparently sees the world similarly to me. I can even find new uses for the molds that grow in the refrigerator on food no one else will eat. Heck, I love stinky blue cheese. And all of them become it sooner or later. 😉

  1. Great post. I hate feet too, especially mine! I woke up one afternoon from a nap on the sofa to find smiley faces on my big toes in red varnish. Hubby’s handiwork.
    As for reflexology, yeah, it works. I can massage Hubby’s back and it puts his feet to sleep.
    He can rub mine, and it puts ALL of me to sleep!

  2. Great idea for a calendar!
    This post made me think how grateful I am not being a reflexolololologist or whatever their title is. I shiver at the thought of having to touch other people’s feet all day long…with respect to your feet (I’m sure they are lovely no matter how much sock residue the hold on to;))…I used to be a psychologist and got tired of listening to other people’s problems all day long…can’t imagine what it must be like to ‘feel’ other people’s problems…

    • You words are such a good work out for my core conditioning routine, Lennard. I can only imagine that as a psychologist, your patients must have walked away if not feeling like they had a new grasp on their problems, then eager for next week’s appointment for laugh therapy.

    • Yes, the picture is of my hairy hound, Haggis. And no, I didn’t dress him up like that, he insisted on that outfit. Although I’ve told him time and again that he should consider contacts. He’s stubborn that way, but he’s family.

  3. G’mor’n Ms. Sackier,

    I truly continue to enjoy your blogs and Rob’s cartoons; however Sir Rob, two things of which the first I apologize for: 1) my small brain cannot grasp your first cartoon concept, but that’s most likely due to the fact that my parents (and sisters) dropped me on my head when I was a small child, 2) I’ve heard the LPGA (Leek Processional Grower’s Association) is watching you closely and I do believe they are most likely overseen by the NSA and Snowden. Sorry, I digress.

    Shelley, again, you and your chocolate. Perhaps counseling rather than concealing your hidden pleasures of the dark side (yummy 🙂 would offer you solstitial pleasures for your soul. Yet, who blames you.

    Per the “pes” or “pedes”, we’ve always known that your toes would be twisted in fashions due to your years of study in the world of ballet, tis your fault, but much fun I know you had. (Sorry, the Yoda came out in me).

    Looking forward to RG’s calender sale. Perhaps all profits could go towards a needed charity, such as the WCF (Wisnieski’s Children’s Foundation). Just a thought.

    Best regards,

    Stoshu 🙂

    P.s. Hope that wasn’t too many words… ;), oh, and for gosh sakes… what happened to poor Haggis? Did Cleo give him a haircut as she’s due for college? Poor pup.

    • It’s my fault for confusing you about the first sketch. It actually doesn’t belong at the top of the blog, but it was so compellingly curious, I thought one’s mind would hold onto it until you got to the section where you read about Wikipedia’s definition of reflexology. Read that part again, bud. You’ll get it.
      And I think the reason my feet have reached the qualification of hideous is not because of the hours of dance, but rather because of the myriad times choreographers “accidentally” stepped on and mangled them while attempting to show me what was expected. A conspiracy between all of them to injury me enough to have to sit out that number for the show. I don’t blame them. I sucked.

    • I must apologise for the cryptic nature of the fellow at the top. A play on words. In Swedish these little dangly fluorescent things that kids have on their school bags to be seen in the dark (and believe me, there’s plenty of that in Sweden) are called “reflexes”:. I thought they were called the same in English.

      • No appolgy needed Sir Rob, I thought a “reflex” was something that happened after spending too manyhours in the local pub.

        Keep’m com’n,

        Stoshu 🙂

  4. Oh, Shelley, you crack me up! Though I am a believer in Reflexology, I too have an aversion to feet…well, at least other people’s, Maybe that’s why I’m a bit of a pampering nut about my own. And personally, I think Garanimals for animals is kind of a cute idea! 🙂

  5. Haha, I can totally relate when it comes to feet! Mine are in desperate need of pampering, but the most I do is keep them clean and dry. (Hey, that’s more effort than some people make!) I’m always astounded when I see people walking around in the summertime with perfect feet and meticulously polished toenails. Maybe that should be a late New Year’s Resolution for us, Shelley–to be nicer to our feet. And hold onto those old t-shirts you have. If you keep them long enough, they’ll come back into style again. 😉

    • I’m guessing there are a slew of us out there who have been raised to squeeze every last drop of usefulness out of all we have amassed. Or perhaps we all need serious psychotherapy for being hoarders.
      I prefer the first analysis.
      Thanks for reading, Samina!

  6. Hi. I know what you mean regarding saving things for the right occasion. I have many clothing and shoes that are new, still waiting for that “right time” to be worn. I’m better at handling it now, as I get older. Especially when one of my best friends told me “what are you waiting for, 20 years from now when the clothing is no longer in style, or maybe you’ll die and someone else will get to wear all that nice stuff you’ve been saving?”
    Since that comment, I’ve been donating very old clothes that I barely wear to charity, and started using my new clothes one at a time, little by little.

    • It may require a few nagging friends, or a couple years of therapy, but I AM determined. So many things get lost in my drawers and closets it’s somewhat shameful. Chances are, after I shuffle off this mortal coil, my children will clean out my closet and discover a sibling they never knew they had. *sigh*

  7. Two months ago, the mom who was leading our weekly homeschool group had to step outside from allergies that had just flared under the sun. So I yanked on her second and third toes, and her eyes stopped watering and she could breathe instantly. She was able to resume the class. =) Thx for the follow. Enjoying your fun site.

    • My dad used to do the same thing to me, only the reason my eyes were watering and I couldn’t catch my breath was because as a kid I was wearing plastic shoes two sizes too small and made by my little brother in shop class. Going barefoot helps a lot. 😉
      I’m guessing there’d be a bucketful of mothers who would give their left lung to have you in their homeschool group!

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