Support Socks ... part 2

(images from google images)



Is it hyperbole to stand on our recently leaky roof and shout "Support Socks are a miracle"? Do you think so? Well, our roof is now fixed, so think about that.

Okay, okay, so a really nice construction man came in the rain with his lift and some shingles and fixed it, but still. I bet he was wearing support socks.

When we are depressed, burdened, we "walk with a heavy step" or "drag our feet." When we are happy, we have a "bounce in our step" and we "walk on air." And when we are gay - a synonym of happy, we are "light in our loafers," so there you go.

My friend Jean works with energy meridians in the body to get your ch'i flowing. And not just flowing, but in the right directions. She got Very Old Dog over his deadly fear of thunder, and taught me how to calm him by holding the proper points. A lot of those points are below the knees. I think these support socks get my ch'i flowing.



And there's that whole reflexology thing, which no one understands, but hey. Look:






The comfy arch squeezy parts of the blessed support socks calm my adrenal glands, and get my spleen, liver, stomach, spine, colon, pancreas, bladder, and that pesky small intestine whipped into shape! No wonder I feel like a new person!


And then, there's that whole gravity thing. We start out as helpless infants, pinned to whatever surface by the invisible force. We fight to raise to all fours and then to our feet, and spend our lives being pulled down. Along come support socks! Voila! We have the power!


Now, you might have gotten the idea from this blog, if you are a regular reader, that your writer had been a bit down. Losing Maria, having her in an urn on the mantel, brought me face to face with the notion that we can be going along one day, coping pretty well with our world, and the next day we are reduced to literal ashes, just like that. This should have come as no surprise; it is part of having dogs. It is the price of the privilege. And here is Giacomino, Very Old Dog, who has three months to his fifteenth birthday.


And I will soon start working twelve hour days.


It just all weighed me down.


But the miracle of the support socks is that they changed my outlook. Instead of suffering separation anxiety from the thought of being away from the dogs for twelve hours - thirteen really - I suddenly felt so fortunate that in today's economy, I was able to get a job. Only three twelve hour days a week and some weekends. A good job. And I realized I'd have plenty of time to finish my book; instead of thinking I would be giving up that dream. Imagine: I've had the pleasure of Giacomino's company, an unlikely rescue who stayed, my shadow, for nearly fifteen years.


I credit the support socks for this turnaround.


But, dear readers, remember: the socks, and so much else that I treasure in this life, are covered in little white dog hairs, and came from Bill.


Ha. There you go.



Hug your hounds, and support the souls in your life whom you love.