The Orphan with Eczema


I admit it. I play the orphan card to get a foot massage. If he balks at all, I ratchet things up and mention that I also have been plagued with eczema. My. Entire. Life. We’ll be on the couch watching a movie, John’s hands entirely non-productive, and it’ll go something like this:

“I just gave you a foot massage a half an hour ago, Pammy.”

“I know, it’s just that I was an orphan, remember?”

“C’mon that was a long time ago. And you had amazing people to give you a home, a family.  You’ve had a good life.”

“I know, but I’ve also had such dry skin, which just exacerbated that whole abandonment thing. I often wondered if I hadn’t had the scaly skin, I mean, maybe things would have been different. You know, not abandoned. At 18 months old. I was little orphan Pammy.”

At this point, he grabs the vat of industrial sized lotion stationed nearby.


Saturday Morning Reflection


Earlier today, we had just woken up and a patch of morning sunlight was sneaking through a gap in the blinds, reflecting off of John’s glistening hands.

It was beautiful.

He noticed it too, and said, “Another upside to me rubbing your feet with lotion is that it keeps my hands super soft.”

“Truth be told, that’s exactly why I request foot massages, John. I’m a giver. Big picture seer. The last thing I’d want for you is to experience the harsh reality of dry skin, as I have. I only wish I had more feet for you to rub. So that I can really make a difference in this world.”