A Personal Essay
With all of the snow and bad weather we have been having
this past winter, I couldn’t help but reflect on some of the memories I have
stored in my mind ranging from pleasant to not so pleasant; the latter being of
late more than at childhood. One of those memories seems to be more present to
me at the moment than the others and I thought I’d take a moment to share it
with you.
It was from a time quite a number of years ago but I think
one of the defining moments when I realized that snowy weather wasn’t as much
fun as it had been when I was growing up. As a child, snowfalls meant a lot of
things, from “no school”, “making money clearing walks etc”, to “just having
fun doing the many things kids enjoyed doing in the snow”.
Everyone of my instincts told me it was going to be one of
those days, but like so many other women, I chose to ignore the weather reports
and set out to go for a walk and maybe stop at a couple stores to do some
shopping. After walking for about an hour and a half, I sauntered into a
moderately sized fashion boutique that carried the latest in women’s clothing.
Needless to say, I was like a firefly flitting from one
section to the next. I got so engrossed in browsing through the racks of new
styles; I hadn’t paid attention to the various announcements coming through the
intercom. After all, I was too immersed in the hunt for a good deal, almost
every woman’s intrinsic traits. Not only that, I was having a ball trying on
the crazy color blouses and the different styles of jeans, not to forget the
wide selection of skirts and dresses. My euphoria changed however, when one of
the sales ladies approached and told me the store would be closing due to the
blizzard conditions outside. My first reaction was: “Blizzard! What Blizzard?
Now?”
I immediately snatched up my coat and jammed my arms into
the sleeves, all the while hoping the snow wouldn’t begin until I was home. My
hopes were short-lived when I reached the front of the store and saw the ground
already covered in snow and the cars having a difficult time maneuvering
through the street. The sales lady couldn’t have described the conditions any
better.
As I stretched the knit hat over my head and ears, I
chastised myself for not having worn the heavier coat with the hood. The
conditions outside were terrible to say the least and it didn’t take long
before the gusting wind began penetrating through my clothes. With reckless
abandon, I scurried up the street as best I could and because I couldn’t see
all that well, I rammed my foot into a brick, barely visible, sticking up in
the sidewalk. I lost my footing and fell. It took a few tries before I managed
to get back on my feet. The pain in my foot was killing me and it hurt even
more when I put pressure on it. In addition to my injury, my clothes were
soaked from where I had fallen in the wet snow and a fierce chill coursed its
way up my spine causing me to shiver.
I rounded the corner and estimated I had about eight city
blocks to traverse before reaching home and did everything to avoid another
catastrophe. I was doing pretty good until my worst nightmare decided to occur.
My bladder, in its rebellious nature, figured it had had enough of the cold and
exerted tremendous pressure on my system to release. Almost instantaneously
after I shifted my focus to control the pressure in my bladder, my foot joined
the rebellion and ached even more.
I’m not certain as to what point it was, but I began to
laugh as I envisioned myself trudging through the snow with a limp, sometimes
dragging my injured foot like a hideous troll or ghoul, terrorizing the
neighborhood. All I could picture was approaching some elderly person or child
and they latching themselves to a nearby fence or rushing away from me
screaming, “Help! Help! There’s a troll on the loose!”
Luckily, that didn’t happen. When I reached home, I
stripped my outer clothes off as fast as I could, flung them on the floor and
took care of nature’s call. I slowly removed my shoe, afraid I was going to see
a large purple mangled mess. To my surprise, neither was present. Aside from
the redness, I didn’t see anything major to be concerned about, that is, until
I touched my big toe and observed that I had ripped the toenail almost down to
the cuticle. I think because my stocking had been so tight, it had kept the
torn nail from bleeding.
In what I refer to as a “miracle moment”, I recalled having
read about an ancient remedy using the wort plant, specifically St. John’s Wort
to prevent inflammation in wounds. I called it a “miracle moment” because I had
never purchased any St. John’s Wort but remembered my mother having given me
some, for a reason I couldn’t bring to mind. Whatever her reason for doing it,
I knew it had been borne out of mother’s love that she had. I smiled thinking
of how she would have fussed over me and then gave me a complete lecture on
taking care of myself and protecting my toe from further mishap.
I truly dislike winter and but for the warmth I felt at
that moment for the memory of my Mom’s love, I would have hated that wintry day
all the more.
Chelle Munroe©
March 2, 2014
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