This little piggy went to market.
This little piggy stayed home.
This little piggy had roast beef.
This little piggy had none.
This little piggy cried “Wee, wee, wee all the way home.
Now that I’ve reminded you of that little ditty, we’ll get back to it eventually, but first we’ll take a small detour.
When I’m at live events and meeting people for the first time, someone is bound to approach the signing table and say, “I didn’t know you were so tall.” That’s not surprising. Photos on book covers are usually head shots. In those everyone’s the same height. Nonetheless, that observation is true—I am tall. I have always been tall. Back in elementary school in the fifties school pictures were always group shots with kids from each grade level standing in rows on three-tiered risers. I was always in the middle of the back row, usually with Mike Marusich on one side and Harley Heitt on the other. It wasn’t until seventh grade when school photos switched over to head shots.
In Bisbee, Dr. Roberts, the local optometrist, was on the school board as was a local dentist, Dr. Tuell. Once a year each of them went through all the school buildings giving every student an eye exam and a dental checkup. That’s how I ended up wearing glasses by the time I was in second grade. I hated the eye exams because each year’s exam was worse than the one before. As for the dental exams? In those pre-fluoride days those were a cavity-filled nightmare. That same day there was always a nurse on hand to chart height and weight. There were no HIPPA protections back then. When I was in seventh grade and the nurse, called out aloud, “Six feet,” in front of all my classmates, I was humiliated. I’m sure pretty sure some of the other kids had the same reaction to someone making public announcements concerning their weight.
Between seventh grade and my senior year in high school, I gained at least an inch. That year, while helping Miss Holt order caps and gowns for graduation, I was surprised by how many boys claimed to be six feet tall when they weren’t. How do I know that? I was much taller than most of them.
At age eighty I’m still six one. It sometimes seems as though I’m taller than that because whenever I reach down to pick up something up from the floor, it seems to be a whole lot farther away. I’m still getting my steps, though. I recently passed the 39 million steps mark, and I’m currently at clocking in at 18,442 miles, but that’s been a real challenge recently, because six weeks or so ago my left foot started killing me.
It felt as though a tangle of nerves both on top of my toes and under them were on fire. Every damned step hurt. Last summer I believe I reported on my ill-fated ballerina act on the front porch. When my foot pain began, I assumed it was lingering damage resulting from that. I’ve become a fan of a reasonably recent analgesic spray called TIDL. It works well, once you figure out the secret code to make the sprayer work—it actually just takes a twist of the top. Seeking relief, I began spraying my toes—top and bottom first thing in the morning, before putting on my shoes, and the last thing before going to bed. And when it came time to do my steps, I’d give my toes another splash of TIDL. Doing that made walking doable.
As mentioned above, I’m tall. That means my toes are a long way away, even when I’m sitting down. As a consequence, I don’t spend a lot of time examining them. Last week, however, I took a quick look at my toes while sitting on the dressing bench in the closet. That’s when I noticed a very angry looking corn on my next to little toe—that would be the one designated as The Little Piggy Who Had None.
At that point I remembered, that the last time I had a corn was back when I was in high school. My mother went straight to Warren Drug and came back home with a packet that contained a bottle with an evil-smelling clear liquid in it along with some little round bandages with holes in the middle. She put the bandage around the corn and then dabbed some of the liquid in the hole. Eventually, after two weeks or so, the corn went away.
A week and a half ago, on other very day I spotted the problem, I took myself to the nearest Bartell’s and bought a packet of corn remover. Naturally, the childproof packaging was equally grandmother proof. I finally got it open with the help of a scissors and a paring knife. In the process, I shredded the directions. I had to drag them out of the trash and piece them back together. They were surprisingly simple. Apply the bandage and then apply a drop or two of the clear liquid. You’d think that in the intervening half century they could have made the stuff smell better, but I instantly recognized the obnoxious odor.
Within moments of applying it the first time, I was healed—or maybe I should say toed. I’m sure part of that relief was due to the cushioning on the bandage protecting the top of the corn from my shoe. I’m applying the liquid twice a day as directed and am almost half way through the recommended fourteen-day treatment. And guess what? I’m actually enjoying getting my steps again.
So here I am, twenty years after my mother’s passing, still benefitting from her wisdom. With that in mind, it’s only fair to let Evie Busk have the last word. This happens to be a verse from one of her oft-quoted bits of poetry.
Can you sit in the shade of the palm of your hand?
Or beat on the drum of your ear?
Can the calf on your leg eat the corn on your toe?
Then why not raise corn on your ear?
Happy Friday.
Love the poetry, Judy! Glad your corn is going away and you are able to walk without pain. You’re good to go for the Festival of Books! It’s so true about mothers. Their wisdom is always there and most always reliable.
I am shocked you can still get the same medication! I’ve found the products that worked well are considered too dangerous for this day and age and the new stuff doesn’t work at all!
I have a tall friend. When asked how tall she is, she says that she is 5 foot 12 inches.
Wonderful read as usual! I was the tallest kid in 6th grade despite being younger than most due to starting first grade when I was 5. That however was it, never grew a bit taller while everyone else shot up. I always wanted to be tall but you get what you get height wise. Congratulations on the toe recovery!
Ceci
Thank you so much for your memorable blog on this Friday. I did recognize the toe one, not the second one. I enjoyed both. If I was to meet you I’d probably be another who would remark “I didn’t know you were so tall.” It’s true that your book photos do not give that away. For us tall people, indeed our toes are a long ways away.
Loved your story. I was 5’10” in high school. 2nd tallest girl. Hated it of course. At 79 I’m now 5’8″. Still tall but a little closer to the ground.
I’ve always been taller than my high school guys and syLtood on back row in photos, too! At a recent birthday (89) I hv shrunk to 5’9-1/2″. So happy to hear yr corn is receding.
You just cannot write fast enough for this fan! Keep on keepin’ on!
I was always the shortest in my class. At 85, I barely reach five feet. But my toes are further away. Trying to reach them is an all-day enterprise. Bending down is the second-hardest part of old age. Getting up is the hardest.
At my tallest I was only 5’3′” and now I’m only 5’0″. I have the same problem reaching the floor but being stiff is my problem! I don’t easily bend in the middle anymore!
I do remember Dr. Scholl’s corn pads though. He was my friend from grade school until I was into my 30s. I had hard seed corns on both of my little piggies. The pads and liquid or medicated discs were miraculous until they came back again and again. Surprisedly they finally went away for good and I was wearing pointed toe and 3-4″ heels. Lol.
Hilarious
In the 1980s I worked in the Seoul office of a large engineering firm. International calling was insanely expensive back then. Mail call was a big deal for us ex-pats. My mom was very good about corresponding. One day I got what felt like an empty envelope. When I opened it there was just a 3 inch square of newspaper. No note or anything. I turned it over and burst out laughing.
It was a Gary Larsen cartoon of a man sitting up in bed looking down at his toes, sticking out from under the covers. One of his baby toes was missing, but taped to his foot was a note saying “went to market. “
My mom had not included a note because the note in the cartoon said it all,at least to an American. The Koreans in the office were curious about what caused my burst of laughter. They looked more confused than the guy in the cartoon. They had one main question, “why did he sell his toe?” How do you explain such nonsense to someone from a foreign culture. Taking the hand of one of them I asked him to imagine it was his foot and he was less than three years old and I proceeded to demonstrate. Nothing. Then one of the older secretaries said “this is a game your mother played with you to make tou laugh.” “Many times” I replied. Clearly she hot it. I’m not sure what she said in Korean, but from the treultimg smile and giggles I knew she had pierced the cultural barrier and enlightened the others. For the remaining two years of my contract it stayed posted on my office divider. When I left I gave it to Miss Kim, the secretary who got it.
Thank you. I love that you turned your owie into a story beginning with a nursery rhyme.
I love this one! I do the Piggy toes to my Grandsons ( 5 & 7) whenever I can. Giggles are a wonderful sound! Thank you for sharing your spray, I have ordered now on Amazon to see if it works on my toes, which have been bothering me for 5 years. I’m running to get medicine for my mother in law, she has a corn,,she’s using round pads minus the medicine! Appreciate your sharing!
Another great story. You make my day!
Great blog as usual. I can relate with the piggies, but not with the height. I always said “if I stand up straight and throw my shoulders back, I make 5 feet.” Today I can not even say that, at 86, 4’11” is the best I can do, but I can still touch my toes. Bending is still not a problem, thank goodness.
“It sometimes seems as though I’m taller than that because whenever I reach down to pick up something up from the floor, it seems to be a whole lot farther away. ”
I sure can relate to that.
Another great Friday read. I always love the pearls of wisdom and other Evie insights. Hope your foot continues to feel better.
An old grandma remedy for arthritis or muscular distress is castor oil. Now don’t drink it! ; just use it as a topical application. It really works! My mother’s name was Betty Sue, so when we ask for the castor oil, we call for the “Mama Betty”. It was actually her grandmothers’ arthritis medicine.
Thank you for your candor and genuine love of writing. I am blessed to be able to meet your expertise!
Thank you for another great story
As we get older we are attacked by disease. I have heart failure. Year or two to live. Being a paramedic. When the doctors tell me something. I know the outcome. A person can know too much sometimes. I want to thank you for your writing. You have brought my joy into my life. Please write as long as you can. To stay active I am doing history research. I do work on find a grave too. May you receive love and good health. Love to you. Larry Cook.
I’m getting shorter as I get older. My adult daughter is very happy to now be taller than I am. I was 5’8″ in high school–one of the tallest girls in the class. I don’t think I’ve ever had a corn but I remember my mom having them and I believe she took a razor to them. Like your solution better.
Thanks for another great Friday blog. Memories of that “Little Piggy” ditty. And, of course, your memories of days past. I do remember those corn patches, not from personal use, but don’t remember which family member used.
Pinkclown71@yahoo.com
TIDL . Worth a try.
Another great story. Hope your foot heals quickly.
Have a good weekend.
I appreciate tall women and men, especially at the grocery store! I often have to wait on someone tall to come by and get that drink on the top shelf. On behalf of short people, thank you!