Feeling the Difference.

I believe I have inherited both my father's innate strength, and my mother's high tolerance for pain. This combination has made me seem something of a bulldozer at times. I mean, it is hard to remain a petite and gentle flower in the eyes of your boyfriend once he has seen you move a full size refridgerator by yourself by wrapping your arms around it. The thing too about tolererence for pain being inherited through families is that sometimes lessons in ways of being gentle can go neglected, because no one complains, if it hurts you just plow through...

My first or second time at the Kerrville Folk Festival I received a lesson in such gentleness. The festival was new to me and I loved it all. The camp, the heat, the dirt, the rain, the mud, the music!...it was all fantastic. I also loved being outdoors. Exploring the camp and the areas around it was a pleasure. We all hiked up and down all the paths and trails.

I had shoe issues. I was wearing some brown leather peep toe slides with a sort of platform rubber sole. They were hippy-in-the-city shoes, and in the city they worked fine. They cut across my high instep slightly, but in the city I had never had them on long enough to care.

It was just one or two little red spots the first day. Okay sure, yes, they began to sting a bit when I put them on. But I guess what would happen as I continued to "plow through" any pain and just walk on is that the red spots would become numb as the leather edge of the slide rubbing up against the bone of my instep continued to chew away at my skin. By the end of the day I had several blisters, which then all broke. Each time I had my shoes off they would start to scab over, only to be torn open again then next time I took a walk, and I was walking everywhere. Blood and puss. Dirt. Blood, puss again; Blood. It was not pretty at all. I am sure I was witnessed wincing when getting my shoes on..did I start going barefooted? Not yet.

So my friend found me at some point and bade me come with her to the backstage campground, where the musicians playing on stage and all of the crew and the people running the show and the general "friends of the festival" types had there camps set up. I hung out with her for a while and met some really sweet people. I cannot ever forget Paul, a friend of hers, a musician, I believe a drummer. He doctored my poor feet. I can see his clear eyes and open face as he gestered for me to "hand him my foot". I did without a second thought. He propped it on his knee. Once he took off my shoe, there was something to clean my wound, maybe something like peroxide or water, so cool to the touch. There was an antibiotic gel, maybe it also had something for pain? I don't know, I only know it felt like heaven. Cotton and gentleness. There was a bandage!! It was amazing. I don't think I realized how much it hurt until I felt how much better it could be.

I have often thought I didn't thank him properly for his knowing humanity. Were he and my friend in cahoots? I don't know. I remember being amazed and grateful, but also feeling a little shy of going overboard or gushing, so I am afraid I may have played it kinda cool. I felt no longer in pain, true, but more than that I felt calm and relaxed, peaceful. I will never forget the delight and relief of being spontaneously, simply and kindly cared for.