pain – Painterly Comments

Morning at the Docks, 16×20″ acrylic on canvas.
At River Arts Gallery until July 30.

“Morning at the Docks” is on Display at River Arts Gallery, Route 1, in Damariscotta, Maine.
It is part of a group show for the month of July.

I also have a few matted original paintings in the art bin located at the back of the gallery.

The opening night of this month’s show was scheduled for Friday, 5-7PM.

It was a great show with lots of people mulling around from room to room.

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However, earlier that day, as I painted, the small 8×10″ canvas slipped off the easel and onto my bare right foot. The corner or this tiny canvas hit my metatarsals with such a vehement punch that I found myself clutching my foot, wincing and moaning in pain.

Fußskelett (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

An 8×10″ teeny, weeny canvas can do that? It doesn’t even weigh half a pound—even with the oil paint.

😈After a few minutes, being a diligent grown up, I picked up the canvas, gave it a good talking to, and ignoring the pain down below, I slapped more paint onto that little canvas.

The pain vanished.

With the injury forgotten, maneuvering the stairs to the second floor, the basement and up again and later driving forty minutes to the gallery opening scheduled for 5:00 PM was a cinch.

Everything seemed as it should be.

As I meandered around the gallery, ooohing and aaahing at the other artwork and shyly meeting other artists, a little twinge developed atop the upper metatarsal area of my right foot. Hmm. Was it due to walking in my new, sole-stimulating sandals most of the day? Perhaps a pressure point developed from the sandal making my foot uncomfortable. Perhaps my foot was swollen due to the time of day. Well, that happened before and usually went away after a few minutes. So, I loosened the sandal and walked, ooohing and aaahing some more.

Twenty minutes later, the focus was my foot! The pain grew more pronounced. Was there a place to sit? The one chair was occupied by an older person. I stood the aggravation for another fifteen minutes. Propping myself by the piano for balance, I raised the right foot up off the floor.

Another ten minutes and it was unbearable. Catching the hostess eying me in my strange stance, I explained my dilemma. I wanted to stay, but felt I had to leave. Glancing at my foot, she noted a swelling and redness and suggested the tiny blood vessels were probably swelling, that I should ice it at home.

Leaving one hour earlier than planned finally provided me with a seat—in my car. Aaah.

Wouldn’t you know, while driving, the pain worsened with each mile, each acceleration and each brake action. Driving with my left foot came to mind, but that is impossible with a standard shift. So, gritting my teeth, I counted the miles and minutes to be home again.

At last! I pulled into the basement garage. Now, my damned foot decided to stay by the accelerator. It would not budge due to the awful pain. Grabbing and guiding my leg out from the car and onto the floor was excruciatingly painful. Breathing heavily and clenching my teeth, I pulled myself out of the seat and clung onto the car’s door and the firewood stacked next to the car. Between the car and the firewood, I managed to hobble to the end of the car. Walking was nearly impossible. Now I had to get to the stairs at the other end of the cellar. I was stuck and hurting with nothing to lean on.

Hubby was upstairs listening to the news!

“Tom!” No answer.

“Tom! I need you! Tom.”

Pulling out my cell phone, I dialed his. As usual, A.T.T. was useless. We are in the same house and can not call each other! Bad reception here.

“TO-O-O-O-O-O-M!” that did it.

“What’s the matter hon? Why are you home so early?”

emptied the tray of Ice cubes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hubby helped me to the stairs where I literally crawled up the stairs and to the living room sofa on my knees.

Having ordered a large dose of ice cubes and a wet towel, hubby sat nearby massaging my foot.

Besides icing it, I kept my foot elevated onto the back of he sofa. The pain finally subsided about one in the morning. Hubby was already snoring away upstairs. Hobbling up to our bedroom, I was grateful to be upright again.

The next morning, I was able to walk and decided to take it easy.

My foot just ignores me now. It denies it ever had a problem. But sometimes I think I catch a smirk when it is not paying attention.

I am blessed. It could have been worse. :-)

“Stubborn 4 Life” LosAngeles Graffiti Art (Photo credit: anarchosyn)

Jo, where have you been?
Oh, out chasing my paint brush and writing when I can. Lately, I’ve been helping Hubby cut trees, removing limbs, piling limbs, chucking limbs. We have such a huge pile. I suppose you could call it a wall. A very long six foot high wall of pine needles, spruce boughs, birch branches, roots, rotted trees and lots of twigs.

Exhausting work. Hubby is not as youthful as he believes he is. Nor am I. But he still impresses onlookers when he fells two trees at once. Scary and awesome. In the end, we toss and turn as we try to sleep. His knees, his calves, my knuckles, my feet, my back hurt. I offer to get the turmeric.
He replies, “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? When was the last time you took a turmeric capsule?”
“Yesterday.”
“But you’re hurting tonight.”
No response. So I rise making my way to the medicine cabinet where I store my home made turmeric powder capsules. Dark orange turmeric powder in veggie gel capsules. Organic. A local compounding druggist taught me how to make my own capsules. Quite simple. Messy. But simple. I pour eight ounces of water and pad back to the bedroom, in the dark so Hubby won’t be disturbed.

English: A variety of Turmeric Flower found in Maharashtra, India. Turmeric or “Indian Saffron” is one of the most commonly used spice in India – a key flavoring ingredient in any Indian cuisine. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Here is your turmeric and lots of water. Be sure to drink plenty.”

Turmeric powder 薑黃粉 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I took some yesterday.”
“I know. I take one every day. Some times more. You need to take one tonight.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“You aren’t okay now and I want to sleep. I ache, I’m taking my dose and if you don’t take yours I’ll be up all night listening to you toss and turn… and snore.”
“All right. I’ll take it. But just a sip of water. You brought too much.”
“Oh. I forgot you like being dehydrated as well as being in pain.”
“Aww. C’mon Hun. Be nice to me.”
“What do you think I’m doing? I am nice to you. Why else am I walking around in the dark risking a broken toe, hauling water from the well along with this ancient two thousand year old remedy for inflammation?”
Silence.
“Well? Shall I pour it over you or will you drink it?” I laugh.
“You are a good wife and great caretaker. Okay, I’ll take it.” Hubby takes the pill, sips about a tablespoon of water. Enough to possibly choke on the capsule.
“I think you need to take more water, Hun.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Well, okay. I’ll drink some more.”
“Thank you. If you finish it you’ll find a prize at the bottom of the glass.”
“What prize?”
“Me looking at you from the bottom. Smiling at you.”
Hubby guzzled the eight ounces of water, grinned and handed me the empty glass. “You are a caring wife. I love you.”
“I love you too. Now lets get some sleep. We’ll both feel better in the morning.”

Next morning, we were free of pain and Hubby thanked me for the turmeric.

“You should take another capsule before we start cutting more trees today. Six hours of hard labor is too much for seniors like us. We aren’t young anymore.”
“That’s okay Hun. I took one yesterday.”
“How can I forget.” I smile as he walks out with his chain saw and ear protectors.
I take a turmeric before I join him and tuck an extra one in my pocket. Just in case. I am a good wife and he’s a great hubby. Just a little stubborn is all.

PS: Sometimes, when I run out of capsules, I stir turmeric in hot bouillon or in my mashed potatoes. A capsule makes it easier to swallow.