For The Least of Those…

Reading Time: 4 minutes

“Jan, just let me rub your foot. It will make it not hurt so much,” Mother asked once again.

Sitting with my leg propped up, I was still a bit mystified how despite the fact that the swelling was fast receding and my snakebite was considerably better, from midcalf down it was deeply sore.

Rubbing my hand across my ankle, pressing¬† a little bit, it was a “good hurt”.

A good hurt is just what it sounds like.

Prone to sore throats as a child, I looked at my Mother, her hands gnarled from ‘joint disease’, and thought about all the times she gently soothed my aching decades ago with hands that were more functional. She had her favorite potions, Vaporub among them.

“We could use that lotion. I think I know who gave that to you!”, she says, here green eyes lively as she considers the mystery.

Someone had left a basket of sweet smelling potions, wrapped among pink tissue on my doorstep. It had caused some interest especially among the men in my family. “It’s someone who has a sense of humor,” I had told them. ‘T