Sock It To Me

Kristen Twedt Sock It to Me

Getting older is really cramping my style. I developed a bad case of plantar fasciitis, a painful condition of the foot that often strikes us fortyish folks. As part of my ongoing treatment and recovery, I had shock wave treatment of my heel. While I heal, foot exercises that stretch the injured fascia are essential. Enter the Strassburg Sock.

In his deep desire for my full and speedy recovery, my husband seemed overly eager for me to try the Strassburg Sock, a contraption obviously designed by someone who shares his wicked sense of humor. He came home from work with a special package.

“I brought you something you’re going to love.”

Some women get flowers while they recuperate from a medical procedure. I got a sock.

“Well, doesn’t that look interesting?”

“Try it on,” he beamed. “The guy at the foot store said it will work wonders.”

Ah, yes, the foot store. If only I could buy a healthy 20-year-old foot to replace my dysfunctional 42-year-old appendage. I slipped the long, white sock over my tender foot and calf. It featured a long tongue of Velcro down the front and around the top. I adjusted the sock per the enclosed instructions. I felt completely ridiculous.

“You know, I think I’ll take it off for now and put it on at bedtime,” I said. A couple hours later, I joined him in bed.

“Where’s your sock?” he asked with a fevered pitch.

“Oh. The sock. It’s right here. I’ll put it on.” And I did. I lay there, both legs exposed, the sock drawing the toes of my left foot in an obscene arc toward my face.

“I feel like the kid in ‘A Christmas Story’ with his arms stuck in his winter coat,” I told him. “I can’t put my toes down!”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it,” he sputtered.

“I’m sure you’d never laugh at my expense, either,” I said while he howled. “You know, I think I know why you wanted me to wear this so badly.” I stretched out the stark white support hose, stroking it seductively, my toes frozen in a come-hither position. “It’s nothing but sexy.” The contraption mocked us both. Suddenly, he was snoring and I was nose-deep in my book.

Time will tell if the sock helps or not. I am hopeful that it and all the pampering I’ve done to this foot will pay off. I have thought a lot about folks who face the daily challenge of walking with canes, walkers or those who move about in wheelchairs. I'm afraid the ones I know handle it with much more grace and dignity than I would. My sore foot makes me cranky. And this crazy sock makes getting ready for bed an exercise in Velcro tolerance.

"Are you wearing your sock?" my husband will ask sleepily as I turn out the light.

"How about I give you a little kick and you tell me?" In the darkness, his shins retreat and he feigns sudden slumber.

Yep, next time I come home from a medical procedure, I bet I get roses.

Paul Potts Sings a Humble Song

Paul Potts Sings a Humble Song

When I first viewed a video of Paul Potts singing, goose bumps gave way to curiosity. Potts, 36, recently won on “Britain’s Got Talent,” the original European version of “America’s Got Talent.” He sang “Nessun Dorma,” an aria from Puccini’s opera, “Turandot.” Votes cast in favor of the gap-toothed mobile phone salesman launched him to instant stardom as a professional vocalist and landed him a lucrative recording contract fostered by judge and music producer Simon Cowell. Everyone wants to know about Potts. http://www.paulpottsofficial.com/videos.html

As much as his beautifully powerful voice stunned listeners, his humility and effusive gratitude for their approval brought tears to the eyes of British fans and those watching online from around the world. Potts told reporters he planned to spend his winnings to clear debts and fix his teeth. His stage presence, a mixture of hesitant confidence and quiet wonder, belies the bold and captivating sound of this mild-mannered tenor. To watch his final performance on that talent show is to witness the makings of a silk purse from sow’s ear. An underdog wins to the unbridled joy of his newborn audience.

Talent like Potts reminds me of how perfectly wonderful is the music delivered by a gifted singer. To see someone find his way through the maze of heartache and disappointment, to endure the daily grind of regular life and pursue his goal of performing on stage for the multitudes proves terribly inspiring. That he is a common man, married, working in sales while tirelessly seeking opportunity to break away into a career fulfilling his heart’s desire justifies every poet, every lyricist, every artist and writer who dares to harbor the belief that dreams do come true. His song is that of the creator who respects the liberating validation brought by sincere applause and recognition.

Last week a man named Louie Lawent wrote to me about a song he composed and asked that I share it in a column. He wrote the lyrics, another artist, Billy Livesay, recorded the song. First, I read the lyrics, words that reflect on the fleeting satisfaction of fame for a pop star in the face of Armageddon. Then I listened to “Pop Star,” the song. http://free.napster.com/view/artist/index.html?id=12351878

I liked it. There’s that. Mentioning it here may get him a few listens. Who says it’s good or it isn’t? I’ve heard plenty on the radio that I wouldn’t pay a plug nickel to hear again. Some of the best music I’ve heard is online, performed by independent artists who sing, play and record simply for the love of music. Their talent is undeniable, their dedication to the music, commendable. Their desire to move people with music is essential, even though few make much money in the process.

Anyone who has worked in the creative arts for many years will verify that finding a financial windfall in the way of a big contract evades the majority. Most who start out with illusions of grandeur quit. Many who tire of the sting of rejection fall away. But there are a few who remain true to the best reason of all to create: because they can.

Martina McBride sings a favorite song of mine, “Anyway.” The song commands that when storms destroy what we have built and those we love reject us; even when dreams seem impossible and doubts surround us and songs of joy escape us, we should build, love, dream, and sing anyway. In spite of injury and setbacks, Paul Potts aspired to sing for all of us. His is a gift he was destined to share. Something tells me he would sing anyway. Perhaps that kind of perseverance is the greatest talent of all.