Deep Thoughts About Toes and Marbles

I wrote this piece a while back. Since then, I’ve lost my marble(s) and forgot all about this exercise. Is it possible for this 65-year-old woman to regain her marbles? It’s worth a try for the sake of my toes.

Peace, people!

I Lost My Marble

A few months ago I posted a whimsical piece about the thoughts I entertained while picking up a marble with my toes. (Link below, if you’re interested.) The exercise eventually helped reform my wayward middle metatarsal, and I dispensed with the activity.

Recently, though, my metatarsal began behaving badly again. When I went to find my marble it was gone. I truly had lost my marble. I looked high and low, mumbling to myself like some sort of mad woman. The cats, who I suspect of having had something to do with my marble’s disappearance watched me warily as I dove into drawers, cast shoes about the closet, and peered into dark corners and between chair cushions. Alas, no marble.

So when I spied a jar of marbles at a shop in Apalachicola with the sign, “Marbles: 30 for $1.00,” I grabbed a couple of greenies and took them to the checkout counter. 

“Only two?” The proprietor asked.

“Yes sir, you see I lost my marble and I’m looking for a replacement. The second one’s insurance.”

“In that case, no charge,” he said. “Never let it be said that I deprived a woman of her marbles.”

Call me crazy, but I think he just wanted me out of his store.

Thoughts While Picking Up a Marble With My Toes

Deep Thoughts Entertained Whilst Picking Up a Marble With My Toes

My middle metatarsal has dropped. Easy for me to say, you think, but my chiropractor has instructed 

Me in a way to strengthen this muscle in my foot that pleases and relaxes me, especially when done

In conjunction with the drinking of a glass of full bodied Merlot. Oddly enough, this stability 

Enhancing exercise when combined with alcohol yields mixed results, particularly when said 

Glass is repeatedly refilled over the course of an evening. Seems steady walking is purely relative.

Marbles In

I picked up a
handful of marbles,
perfectly round,
smooth, cool, 
clinkety clunky in
my wrinkled grasp.

Brightly colored,
variegated blues,
yellows, reds, plus
an amber cat’s eye,
a shiny steelie,
and a swirly snaky.

There was nothing
notable about these
colorful orbs.
Other than they
exist simultaneously
in the worlds of my
present and my past
as only childhood
playthings can.

Peace, people!

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