What would you ask for for Christmas if you couldn’t move your arms or your legs and couldn’t talk? I asked a friend this today who can’t talk or move his body, but who can spell using a special declaration system.
He said: a magnetic mattress.
I wonder if this is like those once-popular bracelets that you buy to get your blood moving or something.
So I asked him: Is this like those bracelets people used to buy to improve their health?
And he said: Yes.
I was thinking, while talking to him, that maybe he just wants to feel something move, and then I was thinking about how insanely lucky we are, those of us who can walk through rivers and drink a glass of water and lie down on the carpet and feel each little soft nub against our face. So I did this when I got home, drank some water, lied down, rolled around, just to appreciate the very smallness of the gift of touch.
Then we went to church and there was a man with deformed legs carrying his daughter and a kid who kept rolling down the isle on those idiotic shoes that have wheels tucked into the bottom for when a bored child would rather roll than walk. Either way, today seemed to be full of legs for me, legs to be thankful we don’t have, legs that don’t do what we want them to do, legs that kneel and bend and cross and uncross and kick silently and indignantly like we’re never exactly where we want to be. No precise theme here, I just did a lot of musings on stems amongst other more heavy things today.
Then Michael paid me off to wrap some of his gifts while he drew a green Christmas tree on his dog’s white head with a permanent marker, and I listened to some music that felt like a hundred magnets pulling quick blood through my ears.