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Judy G.
I was raised in South Florida back in the years when it was a peaceful and wonderfully safe place to live. We lived a mile from the beach and could ride our bikes over the intercoastal bridge right to the best beach around. All my years of growing up I was a competitive swimmer and belonged to AAU. I granduated from Florida State University with a BS degree in nursing. I am recently retired but I'm thinking of going back to work to support my hobbies.
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Wednesday, December 27, 2017

SAND BETWEEN MY TOES


Even today I tend to brush the bottoms of my bare feet off before I get into bed at night - old habits die hard!  As a child in Florida, it was “required” to brush the sand off your feet at night, so it wouldn’t get in your sheets and drive you crazy.  I couldn’t stand that feeling!  It didn’t bother my brother at all, and his bed felt like a sand pile.  I never could figure out how he could sleep that way, but he had no problem.

I thought my brother, who was almost 3 years younger than me, was really lucky because he had his own private room with a full bath and covered porch with French doors over the garage.  He could hole up in his room all day, if he wanted too.  He had bunk beds, so occasionally I would spend the night upstairs with him.  Otherwise I shared a bedroom with my baby sister, who was 8 years younger than me.  To this day, she is my best friend, and still lives in Florida.

But I digress - back to the sand between my toes..... The fact was, we ran around barefooted and scantily clothed most of the time.  The heat was heavenly to us kids.  There was another drawback, besides sandy feet, to going without shoes - sandspurs!  Those wicked, painful, thorny burrs were always laying in wait for the unsuspecting bare foot to land in a patch of them.  These things would bring on the tears, because the thorns were difficult to remove, often requiring tweezer extraction by a sympathetic parent.

The first time my brother ever stepped on a sandspur was while we were playing in a park down the street from our house.  He sat down and squalled like a baby - and Loudly!  A man living right next to the park had seen what happened, and he came over carrying a small handsaw and offered to saw my brother’s foot off, of all things.  He said it as a joke, but my brother saw no humor in it - he just cried harder.

Eventually, the bottoms of our feet got so tough that those nasty thorns couldn’t get through the skin.

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