I look at my aging feet and think of my babies and their little, adorable feet, a long-ago memory.  And my Mother looked at my feet probably just as I had my children’s. And now that I’m old, I say to my foot that I’m massaging, making it feel so good – all these years I’ve taken you for granted.  You’ve been here and there for me and a part, a major part of all I’ve done, but I never acknowledged you before.  Strange – all these parts of me – doing all that – growing old with me – with so little recognition….