Not these; these are the feet of a statue at the Groom Cross, those of a kneeling woman in front of Jesus carrying the cross.
I was marvelling at the detail of some of the statues when I was over there this evening. There were as many people there as I'd ever seen (travelling down I-40 on a Sat. afternoon, I should've known) and the shots I wanted to get weren't available to me because of all the folks in the background, so I was giving a bit more scrutiny to some things I had paid little attention to in the past visits over there.
See the wrinkles in the pads of the sole of her foot? I've taken thousands of photos of all of the bronze's faces and love the detail on them, but never noticed this before tonight.
The patina, the green color, is a natural oxidation of the metal, but I really don't like it. Sometimes I want to volunteer to take a toothbrush and metal polish and get it out of the cracks and crevices. (I have taken my trusty bandanna and bottle of water and cleaned the bird poop off of some of the life-sized figures when no one else was out there)
After downloading the photos I took and viewing them, I started remembering my big sister's feet, all during the summers of her teen years. (I haven't paid any attention to my sis's feet in years) Until govt. regulations prohibited it, my dad always oiled the dirt roads to his wells and tank batteries and to our house; the road surface shed water very well. He also would "drag" the roads with a home-built metal skid made of large pipe/casing cut in half, inverted and welded together; on top that he'd add or take off as needed weights made of scrap metal. It kept the roads smooth.
Growing up in the country back then was, for a teenager, pretty darn boring. We lived far enough out in the country where we could barely get the translator signal from the nearest town and were on the very edge of the Amarillo TV station's broadcast area. The best Top 40 radio station was in Oklahoma City and the signal wouldn't come in at strength until after 9:00 p.m.
Since there wasn't a lot else to do other than the usual chores and homework, we ate a lot and read a lot. To this day, my sisters and I are all a bit overweight still, but we could all probably each make a showin' on Jeopardy.
I can remember the evenings when my sister, her head full of the things that most 16 yr. old girl's heads are, would want to get away from our small, cramped and crowded house and be to herself. She would set off down the oily road, barefooted, and walk to the mailbox and back, a distance of a couple miles and small change.
I didn't have to do the laundry, but I laugh thinking about how it might have been a problem. I'm sure Sisterbelle would wash her feet before going to bed, but I also know from much personal experience how oil gets into your pores and sometimes takes a few days and a few scrubbin's to get it all out. I'm smiling as I type this, thinking of the bottom of my sister's feet being darker than that statue's feet pictured above, like a Blackfoot Injun's or her own travellin' tootsies minstrel toe-show.
She probably had some green on her feet, too... from pickin' dandelions with her toes.
She could also reach under the table and pinch her little brother with 'em.
I was marvelling at the detail of some of the statues when I was over there this evening. There were as many people there as I'd ever seen (travelling down I-40 on a Sat. afternoon, I should've known) and the shots I wanted to get weren't available to me because of all the folks in the background, so I was giving a bit more scrutiny to some things I had paid little attention to in the past visits over there.
See the wrinkles in the pads of the sole of her foot? I've taken thousands of photos of all of the bronze's faces and love the detail on them, but never noticed this before tonight.
The patina, the green color, is a natural oxidation of the metal, but I really don't like it. Sometimes I want to volunteer to take a toothbrush and metal polish and get it out of the cracks and crevices. (I have taken my trusty bandanna and bottle of water and cleaned the bird poop off of some of the life-sized figures when no one else was out there)
After downloading the photos I took and viewing them, I started remembering my big sister's feet, all during the summers of her teen years. (I haven't paid any attention to my sis's feet in years) Until govt. regulations prohibited it, my dad always oiled the dirt roads to his wells and tank batteries and to our house; the road surface shed water very well. He also would "drag" the roads with a home-built metal skid made of large pipe/casing cut in half, inverted and welded together; on top that he'd add or take off as needed weights made of scrap metal. It kept the roads smooth.
Growing up in the country back then was, for a teenager, pretty darn boring. We lived far enough out in the country where we could barely get the translator signal from the nearest town and were on the very edge of the Amarillo TV station's broadcast area. The best Top 40 radio station was in Oklahoma City and the signal wouldn't come in at strength until after 9:00 p.m.
Since there wasn't a lot else to do other than the usual chores and homework, we ate a lot and read a lot. To this day, my sisters and I are all a bit overweight still, but we could all probably each make a showin' on Jeopardy.
I can remember the evenings when my sister, her head full of the things that most 16 yr. old girl's heads are, would want to get away from our small, cramped and crowded house and be to herself. She would set off down the oily road, barefooted, and walk to the mailbox and back, a distance of a couple miles and small change.
I didn't have to do the laundry, but I laugh thinking about how it might have been a problem. I'm sure Sisterbelle would wash her feet before going to bed, but I also know from much personal experience how oil gets into your pores and sometimes takes a few days and a few scrubbin's to get it all out. I'm smiling as I type this, thinking of the bottom of my sister's feet being darker than that statue's feet pictured above, like a Blackfoot Injun's or her own travellin' tootsies minstrel toe-show.
She probably had some green on her feet, too... from pickin' dandelions with her toes.
She could also reach under the table and pinch her little brother with 'em.
1 comment:
AWWWW I cant believe no comments here ... i guss not many can relate ... But Mike i to have a lil brother and grew up on a farm and yep horse back ridden and torcherin my lil bro was my two top priorities in life! till i was grown ... naaa i still enjoy torchering him hehe but no body knows me better our friends amazed how much alike we really are ... and both our feets were always black and they tar and chip the roads out this way too YEP takes days tryin get em clean hehe we pride ourselves till this day we can barefoot threw any torain with lil discomfort sept my dad hes a tenderfoot hehe ya know barefootin peeps have better lookin overall feet Im a beautician and have done my share of pedicures and the peeps thats always in a shoe have alot more work for me to get them soft and smooth were barefooters biggest trouble is some staining and cuticle work seems the earth naturally sloths there feet soft ... LOL U always get me on the strangest Topics ... hehe always I enjoy your post Thanks Mike!! and That is awsome how the artist added that lil touch and if we think about it there feet were more like souls on a shoe ... I have done a lil sculpting in the past i love it and its nice when someone actually takes the time to look into the detail and thinks and aprechates the lil special things you have added this takes a person with a sense of understanding and deep thinker to appreciate YOU ROKC!!
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