I think that part of my state of constant chilliness is genetic. As a child, I remember sitting on the couch with my family, looking up at Mom and seeing her with one hand covering her nose.
"What are you doing, Mom?"
"My nose is cold."
"Oh."
"Oh."
Mom's nose got chilly in the house, and now my nose (finger, ankle, toe, shin, kneecap) gets cold in the house- it's genetic.
The other part of my perpetual chilliness it the fact that I have something called Raynaud's Disease. Raynaud's Disease is a very common condition (mostly among women) and it basically means that your fingers and toes go numb and white whenever they think it's cold outside. When my fingers feel something cold, they go completely numb for about 15 minutes and turn a sickly whiteish color. Don't feel too sorry for me though. As the Mayo Clinic website says, Raynaud's is more of an nuisance than anything else. And what a nuisance it is.
Last winter, I bought lettuce at the store, brought it home, washed the lettuce in cold water and then began chopping it for salad. Because my fingers felt the cold water and overreacted by shutting down all circulation, my digits went numb. Since this happens a lot, I didn't think anything of it.
I mean to say, I didn't thinking anything of it until I felt the knife blade hit my finger.
It didn't hurt. It didn't even bleed. I looked at my finger to see that I had sliced a considerable chunk from it while chopping my salad and because of the Raynaud nuisance, I didn't feel a thing, until the circulation kicked back in which allowed me plenty of time to scream and gather a pile of Band-aids for when it started bleeding.
So, my being cold is half genetic and half medical nuisance. I'm telling you this because a few nights ago, the temperature here dropped and I sat in the restaurant area of my cousin's establishment like a little frozen popsicle. My feet's circulation had shut off and I let out a whimper as I shivered.
Seeing my distress, my cousin Gretchen said, "You know, my dad always said that sprinkling cayenne pepper on your socks will warm up your feet."
"Really?" I stood up and went to the kitchen and unabashedly spooned the red powdery cayenne onto my socks, put my shoes back on, and re-entered the restaurant area.
"Is it working?" Gretchen asked.
I thought about it. I didn't really feel anything yet- maybe a slight tingling, maybe. "Not yet," I said.
Minutes passed.
Gretchen looked up from her book, "How are your feet?"
I tried to concentrate and think about my feet. "Nope, nothing yet."
Disappointed that they cayenne wasn't working well, I took my shoes off and tapped my socks in an attempt to fluff the spice around. My feet smelled like a spice cupboard. I was really hoping that my feet would instantly warm-up and that I'd maybe found a remedy for my chronic nuisance. With each minute that passed, my frustration with the spicy socks grew. I tried to imagine that it was working in hopes that the power of suggestion would help. Even with my imaginings, nothing worked, my little toes remained frozen.
After about an hour of waiting for my feet to warm up, I shrugged and concluded that the whole 'cayenne on your socks' thing was a bunch of poppycock- a spice scam.
I voiced my thoughts and it wasn't long after I'd abandoned the experiment that Gretchen said that she wanted to give it a try. She walked out of the restaurant, through the swinging kitchen door, and disappeared for a few seconds. Emerging from the kitchen with the spice jar in her hand, she walked towards me with a look of amusement on her face.
"Viv! That wasn't cayenne you sprinkled on your socks..that was paprika."
Last winter, I bought lettuce at the store, brought it home, washed the lettuce in cold water and then began chopping it for salad. Because my fingers felt the cold water and overreacted by shutting down all circulation, my digits went numb. Since this happens a lot, I didn't think anything of it.
I mean to say, I didn't thinking anything of it until I felt the knife blade hit my finger.
It didn't hurt. It didn't even bleed. I looked at my finger to see that I had sliced a considerable chunk from it while chopping my salad and because of the Raynaud nuisance, I didn't feel a thing, until the circulation kicked back in which allowed me plenty of time to scream and gather a pile of Band-aids for when it started bleeding.
So, my being cold is half genetic and half medical nuisance. I'm telling you this because a few nights ago, the temperature here dropped and I sat in the restaurant area of my cousin's establishment like a little frozen popsicle. My feet's circulation had shut off and I let out a whimper as I shivered.
Seeing my distress, my cousin Gretchen said, "You know, my dad always said that sprinkling cayenne pepper on your socks will warm up your feet."
"Really?" I stood up and went to the kitchen and unabashedly spooned the red powdery cayenne onto my socks, put my shoes back on, and re-entered the restaurant area.
"Is it working?" Gretchen asked.
I thought about it. I didn't really feel anything yet- maybe a slight tingling, maybe. "Not yet," I said.
Minutes passed.
Gretchen looked up from her book, "How are your feet?"
I tried to concentrate and think about my feet. "Nope, nothing yet."
Disappointed that they cayenne wasn't working well, I took my shoes off and tapped my socks in an attempt to fluff the spice around. My feet smelled like a spice cupboard. I was really hoping that my feet would instantly warm-up and that I'd maybe found a remedy for my chronic nuisance. With each minute that passed, my frustration with the spicy socks grew. I tried to imagine that it was working in hopes that the power of suggestion would help. Even with my imaginings, nothing worked, my little toes remained frozen.
After about an hour of waiting for my feet to warm up, I shrugged and concluded that the whole 'cayenne on your socks' thing was a bunch of poppycock- a spice scam.
I voiced my thoughts and it wasn't long after I'd abandoned the experiment that Gretchen said that she wanted to give it a try. She walked out of the restaurant, through the swinging kitchen door, and disappeared for a few seconds. Emerging from the kitchen with the spice jar in her hand, she walked towards me with a look of amusement on her face.
"Viv! That wasn't cayenne you sprinkled on your socks..that was paprika."
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