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Today for Memorial Day, we went for a quick walk around the block.  It might not sound like much, but trust me, after being cooped up with one of our daughters sick all weekend, it felt like a trip to the moon.

Of course the well daughter enjoyed testing every boundary she could on our walk, since she hasn't been getting enough attention these last couple of days.  And (of course) the almost-well daughter fell down and skinned her knees right at the end of our walk.

The sound of her knees skidding across the rude pavement turned my stomach.

In the Buddha's eye (as my dear friend Lisa would say) it was a pretty mild scrape, but I still felt terrible for my daughter as I watched her little legs start to quiver.  When the blood started to bubble out of the wounds, I could instinctively smell the Bactine I would apply as soon as we got home.

My grandmother used to apply Bactine to my sister's and my scraped-up knees, and just being with her and smelling that stuff made it all better.

Once, when my grandmother and grandfather came to visit my sister and I at our house, we took a walk and my beloved grandma took a nasty tumble.  I took her to our bathroom and helped her clean her cut up.  It was the first time I remember helping a hurt adult.

I think I might have explained to Grandma that I was sorry, but we didn't use Bactine at my house; we used Neosporin.  She said that was all right, that she was sure it would all be fine.

She was so thankful and said such nice things to me about how helpful I was.  Knowing my grandmother, I probably received a sweet note about it later.  She made me feel so grown up, so competent and loving.

All these memories came flooding back when I was spraying Bactine on my daughter's knee this afternoon.