prang

So I was digging a pan out of the back of the cupboard under the stove top, and I know I should have just gotten down on my knees, but I bent over and reached . . . 

So I was in a little pain on Tuesday, but thought a gentle yoga session would do me good. It was one of those 50/50 things - you know?  I called heads and the coin came up tails.  The stretches felt good, but now I'm crippling around with my back support belt and the tingles running down the leg.  No fret.  It's an old wound, a memento of my full-time weaving days.   I know how to tend it, and it will heal up soon.  This getting old stuff just ain't for sissies.

Youngsters, I don't want to scare you but every injury you ever get will come back  to remind you as you age.  That sunburn you got when you were 13?  Can you say basal call carcinoma?  The three weeks you lived on coffee and uppers while you finished your Russian lit paper?  And how's your digestion now?  That silver-tongued guy you met on that warm summer night when the music was so good and the beer was so cold?  Herpes is the gift that keeps on giving.  Athletes will tell you about the knee that got swacked in 8th grade football and has been trouble ever since. 

My dears, my dears, take care of yourselves.  I wish I had gotten down on my knees on Monday.