Geez Louise

I treat my achilles tendons like a gently failing elderly aunt and uncle. We’ve had our issues, but I worry and cosset. I’m tender and thoughtful. I make an effort to see they get enough appropriate exercise, but try not to let them overdo it. I do this even though both stringy old birds are recalcitrant and untrustworthy. And not because I hope to be named in the will. It’s just the right thing to do. It makes me feel much better about myself.

I’m good to other doddering relatives, as well, and lately things have gone well in the family. But over the past week, I’ve been entertaining an unwelcome new guest, either an unusually intractable cramp or a strain or pull in my right calf. And as one of my boyhood friends would wail as he scampered wide-eyed away from his belt-wielding father, “I didn’t dooo nuttin’!

And I guess I won’t be doin’ nuttin’ but walking for a while. Grr.

It’s enough to make me want to learn to swim.


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