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| - I am an old, tired and run-down war horse, driven down by life itself, the flail, mace or pike driven relentlessly and ever-deeper into my flesh, the ragged claws tearing at my sinews, weakening my gait, yet hurtling me on toward either that great reward, or worse: a long life.
So I haul my sorry excuse for a body to North Coast and give the Good Doctor the abridged version: Years of working on concrete floors, on my knees, hauling cast iron pipe, then on weekends, hey! Let's ski Squaw Valley top to bottom couple times! (I can hear the sand in my knees shifting, recalling the moguls, the absurdly long boards, the long drive back to the Bay Area. Ouch.)
First, I get a complete food workup and discover that I have two sensitivities, which are usually associated with arthritis. Now, I know what you're thinking, Darlin', and I ain't THAT old. Just because there's snow on the roof... and... uh... It ain't the size of the ocean... but... um... Well, I'm not sure what I was saying, but my food rules are now in place and I'll be a son of a Republican if I don't feel about six or seven decades younger. I may even stand up and wobble in celebration!
Oh, and I enjoyed the acupuncture. Really. It has a calming effect while at the same time allowing those unusual electric-like jolts of energy release. I was told, though, that it was their first experience of removing the needles and having vodka spurt out.
"If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."
Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
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