I am watching the Scripps National Spelling Bee and wishing I could go back to 5th grade and face my nemesis one more time. I was a contender, but I could have been a champion. I don’t own a lot of things, or things that matter anyway, but one of my more treasured possessions is a 1935 Oxford English Dictionary that I received as a gift for working in the catacombs of Powell’s Bookstore in Portland, OR creating first generation barcodes for their massive inventory. I have lugged that thing around the country, loaned it to a kid who lived in a crisis shelter, and used it as a coffee table. Words are magic, and meant to be shared.
Which brings me to the miraculous healing of my aching Achille’s heel. I think recording my thoughts and feelings about the Great Crash that Overcame all Fear released all of the pressure stored in my sore hoof. After a week of little change in its status, I awoke this morning and walked to the kitchen without incident, cooked my oatmeal, and went about my day.
Without getting too metaphysical here, I’m just going to say that pain is complicated and has as much to do with our thoughts as it does with our bodies sometimes.
I don’t care if it is 132 degrees. There will be some bike riding going on this Saturday. That’s bad news for the suckers.