Cures for The Cranky
A Perfect Little Getaway

Friday Mailbag


Dear Kathy-the-Physical-Therapist (I),

I'm not trying to be difficult.  Really.  I'm not.  I just can't with the quantifying-pain thing.  "From 0 -10, with 0 being no pain at all to 10 being the most pain possible, how much pain are you feeling today?"  I just can't.  Relative to what?  Compared to when?  When I'm walking? Standing? Attempting to run?  After you've put me through my paces?  Or when I first walked in the door?  That's just a stupid question.  In my opinion.  Could we move on to something productive now?  Like getting me moving again?


Dear Kathy-the-Physical-Therapist (II),

Okay.  You're on to something.  Definitely.  But please understand.  You've adjusted the way I stand.  You've engaged my "great toe" (this cracks me up so much . . . great toe).  You've got me focusing on raising my arch.  And the four-corners-of-my-foot.  And the not locking my knee.  You've stopped the hyper-extension in my toes.  You're correcting my pronation.  Now you want me to walk?  Are you kidding me?  


Dear Kathe-my-Yoga-Instructor,

I came to you discouraged.  Frustrated.  Fatigued.  With no confidence in my ability to stand.  Or balance.  Concentrating overmuch on my "great toe."  Worried about my ankle.  And whether I was supporting it correctly with my arch and my toe grip.  And then . . . you just said . . . you can do this.  And I could.  You were just what I needed!


Dear Unknown-as-Yet Drawing Instructor,

I have signed up for your class that begins next week.  Drawing I.  I just want to warn you:  I do my own thing.  Consider yourself advised.


Dear Pittsburgh:

Here I come!  Show me what you got.