Shadow Puppet Storyteller

Speaking From My Big Toe

It's comforting to overhear people my age, or even younger, state, "I used to have a great memory. I don't know what happened, but my memory isn't what it used to be." Something in me calms down. See, getting older and losing touch with some of your mental capacity is okay; it's natural. How perfect is it that Paul McCartney's newest album is called, "Memory Banks Almost Full?" What we cram into our memory banks, now that, THAT'S WHAT'S UNNATURAL! While I barrage my own psyche with that thought several times a week, I do have other discomforts that supercede that dread at times.

I think my body has a fantastic memory. Not that body memory is such a great thing. [I suppose that can still be changed, if I'll change my habits.] I have now determined that my ankle pain which was mostly alleviated with five - six weeks of physical therapy can be back to painful assertion after three weeks not being in physical therapy. [Okay, this past weekend, taking that odd step off someone's patio and catching myself probably contributed as well.] This painful presence in my feet, even upon waking, is what makes me come up with off-the-wall titles like this blog entry's title today.