Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
This area abounds with covered wagons, plows, cultivators, the occasional intercontinental missiles and a few of the people who used them, coveted them, wore them down to a small frazzle, or just sneaked around admiring them when they were shiny and new. The automobiles get pretty fair physical therapy, but a lot of it just sits rusting in decorative positions in parks, front yards and displayed in unlikely places.
VA Medical Center surprised me by deciding I ought to get some physical therapy they’re too far away to provide. They’re paying for a few weeks of me going to the Olathe Medical Center for it. Had my first run at it last week on the day I wasn’t having something done to my goozle. It was a surprising display of a lot of really old bastards walking around panting and generally being a lot more friendly to one another than they’d probably spent their lives being to other people.
Most appeared to be the sort I smile and speak to when I meet their eyes in a grocery store or on the street, and they turn their heads away as an alternative to acknowledging I exist. I sometimes carry the conversation further with, “Don’t you dare say hi to me! No telling what I’d do back.”
But down there at physical therapy you’re more likely to meet again soon, him on the electric walking machine next to my stationary bicycle. Snobbing a person off who’s there for a stay in close proximity could lead to all manner of long time discomfort.
So I smiles perlightly and says hi, [first to do it mostly] and while we each try to make something inside us perform better, we discuss weighty matters involving. That’s right. Involving.
Involving things our opinions don’t have anymore influence on than they ever did on anything else. Mostly the weather.