Smile-breaks
Before you read this, know that it is all in good humor: my appendages are right where they're supposed to be and the grief is a Charlie Brown type of grief.
My appendages are giving me grief
It all started this morning. I was lying in bed and when I turned over, my upper right appendage hurt. Never hurt before, but it sure hurt now. No pins and needles, just an ache with a little pain. I lay there a few minutes, massaged where it hurt and wondered as you always do, what was the cause?
Carefully, I turned to my side, making sure not to disturb that particular appendage. Lay there a few minutes and then turned back. The appendage was fine! No more hurt!
Good grief! Was that a false alarm? Should I Google it? No. No, I don't need to find out a million things it could be and then stay awake nights wondering if I should check in with the doctor. It was there—the pain—and then it went away. Let it be. Hasn't come back all day.
And that's when it popped into my, um, topmost appendage—the round one at the top—"My appendages are giving me grief."
For oh-so-many years I never gave my appendages a thought. The two lower ones were just there, a trouble-free part of my walking, biking, skating, running, getting to wherever I was going. The upper appendages quietly moved in harmony as I waved at friends, wrote, worked, texted, drove, and hugged all those huggable people.
Lately, those darn appendages are squawking for my attention. They're getting old and cranky, I guess. The lower ones were the first to speak out, "Ouch! That hurts." Pinched nerves, tight muscles, wobbly knees—oops! Careful! Stuff you can't ignore, especially when you're trying to walk like a twenty-year-old—well, at least not like an old person—and it's not working.
I had just gotten most of the lower appendage complaints resolved with exercise and rest and stretching. You know how that is. So now my upper appendages want my attention? Yep!
Bad enough the appendages inflicted pain; they also changed their appearance and not for the better! No smooth, youthful skin, free of sunspots. Who knew that sunburn on the beach in Ogunquit, Maine, when I was ten years old, would come back to haunt me decades later? And force me to think twice about putting on those shorts before I go out?
I don't appreciate the new designs of multi-colored spots on un-ironed—a.k.a.,wrinkled—appendages. What to wear? Short sleeves? Better elbow length or long. Shorts? Only at home on the hottest of days; switch to jeans and swelter is better.
Oh, to be young and carefree again! Appendages? Good grief! But I'm glad I have them. I'm glad they're working. And I guess I can put up with a little discomfort now and then—but next time you see me, don't look too closely.