Breathes there the man with soul so dead/ He never to himself hath said,/ “This is my home, my native land!”/ Or at least my office?
Yes, I’m comfortably ensconced on campus for the second consecutive afternoon, and the second overall since the surgery. Mrs. M acted as chauffeur and sherpa for these expeditions, helping me get set up with my computer, some drinks in the office fridge, and the other niceties of civilized life.
I’m particularly grateful to be ensconced in my office recliner, which Clan Mondo inherited from the Blocks at the end of their time here in Mondoville. As I’ve mentioned previously, having a cracked tailbone has meant that sitting in my chairs at home comes with a time limit (this is less the case with the downstairs chairs, but I don’t really feel comfortable trying that staircase yet). The recliner is far more forgiving, and one of the benefits of that is that I can sit comfortably long enough to read, to blog, and (one hopes) even to get some writing done. Likewise, I’ll be doing some grading after I’m finished with this installment, as my online summer course is underway.
So I’m re-entering the world, which is a good thing, as I was getting stir-crazy, and one can watch only so many episodes of Antiques Roadshow. Meanwhile…
***
I had my first session of outpatient physical therapy yesterday — while I’ll continue to exercise at home, I’ll also be going into the shop twice a week for a while. It went well, I think. It certainly was less grueling than, say, the calisthenics and grass drills* from my days as a kid football player. This is not to be taken as my issuing a challenge; as my 12-step friends often say, “Easy does it.”
[* For those of my readers who didn’t play organized football, or who don’t recognize the term, “grass drills” — also called up-downs — were an exercise in which we would run in place until the coach either blew his whistle or yelled “Hit it!”, at which point we would fling ourselves to the turf. We might then be expected to roll left or right, or to react to the cry, “Up and running!” which meant scrambling up to resume running in place. Repeat until excruciated. At this point, I’d like to underscore that this was done by pre-teens in full pads, in Nashville, in August. Our youth league coaches worked at the local chemical plant, lifting barrels of carcinogens, when they weren’t telling my parents that I could be a good player if I could just “get mean”. At least one of my coaches had been somewhat eviscerated by a forklift. These were not men from gentle lives, and it was passed on to us kids. But we won — a lot. As the SEC network observes in its commercials, “It just means more.”]
Anyway, as I was wrapping up my session yesterday, I discovered that one of my former students is a physical therapist there. Fortunately, she was a good student, so I can continue with confidence.
***
Mrs. M has facetiously suggested that I continue to use the cane even after I’ve finished my PT, as a means of cadging preferential treatment from students and the general public. Of course, being who I am, I immediately thought of SCTV‘s station owner, Guy Caballero (played by the recently departed Joe Flaherty.) Caballero was always seen in a wheelchair, and one of the running gags was that he might cross or uncross his legs midshot (like Igor’s wandering hump in Young Frankenstein). In fact, he made no secret of the fact that he was quite capable of walking: “I use this for respect!”
Of course, since my still-original left knee is jacked up as well, she may have a point, at least for another year or two.
***
When I’ve been able to find a comfortable resting position, I managed to read Complicated Shadows, the second of James D.F. Hannah’s Henry Malone novels. Like its predecessor, it’s set in a small town in West Virginia. In this one, an old acquaintance of Malone’s from the State Police seeks his help in finding a missing person. The person in question is a computer wizard who has developed a virtually untraceable cryptocurrency. Organized crime groups are interested, as is the young man’s family — who happen to be a major marijuana-growing concern in their own right. The FBI has taken note as well, and it takes almost no time before Henry and his friend/AA sponsor/walking arsenal Woody are up to their eyeballs in trouble. It’s a fun read. The author informs me that he thinks of the next book in the series as the one in which the adventures really hit their stride (we’re up to book five at this point). So I have that one on deck, but even if the first two are wayfinders, I can recommend them as nice ways to spend an afternoon or evening.
***
Well, I do have papers to grade, so I’d better wrap this one up. Since it happens to be Paul McCartney’s 82nd birthday today, and since Father’s Day was a couple of days ago, I thought I’d share this one. The Fire was a psych-pop band from Hounslow, Middlesex, U.K.. They released a few singles and an album between 1968 and 1970. It was pretty cool stuff, but for some reason it never really caught on. Eventually guitarist/vocalist David Lambert would join the Strawbs. This was the band’s first single, which has been enshrined on numerous collections of British psych and freakbeat. Legend has it that Macca heard it, and suggested that the band remix it with (surprise!) a more prominent bass line. It’s a nifty song that should have done better than it did — I particularly like the couplets “From a kid of four you don’t expect/ a supernatural intellect” and “Now I’ve reached my present age/ Which people call the awkward stage.” From March of 1968, here’s “Father’s Name is Dad.”
See you soon!
Professor Mondo 