I’ve been sore for a week. Sore, as in spasming lower back and aching between the shoulder blades. These symptoms are not new to me; I’ve had lots of muscle strains and skeletal misalignments over the course of my years of lugging things that were too heavy, like double sheets of gyp-rock, stacks of lumber, bags of cement and all things associated with renovating houses. Yes, there is more to me than just a wimpy musician living on sex and drugs and rock ’n roll…I have indeed lived a very physical life and revelled in my strength and fitness for the majority of it. I have never spent a night in a hospital (save for the time my young son broke his leg and I slept in a chair beside him) and have contracted no long term diseases. 

So it is with great interest and occasional dismay that I now watch the inexorable slide from the speedy bounce-back that used to be, to the creep-back to an ‘almost as good as before’ status that is my new normal. 

I spent Sunday propped up on the couch watching the Super-bowl with a heating pad alternating between lower and upper back and feeling totally inadequate as I watched Lori pour 40 lb. bags of pellets into the stove…normally my job (the upside being that I now know she’s stronger than she has let on). 

Anyway, this went on for days and all because of the ***** snow. Yup…it was snow shovelling that did it. I know I know, shovelling snow is a big no-no for seniors…heart attacks and all that, but I’m careful not to over do it these days. If I get tired I rest, which is easy because it’s an excuse to just hang for a minute and take in the beauty of winter…all that thick fluffy on the roofs and trees, the silence that such a blanket lays on the world, the lung-fulls of fresh clean air…makes me feel good just thinking about it. 

But there have been mountains of snow this winter so it wasn’t any single shovel-a-thon that did me in, it was the daily scoop and pitch. The irony, of course, is that we moved to the sunny, dry Okanagan to escape the harsh winter, to enjoy those February flowers (mythical in my experience) and to NOT HAVE TO SHOVEL *&^%$#@! SNOW! 

On the other hand, I do still appreciate a good joke…even if it’s on me. 

So, anyway, Lori can only shlep pellets and water for so long so on Monday she phoned a chiropractor on my behalf and I got a nice adjustment yesterday. Now, I’m not new to the world of chiropractic. In my reno days I was a regular customer and can attest to the relief gained by having my skeleton crunched back into place. I actually enjoy the sensation of my vertebrae popping…it’s way more satisfying than cracking your knuckles… and I did walk out of there nice and straight and without the sensation that my upper body was about to collapse into my pelvic girdle. Last night I slept long and well and hurt a whole lot less today. 

Until just a minute ago. 

You see, in order for me to set up for writing I have to shift my work space from recording mode to writing mode which entails moving my laptop from behind the drums to my desk…the one that has the nice yellow vinyl-covered regular old fashioned kitchen chair in front of it. Well, a couple of days ago, in order to accommodate my sore back, I had moved my nice yellow vinyl-covered kitchen chair into my recording space. At the same time I had moved my drummers throne in front of the desk in case I needed to sit there. Now some of the more high-end thrones have a back…my does not. 

So there’s the set-up, which brings me to yet another annoying aspect of aging…absent-mindedness. 

When I came into my studio today, intent on writing my weekly blog, I noticed that I had left unfinished the copying of some lyrics to a clean sheet of paper. Immediately I decide to finish that simple task before diving into my blog… so I reach down between my legs and grab the seat of what I thought was the yellow vinyl-covered old fashioned kitchen chair and pull it forward and drop my ass onto it. 

Except it’s not the chair that greets my rear as it drops, it’s the drum throne…which is much smaller than the chair…and which I miss almost completely. I catch just enough of it to turn my fall into an angular back-flop, legs flailing upwards to knock my desk sideways sending my lamp crashing to the floor as my newly straightened spine regains its previous subluxations (I don’t actually know what that means but it’s a chiropractic term for fucked-up). 

Oh well. As I sit here I don’t feel too much worse for the fall…just an increasing tenderness between the shoulders…and the awareness that it sometimes takes awhile for the pain to kick in. 

I used to pride myself on my ability to take a fall… even did a few pratfalls in my theatre days…yes, on purpose. 

I remember talking years ago to a radio jock who was quite famous in the 60’s; he was twenty years older than me and was bemoaning what he called ‘the graceless slide into decrepitude’. At the time I thought, ’Well, it doesn’t have to be graceless.’ Overall, I think I still believe that…then again…. 

The chiro suggested that I book an appointment for next week just in case…so I did. 

She must have a few older clients.