Physical therapy, hockey players, and Edward Taylor
The thing about physical therapy is that it does not matter if you are an expert on Edward Taylor (the Puritan poet) or a brain surgeon, what matters is if you can bend your leg, which I can’t. This was alarming until my very nice therapist, bent it for me. “See,” she said, “You can bend it. You just need a little help.”
She told me about one of her clients, a semi professional hockey player, who ruptured his hamstring, just like me, and cried during treatment. I liked hearing this. Not that he was in pain, but that he cried. If a semi-professional hockey player weeps, then, really, I am very brave to be soldiering through my life and it does not matter that I can barely remember “Huswifery” and “The Spider to the Fly” — Well, I can remember them — these are Edward Taylor poems — but not well enough to compare them, and actually all of his poems, to Anne Bradstreet, which is what I am going to have to do very shortly, as I just said I would write an essay on seventeenth century poetry by September 15th, which now seems very close, far too close.