The organ recital of old age

I'll begin in this way since I mentioned last time that I expected a miracle from my favourite physio on November 21. As I suspected, we are not living in an age of miracles. At his office, I again put on a pair of one-size-fits-all shorts and had my knee examined. He's older, manipulated the joint with more authority and was more definitive in his diagnosis of the problem, a torn meniscus. He described it using an analogy with a washer. That made me laugh because just this week I had come to the same conclusion about the problem with my ancient espresso maker which had been sputtering for ages. I was given it by a colleague at North Dundas District High school in 1973 and had only replaced the washer once, I think. At any rate I replaced it and it works perfectly again. I don't have such high hopes for myself, the human body is more complex than those old espresso makers, but I am now faithfully doing the new set of exercises I was given. One thing that could almost be classified as a miracle; however, is the fact that I was called by the hospital on Friday and have an appointment for an MRI this Tuesday afternoon. I readily accepted but then had second thoughts because the physio had given me a confident diagnosis and told me that the latest research indicates that in cases like mine physio works better than surgery. However my own inclination to accept all good luck and Miriam's agreement have kept me on the list for Tuesday. This knee has limited activity to an ever changing variety of physio exercises in my ever-being-modified spare bedroom/ healing centre. I have jerry-rigged gear that would amaze even my dad, the master of making do. That and walking to medical appointments now makes up most of my activity. 

Life as a spectator continues. On Monday evening I walked to the Towne Cinema to meet a friend and watch the film club's presentation of a documentary, "Honeyland."  It's an amazing presentation of the life of a middle aged Macedonian beekeeper and her old mother. The countryside is awe inspiring and their stark life in tune with it until a breathlessly rowdy family of seven moves into the surrounding ruins. I've never seen anything that so clearly juxtaposes the vast and silent rhythms of nature with the noisy acquisitiveness of humanity. Yesterday I went again with Miriam to watch 'Live from the Met.' And again I really liked it. The opera was "Akhnaten" by Philip Glass. I've seen another opera of his. Phelim McDermott was in charge of both productions. He's a genius. The visual element perfectly matched the music. I loved it. The role of Akhnaten is played by the counter tenor Anthony Roth Costanzo whom I had never heard of. His voice is very high and yet seems effortless. His entire body was waxed for the role because he first appears almost naked as a young man. I really laughed at his answer to a question he was asked about the waxing during an interview at intermission. He jokingly responded that he was used to it; that's how he got his high voice in the first place. 

The physio workout room. You can see from all the horizontal and soft gear that I am not doing rigorous training.  That's what I like about physio. It's targeted without being strenuous, at least in my experience. I have included my espresso buddy in the shot. Lucky for it the dried out and cracked washer was quickly replaced by a lovely flexible new one. My old meniscus is another story.