In Jr. High we had a quirky little English teacher. He was a fussy, little bird of a man, flitting around the classroom like a Sandpiper. Pausing for moments to glance over one’s shoulder then skittering to the next student.
I still remember his detailed description of how to build a proper compost
heap: carefully place each item in it’s ‘correct’ spot, layer orange peels
and cabbage leaves just so, carefully pile on potato peelings, add a dash of coffee grounds for drainage — and
colour. Weird, the things that stick with you (that was more than 40 years ago).
It was he who introduced me to T. S. Eliot’s The Hollow Men with it prophetic pronouncement that the world would end "not with a bang but with a whimper!"
And, that’s another piece of trivia that has stayed with me over the years.
I’m glad it has. Because its a fitting way to describe the death of pain.
I’ve lived with grinding, crushing, excruciating pain over the last 4 years. And, now except for occasional flare ups that happen when lack of sleep meets tumultous weather, I have no pain.
And, it left with no fanfare. No bugles or trumpets. No sirens wailing.
It left with no bang. But, with a whimper.
Tags: pain relief
