The morning after I helped my neighbor shear his sheep, I could barely drag myself out of bed.
All I’d asked of my muscles was a few hours of wrestling mutton. They protested it was too much, but I ignored them.
Now they were getting their revenge.
“Take some ibuprofen,” my wife suggested.
I didn’t say a word. I was too busy watching her.
First, she popped the lid off the blender and headed to the fridge for milk and yogurt. Then she poured the milk, spooned in the yogurt, and returned to the vegetable drawer for a bag of spinach.
I couldn’t help myself.
“What’s going in there?” I asked.
“Broccoli, spinach, carrots, milk, yogurt, and protein powder.”
“It looks awful.”
“But it’s—”
“—good for you,” I finished.
She loaded the blender and hit the switch. It whirred, gurgled, and churned, reducing the ingredients to a concoction as green as moldy bread.
“Good Lord,” I said, “it’s the color of Mr. Yuk!”
“But it’s yummy,” she insisted.
“You need to listen to Mother Nature,” I told her. “She invented ‘yucky’ as a warning that something’s bad for you.”
“What do you know about what’s good for you?” she shot back. “You’re the one who can barely get out of bed.”
She had me there.
“Are you going to do something about it?” she asked.
“Nope,” I said. “Pain is Mother Nature’s way of talking to you. When she speaks, you give her your full attention.”
“So, no ibuprofen?”
“That’d be rude,” I said. “Masking pain is like plugging your ears when someone’s trying to tell you something.”
My wife rolled her eyes. She does that a lot.
It’s our existential conflict. She believes life can be made happier and healthier simply by taking something. I prefer to nurture my misery.
She puts her faith in supplements and remedies. We have an entire cupboard stuffed with weight-loss elixirs, vitamins, and orange vials with child-proof caps. There are bins of bottles promising Vitality, Renewal, and Replenishment. All we’re missing is a big bottle of Redemption.
To me, they’re mostly placebos.
If Mother Nature wanted us popping pills, she’d have given us a pill tree or a pill bush. Come to think of it, she did—apples, blueberries, that sort of thing. Fresh fruit beats a cupboard full of potions any day.
But why argue?
“I’m going for a walk,” I said, pulling on my boots.
“I thought you were sore.”
“I am. Really sore.”
“Then why not take it easy? Listen to Mother Nature.”
“Just because I’m listening,” I said, “doesn’t mean I have to do what she says.”
Almost Iowa 
Personally, I can’t handle a smoothie that doesn’t have tons of fruit in it, and hopefully a bit of added sugar…. And you sound like my physical therapist: he told me that you really shouldn’t put ice on injuries, because swelling is your body’s way of trying to heal itself. He said putting ice on an injury is the same thing as turning an ambulance away after you’ve been hit by a car. So, maybe you’re cutting edge, who knew?
I learned to pay close attention to my body on long distance backpacking treks. It really does communicate. Slight adjustments can make a big difference. BTW, the record for shearing a sheep is 37.9 seconds. I just looked it up. Green goop has never appealed to me.
37.9 seconds, eh?
Wonder how the sheep felt about that? 🙂
Shorn?
Why spoil perfectly good fruit etc by hammering it in a machine till it’s unrecognisable- and then tell yourself “it’s good for me”??? I reckon some smart salesman conspired that story up🤔 to sell machines!
You are so right. Fresh fruit and veggies are great – but not as goo.
Mother nature tells us to wear a coat – the teenagers in us roll their eyes – aaand you got a cold mr. ‘30-year-old “I’m still young and strong” attitude’😅
Me? Would I do something that silly? I suppose it depends on who you ask? 🙂
What a trooper. You go man.
It is how I justify Cheetos, Netflix and beer.
Yes, you deserve it all.
Maybe that smoothie would have gone over on St Patrick’s Day? 😆🍀
Do they still serve green beer on Saint Pat’s day in Saint Paul? 🙂
So they tell me…if you go to the classic, fun dives!
You might like the photo on my blog today. It seems you might share some things with my husband’s ancestors!😁
My neighbor, Jay, raises sheep for meat. The shearing is mainly for comfort and health and has little to no commercial value. But gosh, those guys get big, around 300lbs a piece.
My husband and I lived on cattle ranches most all of our lives. His family had sheep at times, but the only sheep we ever had were our kids 4-h sheep. Because he had sheared sheep on his family’s ranch, he most often got nominated to sheer not only our kids sheep, but the entire 4-h club’s sheep as well. He has great sympathy for you! Not an easy job!
I’d rather go for a walk with you, but can we stop for coffee and a muffin? 🙂
How about bagels?
That will work. 🙂
Want to start my morning off on the wrong foot? Tell me you made me a smoothie for breakfast. Yuch!!! 😦😖
All I usually have for breakfast is a bagel – but on occasion breakfast burritos. 🙂
Yes to a bagel–my breakfast this morning!
Finally: someone willing to express what I firmly believe — that “masking pain is like using ear-plugs to ignore what someone is saying.” Given that the primary tool for my work is my body, ignoring what it’s saying would be like ignoring that weird sound in my orbital sander. For one thing, a little twinge or a serious ache tells me which body part to favor until rest and blueberries have it back in shape again. Sometimes, Mother does know best!
I ran for years, 10 miles a day. Now I walk around the block. My block is 8 miles around.
In that time, I rarely took a weekday off, even when hurt I simply shortened the distance, reduced the pace or decreased the stride.
Sundays though, were always for rest.
Working a sore keeps the blood flowing and stretches the muscles – but mostly one has to pay attention and know what the body is saying.
What a fun read. Forgive me for laughing at what very well have been your expense!
It’s okay, I laugh at myself, usually at my expense. 🙂
He sure is! (eye roll)
I get that (eye roll) a lot.
You are a character!
My wife shares the same opinion.
Smart woman!