Is it just my age, or has summer always galloped past with indecent haste? No sooner do the reluctant leaves force themselves into the cold, like early morning runners, head down, braving the rain, than they are over, looking dusty and tired, turning yellow, spent. I know how they feel.
My chief complaint is cramp. I don’t think anyone is researching cramp. It’s not life-threatening and so of no interest to big pharma or the medics. But it sure as hell interests me. Leaping up five times a night yelping as thigh, calf and foot take turns is torture. And before any kind reader suggests magnesium, salt, phosphorous, calcium, warm baths or stretching exercises, raw potatoes or used wine corks in bed (my mother’s dotty solutions), airline compression stockings, or any of the snake oils sold on the internet, I’ve done them and they don’t work.
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