Things today couldn’t have got off to a better start. Nor was it only the vindication of having arisen before eight o’clock this morning that assured the magnificent perfectly brilliant day wasn’t already half-spent. The purification rather was a massage of my aching feet and rigid lower limbs. I almost hesitate to mention the euphoria that arose because its sounds so common and uncommon in the same breath. Little do we estimate the abuse our stilts and pads take every living day. They are without a doubt the long suffering units of our anatomy. If any other part of our corpus were subject to such perpetual abuse I am quite certain there’d be at least some recognition or evidence of the endurance. But until those quarters in the nether reaches are treated to the theurgy of a massage we otherwise live in not-so-blissful ignorance.