Dear Cyndy,

Thank you for your letters. I'm glad you're back, safe and sound, or
if not wholly sound at least with nothing more ominous than plantar
fasciitis. When you first mentioned a possible heel spur to me, I
couldn't remember ever having confronted such a problem in my general
practice career, 1956-1962. So I looked it up on the Internet and
found essentially what your orthopedist told you: a connective tissue
disorder which almost always resolves spontaneously, treated with
heat-or-cold, exercise-or-rest, non-steroidal systemic anti-inflammatory
medication to placate the impatient spirit, and in the kill-or-cure phase,
steroid injections and ultimately, in a gesture of doctor-patient desperation,
even surgical intervention with a purpose poorly defined.

My own connective tissue disorder which has since taunted me with
uncounted remissions and recurrences, first announced itself one day
in August 1970 or 1972, - I don't remember which, though I could
retrieve the date from the imprint on the Kodachrome transparencies.
We were walking on a side street in Banff, Alberta, Canada, preparing
a three or four day backpacking expedition to Tumbling Glacier in
Kootenay Park, when my right knee so to speak, went on strike, would
hardly bend, and protested ominously with pain when I tried to force it.
What should I do? Margaret, Klemens and I were three thousand miles
from home, our backpacks readied and our minds set for hiking. So I
had a heart-to-heart conversation with my knee, and told it: You have
no choice. In the course of the 3000 foot ascent, my knee relented.
It became progressively more cooperative, and the expedition turned
into a memorable success. However, I don't think, in its subconscious,
my knee has ever forgiven me. As recently as last January, when it
sprang the Baker's Cyst, it reminded me of the injustice I had done
to it when I forced it up the steep, winding trail to Tumbling Glacier.
In the ensuing thirty-five years, various other orthopedic symptoms
have intervened, have come and gone. On our trip south two and a half
weeks ago, I had sciatica plus arthritis such that I wondered how I
would ever get home. However within a day or two of our arrival,
my skeletal pains had wholly disappeared, and had I been beneficiary
of some intricate surgical procedure or expensive miracle drug,
I would be eager with glowing testimonials to give credit where
credit is due. Klemens says it's the "spa effect", even though the
only hot springs in Konnarock well from the faucet and the shower head.

All this to support my wish and hope for you that your fasciitis will
also soon subside, if it has not already, by virtue of the healing power
of Nature, - or as the eighteenth century would have had it, by the
healing power of Nature's God. What you report about the nomenclature
of your disorder making you feel better corresponds also to my decades
of experience as a provider of diagnostic labels. I remember being
taught in medical school that prior to the middle of the 19th Century,
medicine was all a sham, because physicians had no science with which
to benefit their patients. Over the years, I came to conclude that
whatever science contemporary physicians might or might not have at
their disposal, they lack an understanding of the history of their
craft, and for that reason are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the
past over and over again. At the risk of betraying my own technical
incompetence and scientific ignorance, I want to confess that for
many years now I have been convinced that a very important function
of the physician is to share the patient's experience of illness, and
in the process of preventing what can be prevented, of curing what can
be cured, of mitigating what can be mitigated, to function as the
catalyst that makes it possible for the patient to assimilate the
pain and the limitation which the disease inflicts. That is a function
of the physician which if my interpretation is correct has been 
effective at least from the days when the Hippocratic texts were written.

The weather forecast for today was rain with a certainty of 100%.
Nonetheless for a few hours this morning the sun shone brightly,
but since the grass was still wet from the dews of the night, I
thought I should wait with my outside work until the ground had
dried, - and by that time it had started to rain. Yesterday I managed
to bury the seventy-five foot sections of cable to the surveillance
cameras east and south of the house. The much longer cables to the
northern and and western cameras, respectively 125 ft and 175 ft long,
remain to be disposed out of the path of the lawnmower. (Two deer are
just bounding across the lawn within 20 feet of where I am sitting.)
I'm uncertain whether to tuck the cables under the lips of the house's
cedar shingles, or whether to bury them, encased in plastic conduit,
in the gravelly driveway. Attaching them to the side of the house would
be much less work, but would entail insulting their integrity by
drilling very small holes into the shingles at 2 or 3 foot intervalss,
a prospect that is not to my liking.  Since rain is forecast also for
the next two days, that work will probably be postponed until Saturday
or Sunday; and I have time to decide. Meanwhile I have a washing machine
repair to attend to.  Apparently during the spin cycle, the drum does
not rotate rapidly enough, leaving the clothes so wet they must be wrung
out by hand.  I seem to have been able to stop the leak in the flat porch
roof by applying roofing cement from a step ladder. There's been one
heavy rain, and the bucket has stayed dry. I haven't heard anything more
from my roofing expert Jim Blevins. I don't think he's going to show up.

We also had a transformer outage last week. At 6:15 a.m., Margaret noticed
that the lights when out, - silently no sound of an explosiong. When the
power failed to return, I called the power company, - American Electric
maybe the same as yours, - it took them some hours to get to us, and in
the interval, computer deprived, I took from the shelf the two volumes
of Thomas Mann's Zauberberg (Magic Mountain), republished by
Bermann-Fischer of Stockholm in 1946, which I had bought shortly
thereafter for $7.50 from Schoenhof's Foreign Books in Harvard Square.
As I leafed through its pages, I found a passage that I copied out
because it seemed peculiarly apposite to my e-mail discussions with my
my friend Helmut in the context of his efforts to translate John Updike's
poems "Endpoint". (The book's not worth its $25 price, so don't buy it.)

Lodovico Settembrini is catechizing Hans Castorp:

"Gestatten Sie. Gestatten Sie mir, Ingenieur, Ihnen zu
sagen und Ihnen ans Herz zu legen, dass die einzig gesunde
und edle, - uebrigens auch - ich will das ausdruecklich
hinzufuegen - auch die einzig _religioese_ Art, den Tod zu
betrachten die ist, ihn als Bestandteil und Zubehoer, als
heilige Bedingung des Lebens zu begreifen und zu empfinden,
_nicht_ aber - was das Gegenteil von gesund, edel, vernuenftig
und religioes waere, - ihn geistig irgendwie davon zu scheiden,
ihn in Gegensatz dazu zu bringen und ihn gar widerwaertigerweise
dagegen auszuspielen. Die Alten schmueckten ihre Sarkophage mit
Sinnbildern des Lebens und der Zeugung, sogar mit obszoenen Symbolen, -
das Heilige war der antiken Religiositaet ja sehr haeufig eins mit
dem Obszoenen. Diese Menschen wussten den Tod zu ehren. Der Tod ist
ehrwurdig als Wiege des Lebens, als Mutterschoss der Erneuerung.
Vom Leben getrennt gesehen wird er zum Gespenst, zur Fratze - und
zu etwas noch Schlimmeren. Denn der Tod als selbstaendige geistige
Macht ist eine hoechst liederliche Macht, deren lasterhafte
Anziehungskraft zweifellos sehr stark ist, aber mit der zu sympathisieren
ebenso unzweifelhaft die graeulichste Verirrung des Menschengeistes
bedeutet." Th Mann, Zauberberg 301

"Gestatten Sie. Gestatten Sie mir, Ingenieur, Ihnen zu
Permit me, Permit me, to say to you as an engineer, and

sagen und Ihnen ans Herz zu legen, dass die einzig gesunde
to ask you to take to heart that the only healthy

und edle, - uebrigens auch - ich will das ausdruecklich
and noble, - and for that matter - I wish to add explicitly

hinzufuegen - auch die einzig _religioese_ Art, den Tod zu
the only _religious_ manner to contemplate death

betrachten die ist, ihn als Bestandteil und Zubehoer, als
that is to conceive of and to experience death as component

heilige Bedingung des Lebens zu begreifen und zu empfinden,
and accessory, as the holy precondition of life,

_nicht_ aber - was das Gegenteil von gesund, edel, vernuenftig
and _not_ - what would be the opposite of healthy, noble, rational

und religioes waere, - ihn geistig irgendwie davon zu scheiden,
and religious, somehow intellectually to seperate death from life,

ihn in Gegensatz dazu zu bringen und ihn gar widerwaertigerweise
to bring death into opposition to life, or even in a most objectionable

dagegen auszuspielen. Die Alten schmueckten ihre Sarkophage mit
manner to play off one against the other. The Ancients decorated their

Sinnbildern des Lebens und der Zeugung, sogar mit obszoenen Symbolen, -
sarcophagi with symbols of life and procreation, even with obscene symbols, -

das Heilige war der antiken Religiositaet ja sehr haeufig eins mit
the sacred was for ancient religiosity frequently one with 

dem Obszoenen. Diese Menschen wussten den Tod zu ehren. Der Tod ist
the obscene. These people knew how to honor death. Death

ehrwurdig als Wiege des Lebens, als Mutterschoss der Erneuerung.
is worthy of honor as the cradle of life, as the womb of renewal.

Vom Leben getrennt gesehen wird er zum Gespenst, zur Fratze - und
Separate from life, death become a ghost, a caricature - and

zu etwas noch Schlimmeren. Denn der Tod als selbstaendige geistige
something yet worse. For death as an independent spiritual 

Macht ist eine hoechst liederliche Macht, deren lasterhafte
power is a highly licentious power, whose indecent

Anziehungskraft zweifellos sehr stark ist, aber mit der zu sympathisieren
attraction is doubtlessly quite powerful, but sympathy with which

ebenso unzweifelhaft die graeulichste Verirrung des Menschengeistes
similarly constitutes without doubt the most ghoulish aberration

bedeutet." 
of the human spirit."

"Permit me, permit me, to say to you as an engineer, and
to ask you to take to heart that the only healthy
and noble, - and for that matter - I wish to add explicitly
the only _religious_ manner to contemplate death
is to conceive of and to experience death as component
and accessory, as the holy precondition of life,
and _not_ - what would be the opposite of healthy, noble, rational
and religious, somehow intellectually to seperate death from life,
to bring death into opposition to life, or even in a most objectionable
manner to play off one against the other. The Ancients decorated their
sarcophagi with symbols of life and procreation, even with obscene symbols, -
the sacred was for ancient religiosity frequently one with 
the obscene. These people knew how to honor death. Death
is worthy of honor as the cradle of life, as the womb of renewal.
Separate from life, death become a ghost, a caricature - and
something yet worse. For death as an independent spiritual 
power is a highly licentious power, whose indecent
attraction is doubtlessly quite powerful, but sympathy with which
similarly constitutes without doubt the most ghoulish aberration
of the human spirit."

I found this an interesting passage. The notion that the experience
of death is properly conjoined with the experience of life is not
at all convincing to me; I consider it a spurious declaration of
immortality. What does give me pause is the equation of holiness
and obscenity; inasmuch as I consider obscene the public expression
of what is inherently inward and subjective. Since I find the
experience of holiness to be inward and subjective also, its
publication or display strikes me similarly as obscene, - albeit
in our culture an obscenity which is eminently socially acceptable.
The only objectivation of inwardness which I find tolerable is music.

I hope your plantar fasciitis improves and that you an Ned stay
otherwise well.

Jochen