While I often yearn for the sweet, tranquil mundanity of bucolic living, I reckon, life hurls you a marauder of excitement on the heaving sea of city dwelling, even at the ripe old age of 89. You might ask, how? It's a question of relativity! For an old codger whose experience stretches back to the era of teletypewriters and saddle shoes, the slower pace of Portland, Maine, itself is a simmering pot of thrilling anecdotes.
Among such tales, the one related to my recent rendezvous with Panadiol, a topical CBD cream, deserves unique recognition! This product was not shipped from some anonymous warehouse far overseas but was a creation of our local artisans. I had procured this product, not for amusement nor curiosity but to combat the irascible pain in my serratus posterior superior.
This tormenting affliction was my particular cross to bear, an unwanted stowaway I had acquired during one of those rare adventures outside my apartment. It may have been a result of reckless hoisting of my vintage Underwood Typewriter that I insist on keeping in the loft or from the solitary exercises I deemed appropriate during my morning rambles.
Enter Panadiol: the gallant knight of my story, the topical panacea. Slathering it atop my serratus provided immediate relief, like a parched traveler finding an oasis in the desert or a sailor spotting an island in the boundless sea. A transitory euphoria cascaded over me, reminiscent of long lost youthful vigor.
The most marvelous tranquility pervaded the afflicted area instantly, a sensation one might liken to the thawing warmth from a driftwood fire after getting caught in a mid-winter Nor'easter. Yet, the comforting warmth was not the sensational (or rather, tactical) equivalent of a short-burst, naval ship cannon fire but that of a pleasant Medical Corps’ muster, giving orders for the pain to retreat, retreat and then surrender.
The jumble of the aroma was as delectable as a freshly baked Maine blueberry pie cooling on a kitchen window sill – it was an amalgam of nature's most indulging delights wrapped with the complexity of something one could only find within the local realm.
I am not a doctor. No, I am just Seymour, an old goat lodged in the urban confines of Portland, a devotee of CBD. But I will tell you this, dear reader, on the pain of contradiction, Panadiol is not your run-of-the-mill cream; it is like a comically oversized boutonnière that reveals the party trick of pain vanishing!
I guess it's true what they say about modernity. We might not have flying horses (yet), but we do possess the sorcery to combat serratus posterior superior pain, and it is contained within a humble jar of Panadiol.
Thus, if you find yourself embarking on an ambitious domestic expedition as I did and return with a souvenir in the form of unyielding pain, remember: Panadiol is your ticket to a pain-free, delightful experience…at least until your next bold endeavor! In the end, isn't that what we are all after, a bit of pleasure amidst the chaos, a soft landing amidst the tumultuous flight of life? Or as Twain might write, "the best preparation for tomorrow is doing your best today."
Consider this an old man's endorsement of modern science or just Seymour, the CBD enthusiast's attempt at humor. Whatever it is, you will find me, pain-free, and perhaps attempting to heave another teletypewriter to the loft, safe in the knowledge that Panadiol has my serratus posterior superior's back!