BIANNUAL CHECKUP yesterday. All numbers were good. There were only three numbers: cholesterol, blood sugar and triglycerides. That’s the July test. In December I add a poop test and sometimes a chest X-ray and cholesterol breakdown. They invariably show me in top form. Knock on wood.
I did what I always do. No coffee or edge of toast at dawn to have the virgin tummy and blood stream. At 7:45, I drive the 15 minutes downtown to the laboratory that opens at 8. It’s really just a branch of the lab, a collection point on a cobblestone street, and it’s manned by a nice young woman, a girl really, in white.
Before taking my $21, she tells me that if I wait two days, there will be a sale, and it will only run me about half. But I’m already there, so I pay the full enchilada. Most Mexicans would have departed and returned two days later. I am more cavalier with cash. And lazy.
No appointment was necessary, of course. No doctor had to refer me. I just showed up, and the results were ready at 1:30 that afternoon. Quick, efficient, painless and intelligent.
I usually watch what I eat which is, of course, the reason my numbers are always good. But yesterday’s report merited a reward. For lunch, I ate fettuchine at a restaurant, plenty of cheese. Later, I gobbled not one, but two, sugar donuts from a bakery. Sometimes you gotta cut loose and howl.
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July Fourth. It’s just another day in Mexico. Some of the Gringos celebrate, but those are the folks who never make the transition to Mexico. Their bodies are here (at times), but their hearts and minds stay above the Rio Bravo.
There will be no weenies or hamburgers over charcoal at the Hacienda. Instead, my child bride has cooked up a big pot of caldo de res. This morning we took our plaza power walk. At 9 o’clock, it was 60 cool degrees.
Mountain life is lovely.
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Barry’s descent continues, which is always excellent news. A recent poll conducted by Quinnipiac University (one of the nation’s best, according to U.S. News and World Report) shows than a sizable hunk of America considers Barry the worst president since World War II. Well, duh.
The ineffectual, divisive, wooden “community organizer” parked in the Oval Office polled worse than Dubya, the peanut farmer and Tricky Dick. In a bit over two years, way too long, we’ll be rid of him. He must be a dreadful embarrassment to the bona fide blacks and clueless whites who voted for him en masse due to his skin tone.
No matter, I guess. The fettucchine was great and the sugar donuts were a delight.