In a rare explosion of organizational correctness, we experienced one of the finest days ever, high above Kezar recently. We were shaking in our boots (figuratively, since we have no boots and don't care to...so there) as we approached our lofty destination. Why? Despite our endless affection for the many fine folks on staff, when we are summoned to the mount for multiple appointments things rarely go to plan. But this time, it was very similar to clockwork, as they say in Switzerland. And as an added bonus, we received good nooz at each stop along the way. These stops included appearances at both the kidney and heart clinics, and an ultrasound along with a visit with eminent vascular surgeon Dr. Charles E.
I got passing grades from everyone, a surprise to anybody who might have been unfortunate enough to have attended any institution of learning with me. The only equivocating report came from Dr. E. after I described my chronic leg/back/foot/gezingus pain. From his astute viewpoint, I am just at the very top of the slippery slope of serious vascular deterioration. Great for me, but my joy was tempered by what looms at the bottom of the slippery slope, which unfortunately is not a warm Irish coffee at the ski lodge down there. Simply stated, the horrible finale of this condition entails amputation, a concept that has terrified me ever since my VERY unpleasant stay at John Muir four years ago. I was there to have a catheter installed on my upper chest, and to begin dialysis. My "enjoyment" was severely hampered by being assigned to accommodations with two "roomies". One guy coded at 2:00 am, and all Hell did comprehensively break loose in that crowded little room. The other gentleman was a very unhappy double amputee, suffering from diabetes, kidney failure, and cardiovascular disease. Sound like someone we all know? Literally scared the s**t outta me, which, by the way, I was asked to describe in detail to the nurse while visiting with Cheryl and Sandy C., our beloved in-law. We are talking about serious hospital inquiries here, and if you get squeamish talking about poopie, you don't belong in a hospital.
OK, sorry for the rant....anyway we finished up at UCSF exactly on time and were able to boogie outta Dodge before the upturned meat cleavers affected our crossing of the Bay Bridge. Everything health-wise seems to be operating effectively. My next expedition will include a heart biopsy and the mysterious Allomap lab test, a future non-invasive replacement for catheterization to determine the level of rejection of the heart.
NOW THAT YOU ARE COMPLETELY BUMMED OUT.....
On to the happy crap. We were able to fly to Florida, do our thing(s), and return without any medical or psychological crises. Well, maybe a litle psychological crisis when I engaged in an hour-long conversation with a nice lady sitting next to us. We covered a myriad of subjects, mainly the educational and child-bearing accomplishments of her many offspring. And their offspring. Showing me endless pictures on her laptop, I lost count of the members of the family, only recalling that she has 13 grandchildren and that her daughters and daughters-in-law are still young and ready to push out lots more. Cherie opened her book and let me take one for the team, so to speak. You're certainly welcome, Dear.
Florida was, well, uh, it was Florida, after all. Our hosts, Don and Diana L., were very hospitable when they were not answering calls, sending texts, reading emails, or generally running their burgeoning golf empire. We did tag along to Club Med Sandpiper, just a hop, skip, and jump from Boca in Port St. Lucie up the ol' FL Turnpike. Don and Diana run the whole golf department there, and believe me this is no pitch 'n' putt operation. Young persons from all over the world come to Club Med to be taught serious golf by Mr. L., the Face of Golf for the Entire South Florida Kingdom. Seriously.
While all this golf and texting was taking place, Cheryl made tracks directly to the "Family" pool. That's the "clothing not optional" pool, as differentiated from both the adult pool and the kiddie pool. Which both require bathing attire, but the adult pool allows "b**t floss" while at the kiddie pool, only the dental variety is welcome. Meanwhile, my nephew David and I just hung out. We made effective use of the fitness center while enjoying some brisk exercise, then staggered around the grounds hoping to find Diana or Cheryl for further instructions on how to correctly behave. We were unsuccessful in that regard, and behaved badly.
The day was saved when we found the Slice Bar. Since we were there on a day pass, we were able to avail ourselves of food and adult beverages to our heart's content, completely gratis. This was the first occasion ever that Dave and I spent extended exclusive face time in each other's company, and it was grand. The only thing sadly lacking was a trip to the adult pool for some gentle flossing, but we vowed to return and right this horrendous wrong at a future date.
Oh, um, sorry, Cherie is up from her little afternoon "toes up" and is mighty hungry. I will be whipping up one of my famous omelets (yes, even though it is almost 7:00 pm) so I will be right back....alright then, here I am again. Thanks for waiting.
IT'S A LOVELY LIVERMORE KINDA DAY
We were delighted to be paid a visit from Young Andrew (as opposed to Andrew Young who was the Mayor of Atlanta and a member of Congress) all the way from the desolate wasteland of Sacramento. I say wasteland because in my earlier days, I was occasionally wasted in Sacramento, hence the reference. In any case, we planned a deliriously pleasant day of a bit of dining followed by a trip to the Livermore Intergalactic Airport. Again I hear you all asking "Why?" in beautiful harmony, so I am inspired to tell you. Every Memorial Day, our fine aerodrome features a display of WW II aircraft, including two huge bombers, a B-24 and a B-17. We have never attended this event, so I put my foot down (sorry, Lucy. Are you hurt?) and insisted we go this year.
Few of you know that before I became one of the nation's most respected motoring experts, my interest was in planes from the WW II era. This was handed down from my Dad, who served in the Air Force during that conflict. He and the rest of the GI Joes (no GI Janes, but lots of local ladies, especially in Italy) in the 41st Air Service Group completed many dangerous missions back in the day. Er, actually he and the Joes didn't exactly fly airplanes, they flew desks. See, he was in charge of payroll and lemme tell you, if you f**k up some seargent's paycheck, you are totally up s**t's creek, and no paddle either. Luckily, he came home, safe and sound, at least until my Mom heard about the Italian ladies. If the poop hit the proverbial fan, it musta been before Gary and I were born, but she hadda be pissed.
OK, back to the Lovely Livermore Kinda Day. Before journeying to the airport, we chose to lunch at a perennial favorite, the First St. Alehouse. We have enjoyed sitting at a sidewalk table and enjoying a beer and some pub grub for many years when the Alehouse resided in a very small friendly space on, well, on First St, actually. When the flooring outfit next door went bust, the Alehouse took over and thereby created a new, gargantuan location. We loved the enlarged sidewalk dining area, but today we were seated inside. The very notion that we were seated after "registering" with the hostess and being given one of those flashing pagers is in itself a new concept. In the "old days" you just took an empty table and were immediately greeted by a very nice server. The more disappointing aspect, however, was the truly overwhelming number of young offspring cavorting about. These fine little tots, known in these parts as rug rats, were everywhere, most of them unfortunately in the rather claustrophobic room in which we were placed. Hey, wait a New York minute here...this is a BEER place, and it looks just like friggin' DisneyWorld in here. Worse yet, it SOUNDS like EPCOT too. The former atmosphere of Livermore beer enthusiasts and the occasional drunk has been lost, probably forever. Not a good thing.
So the aircraft were fascinating. We were amazed that guys would fly in these crude buckets of bolts, enduring noise, vibration and enemy fire on the way to drop bombs on folks. Worse yet, NO PEANUTS and one old guy said the aisle to the cans was OUTSIDE! At least they didn't charge for luggage or pillows, and there were no overhead storage bins in which your baggage may have shifted during flight and therefore would come leaping out and hit you upside your thick skull.
"I COULD HAVE BLOGGED ALL NIGHT, I COULD HAVE BLOGGED ALL NIGHT, AND STILL HAVE BLOGGED SOME MORE"
Sorry, Julie Andrews. I could, but Cheryl beckons from yonder boudoir and I must obey without question. So I will close with the eagerly-expected results from my official once-yearly predictions on yesterday's National Motorsports Day (soon to be a true world-wide holiday) events. If you Facebook (Hey, you in the back, stop looking down at your shoes. I know you are on FB!), you have seen these and I can see you are literally on the edge of your chairs in anticipation. Well, this year I am pleased to report I have achieved a .333 guessing average. I missed on the NASCAR 600 miler down in Charlotte, and who could foresee the wacky outcome of the Indy 500? I did nail it on the Monaco Grand Prix, however, for a very respectable one outta three. Hope you enjoyed it as much, if not more, than I did.
So it's off to nonnie-nooners, where I will dream up another literary gem just like this one for next time. Until then, I remain...
Bob/Irv
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