Well, no Blues really. I did have to get up and move quickly enough to see the doctor at 8:30, his office. I did wheel my motorcycle out on an empty stomach and ride through McChord AFB with my best reflective vest on under my loaded backpack with reflective belt. The military knows how to protect people, they load one down with stuff, certification and lock up the ammunition so when the Mongol Hordes show up no one can shoot them before they ride over your arrowed pincushion of a body. Just pile the heads over there as a marker, thanks. I really don't care about wearing the vest, I like solid reflective tapes to call attention to me and my motorcycle in the darkness, but I do think I am smart enough to figure that out on my own - doesn't take a General. Probably the same guy that says concealed carry will not be honored on his post/base (The Commander).
I was a little early, but they opened the door and allowed me to ground my helmet, backpack, leather coat with reflective vest. Then I get weighed, blood pressure measured (don't ask way too high since pretty young women are messing with my body and my mind isn't on the motorcycle), blood drawn and doctor comes in to talk, measure, tap, listen and tell me what is good for me. Gentle manner and I now know that exercise will kill me one day, but good that I have been exercising or I would be dead - I have a load of medications to return to, another appointment in June after Hawaii. I go out and put the gear back on, knowing the other old men in the waiting room are just jealous that I am riding a motorcycle into the beautiful day and adventures. The drug store explains how much of my medications are covered by my two medical insurances - my wife has three and still one has a co-payment, sigh. Can't wait for universal care, or actually I can wait a long time. If they had universal forms and medical records keeping for the patients I might be convinced they cared.
I get an eight grain roll and black coffee at Starbucks as I wait for the pills to be piled. Then I ride off to find every Sunny Day Chrome Shining motorcyclist in the McNeil Island Department of Corrections has filled the motorcycle parking lot, lovely - it is good I was wearing sunglasses, the reflections are blinding. It is a better day for motorcycling than library work, but I park, walk to the dock, ride the ferry and see my supervisor, my inmate clerks and patrons and work on through the day, until the ride home in the evening. I have an anxious waiting by the open garage door wife (?) and I know I am not late, but have a great grin for the picture and knowing that dinner is waiting, Salmon and vegetables, hot coffee and Monday Night Raw where we find out who won what at WrestleMania 25, which I was too busy and too cheap to pay for a view.
I am so centered on myself this Monday, that except for worrying about brother traveling to Mom, Mom preparing to move to North Carolina, milk pick up in New York and the state of shooting sports in the United Kingdom (right up there with Henry the VIII's jousting, I believe) I have no idea how Barack has saved me from those evil folks in North Korea with their ICBM launchers. Time for my breakfast gruel and exercise that will kill me.
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