Just Keeping Track

Years ago, a therapist commented that a mark of maturity was denoted by a person's ability to handle ambivalence.

My most recent echocardiogram, a month ago, showed that in spite of two blocked arteries my heart was doing a decent job.

The pain inclines me to think that without the "meds" the angina'd escalate into another infarction, or heart attack. Although as with cancer everyone is different, statistics indicate it's the 2nd one that does people in.

Following a recent suggestion of adding Fu Fang Dan Shen Pian to my regimen has made a significant difference. Although the Chinese herbs work differently than the drugs from the corner pharmacy, they alleviate the pain much more quickly, for longer periods and with much less impact on my digestive system. I have yet to find a way to determine if they're simply having an analgesic effect or if they're doing any good. But hey, whatever works, eh?

Of course, if some of the plaque lining my arteries breaks loose, wends it's way past the heart and blocks an artery to the brain it could be curtains....or worse, not quite curtains - paralysis. You might enjoy The Diving Bell and the Butterfly,

an interesting story by a Frenchman who was "locked in" by a stroke at age 43. He died after a year.

And, of course, there're myriad other things that can give out or happen; sepsis is a common one that recently ended the life of the woman singing in this blogpost.

The ambivalence revolves around how long to wait before throwing in the towel. As a subscriber to the Peaceful Pill Handbook, the distraction of contemplating options (sort of like a Sears Catalogue of old) helps ameliorate the ambivalence.

Ambivalence? Nahhhhh.

As I pulled back the sleeping bag to crawl in, I realized I'd forgotten the Wave 3, stored in a box atop the roof. At just over 7,000 feet (2,134m), at 8:30 p.m. on an early Spring evening in Central New Mexico, in my slip-on loafers, drawers and t-shirt, I unlashed the lashing, clambered atop the back bumper, plucked the seldom-used-but-essential oil-drain pan from between the boxes and after nonchalantly tossing it into the night, unlatched the cover, hoping the wind, now having subsided to a strong breeze rather than the gale it'd been, wouldn't damage the hinges as I grabbed at the pillow case that protects the device from dust and lofted it up, up and down, down, onto the spare tire whilst quickly closing and re-latching the box. (Take THAT, Herr Proust!).

It's these rare moments that prompt thots of a sliiiigghtly larger rig (with 4wd now essential). But, you know, I wonder: do the larger-vehiculated replace transmissions the way the rest of us replace tires?

I've seen it done. I met Rick on a mountain side where he was busy replacing the carpeting on his 20-foot trailer that carried the Mercedes. He said it'd been a 20-point turn to get the 36-foot Bounder turned around. I was so awestruck at the fact he'd managed the bus, I forgot to ask about the trailer. (See:  Tricky Ricky Rocks)


Another time, adjacent a more level area, I nearly fell over from the shock as a beast similar to Wheelin' It's trundled past on a dirt track barely wide enough for Phoebe. There're a few intrepids out here. Fortunately, they're far between as it's often a challenge to get past another pickup on our preferred roads.

So, I guess that settles it, at least for the time being.

But I met a woman the other day who'd traded her 2012 Toyo Tundra for a 2003 Tacoma in order to satisfy her desire for maneuverability. We had an enjoyable lunch whilst empathizing over the advantages of smallness.