9 May 2011
I’m back in my trailer in windy Sierra Vista after a short 10 hours at home. Home late last night from Tampa and then left this morning at 4:30 to make it here in time for work. Non- stop 4.5 hour flight from Florida that probably could have been a little more comfortable. I decided to try and book the early bird special that Southwest offers. For an extra 10 dollars they will automatically sign you in for your flight and let you board sooner than most of the people on the flight (commoners I call them). My master plan (as it always is) was to get one of 11 seats- any of the six front row or 5 emergency exit seats. Most of the time when people comment on my height I just explain, “it’s mostly neck and upper back, I have pretty stubby legs”. But even these stubby legs want as much leg room as possible. After I checked my luggage and received my boarding pass I was dismayed to see A-43 on my boarding pass. Gripes! I just paid $10 and there are at least 42 people boarding ahead of me including three people in wheelchairs (I’m not going to disparage those in a wheelchair but they are on to a pretty good thing…like going to the front of the line at Disneyland…quite the racket). After at least 40 people boarded in front of me I was pleasantly surprised to find the aisle seat in row #1wide open right next to a delightful senior couple (I didn’t ask but they could also be living in an RV park). Total score! Who walks past an open aisle seat at the front of the plane where most peoples’ legs can stretch all the way out? Answer: smart, intelligent people. Worst seat on the plane.
A couple of thoughts. The flight started out well enough. As we were taking off I put my head back and immediately dozed off (I usually have more staying power…those Sudokus don’t do themselves) but was startled awake with a jolt while we were still climbing much to the amusement of the flight attendants, who thought I had just suffered a mini seizure. Everything was great until the “permission to move about the cabin” was given. There was not a seat on that plane closer to the lavatory (rather pretentious name for an airplane bathroom) than mine was, a fact I should have realized from the start. If I had raging diarrhea or an enlarged prostate my seat would have been sweet, but since I had neither it was rather unpleasant. There was a constant and steady stream of people bumping me on their way to the port-o-potty in the sky (dang aisle seat). You would be shocked at the number of people who went into that restroom without shoes on. Yikes. As I kept tabs on the frequent flyers (yep I was keeping track of the multitude of tiny bladders out there) I wondered at the wisdom of passing out soda and water to people. I know staying hydrated is important but you are just making it uncomfortable for passenger #1 (that’s what I referred to myself as; hey I was in seat #1). Without getting into specifics I don’t even have to mention the time the flight attendants were forced to pull out the Lysol disinfectant as the loo was apparently assassinated by an inconsiderate passenger. I also unfortunately was front and center to hear the complaining from the flight attendants who really weren’t that excited dealing with such thirsty flyers (though admittedly some of them deserved the sniping……i.e . the bathroom ninja who ruined the water closet). Next time I’ll just be content with my knees up near my chin in the middle of the plane.
(I tried to squeeze as many names for bathroom as I could in this post… how many can you spot?)
(I’ll try to class up this blog with my next post and limit all of this potty talk).
Monday, May 9, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Outhouse to Penthouse
5 May 2011
I find myself now in Tampa, Florida for a dermatology review course. The time change is a killer…I didn’t make it to my hotel room until 12:45 AM and I don’t think I fell asleep until 3:00 (that would have been midnight AZ time). It made for a tough 6:30 AM wake up call. Unfortunately I felt compelled to eat breakfast (some sort of internal policy about not passing up on complimentary breakfast) though I don’t generally and my body thinks it’s 4 am- imagine getting up at 3:30 and eating bacon) and am feeling a little sick about now. I had a real scare at the Tampa airport last night. I was last man standing at the luggage carousel and the familiar “my luggage didn’t make the plane transfer” feeling was there. Several years ago Jill and I survived 4 days with just the clothes on our back on the Big Island in Hawaii when our luggage didn’t make it. Luckily for me my bag was here. I was scanning the belts looking for a black bag with a large yellow stripe. Somewhere along the way my bag was compressed by some luggage jockey and the outer zipper was closed hiding the indentifying yellow stripe (and smashing my Poor Brothers jalapeno chips in the process- yep I pack and expect my chips to arrive intact- see previous post about how being a doctor doesn’t mean you have any common sense). I’m betting my bag made 2 or 3 trips on the conveyor belt before I realized it was mine.
This hotel has one of the nicer rooms I’ve stayed at before. Likely that’s explained by the culture shock of going from trailer park to hotel room in a 12 hour span. On a down note the nights I’m here for the conference are costing me more than two months at Quail Ridge RV (living the high life has its price). I’ve heard they even have a “cement pond”. I’ll believe it when I see it.
I find myself now in Tampa, Florida for a dermatology review course. The time change is a killer…I didn’t make it to my hotel room until 12:45 AM and I don’t think I fell asleep until 3:00 (that would have been midnight AZ time). It made for a tough 6:30 AM wake up call. Unfortunately I felt compelled to eat breakfast (some sort of internal policy about not passing up on complimentary breakfast) though I don’t generally and my body thinks it’s 4 am- imagine getting up at 3:30 and eating bacon) and am feeling a little sick about now. I had a real scare at the Tampa airport last night. I was last man standing at the luggage carousel and the familiar “my luggage didn’t make the plane transfer” feeling was there. Several years ago Jill and I survived 4 days with just the clothes on our back on the Big Island in Hawaii when our luggage didn’t make it. Luckily for me my bag was here. I was scanning the belts looking for a black bag with a large yellow stripe. Somewhere along the way my bag was compressed by some luggage jockey and the outer zipper was closed hiding the indentifying yellow stripe (and smashing my Poor Brothers jalapeno chips in the process- yep I pack and expect my chips to arrive intact- see previous post about how being a doctor doesn’t mean you have any common sense). I’m betting my bag made 2 or 3 trips on the conveyor belt before I realized it was mine.
This hotel has one of the nicer rooms I’ve stayed at before. Likely that’s explained by the culture shock of going from trailer park to hotel room in a 12 hour span. On a down note the nights I’m here for the conference are costing me more than two months at Quail Ridge RV (living the high life has its price). I’ve heard they even have a “cement pond”. I’ll believe it when I see it.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Getting Older...I Guess.
28 April 2011
I’m sitting in my trailer at 9:00 pm on a Thursday night. Usually about now I am just rolling into the driveway and about to be showered with hugs from the kids (unless there is a new movie on the Disney channel…actually the hug showers happened the first couple of times I came home…now 50/50). I have work in Tucson in the morning so had to stick around a little longer. I worry being gone so much has become the new normal for the kids. While Jill bears the brunt of home life (t-ball, football, piano lessons, homework, school, discipline, dinner, baths etc. etc.) I have a quiet trailer to contemplate the mysteries of life. I’m sure given the choice she would love the occasional peaceful trailer vacation 20 miles from the nearest town. Maybe for her next birthday I can set her up at Quail Ridge RV.
I had a disturbing Teen Wolf/Marty McFly (yes I know that’s from Back to the Future) event yesterday morning. You know the scene where Michael J. Fox discovers a 4 or 5 inch long chest hair as he slowly pieces the puzzle together that he is actually a werewolf. Well it wasn’t chest hair (sorry Jill) but a 1 cm long hair on my right ear that caught the light just right as it filtered through the trailer blinds. “What the heck is that?” I thought as I wondered how long that must have been there to achieve that kind of prodigious length. I’m graying and thinning (signs of my own mortality…at 35 I guess I can expect and accept both of those) but I can’t tolerate hairy ears. It does make me wonder how many people must have noticed my ear but failed to mention anything. It has further strengthened my resolve to let others know when their fly is down or they have lunch in their teeth.
Work continues to go well here. Dr. P and everyone that works in his office is fantastic and I appreciate the warm welcome I’ve received since I’ve been here. It really makes being away from the family easier to handle.
I’m sitting in my trailer at 9:00 pm on a Thursday night. Usually about now I am just rolling into the driveway and about to be showered with hugs from the kids (unless there is a new movie on the Disney channel…actually the hug showers happened the first couple of times I came home…now 50/50). I have work in Tucson in the morning so had to stick around a little longer. I worry being gone so much has become the new normal for the kids. While Jill bears the brunt of home life (t-ball, football, piano lessons, homework, school, discipline, dinner, baths etc. etc.) I have a quiet trailer to contemplate the mysteries of life. I’m sure given the choice she would love the occasional peaceful trailer vacation 20 miles from the nearest town. Maybe for her next birthday I can set her up at Quail Ridge RV.
I had a disturbing Teen Wolf/Marty McFly (yes I know that’s from Back to the Future) event yesterday morning. You know the scene where Michael J. Fox discovers a 4 or 5 inch long chest hair as he slowly pieces the puzzle together that he is actually a werewolf. Well it wasn’t chest hair (sorry Jill) but a 1 cm long hair on my right ear that caught the light just right as it filtered through the trailer blinds. “What the heck is that?” I thought as I wondered how long that must have been there to achieve that kind of prodigious length. I’m graying and thinning (signs of my own mortality…at 35 I guess I can expect and accept both of those) but I can’t tolerate hairy ears. It does make me wonder how many people must have noticed my ear but failed to mention anything. It has further strengthened my resolve to let others know when their fly is down or they have lunch in their teeth.
Work continues to go well here. Dr. P and everyone that works in his office is fantastic and I appreciate the warm welcome I’ve received since I’ve been here. It really makes being away from the family easier to handle.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tombstone
Last week my RV buddies invited me to Tombstone to hang out with them at the American Legion Post to play table shuffleboard. My friend Ikaika happened to be flying in a few clients to Sierra Vista so I invited him to Tombstone for dinner. After work I picked him up at the Texas Roadhouse (apparently he couldn’t pass up a free steak…dang Hawaiian with no self control) and we drove the 25 minutes to the one time home of Wyatt Earp. As we pulled into town there was a flock of buzzards circling overhead, which seemed especially appropriate for the “Old West”. After a quick stop at Toughnut Street we found the American legion (the buzzards were circling directly overhead- eerily ironic). 
We had a great time playing shuffleboard. Once I’m done with all of this residency business and finally grow up I plan on having a shuffleboard table (right next to my shave ice machine) in a game room. Apparently Woodie’s dad was a national champion, and he is no slouch himself. Ikaika and I gave he and Glenn a real run for their money but lost a high stakes game of 2 dollars at the very end. I’m hoping for a rematch at some point.
If you’ve never played it I highly recommend it, ton of fun.
After the shuffleboard we walked down the boardwalk to a place called Big Nose Kate’s . That name may be familiar to you as the one time paramour (first I use Victorian and now paramour?!, I promise I’m not a wuss reading romance novels in my trailer at night…see my post on my own manliness as evidence) of Doc Holiday. It was closed as well as every other reputable establishment in town. We ended up at the only place still serving food called Vogans. I have a hard time believing that they have an actual food license. People toss around the phrase “dive” a lot so it has lost a little of its value. This place was a total dive, complete with a very surly, nearly toothless lady who was not pleased that 6 people strolled in at 9:30 and she was going to have to fire up the grill. I’m not sure what time they close but when you are the only food in town at that time of night you can’t be so ticked when you get a few customers with “cash money”. Woodie’s wife Cleda Jane set up shop near the grill so that in her words, “I can make sure nothing happens to our food”. I told her to make sure and not tell me if something untoward occurred because I was starving. There were a few locals who I hoped weren’t going to be driving home later that night. One of them, Griz (no joke that’s what he told me-see picture…dude ‘s mother knew what she was doing-he’s on my left) decided I was a new bud and kept punching me on the arm and chest in a playful, intoxicated kinda way.
Curious about Vogan’s online reputation I found the following assessment from an online poster, “This might have been the scariest place I have ever eaten!” I won’t go that far (we ate once at a McDonalds in Blythe that should be bulldozed) but it was close. Good time.
We had a great time playing shuffleboard. Once I’m done with all of this residency business and finally grow up I plan on having a shuffleboard table (right next to my shave ice machine) in a game room. Apparently Woodie’s dad was a national champion, and he is no slouch himself. Ikaika and I gave he and Glenn a real run for their money but lost a high stakes game of 2 dollars at the very end. I’m hoping for a rematch at some point.
If you’ve never played it I highly recommend it, ton of fun.After the shuffleboard we walked down the boardwalk to a place called Big Nose Kate’s . That name may be familiar to you as the one time paramour (first I use Victorian and now paramour?!, I promise I’m not a wuss reading romance novels in my trailer at night…see my post on my own manliness as evidence) of Doc Holiday. It was closed as well as every other reputable establishment in town. We ended up at the only place still serving food called Vogans. I have a hard time believing that they have an actual food license. People toss around the phrase “dive” a lot so it has lost a little of its value. This place was a total dive, complete with a very surly, nearly toothless lady who was not pleased that 6 people strolled in at 9:30 and she was going to have to fire up the grill. I’m not sure what time they close but when you are the only food in town at that time of night you can’t be so ticked when you get a few customers with “cash money”. Woodie’s wife Cleda Jane set up shop near the grill so that in her words, “I can make sure nothing happens to our food”. I told her to make sure and not tell me if something untoward occurred because I was starving. There were a few locals who I hoped weren’t going to be driving home later that night. One of them, Griz (no joke that’s what he told me-see picture…dude ‘s mother knew what she was doing-he’s on my left) decided I was a new bud and kept punching me on the arm and chest in a playful, intoxicated kinda way.
Curious about Vogan’s online reputation I found the following assessment from an online poster, “This might have been the scariest place I have ever eaten!” I won’t go that far (we ate once at a McDonalds in Blythe that should be bulldozed) but it was close. Good time.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Stolen Space
4/26/11
I woke up this morning to my Dad shaking the bunk bed to get me up for my paper route. That thought lasted about half a second (weird thought to have 23 years after I slung my last Mesa Tribune) before I realized I was in a rocking Travel Trailer in the middle of the desert. I went to bed last night with a high winds advisory in Cochise County. The warning did not disappoint. One of my RV buddies who just moved back home told me he would not be back next year because it was too dang windy (of course he said a little more than just “dang”). I have been enjoying the wind. Unless you are actively fly fishing or having a Victorian picnic I don’t see how you could complain. Of course we grew up in nearly weatherless Mesa (not counting hot) where even a light drizzle outside was cause for the Bingham kids to do donuts around the house in a rabid frenzy.
I was disappointed after work yesterday to find that my “should have been” new RV space was stolen. My pal Woodie recently moved leaving his RV space open and ready for me. It was a sweet spot with two really great shade trees on both sides. Many a night I have stared out my window longingly (RV commandment #3 “do not covet thy neighbor’s space”) waiting for my opportunity to move my home and assume command of the primo spot at Quail Ridge. I knew eventually it would open up since I’m here until June and everyone flies north for the summer. Sunday at about 1:00 AM I pulled in and was excited to see the spot available. Monday after work a fifth wheel (with California plates no less!) had taken it (I haven’t checked yet but they probably have an Obama 2012 bumper sticker on there). Hopefully I can pull it together and be neighborly.
I also found out that I have ants in the trailer (another good reason to move). Good news is they haven’t yet found my Golden Grahams or Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It’s only a matter of time.
I woke up this morning to my Dad shaking the bunk bed to get me up for my paper route. That thought lasted about half a second (weird thought to have 23 years after I slung my last Mesa Tribune) before I realized I was in a rocking Travel Trailer in the middle of the desert. I went to bed last night with a high winds advisory in Cochise County. The warning did not disappoint. One of my RV buddies who just moved back home told me he would not be back next year because it was too dang windy (of course he said a little more than just “dang”). I have been enjoying the wind. Unless you are actively fly fishing or having a Victorian picnic I don’t see how you could complain. Of course we grew up in nearly weatherless Mesa (not counting hot) where even a light drizzle outside was cause for the Bingham kids to do donuts around the house in a rabid frenzy.
I was disappointed after work yesterday to find that my “should have been” new RV space was stolen. My pal Woodie recently moved leaving his RV space open and ready for me. It was a sweet spot with two really great shade trees on both sides. Many a night I have stared out my window longingly (RV commandment #3 “do not covet thy neighbor’s space”) waiting for my opportunity to move my home and assume command of the primo spot at Quail Ridge. I knew eventually it would open up since I’m here until June and everyone flies north for the summer. Sunday at about 1:00 AM I pulled in and was excited to see the spot available. Monday after work a fifth wheel (with California plates no less!) had taken it (I haven’t checked yet but they probably have an Obama 2012 bumper sticker on there). Hopefully I can pull it together and be neighborly.
I also found out that I have ants in the trailer (another good reason to move). Good news is they haven’t yet found my Golden Grahams or Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It’s only a matter of time.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
McDonalds and Manliness
I decided to head back to Sierra Vista early Monday morning instead of Sunday night like I have done previously. Big mistake and I’m pretty sure that will likely be the only time that I do that. Restless couple of hours sleep as I worried I would oversleep and end up being 4 hours late. I got up early (3:30 am- sure some of my siblings are not even in bed by that time) and left by 4 to make it into work on time at 7:30. I’m not usually a breakfast person but by the time I hit Tucson I was starving so I decided on a McDonalds and a Diet Dr. Pepper to get me the rest of the way to Sierra Vista. I ended up needing to use my GPS to find one (man they are everywhere when you don’t need one) and made a quick purchase through the drive thru. Only when I was back on the freeway did I discover that I had been given a Diet Coke instead of a DP. Ticked! I don’t intend to start up a cola war but of all the diet sodas Coke is dead last (way behind diet Big K and even Doctor Diablo-sorry Dad). Last week Ella had Aims testing and was trying to convince Jill to take her to McDonalds for a free breakfast. Apparently the local franchise was offering free mcmuffins to kids during testing week. I’m pretty sure this must have been sponsored by the Chinese government to sabotage our childrens’academic progress because five minutes after eating I was feeling pretty terrible (both physically and mentally) with my decision to go for the Breakfast of Champions that is the golden arches. Of course if Albert at the McDonalds on 6th avenue in Tucson wouldn’t have messed up my soda (I’m not holding a grudge….much) I probably would have felt a lot better.
A couple of nights ago after work I headed over to the Quail Ridge clubhouse to see if I could study (catch an NBA game on T.V). I wandered in and found about 25 people getting ready for an ice cream social. The room was filled with a large RV enthusiast group called The Campers. They meet monthly at different locations for 4 or 5 days doing various activities. As I visited with one of the head organizers (I assume that she was in charge by the way she was yelling at everyone to take a seat) I overheard a gentleman complaining that Dancing with the Stars was about to start and that they needed to get the activity over quickly. I was invited to sit down for some cake and to participate if I wanted to (I decided it would be a little unseemly to just grab some cake and ice cream and run) so I found a seat. They then passed out plastic Easter eggs to everyone that included a slip of paper inside with a specific question for you to answer for the group. When they got to me I was introduced as our “young visitor” (I could have been 60 and still described that way). My egg asked, “Have you ever lived outside the country?” I told them I lived for two years in Russia on a church mission and that I was living in a trailer for a couple of months here working. After I sat back down I told my table that I had come hoping to catch a basketball game. The gal organizing then came over and told the Clay (the very man who was anxious to get Dancing with the Stars started) that he now had the green light to turn on the T.V. With a mortified look on his face he very embarrassedly (is that a word?) turned it to DWTS and told me the women looked forward to this every Monday and that if it was up to him we would watch a game. For some reason Clay decided to hide his passion for a dancing program, as if it was unmanly to watch people dancing (it probably is but I myself have enjoyed So You Think You Can Dance in the past so who am I to judge). First Rick with his poodle and now Clay with his dancing show have felt the need to justify their sensitive side to me. The point, dear reader, is that I am now the gold standard in this community for manliness. I have finally arrived (I hope you are taking notes on all of this Jill…that’s right…MANLY!).
A couple of nights ago after work I headed over to the Quail Ridge clubhouse to see if I could study (catch an NBA game on T.V). I wandered in and found about 25 people getting ready for an ice cream social. The room was filled with a large RV enthusiast group called The Campers. They meet monthly at different locations for 4 or 5 days doing various activities. As I visited with one of the head organizers (I assume that she was in charge by the way she was yelling at everyone to take a seat) I overheard a gentleman complaining that Dancing with the Stars was about to start and that they needed to get the activity over quickly. I was invited to sit down for some cake and to participate if I wanted to (I decided it would be a little unseemly to just grab some cake and ice cream and run) so I found a seat. They then passed out plastic Easter eggs to everyone that included a slip of paper inside with a specific question for you to answer for the group. When they got to me I was introduced as our “young visitor” (I could have been 60 and still described that way). My egg asked, “Have you ever lived outside the country?” I told them I lived for two years in Russia on a church mission and that I was living in a trailer for a couple of months here working. After I sat back down I told my table that I had come hoping to catch a basketball game. The gal organizing then came over and told the Clay (the very man who was anxious to get Dancing with the Stars started) that he now had the green light to turn on the T.V. With a mortified look on his face he very embarrassedly (is that a word?) turned it to DWTS and told me the women looked forward to this every Monday and that if it was up to him we would watch a game. For some reason Clay decided to hide his passion for a dancing program, as if it was unmanly to watch people dancing (it probably is but I myself have enjoyed So You Think You Can Dance in the past so who am I to judge). First Rick with his poodle and now Clay with his dancing show have felt the need to justify their sensitive side to me. The point, dear reader, is that I am now the gold standard in this community for manliness. I have finally arrived (I hope you are taking notes on all of this Jill…that’s right…MANLY!).
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Hazards of Heading Home
14 April 2011
Water heater is working! I enjoyed my first shower in the trailer. I will complain about the cramped quarters (measurements to follow) later but for now I will just bask in my ability to avoid the Quail Ridge shower stalls, 9 out of 10 rating notwithstanding (yep just used notwithstanding in a blog post, take that bucket list!),and the possible trench feet brewing below my ankles.
Skin screening at the Quail Ridge clubhouse was a success. I walked over at 6:30 to find a mostly full room of people ready to have their skin checked out by likely the only trailer livin’ dermatologist in the state (likely the country but I can’t allow myself to get too grandiose). After flipping a long table on its side on the kitchen counter to serve as a quasi privacy shield I spent the next two hours diagnosing seborrheic keratosis, cherry hemangiomas, and actinic keratosis.
Woodie brought along his guitar and provided the entertainment for the evening. Everyone there was grateful for the time I spent and I was happy to give a little community service. Afterwards I spent a little time chewing the fat and listening to Woodie tell in his words, “clean jokes I have to use in Mesa RV parks”.
The next morning early while I was filling my trailer’s water tank before work I was hailed from across the way by one of my poker buddies, Rick, who was out walking his dog. He thanked me again for taking the time to do a skin screening. I hollered back a “you’re welcome” and asked him what kind of dog he had. He replied that it was half Jack Russell and half poodle. Like a speedy auctioneer (and before I could give him a hard time about walking and owning a poodle) he followed with, “but he acts more like a Jack Russell, and he looks more like a Jack Russell ”. I don’t care what generation you’re from, most guys I know don’t admit to owning a poodle. I gave him a free pass (mostly because I still felt bad about beating his three 8s with my flush the last hand at cards) but I have been working on my poodle material to use the next time I see him walking his dog. There’s nothing wrong at all with a little good natured heckling to win friends and influence people.
The work week in Sierra Vista was a short one as I was scheduled to work in my office in Peoria Wed –Fri. Tuesday after work I stopped by the trailer to grab some gear and finally empty my black and gray tanks (did not want that percolating for a week in the southern Arizona heat). In my haste to leave I inadvertently left my cell phone on the kitchen table. Fortunately, I was only 5 or 6 miles away when I realized I had forgotten it. Unfortunately, the soonest I was able to flip a U-turn happened to be within sight of a border patrol station. In my hurry to be home I didn’t realize until after I had already turned around that I would have been better off going through the checkpoint and then turning around. Judging from my limited view through the rear view mirror it looked like an ant hill had just been destroyed. Finally Rosco P. Coltrane was going to get a little action. As the squad car and truck both with lights flashing pulled me over I prayed fervently that I didn’t have any Central American (hey I’m being politically correct here) stowaway in the bed or under the hood (tiny people on average).
Me- “What’s the problem officer?”
Rosco- “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that you turned around in front of a border checkpoint station?”
Me- “I forgot my phone in my trailer and this was the first opportunity I had to turn around to get it”.
I would have arrested myself on the spot with that kind of lame excuse. As I was directed to stand by the hood of the squad car as the border patrol German Shepherd inspected my truck I was reminded of the time I was pulled over while my brother Lance and I were heading to clean the Alta Vista building late one night. I had crossed the first several feet of the gore point while trying to get onto the 51 from the 202. Etched in my mind is Lance laughing at me as I (a fairly straight arrow) was given a field sobriety test for the world to see. When I return I’ll be waiting for one of my Sierra Vista patients to say, “hey aren’t you that goofy looking guy I saw get caught trying to smuggle Mexicans (one political correction per blog) into Phoenix?”
If my mishap at the border checkpoint had been my only (or worst) mistake heading home I would have considered myself fortunate. In my hurry to get home and trying to make up for lost time I decided to eat dinner on the road. Tragically, dinner consisted of me stopping at the Subway in Casa Grande, ordering a 12” meatball sub, and attempting to eat it as I drove…….disaster. Being a doctor doesn’t necessarily mean you are smart nor have any common sense, just that you are persistent.
This morning as I left for work our 2 year old Zachary, waving wildly goodbye, raced me down the circle wearing a camo shirt and diaper. Maybe there will come a time when Glenn, wearing a diaper and sucking on a pacifier, chases my truck out of the trailer parking lot as I leave for work. But until that happens, as Dorothy long ago observed, there continues to be no place like home (of course if that happens I will go RV to RV confiscating the alcohol and /or get Glenn checked into a dementia ward).
Water heater is working! I enjoyed my first shower in the trailer. I will complain about the cramped quarters (measurements to follow) later but for now I will just bask in my ability to avoid the Quail Ridge shower stalls, 9 out of 10 rating notwithstanding (yep just used notwithstanding in a blog post, take that bucket list!),and the possible trench feet brewing below my ankles.
Skin screening at the Quail Ridge clubhouse was a success. I walked over at 6:30 to find a mostly full room of people ready to have their skin checked out by likely the only trailer livin’ dermatologist in the state (likely the country but I can’t allow myself to get too grandiose). After flipping a long table on its side on the kitchen counter to serve as a quasi privacy shield I spent the next two hours diagnosing seborrheic keratosis, cherry hemangiomas, and actinic keratosis.
Woodie brought along his guitar and provided the entertainment for the evening. Everyone there was grateful for the time I spent and I was happy to give a little community service. Afterwards I spent a little time chewing the fat and listening to Woodie tell in his words, “clean jokes I have to use in Mesa RV parks”.
The next morning early while I was filling my trailer’s water tank before work I was hailed from across the way by one of my poker buddies, Rick, who was out walking his dog. He thanked me again for taking the time to do a skin screening. I hollered back a “you’re welcome” and asked him what kind of dog he had. He replied that it was half Jack Russell and half poodle. Like a speedy auctioneer (and before I could give him a hard time about walking and owning a poodle) he followed with, “but he acts more like a Jack Russell, and he looks more like a Jack Russell ”. I don’t care what generation you’re from, most guys I know don’t admit to owning a poodle. I gave him a free pass (mostly because I still felt bad about beating his three 8s with my flush the last hand at cards) but I have been working on my poodle material to use the next time I see him walking his dog. There’s nothing wrong at all with a little good natured heckling to win friends and influence people.
The work week in Sierra Vista was a short one as I was scheduled to work in my office in Peoria Wed –Fri. Tuesday after work I stopped by the trailer to grab some gear and finally empty my black and gray tanks (did not want that percolating for a week in the southern Arizona heat). In my haste to leave I inadvertently left my cell phone on the kitchen table. Fortunately, I was only 5 or 6 miles away when I realized I had forgotten it. Unfortunately, the soonest I was able to flip a U-turn happened to be within sight of a border patrol station. In my hurry to be home I didn’t realize until after I had already turned around that I would have been better off going through the checkpoint and then turning around. Judging from my limited view through the rear view mirror it looked like an ant hill had just been destroyed. Finally Rosco P. Coltrane was going to get a little action. As the squad car and truck both with lights flashing pulled me over I prayed fervently that I didn’t have any Central American (hey I’m being politically correct here) stowaway in the bed or under the hood (tiny people on average).
Me- “What’s the problem officer?”
Rosco- “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that you turned around in front of a border checkpoint station?”
Me- “I forgot my phone in my trailer and this was the first opportunity I had to turn around to get it”.
I would have arrested myself on the spot with that kind of lame excuse. As I was directed to stand by the hood of the squad car as the border patrol German Shepherd inspected my truck I was reminded of the time I was pulled over while my brother Lance and I were heading to clean the Alta Vista building late one night. I had crossed the first several feet of the gore point while trying to get onto the 51 from the 202. Etched in my mind is Lance laughing at me as I (a fairly straight arrow) was given a field sobriety test for the world to see. When I return I’ll be waiting for one of my Sierra Vista patients to say, “hey aren’t you that goofy looking guy I saw get caught trying to smuggle Mexicans (one political correction per blog) into Phoenix?”
If my mishap at the border checkpoint had been my only (or worst) mistake heading home I would have considered myself fortunate. In my hurry to get home and trying to make up for lost time I decided to eat dinner on the road. Tragically, dinner consisted of me stopping at the Subway in Casa Grande, ordering a 12” meatball sub, and attempting to eat it as I drove…….disaster. Being a doctor doesn’t necessarily mean you are smart nor have any common sense, just that you are persistent.
This morning as I left for work our 2 year old Zachary, waving wildly goodbye, raced me down the circle wearing a camo shirt and diaper. Maybe there will come a time when Glenn, wearing a diaper and sucking on a pacifier, chases my truck out of the trailer parking lot as I leave for work. But until that happens, as Dorothy long ago observed, there continues to be no place like home (of course if that happens I will go RV to RV confiscating the alcohol and /or get Glenn checked into a dementia ward).
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