As I creaked out of bed this morning and walked stiffly toward coffee, I thought the first challenge of turning 77 will just be keeping the body working.
I settled down with a cup of Dark Canyon, a birthday gift from neighbors Lori and Mike, my nutty-but-gentle heeler Cowboy 2 herding imaginary livestock nearby. Peace before body work, I thought, but my next two moves were ill-advised.
I called Presbyterian Hospital to track down the results of the CT scan from a week ago and after several call transfers learned the scan results were still “pending creation.” The radiology department had already cancelled and rescheduled the first date for the scan because “we have no staff.”
Next, I plunged into the internet for the truth about my new recumbent exercise bike.
I have been describing the pedaling as surprisingly comfortable exercise, practically meditative, only to learn from an actual exerciser friend that the resistance function, which I had happily dialed up to 100 percent, apparently isn’t engaged. Artificial intelligence informed me that I’m going to have to disassemble the thing I wrecked my back putting together, even with neighbor Mike’s help.
These developments threatened to erase a great birthday calm that came with watching shooting stars for hours Saturday night with stepsister Susan and her partner Tom and getting a visit on a cool Sunday morning from Lori and Mike, Izzy and Molly, bearing two pounds of coffee from a favorite Durango roaster.
A couple of hours into 77 plus one, I say the heck with scanxiety and exercise obsessions. I’m shoring up my mental health with more Dark Canyon and a bowl of pinto beans that I prepared, without incident, the day before getting a little older.
By the way, the Barelas Coffee House tortilla in the photo, retrieved from the freezer after a recent Barelas foray with buddies Tim and Tom, is a flagrant but rare treat. And pretty soon, I guess, I’ll have to start pedaling for real.
dream ranch 