Moving On Up …

The story of Covid 19 continues. Colorado finally officially has its first two cases as of Thursday, so now we can see what kind of mettle the mountain-dwellers have. Colorado’s Governor Polis was given a passel of emergency powers by the legislature on Thursday as well, just in case he needs them. One of those was interesting to me personally.

If things really heated up out here, and the number of available medical personnel were insufficient, he has the authority to grant people like myself a temporary license to practice during the emergency, as long as we are under supervision of someone who has proper credentials.

Influenza victims crowd into an emergency hospital near Fort Riley, Kansas in 1918

I shudder to think of the poor patients in such an extremity. First they are struck down by this nasty microbe, and just when it seems that things couldn’t get any worse, in totters a doctor they have never seen before who is pushing a walker and wearing an expression of the purest befuddlement.

Which could lead to the following scenario:

(Ring, ring, ring)

You can stop shaking that bell now, sir, because as you can see, I am here.

Who are you?

Why, I’m Doctor Jon, and I’ve been assigned to your case.

But you’re … ancient. Are you really a doctor?

Of course I am … or was … but the Governor says I am again so there you are. Now, what can I do for you?

I need to know how sick I am. Am I going to make it?

Well, let’s begin with this. How do you feel?

I feel terrible, I ache all over, I can’t stop coughing, and I have a constant fever of 104 degrees.

That’s not a good start at all. Have you seen a doctor?

I thought that’s what I was doing now … why are you standing way over there in the corner?

Can’t be too careful, now, can we? Catch a cough like yours and I could blow myself to smithereens.

Can I get another physician?

Of course you can, sir, this is America, after all.

Then I’d like one who is under ninety years old, please.


There aren’t any.

Any what?

Any working physicians who are younger than I am. All the younger doctors are out sick.

So you are the best I can get?

‘Fraid so. Can you hear me if I talk to you from the hallway?



Curiosity finally got the best of me and I took my first ride on an e-bike this past week. Our local bicycle shop had a dozen models on hand, and I chose the lowest-priced one to take for a spin. My thinking was that if I liked the cheaper model, then I would love the shiny blue one over there that looked like a rocket. But if I wrecked El Cheapo in this test drive, it was nothing special and who would miss it?

So the salesman wheels the machine out the door, I climb aboard, turn it on, and I’m off. What it feels like is starting out on a normal bicycle for a pedal or two and then someone places a gentle hand in the small of your back and gives you the most wonderful push that doesn’t stop until you cease pedaling.

Now the sharp-eyed among you will speak up and tell me that I was riding a “girl’s bike.” And that will instantly mark you as so far behind the times that you are hardly worth talking to because they are not boy’s and girl’s models anymore, but step-over and step-thru.

It’s a new naming system that I support wholeheartedly, especially since my personal stepping-through is working a whole lot better than my stepping-over these days. I don’t know exactly when that right leg of mine lost its desire to swing high in the air but it did and it shows no sign of wanting to go back to its old ways.

The short of it all is that I have become a customer for one of these. All that remains is to resolve the conflict between the bike that I desperately want -the one that will make my life a better life and me a better (taller, handsomer, infinitely more charming) person – and the model that more realistically suits my budget and my needs.

When fantasy and getting real have worked out their differences, make no mistake, I will be electrified!


When the going gets tough, the tough get going.


A piece of writing on CNN details how shoppers are stocking up on certain items, trying to avoid shopping among diseased neighbors should Covid 19 come to town.

A curious situation is that shortages of toilet paper are developing in some communities as hoarders selfishly buy up the good stuff and leave the less desirable brands behind.

Why, just last night as we wedged another twenty rolls of Charmin into the back of our Forester, we congratulated ourselves on our good fortune as those were the last twenty rolls of that homely but reliable product on the shelf. And we had beaten out that elderly gentleman to the punch as he reached haltingly for the packages that we snatched away from his outstretched hand.

I know, I know, I should feel guilty, but I don’t. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and the meek do not inherit the earth or the best toilet tissue, not when push comes to shove. (Tried to get another cliché in there but ran out of room).

It’s a sad state of affairs, but if you come to visit us during the pandemic, we don’t want to have to hand you a corncob or a handful of switchgrass on your way to the bathroom. Our standards as far as being a proper host may be modest ones, but there are depths to which we simply will not sink.


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