Systolic. Dyastolic. Parabolic.

I recently returned from a Dr visit with the news I have high blood pressure. Now, I've been a 110/60 gal for as long as I can remember, so this was a little distressing. I'm active & in pretty good shape- I've lost 12 lbs this summer, swimming, walking, doing yard work, etc.- So it's not the sedentary lifestyle. It's troubling, a fly in the ointment, a pea in the mashed potatoes.

But of course, I deal with this by obsessively checking my bp in the grocery store, pharmacy, and even visiting my parents, who obsess about their own bps. And CSO thinks my wine might be too salty. *rolls eyes* Maybe I'll just leave the olive out of the martini.

But here are a few things I can think of that might, just maybe have a teensy affect on my numbers, and possible ways I can deal with that.

DOES A BEAR?
Every afternoon, around 5:30, the fun begins at Cosm*s Tavern. Cosm*s, whose sign long ago dropped that second "o", is the tavern for those who like their beers cheap (PBR, anyone?) and their pool table off to one side so you can see the fights blossom right before your eyes.

Happy Hour at Cosm*s begins when Roy Rodway- or his brother Ray- pulls into the parking lot, his red-flagged 7' long 2x4 sticking out the back of an white and rust plaided extended-cab pickup. Upon exiting the truck, Roy- or Ray, I can't keep them straight- will slam the door, comb the crumbs from his beard with his fingers, and hitch up his jeans, as if to say"let the wild rumpus begin." Soon, trucks with canoes or johnboats on top appear, or maybe one with volunteer fireman bubble light on the dash.

Around 7 pm, the Cosm*nats start to remember they have fish in the cooler, or their old lady was making chili, or they have to work tomorrow. And the exodus begins, out the back door, through the path by the Chinese restaurant's dumpster, into the parking lot across the street from CSO's front porch, where I sit enjoying the summer light.

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
Tis the east, and someone is taking a leak against the fence.
Arise, fair son, and get thee to thy truck
Never mind the restroom indoors
That bush or dumpster is more fair than he
And will not delay thine leave-taking.

Rx: Take photos of pee-ers. Post to Cosm*s Facebook Page.

The State Of Zoo York
Summertime in the Hinterlands can mean only one thing: road construction. We knew our small Main Street would be turned into a thoroughfare due to reconstruction of a nearby state road. Jsut a few weeks, they told us. However: Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, but hell hath no fury like a lame-duck governor who freezes state payroll. And when you freeze state payroll, PS! the subcontractors don't get paid. So they stop working.

Rx: Try to notice how lovely all those construction vehicles look lived up near the park. And the dust isn't quite so bad. Have another glass of salty wine.

Good Vibe-rations.
One should be grateful that Knight Rider is not real. Otherwise, I'd have William Daniels emoting "Check engine" at me whenever I started the car.

My mechanic, Dana, has spent months re-setting the computer in the Vibe so the "check engine" light goes off. He has also given me experimental treatments- for free- to put in my gas tank to see if the light will stay off. No go. Dana has diagnosed the Vibe with a catalytic converter problem. Since GM in it's infininte wisdom left all that underbelly connected, I will have to get a new exhaust system, which will be about $1k. Which of course, coincides with the last payment. Luckily, since I have known Dana since I was 19, he's doing me a favor by putting this off till Sept, when I start getting paychecks again.

However, CSO has ordered some super-secret spark plugs that are supposed to help with compression. It's Vibe Laetrile. Dana thinks this is hilarious. So now there is a battle on the scale of Edison v Tesla to see whose experimental universe is better. And I'm still going to have to shell out $1k for a new exhaust system, methinks.

Rx: Dana just called. "How are the new plugs?" I asked. "Oh, they pret' near shot me into the back seat when I hit the gas" he said.

Here's a poem, dear Imaginary reader. Hope you have a good weekend.



THINGS TO DO IN THE BELLY OF THE WHALE
Dan Albergotti

Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.
Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires
with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.
Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.
Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way
for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review
each of your life's ten million choices. Endure moments
of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.
Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound
of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.
Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,
where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all
the things you did and could have done. Remember
treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes
pointing again and again down, down into the black depths. ....


"Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale" by Dan Albergotti from The Boatloads.© BOA Editions, Ltd., 2008.