Nothin' Stays the Same.

I've got nothing to do today. Well, I should say that I have nothing that has to be done today. All of the priority items on my list that I wanted to do during Maribel's absence have been accomplished, except for one, and that one isn't done because I cannot think of a way to do it. I've got the materials, I know what I want to do but I can't find a way to physically get at the area I need to work in. There is always a solution. I'm waiting for that Aha! moment to dawn on me. I'm hoping it will happen in this decade.

Part of the problem with that unfinished project is me. I am in a transition phase. I am going from middle age to old. The process isn't complete but there is no doubt that I'm in it. And it pisses me off. It pisses me off because I am contributing to it...I am allowing and even causing the transition to happen. I prove to myself almost every day that I can do the physical things I did 20 years ago. Sure, I don't have the strength I had but how much of daily life requires strength? Yesterday when I loaded a utility cart with cut up wood from the tree limbs I've been cutting down, I didn't think that I could pull the cart to the shed with a full load so I had to make seven trips instead of maybe five. The point is that I didn't try, because my mind was reminding me that my legs were still stiff from yesterday's work, and that I have neuropathy and may stumble while pulling the cart up a fairly steep slope. I didn't try. 

I am no longer comfortable climbing a ladder. I do it, but hesitantly. For no good reason other than my mind telling me that I'm old. It whispers to me, "You know that falling down is the number one health hazard for old people, don't you? Is the ladder stable? Is there something to grab and hold on to? What will you do if the ladder tips?" There is of course nothing wrong with being safe but when concern for caution causes doubt in your ability to do or even attempt something, then in my view you're well on your way to being parked in front of a window in a wheel chair with someone asking if you want a blanket for your legs. 

There will be more ladders to climb and I will climb them. I've got more tree limbs to cut down and saw into manageable pieces. When I do I will fill that cart and pull it to the shed. And I will pick up the axe and start splitting the bigger pieces, something I've been reluctant to try. I can do those things. If I let doubt stop me, that's the day when the transition to old age is complete. The prophecy has self-fulfilled. Enough of that.

I haven't felt the desire to comment on politics or Covid lately, mostly just sitting back and watching both scenarios play out. Politically I'm still as anti-Trump as ever and perhaps even more so. And I still believe that the GOP is a rudderless ship and am still hoping that a competent ship's captain will emerge; take control and sink the Dems in 2024.

Regarding Covid, I am very disappointed in the number of people who are still beating the anti-vax, personal freedom drum. I wish that all of these people could be magically whisked to Chiclayo, Peru where people wear two masks and a face shield, and live with a 6:00PM curfew, and watch or listen to the news constantly hoping that their age group had become eligible for the vaccination. At the moment it is age 57 and older. It is a shame that here in the US the government and private business is offering incentives to get people vaccinated. To me it is those who masked up in March of 2020; practiced social distancing, avoided crowds and got vaccinated when eligible who are the real patriots...the real Americans. But it is what it is.

Maribel has two weeks remaining in Chiclayo before returning. One of the things she's done recently is to go through the files on an old tower computer we left behind. She's copying a bunch of photos that I had forgotten about and emailed a few of them to me. 

The above photo I think was taken in about 2015. It is of a group of couples who lived in Chiclayo and nearby Pimentel. There were seven 'permanent' members (two couples missing from the photo) and a few who drifted through from time to time. The men were all Americans with Peruvian wives. The guys would get together monthly (with wives on holidays or special occasions), either at a restaurant or someone's home for lunch and conversation. The women would do their own thing. We men called ourselves the GRIPS - Gringos Residing In Peru. The women called themselves the CHESGRI - Chiclayanas Esposas de Gringos. 

Those were good days and good times. Though it was only six years ago a lot has changed. One of the men has died and three couples have moved back to the States. And of course distance, as it always does has had its effect on communication. Nothin' stays the same.