My Old Friend Tom Should Be Dead

 My old friend Tom should be dead.  He was diagnosed with Advanced Stage 4 Colo-rectal and Liver Cancer on his 52nd birthday in 2007.   Happy birthday buddy.

We were living in Capitola at the time.  He called and left a message on our machine.  We've known Tom over 35 years, my lovely wife knew something was wrong when she did not hear his usual jovial voice.  He came down and spent a couple days with us.  He was gonna fight the good fight, but we were basically saying good-bye.  The prognosis was not good.

He started the usual Chemo treatment that he was scheduled to take for one year. However, he gave it up after five months due to severe side effects. 

My old pal Tom should be dead.  All three of his Oncologists have told him so on numerous occasions.

I'm sure you all know someone who has been diagnosed with cancer since 2007 and they are now no longer with us.  I've got a handful.  My pal Tom is an anomaly.  I've told him so on numerous occasions.

"You should be dead," I say, "What the hell did you do that these other folks didn't?"

Trick question, I already know the answer.  

Besides engaging in an all important integrative approach as discussed with his Oncologists, Tom also drank some of his new wife's breast milk.  You see, besides being diagnosed with cancer at the tender age of 52, he had also become a new father.  That new baby boy helped save his life, in more ways than one!  Tom claims the reason he's still alive, fourteen years after his dire diagnosis, is because he drank his wife's breast milk from their first, and later second child.

So, what's so special about breast milk?  Well, besides all the regular good stuff it contains that helps new lives get off to a healthy start, breast milk also contains Cysteine, a special sort of amino acid.

What's so special about Cysteine?   I'll let the New World Encyclopedia kinda scientifically explain:

Besides a number of other things, Cysteine is an important precursor in the production of the antioxidant glutathione, which protects cells from toxins, such as free radicals, in the human body and other organisms. The systemic availability of oral glutathione (GSH) is negligible; the vast majority of it must be manufactured intracellularly. Glutathione is a tripeptide antioxidant made up of the three amino acids cysteine, glycine, and glutamate. Glutamate and glycine are readily available in most North American diets, but the availability of cysteine makes it be the rate-limiting substrate for the synthesis of glutathione within the cell. It is the sulfhydryl (thiol) group (SH) of cysteine that serves as proton-donor and is responsible for the biological activity of glutathione. Sometimes referred to as the “master antioxidant,” glutathione regulates the actions of lesser antioxidants (such as vitamin C and vitamine E), and levels of glutathione in cells are predictive of how long someone will live.-NewWorldEncyclopedia.org

There's a nine cylinder word, GLUTATHIONE.  

Over 120,000 published studies have shown that glutathione has a profound effect on a multitude of health challenges. As a powerful free radical scavenger, immune enhancer and detoxifier, glutathione has shown to be effective in the following conditions; autism, cardiovascular disease, autoimmune diseases, asthma,diabetes, lung disease, Parkinson’s disease, gastrointestinal inflammation and Crohn’s disease, hepatitis, chronic fatigue syndrome, neuro-degenerative diseases such as MS (multiple sclerosis), ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease), Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s and degenerative eye conditions such as cataracts and macular degeneration.  Total Health Magazine  

The importance of glutathione cannot be overstated. It has multiple roles as indicated and, indeed, as one examines each system or organ more closely, the necessity for glutathione becomes increasingly evident. Glutathione values decline with age and higher values in older people are seen to correlate with better health, underscoring the importance of this remarkable substance for maintaining a healthy, well-functioning body.

So now that we have established Glutathione is probably a good thing, especially if we are immuno compromised, what's the best way to get it?

Well, nature provides a certain amount of Glutathione in certain foods.  There are supplements as well.  But research has shown that the best way to boost your Glutathione level is to increase your Cysteine intake via very biologically active whey.  Not necessarily the big can of body building whey you get at GNC, which is processed quite a bit differently, but some magical whey that comes from breast milk of cows, or humans.

If you have access to a lactating human breast, go for it.  But don't tell 'em I sent ya, especially if she's a stranger.  You could also try Immunocal. That works too and you probably won't get arrested.

My old friend Tom has been taking Immunocal for six years. He introduced me to it a few years ago since he no longer has access to breast milk. His kids are now fifteen and ten.  He started Immunocal right after he stopped drinking breast milk from his second child.  It’s been fourteen years since his dire diagnosis and he’s still cancer free.

I started taking the product about five years ago.  Although not immuno compromised, I did have a renegade appendix go wild on me about that time.  Plus I want my Glutathione levels increased.  I like what I've been reading.  The levels naturally decrease as we get older.

I have definitely noticed I have more energy.  And stamina.  I'm still writing, see?  I can also leap over tall tiddly winks in a single bound and I am also definitely faster than a speeding tortoise.

I went along for the ride not only for health reasons but for the business opportunity as well.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, it's one of those multi-level marketing companies.  All those got a real bad rap years back cause everybody that was trying to sell soap through Amway looked like an EST or Scientology disciple.  Plus they were all get rich quick schemes. The product can be anything, just sell the concept.

There's still a ton of MLM companies out there selling everything from soap to shinola. I'm pretty sure it all works.  I'm sure it's all innovative, special and unique.  I'm sure every one of those products has the potential to enhance your life.  But can you live without them?

Probably. I have been and I’m in my late 60’s.

Immunocal is different.  There are definitely folks out there whose quality of life can be enhanced by taking it. It could also potentially be life saving.  This is what is motivating me.  This is why you have to at least know about it.  Had I known about this product seven years ago there's a chance a couple of folks I once knew I might still know.

Immunocal is listed in the Physician's Desk Reference and Compendium of Pharmaceuticals and Specialties.  It is licensed for sale by Health Canada.  

Do your research and then give me a call.  530-277-0411 Wait, I never answer the phone.  Shoot me an email at davet19@gmail.com and then maybe I'll call you.  If you send me your phone number.

Don’t let the MLM aspect of this product turn you away.  I am not asking you to join the ranks serial sellers, I am simply informing you of the benefits of this fantastic product!

If you, like me are over sixty years of age, you should really take a good look at this.  If you currently have or have had cancer or any other immune disorder, you should try this without hesitation.

Immunocal has started a very good retail program where you can obtain the product online at up to a 25% discount.  You don’t need to buy a banner or go to a convention.   

Just go to: https://immunotec.com/DaveTimoney.  If you are or have been immuno compromised I would recommend taking Immunocal Platinum, which is better than the basic.  

 

Call, write or go online today! davet19@gmail.com 

Immunotec.com/DaveTimoney

The gold standard for clinical evidence for efficacy is a placebo-controlled, double-blind clinical trial. Immunotec's (Immunocal's parent company) present research activities therefore focus on controlled clinical trials in cooperation with various clinical partners in Montreal and other clinical centers in Canada and the U.S.A. The recently published study on the effects of a research formulation of Immunocal on lung cancer patients (Tozer et al. Antioxidants & Redox Signaling, 10:2, 395-402, 2008) is an example. This trial has shown quite impressive results with regard to the health benefits of this Immunocal formulation in the nutrition of seriously ill advanced lung cancer patients. Other clinical studies showing the efficacy of Immunocal have been performed and published by several clinical centers.

Resort'n Done Right

As we waited for the main event, we were entertained by quite possibly the most talented musician in Central America.  Or this hemisphere. 

This young man was playing guitar, keyboard, a percussion machine, steel drum and trumpet.  He'd start strumming his guitar, lay background tracks of that and before too long, Emmit Rhodes style he was essentially playing all the instruments at once, a jazzy fusion of disco rock.

The main show at this Riu, every night, was a different themed dancing troupe.  From Broadway to Disco to Grease to a Mexican Fiesta Extravaganza, there were different flashy costumes, different flashy tunes, and the same very fit flashy dancers.

My lovely wife's favorite was the all male "Angels in Underwear" review.  That's her name for it, and the angel's tight attire left little to the imagination.  Ala Robert Mapplethorpe.

There's not a lot of decision making that is required of you once you arrive at an all-inclusive resort like a Riu.  The hardest decision you'll need to make is whether to go left or right.  Sometimes it's really hard to decide what to put on your plate with the multitude of gourmet choices.  The easy out for that is to just try everything.  Then go back for what really excited your palate.

Oh yeah, you also want to watch out for these guys in Costa Rica.  They're everywhere.

Fortunately we didn't see any man eating sized Iguanas, but they're out there.  Just ask Richard Burton.

Prior to the trip, my lovely wife purchased some sunscreen.  She's highly sensitive and needs SPF 2000.  I, on the other hand, am a dark skinned Scandinavian.  I use SPF 1.

On our second day there, we meandered over to the nearby shops to find a suitable SPF for me since I was not quite as proactive as she.  Here's a tip: whatever SPF you use, buy it before you get to Costa Rica.  They were selling a six ounce bottle of Hawaiian Tropic for $38.00!!  I found an off brand SPF 15 for $20, but um, had I known (like you do now) I would have bought it here in the states.  

Even though the resort is all-inclusive, our experienced Riu buddies recommended we bring a wad of $1.00 bills to tip the staff.  A US dollar every two to three drinks is fine.  Leave a bill at the table after each meal.  Things like that.  And if you leave your maid a bill every morning, she may do artistic things with your towels and blankets:

When we booked this trip, we booked it for resort'n.  We didn't really even think about the Ecotourism aspect of Costa Rica until we got there.  I mean, folks come from all over the world to hike in the rain forests and commune with nature.  And sloths.  We did not bring our adventurous, ambitious selves on this trip, unless eating and drinking requires ambition.

We did meander out and go shopping at a trendy little nearby town called Coco Beach,  or Playas Del Coco.  It was about a thirty minute drive through the jungle, although it was just around the point from the beach and cove where the Riu's were situated.

There's no coastal highway, at least along the Guanacaste coast.  The steep mountain ridges come right down to the ocean in between all the bays and coves where towns and resorts are.  I think that's another reason why it takes so long to get from here to there to anywhere.

Coco Beach is one of the more popular beach towns of Costa Rica.  It used to be a small fishing village, but has become quite trendy over the last decade with both locals and tourists.  The town sits right on the beach in a lovely bay. went there on the equivalent of Labor Day here, and the town was crowded with folks from all over the country as well as a few out of country tourists.  We bought a lot of little trinkets as well as coffee for our family.  Costa Rica coffee is quite a thing we discovered.

Another thing we discovered (but did not buy) which we found in pretty much every gift shop in town were these guys...(and no, they're not bananas!)

Brightly painted wooden dildos with Huichol Indian type artwork or just plain.  Bottle openers, key rings, and bongs all made with a super large (or medium sometimes) wooden penis.  What the bizarre holy hell is up with that?  I've been to a few foreign countries and I've never seen one gift shop let alone all of them selling wooden bottle openers shaped like dicks.

My thoughts to inquire were thwarted by the fact that all the shops were staffed by young ladies, and, well, I just thought it best not to talk dildos with pretty young girls, no matter how arty they were.  Everybody would get the wrong impression, especially my lovely wife.  

Of this I'm certain.

After a little research I found out you cannot sell pornography or sex toys in Costa Rica, even while prostitution is apparently legal.  It seems these gift type items could be a subtle form of resistance against the strict laws heavily influenced by Catholicism in that country. 

We also took another field trip off the reservation to a beautiful waterfall.  It was less than fifty miles away and took about two hours to get there.  We thought about a rain forest run, but we would have spent more time in the car than in the forest.  

 

 

After dipping our toes in the water, we returned through Liberia, where our driver took us to lunch.  We actually paid, but he knew where the good food was since he lived there.

 

All around Liberia there was wrought iron over the windows and barbed wire ringed the roofs. It almost looked like a war zone, but there were no bombed out buildings.  

"Just crime," shrugged our driver. 

Once we were a few miles out of the city many of the country domiciles didn't have nearly as much wrought iron or barbed wire.  Which seemed to mean to me the criminals at large in the city were  either too young to drive or too poor to own a car.  And too lazy to hoof it out into the country to steal another poor person's trinkets.

The main excitement off the resort we did was a half day zip line adventure tour.  As it happened, less than a half mile from our resort sat the Diamante Eco Adventure Park, offering zip lining and more.

I bought the full package, which also included the photos that will follow.  We were slated to embark about 10:30 in the morning and an open air shuttle bus picked us up at the resort at 10:00.  I love punctuality! 

At the appointed time we were ushered over to an area where there was enough gear to conceivably outfit fifty people for an Everest expedition.  A half dozen young men showed up on cue to outfit the seven of us that would make up the zip line tour that morning.

They went over a number of safety concerns and then told us not to worry about braking, that was automatically taken care of.  Not to worry at all.  Really.

There were a total of five dual zip lines in the park and we'd be taking every one.  We'd start on a line directly from where we were outfitted down to a platform about five hundred yards away.

From there we'd take that open air shuttle (that picked us up) to another platform where we'd do their Cadillac run, a mile long superman style deal several hundred feet up in the air.  If we survived that we would then take three different runs down to the Wildlife Sanctuary, where we could visit some native species, like sloths and toucans. 

Here we are, outfitted and raring to go!

 And we're off!

 

As we neared the rapidly approaching platform, I began to wonder about braking, you know, stopping without dying.  We were coming in pretty hot, somewhere between twenty and forty miles per hour, which are kinda fast when you're not surrounded by metal.

As we approached the platform, I noticed what looked like a collar a horse would wear if he was plowing a field.  A big, oval leather type thing.  It was hanging around the zip line.  As soon as the metal handlebar hit that, there was a semi-loud pop and we went from forty to zero in about five feet.  

I suppose a room full of foam rubber might accomplish the same thing, but this route didn't take up as much room and was probably a heck of a lot more economical.

From that platform we all boarded the open air shuttle truck for a roller coaster ride up to the peak where we would magically become Superman.  Even the ride up was a hair raising treat.  Ever been on Lombard Street In San Francisco?  That's nothing compared with this.

This was steeper and curvier. The first half was dirt and gravel, but once we were half way up, the road turned to concrete, probably because it was turning vertical.  Add to that the vehicle we were riding in was a stick shift, and, well, I began to wonder...  

"If this guy stalls, we're bailing...right away..."

But somehow we made it to the top, wherein we seven intrepid aero-nuts would soon embark on the zip line ride of our lifetimes.

 

By the way, the white buildings to the left down yonder on the beach is the Riu Palace.  The red roofed beige monolith is the Riu Guanacaste.  It may have been bigger, but better cuisine was on the left!

About mid way through the almost sixty mile per hour run I started to think about stopping again.  I mean, we were zipping along about twice as fast as the previous run.  But then several hundred yards before the landing deck the zip line started to edge upwards, effectively slowing us to the pace where the horse collar would stop us with ease.

After that yahoo run, we zig zag zipped down three other runs and ended up at the wildlife sanctuary, which is right down there to the right of the Riu Guanacaste.  When we were done there we just strolled back to our resort.

But before we strolled, we met Bob and Dylan, the sanctuary's two toucans.  The roadie assigned to the toucans thought that their names were hilarious.  We found it amusing.  Here's a picture of Bob.  Or Dylan.  I can't remember who.

Unfortunately, our covid tests (taken at the Riu at no expense) came back negative so we did have to go home.  I was kinda secretly hoping.  We will definitely return to a Riu, sometime, some place, because we like resort'n done right.

I do think, however, another European adventure is calling.  Whenever they open their gates.  But who knows when wanderlust calls and where it may take us.  

Please take care everyone.  I do hope you've had the good sense to get vaccinated, especially in light of this new variant.  You know, not all media is out to get you.  Some of it just might be true. 

It's Six AM, Where's My Caffeine?

The flight to Costa Rica kinda sucked.  The trip started out great, but once we got to the airport it went downhill fast.  Fortunately that was my attitude and NOT the plane.

It started out great because we used our favorite local airport shuttle service operated by Deb Foxen, The Foxen Shuttle.  We hadn't seed Deb for a while, because, covid, so it was great to catch up.

As I am sure I have mentioned many times in my travel pages, I hate lugging our big, fat suitcases around.  But we've got to take them, because, you know, clothes.  And of course we always want to be appropriately dressed.

I also hate long term parking. I really hate airport shuttles.  And I really don't like imposing on friends or family.  If it was a twenty minute ride, that's one thing. But a two plus hour round trip is imposing in my world. 

I also always book a transfer from our arriving airport to our hotel. The last time I didn't do that was our arrival in Amsterdam.  We got to lug our big, fat suitcases in and out of trains, up and down bus steps and through crowded sidewalks. So besides having Deb drive us down and pick us up, there was going to be a guy at the Liberia airport with a sign with my name on it to greet us. Completely stress free.  

Ah.

Our flight was leaving our local international airport at Sacramento, CA, at 10:30 PM. We'd arrive in Charlotte, NC around 6:00 AM. Then our flight to Liberia, Costa Rica would leave Charlotte around 11:00AM. We'd have a few hours to kill once we got to the East Coast, which is great because I usually don't have a spare ten seconds to kill. 

We like to get to the airport a couple hours early for check-in. It's usually stress free. Notice how those two words keep coming up?  We like it that way.  Especially me.  I can be a little OC/AC/DC at times.  Especially at an airport.  

Strange humans sometimes want to touch me and how do tons of metal fly?

Two hours ahead of time is usually stress free.  But not if you're leaving Schipol in the Netherlands on a Sunday. You'd better arrive the day before you plan on leaving stress free.  I think we had to get through six football fields of people before we got to the gate. Good thing Amsterdam had the items I required at the time to be chill.

All day long I was envisioning my lovely wife and I having a sandwich and drink at a restaurant at the airport after we got through security. Since dinner's kinda my only meal of the day, I was hungry and really looking forward to a cafe made anything. Guy Fieri surprise me.  

Imagine our surprise when every single restaurant and bar at the terminal was closed once we got through security.  The only place open was the magazine and snack place.  I paid eleven dollars for a three day old wilted lettuce and turkey sandwich. Condiment free. 

It reminded me of a condiment free salami on crusty french bread sandwich I had in Madrid one time.  With that extra bulky and incredibly firm crust I might as well have been gnawing on a bottle. It felt like the roof of my mouth had hosted a pro football game, with everybody wearing spikes.  

Or it could have been a bunch of lumberjacks in high heels doing ballet.  Why would lumberjacks be in high heels doing ballet?  I have no idea, but when there's time to kill at an airport my mind can kind of wander to some rather inconceivable places.

I got a little sleep on the red-eye to Charlotte and when we arrived at 5:30 AM EST I was ready for a quart of caffeine.  Maybe two.  But talk about surreal.  It was like a ghost terminal. 

As I began my caffeine search, which should have been easy anywhere at 5:30 in the morning, I noticed a pattern.  And that pattern was nobody was open.  There were a total of eight Starbucks in and all around the terminal where we were.  None of them were open.  Not one of the eight.  

Coffee?  Morning?  Anyone?    

"Aargh," I screamed.

Probably to myself.  Cause I don't like to cause scenes. 

Right next door to one of the Starbucks (and believe me I tried every one, twice even) was a Spanx store. They were open.  I could get a pair of Spanx at 6:00 AM if I wanted, but I couldn't get a cup of coffee.  Had we landed in an alternate universe?

I finally found a little out of the way cinnamon roll place that served coffee. That held me over until 8:00 when one of the Starbucks finally opened. 

I guess the covid shortage of travelers caused many of these places to open late and close early. Or close all together. Except for the apparently 24-hour Spanx store in Charlotte. God knows you don't want the relatives to see how much weight you put on while social distancing in isolation.

The rest of the stay in Charlotte was uneventful, except for all the wild, sometimes spectacular and generally deviant thoughts that ebb and flow while I my mind has the leisure to wander and wonder.  while I watch all the silly humans.  Fortunately I usually keep my mouth shut, thereby avoiding arrest, assault or institutionalization. 

We finally took flight, thankfully, landing at Liberia International Airport, one of four international airports in Costa Rica, three hours later.  Liberia is the largest city in the Guanacaste Province in northern Costa Rica.   It is about one hundred fifty miles north of the national capital, San Jose. 

Once outside after customs, which is sometimes edgy (I always travel with THC) but ever uneventful (except for that time in Cabo) I found the guy with my name on a sign quite easily. We did have to pass a barking horde of cabbies, but pass them by we did without having to negotiate a thing.  

Ah.

He grabbed my lovely wife's suitcase and we were off in a nicely air conditioned van, all by ourselves. 

One thing I have learned in my travels, tail gating in foreign countries is the norm, especially south of our border.  I get ticked off if someone gets within a hundred feet of me here, and that's when I'm going twenty-five. But if you're not five to ten feet behind the guy in front of you while driving in Costa Rica, you're not doing it right. I don't care if you're going twenty-five or sixty, ten feet is the proper distance. 

My first word of advice when traveling by car in Costa Rica, by the way, is wear your seat belt!  And maybe bring a Nascar approved helmet, portable roll bar and elbow pads.

Costa Rica is not that big. I think you could fit about seven of 'em in California. So as the crow flies, it's really not that far to get from here to there. The problem is, I think, the width of the roads and the quality and quantity of the drivers.  A scenic site that may only be one hundred miles away can take half a day to get there.

And then there's the fresh-squeezed orange juice peddlers. When I say they set up a roadside stand,  I mean roadside.  The two we passed were about an inch off the pavement, passing their fresh squeezed juice right in through the passenger window while the car is still on the pavement.  Sometimes moving.  Slowly.  This, of course, invariably slows other cars and sometimes stops traffic altogether. 

We started our journey on a reasonably decent two lane highway from the airport, and then a few turns and towns here and there later we were on a rapidly dwindling down to a one lane road through the jungle. I was beginning to think of Kate Hepburn hacking at the brush in The African Queen, as the leach-laden Bogey towed the boat behind.   

"Would I have to get out and hack at the jungle brush in order to proceed?" I began to wonder.  "I didn't bring my machete with me...or my flame thrower..."

Fortunately, as we neared the coast, the lane widened and suddenly we were, wallah, at the Riu security gate. We were waved through, drove past the Riu Guanacaste Resort (next door) and a string of shops before finally coming to the large, circular entry to the Riu Palace.  

Ah.

My lovely wife and I discovered quite a while back that we are unabashed resort lovers, especially in a lush, tropical locale. We also enjoy active exploration vacations, but when we want R&R, we're resorters.   And when it comes to resort'n, a Riu all-inclusive is simply a dandy way to go. 

We were allowed to check-in early, got the magic plastic wristband key to the highway and were bell hopped to our room.  Fifth floor, ocean view.  

Ah.

We unpacked and changed.  Ain't nothing worse than resort exploring in your airplane attire. Pants, socks and shoes?  Nah, got to get into shorts or a swim suit and flip flops. My lovely wife needed a cocktail and I need a dip in one of the pools.  Hell, maybe all of 'em.

Like every Riu we've stayed at, the grounds were impeccably groomed and quite lovely. Here's the view from our room: 

 Here's the sunset/evening view:

 Ah.

After grabbing a couple drinks and long before sunset, we explored the grounds and meandered out to the beach.  There we were immediately accosted by local purveyors of ware, from travel guide services to jewelry.  To cocaine. WTF?  How did we sixty-somethings exude that much cool to invite a want some cocaine inquiry?

We smiled and said no no no no, we don't sniff that no more.  We're long ago tired of waking up on the floor.  After dipping our toes in the central Pacific Ocean we meandered back to the safety of the resort, where purveyors and cocaine were not to be seen.

The buffet that night was sumptuous, with an endless array of tantalizing options.  The only difference from before was a server had to serve you whatever you wanted.  Which was kind of a bitch.  I couldn't just grab eighteen desserts on the sly, a very polite Costa Rican had to serve me each one.  So, you know, I didn't want to be seen as a complete glutton, I had to limit myself to ten.  But even then some of them, kind of looked at me funny.

Actually, that's not really true.  There's some pretty large people that frequent all-inclusive resorts.  I mean, endless food.  Endless.  And the Riu's spread is a heck of a lot more tantalizing than a traditional smorgasbord.  Trust me.

After dinner we strolled the grounds then headed over to the theater, where a fairly decent show was queuing up...

Vaxication Pura Vida Style

I have come up with a new fad diet; broccoli and cocaine. One day you eat as much broccoli as you want, the next day you do cocaine. And so on. 

I road tested this diet back in the 1980's, only I did gin instead of broccoli. And I did gin simultaneously with the cocaine. A lot of both. My dietician would have been appalled. The diet worked, I did lose weight. But I gained it right back when I started to eat, you know, food. 

My lovely wife and I were Moderna-sized in March of this year. Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure, sure, sure, whatever.  Vaccine this and holy crap that.  

We were sugar cube kids back in the 1960's, and hey, look Ma, no polio!  

We, um, don't give a lot of credence to dis-informational propaganda, Facebook memes, or internet hyperbole.  Holy cow, the ocean of notions being peddled out there is truly staggering.  What's even more staggering though is the fact that a fairly large amount of people are actually swimming in it.

We also have medical doctors in the family.  We believe in facts and science. It was not a difficult decision for us to make. 

We also get the flu shot annually. I was sick with the flu about six years ago and for one day I don't think I moved at all. Not a blink, not a twitch, not a sigh. Not even a down beat disco move. And that scared the hell out of me.  Not that I couldn't disco, but that I couldn't blink.  I've gotten an annual flu shot ever since and guess what?  No flu.  

I did have mild flu like symptoms after Moderna shot number one. My lovely wife felt fine. The night after Moderna shot number two we both had chills and muscle aches something fierce. But the morning dawned favorably, and except for a day or two of mild fatigue we were fine after that. 

And so it was, near the end of March, fully vaccinated and feeling fine that we decided to book a relaxing, tropical vaxication. Get the heck out of Dodge.  The travel industry was still reeling, there were deals out there. So I started to do my normal travel deal searching routine. 

I mainly use Hotwire.  I sometimes use Priceline.  When looking for a tropical locale, I also check out SouthwestVacations and Riu.com. 

Whoduwhat is Riu? 

Well, they are an all-inclusive resort chain operating all over Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean. My lovely wife and I were first turned on to the chain by some good friends when we went with them to the Riu Palace in Cabo San Lucas back in 2013; Someone Put a Cabo in My Caboodle. 

We enjoyed that experience so much we did it again (by ourselves this time) in 2016 when we returned to Puerto Vallarta for the second time. (We honeymooned there in 1975 for our first marriage. Yeah, there's a story there. Elizabeth Taylor's in it too!) 

The one thing we learned from that trip is that when booking a Riu, always book a Riu PALACE!

Typically there's a couple Riu's at any one location. One's for party animals that don't care what they eat, the palace is for those with a discerning palate.  We discovered this on our Puerto Vallarta trip and will now always book a palace. As it happened on this particular Pura Vida trip, the palace option was only about $15 more per person for the entire week. 

We were looking at a return to Cabo, but then my lovely wife decided she wanted to go someplace new. And lo and behold, the Riu Palace on the Guanacaste coast in Costa Rica came into view. They wanted us there so badly they flew us there for around $600 each round trip. And that included seat upgrades. 

Nobody seemed to care about the fact we'd been vaccinated. The airlines didn't care, they didn't even require a Covid test.  Costa Rica didn't care about those two things either.  But there were a couple hurdles we did have to jump over in order to get into the country during these covid times.

The first thing Costa Rica required was a health insurance policy for a minimum of $50,000 (if bought through an American carrier, only $20,000 if bought through a Costa Rican carrier) for hospitalization.  It also had to allow for a possible extended stay if quarantine was necessary.  

All the US Carriers we looked at were substantially more expensive than the Costa Rican one we chose, Sagicor. That link is in English, and the site is very easy to navigate.  I think we paid about $80.00 each.

Then we had to fill out a health questionnaire online within forty-eight hours before arrival in Costa Rica.  That was real easy too, here's that link to get you going: Travel Costa Rica.  Once completed, their website gave each of us one of them square squiggly things, you know, sorta looks like this: 

That little ditty was going to be more important for entry into Costa Rica than our passport!   Not that actual one there.  That's not going to do anything but verify a sprinkler return to Amazon.  In case you were wondering.  We photocopied each real one and also took a photo with our phones.

Some of the insurance was moot.  The Riu offered us a free ten day extension if either of us got sick. They also Covid tested us for free for our return flight to the US, which was a requirement by our customs.

Once the details were hammered together, it was time to dream about palm trees swaying, roasting flesh in the hot tropical sun and endless dining on wonderful cuisine.  Which we would not have to prepare at all!

We also began packing, which is an organizational exercise of  the utmost importance for me.  Yes, Adrian Monk is one of my guys.  I even have his bobble head.

I am an early packer.  I have to be.  There's a lot going on that has to fit in that small tiny space that is called a suitcase.  And I don't want to be caught on the other side of the world without proper under garments.

Gone are the days of tossing a t-shirt, boxers, a pair of socks and some no-sweat into a paper bag before running out the door a couple hours before departure.  Hell, I semi-remember a couple out of town weekends where a wallet with cash and cards were all I took.  LOL.  There's some stories there too..if only I could remember.

These days I'll have my suitcase open a couple weeks before travel, especially international, tossing in things here and there as I think about them. 

I also travel with a day pack that always stays with me and carries some very important stuff, like travel docs, reading material and the aunties.  

You know, aunt acid, aunt ihistamine and aunt i-diarrhea pills.  I have found those three items, as well as aspirin and a couple band aids can cover most non-serious urgent needs.  I also carry a small first aid kit that contains enough grit to take care of a few serious situations.  Ex-firefighter, what can I say?

Then I have a big old fat suitcase that gets checked.  I have noticed many of the advance items getting tossed my suitcase way these days generally have to do with me being in my sixties.  And I'm not early sixties anymore.  I'm actually getting close to leaving the mid-sixties even.  At any rate, my advance items include but aren't limited to things like fiber gummies, vitamins, an ace bandage, orthotics, ankle brace, eye glass cleaner.  You know, important old man stuff.  

A tropical vacation is much easier to pack for than say, an adventure excursion to Europe.  Those require good walking shoes, shorts and pants (depending on the time of year), long and short sleeves, coat, sweater, lederhosen and a Saint Bernard with brandy.

Tropical usually doesn't take a lot of room either.  Shorts, button down shirts*, swim suit and a pair of sandals.  Oh, and two freaking pairs of deck shoes.  

Two pairs of decks shoes!  Just who the hell do I think I am?  Imelda Marcos?  I own more shoes now than I ever have in my life.  I used to own like four or five...now I own like five hundred.

Consider this;  I have a pair of flip-flops or crocs by all three exterior house doors.  Because ya know, ya never know if you might have to go a wanderin.

And then I have two pairs of deck shoes.  Hiking boots.  Work boots.  Rain boots.  Snow boots.  High heels. 

Help!  Where does it end? 

*In summer time when the heat is on, I always wear button down, short-sleeve cotton shirts.  I have found t-shirts and polo shirts too hot and confining.  The button down, besides looking a little more stylish, is the absolute coolest shirt one can wear.  In more ways than one.

Just ask me.

Now that we are just about packed, let's go to Costa Rica!

 

 

Rats! (Eratication)

 

For the last couple years I have been dealing with any appalling rat bastard situation up in the chicken coop.  What began as some not quite innocent rodent mischief turned into an all out battle for supremacy lasting way too long.  And costing hundreds of dollars.  And enormous loss of vermin life.

I suppose I have been extremely fortunate up until this onslaught began.  Both the hen house and feed storage area(s) have a concrete foundation.  The structure is pretty darned sound.  You can read about that construction project right here: FantasiaLand.  So it's not like I just had bags of feed laying out in the yard inviting the multitudes of nature.

I have had a single rat to deal with two different times over a seven to eight year period.  I ended up ferreting the first one out and bonking him on the head with a shovel.  

How about that, I ferreted a rat!

The second time I made my ex-son-in-law stomp on him.  It was perfect.  He's a scientist and city dweller and happened to be on the wrong side of the fence when the battle erupted.  I was anticipating the kill and had the shovel, but the rat zigged when he was sposed to zag, and well, fresh city shoes made the hesitant stomp that day.  

For six or seven years I just left the feed in the bags on the concrete floor.  Nice.  Simple.  Easy. Then this onslaught began.  

I do want to caution, if you are an animal rights or rat advocate or somewhat squeamish, I caution you  continuing with this post.  It's gonna get right rat nasty.  

By the way, these aren't the kind of rats you want in a cage inside your house.  They aren't the sort you name Ralph and let run around all over little Jimmy's arms and legs.

 "Ohhhh, how adorable."

Nope. These are the bubonic plague sort of rat nasties, the kind you would drop into your pet Anaconda's cage and watch as it's swallowed whole, squealing all the way.

In case you need a few more reasons why you don't want junior playing with these particulars: Seven Rat Facts

It started in winter the normal type way.  A hole appeared in the bottom of a feed bag and I noticed some rice-sized rat poop here and there.  I went on alert, every morning I was up there I'd make an effort to find the rascal.  I had the two times before, why should this time be different?

The hole got bigger, the droppings increased, but I never saw the culprit.  Then one day I moved the meal worm box and a freaking family of five or six scattered.  I bonked one, but the battle had begun.

I had two different kinds of rat poison on hand, they ignored those.  I ultra soaked the feed shack in mint, if the wind was right it smelled like grasshopper pie a mile away.  They stayed.  I tried one of those ultra sound doohickeys, that didn't work either.  I tried one of those electric zappers, baited it with peanut butter.  Got one, that's it.

Early on in the campaign I took away their main feed source.  I bought two new thirty-two gallon plastic garbage cans to house the feed.  But those little delinquents started in immediately, gnawing on the lids, tearing holes all over.  I started covering the gnawed parts with foil.  It was back and forth and a ludicrous hassle.  Finally, after a couple weeks of pure, unadulterated, ridiculous frustration, I switched to metal cans.  And that worked. 

I am now the owner of two nice, new, red, lidless and purposeless garbage cans.  I tried to save twenty bucks and ended up spending forty more.  If you have a rat problem do yourself a favor and start with metal.  You'll end up there anyway.  Those miscreant rodents are relentless.

I really had no idea what I was up against.  I didn't know they multiplied like Mormons.  I had found and killed maybe five or six of them over a couple months, thinking that had to be close to it, but boy howdy, things picked up quick after a physical therapy session.

While I was having my left hamstring worked over, I was lamenting my rapidly becoming out of control situation.  Even though their main feed source was gone, there was still evidence of them everywhere.  It was like the wrecking crew gang from "A Clockwork Orange" came out every night and did their "Singing in the Rain" routine. 

And then my physical therapist suggested using glue traps.  Not the ones for teeny little mice, but the real McCoy, these big guys, 5x10er's.  Baby.

I baited them in each back corner behind the feed cans, and boy howdy, did they work.  But then the severity of my situation really began to add up.  Every morning I would have at least one, sometimes three, in each trap.  From two to six per day.  It was like Rat Christmas every day!

The confirmed kills started to add up.  Twenty. Sixty.  Eighty.

And these glue traps, they're awesomely gruesome.  The cartoon picture above is cute, the real picture is nasty.  I won't go completely Dean Koontz on you but blood, guts and squealing often greeted me every morning.

I also didn't spend a lot of time trying to be humane.  I never invited them over.  I never asked them to be my friend.  I'm pretty sure the chickens didn't either.

I also didn't have time to deal with the little bastards once they were caught, living or dead.  The whole trap with rats got picked up with a shovel and tossed into a brown grocery bag.  If they were living they didn't last long, especially in the heat.  

Yeah, I was merciless by this point.  Besides the extra daily work, the war was getting expensive.  Each glue trap costs about $2.00.  That's close to  $4.00 a day.  For months. 

And boy howdy, smell?  Those dead little bastards smell awful.  Not as bad as seared human flesh, but pretty darn bad. 

 How do I know what seared human flesh smells like?

No, I wasn't around for the Donner Party.  And don't get me going about those idiots.  I actually have a draft going regarding my opinion about that fiasco...we'll see if it makes it to print.

You'd actually have to find one of my old firefighting posts.  I'm sure I mentioned it.  Our engine was first on the scene for a small plane crash one time and all three aboard the plane had perished upon impact.  And then burned beyond recognition after the subsequent explosion and fire.  

I was involved with extrication of the remains.  It was pretty gnarly.  And quite sweet meat pungent.  Those folks ate some sugar!

But I digress.  There was also confirmed evidence those smelly little maleficents had made a Hopi village of caves within the cliff the chickens had created over time.

That entire concrete block (with brick on top) supporting that middle post used to be underground.  The chickens have scratched and clawed, hunted and pecked so that the inside of their coop is now level and not sloped.  That action has created about a ten foot long cliff, from one to two feet high.  Within that cliff were rat caves, all over the place.

Being the ex-firefighting pyromaniac that I am, I started playing with these smoke bombs and others like them:

Sometimes a disorientated rat would make it out past the smoke, wherein I would bonk him with a shovel.  Sometimes they would scurry out a top hole to another, giving away one of their secret locations.  

I uncovered a nest one time in the upper echelons of the labyrinth and massacred a family of eight squealing rat babies.  I bonked a few but then let a couple squeal until their close-eyed little fur less rat bodies froze in the cold winter air.  I was hoping their cries for help would summon their parents, wherein I would shatter their skulls with a shovel.  But no, they had apparently fled to save their own vile vermin souls.

Besides, a female rat will produce up to five litters per year under the right rat circumstances. The litter sizes are usually between three and twenty, with an average litter size of seven.  It takes only thirty-five days for a rat to reach sexual maturity from birth.   

Do you think the parents even cared?  They're rat baby making machines.  That's apparently all they do.  That and raid my chicken house every night. 

One time I went ahead and threw little packs of poison into all the caves, shoving them in a few inches and then I concreted up the openings, thinking they couldn't get out and would eventually get hungry enough to eat the poison.  I ended up with about a half dozen rats that made it up to the surface (somehow) to die.  So a few took the bait.  

But the war raged unabated.  Every time I thought I made some head way and maybe subdued their morale, they responded like a school full of kindergartners unleashed at Disneyland.  New rat holes would appear around and under the concreted ones.  And rice sized evidence everywhere every night.

I'd keep bombing, I had to keep up the effort.  Each of those packs range from $6.00-$12.00 depending on the brand (and duration of burn time), and I'd burn a pack every week or so.  That was adding up too.  

There had to be an underground labyrinth that would have made the Viet Cong envious.  I rarely if ever got a surface bound escapee.  And then very so often I'd find a spent smoke bomb carcass that was magically tossed out of the cave in which it was deployed the day before. 

I began to think they were Cheech and Chong acolytes and the smoke bombs were spliffs.

"Heyyyy, thanks Mon," they'd rat mutter, "We've got the munchies now."  

And then go raid my chicken coop. 

Rat poop everywhere, including in the chicken's feed container, which hangs about a foot off the ground.  Did they create a rat ladder up or scurry five feet down a metal cable?  I dunno.  

Either way was an acroratic feat.

After a while, the glue traps started to lose their luster.  The rats were talking to each other.  

"Hey, Marvin.  Stay away from that sticky stuff.  Chloe stepped on that the other night and got stuck.  Never came home.  No bother, I'm sleeping with her cousin now."

Somehow the bait was being taken, but it would take a few days just to catch one.  The catches would either be a youngster that skipped school that day or a fatter one that just couldn't resist the bait.  But the leaders of the pack and the rest of the round table were stayed away.

I took to watching U-tube rat catching videos at night before going to sleep.  No doubt enhancing my rodent killing skills in my dreams.  

I tried a number of their ideas.  None of them worked.  Or maybe worked once. Rats everywhere else seemed really gullible.  Why did I get the ones that went to school?

The glue traps seemed to be the only thing that worked, only now less so.  I also kept smoke bombing the holes with limited success.  The evidence of their infestation kept up its pace.

Tractor Supply was the only local purveyor of smoke bombs, only they ran out.  The bombs even became in short supply at Amazon.  Apparently I wasn't the only one with a rat problem.  That or there's a lot of pyromaniacs out there playing with smoke bombs.

I was beginning to feel rat impotent.  I wasn't putting up any sort of offense.  Or defense.  I was growing  concerned.  I didn't want the infestation to continue unabated.  I had to keep up the effort.  

For a couple weeks I kept after Tractor Supply for smoke bombs, they said they should be restocked any day.  But that day never seemed to come.  So one day I decided I'd try a box of these:

  

The blocks are about 4x6 and peanut flavored.  I broke one apart, put a couple smaller pieces around the feed house and then put a smaller block (about 2x4) up in the companion cage, close to the upper echelons of the rat cave Hopi village.  The chickens are currently locked out of that area, so it was a perfect set-up.

The next morning I discovered the smaller pieces in the feed house had been nibbled on.  Then I noticed  the 2x4 block in the companion cage was GONE.  Devoured.  

I was surprised.  I had not seen any sort of poison consumption on that level at all since the war began.   I put an entire 4x6 block in the companion cage.

The next morning I found two to three dead rats on the ground.  I also found the entire 4x6 block had been devoured!  Poof.  Gone!

Holy cow.  Those little bastards were having a heck of a serious feast on the wrong cuisine.  Lucky me.

I put another 4x6er in the same place.  The next morning, the same thing.  Two to three dead rats on the surface, the entire block of poison devoured.  I was guardedly optimistic.  Had I found the holy grail?

Then we went to Costa Rica, and left the fallout to our ace pet and house sitter, Amber of  Pet Plant and Homes. 

Amber picked up a total of eight dead rats on the surface during the week we were gone.  We bagged all the surface dead ones and threw them in the garbage by the way.  I didn't want the potential of any wildlife (or our cats) to ingest a poisoned rat.

In all, maybe twenty to thirty of those vile creatures made it to the surface to die with the last offensive.  I think another several hundred died in their underground bunkers.  Something devoured almost the entire box of poison and it wasn't just thirty rats.

It's been four weeks now and there has been zero evidence of any those nasty scoundrels.  I baited another glue trap two weeks ago, but the bait and trap still sit idle.

I have had several people tell me I'd never get rid of them.  And these were informed people, not the  the UPS guy.  This was a pest control guy and several ranchers.

How many rats did I ultimately kill in this two year battle?  One hundred eight-two confirmed.  But I'm pretty certain a minimum of that number died underground from the poison.  Too much was consumed to only kill thirty.  

I would like to say I have done my part to not create more vermin for the world.  Your welcome

When that teeming ratopolis emerged around my poultry habitat, it was important for me to not let it get out of hand.  Hell, if it got too crowded up there they could have started migrating to the house.

Hopefully with the changes I have made to their potential food sources I can avoid any future infestation.  But if they do come, I am substantially wiser for the next go round of rat eratacation.

"Pura Vida, Resort'n Done Right" coming soon.

 

Please Pass the Dextrose!

I have tried everything, I think, short of amputation to try and relieve the pain I had been experiencing in both my shoulders over the last couple years. I have tried pain relievers, I have tried acupuncture, I have tried physical therapy, I actually had surgery on my left shoulder in late 2018, all to no avail. Then on my last physical therapy appointment I had a few extra seconds to look at a peer periodical with an article touting PRP, or Platelet Rich Plasma. This is a procedure where they draw some blood from you, spin it in a centrifuge thingy and then inject the plasma into the affected joint. And this made me wonder, since I have been an avid blood donor for a couple decades that blood flow to these extremities might be a concern. It then made me wonder if these injuries might have transpired when I was a pint low, with less blood (and oxygen) reaching the area making them more susceptible to injury. I have been met with mixed reviews from the professionals I have asked about this theory. Some said mostly not, a few said, "Eh, maybe." I did not donate blood at all last year, and I have not suffered any further tendon or ligament injury. But I am a firm believer in donating blood, especially after our wonderful daughter almost died in 2019. Yeah, the morning of our son's wedding I was informed that she had just miscarried.  Planned Parenthood also had called stating that it might be an ectopic pregnancy.

I apologise for the previous run-on paragraph from hell which should have been five. The back-end here at blogger has changed it's format a bit, and this post has been in editing mode for months. So somehow a whole bunch of programming gobbligook gets magically inserted here and there and if you fuck with it, run on paragraphs occur. Or possibly worse. I dunno. We'll see.
An ectopic pregnancy occurs when a fertilized egg implants and grows outside the main cavity of the uterus. Pregnancy begins with a fertilized egg. Normally, the fertilized egg attaches to the lining of the uterus.  But apparently sometimes it likes to go a wandering.

An ectopic pregnancy most often occurs in a Fallopian Tube, which carries eggs from the ovaries to the uterus. This type of ectopic pregnancy is called a tubal pregnancy. Sometimes, an ectopic pregnancy occurs in other areas of the body, such as the ovary, abdominal cavity or the lower part of the uterus (cervix), which connects to the vagina.

An ectopic pregnancy can't proceed normally. The fertilized egg can't survive, and the growing tissue may cause life-threatening bleeding, if left untreated.

She should have gone to the hospital then, but she and me decided we didn't want to put a shroud over the her brother's wedding.  So she was going to stay the course and then go to the hospital first thing in the morning.

The wedding went absolutely fabulously, as did the reception. It was at the after party when she collapsed, her boyfriend and cousin rushing her to the hospital. 

Fate was on her side.  The visiting ER doc at our little country hospital happened to be a crack OB/GYN from San Diego who had experienced ectopic pregnancy fallout before.  Nine units of blood and three units of plasma later my daughter was still alive.  A smaller person would not have survived.

So there's that.  I donate blood to get my BP checked for free.  Plus they're always nice (I think they have to be) and you get free treats.  Who knew the exercise would actually save lives?

As I was still shoulder floundering, my lovely wife turned me on to a local doctor who worked non-surgically with connective tissues.

Great guy, but he does not take insurance, at all.  So after my first $275.00 visit, I decided to talk with my GP about it all.  And he referred me to Mountain View Rehabilitation and Dr. Tracy Hoag 530-477-0893

Can you tell I'm a fan?

On my first visit I was wearing my Gwar t shirt, a group I would hardly go see but whose t shirt I semi-sardonically wear.  (I now request t shirts from our daughter when she goes to a show and we baby-sit.)  Anyway, Dr. Hoag recognized the group/shirt and we cracked up about it all.  If you're not familiar with Gwar, check out the link above.

Anyway, on my first visit (covered entirely by Medicare and the extras part alphabet whatever I now pay extra for) we covered the basics (besides Gwar) and then she did an ultrasound on both shoulders.  From looking at the ultrasound screen and from having me do certain movements she surmized I was having trouble with the supraspinatus tendon in both shoulders.  Since both long head biceps tendons have ruptured, this would mean there's extra pressure on whatever is left.  I guess.

I can semi-understand surmising a diagnosis based on certain movements, but I don't know how anybody can tell anything from an ultrasound screen.  To me it looks like you're searching for a sand dab in the middle of the Sahara Desert, or a frog in a swimming pool full of dill pickles.

On my second visit. per our treatment plan, we began a little Prolotherapy, which is a bit different than Platelet Rich Plasma therapy.  It is also a heck of a lot cheaper and wahlah, it is also covered by Medicare!  Just what is Prolotherapy?  Let's have a look see:

Prolotherapy is an alternative therapy that can help repair ligaments. It’s also known as regenerative injection therapy or proliferation therapy.

This treatment is meant for injured joints and connective tissue. It’s also used to treat some people who have conditions like arthritis, whiplash, and degenerative disc disease. Prolotherapy can treat a number of areas of your body, including your back, neck, knees, shoulders, hips, pelvic floor, and hands.

Prolotherapy is considered safe for most people. However, only smallTrusted Source studies have been conducted about its overall effectiveness.

Prolotherapy typically costs between $400–$1,000, depending on the clinic and the part of the body that’s treated.

Prolotherapy involves watery injections to relieve pain from affected joints. These injections typically contain natural substances like dextrose, saline, and sarapin, in addition to a numbing agent like lidocaine. This treatment is unlike platelet-rich plasma injections, which require stem cells from the person undergoing treatment. It’s also unlike steroid and cortisone injections.

Your doctor will make the injection to a very specific, targeted area in the injury site which triggers your body’s healing response. This leads to the growth of new, healthy ligaments or tendon fibers. As a result, you may experience reduced pain and stiffness and improved strength, function, and mobility of the joint.

Multiple treatments can be used to continue to stimulate growth of new tissues.

I was pretty excited about starting this therapy, very hopeful that it would work.  But thirty days later my shoulders were the same.  When I went in for the second injection, it was decided I would have an MRI done to find out exactly what was going on.  

I was also informed that Ibuprofen could inhibit the effectiveness of the dextrose.  And since Ibu-800's are one of my go-to's for  old man back, I said, "Oh."

So I stopped eating IBU-8's and then a week or two after the second injection I thought I felt maybe I was getting a little more pain free movement within my shoulders.  By the time I went in for my third injection I could do circular movements with both arms pretty much PAIN FREE.

I might be able to golf again.  Maybe even toss a ball around.  It's. Been.i>YEARS! 

Oh, and by the way, the MRI listed full-thickness tears in both my supraspinatus tendons, among a couple other less painful items in both shoulders.

Dr. Hoag was dead on with her diagnosis without having the aid of an MRI.  She is the real deal.  

Apparently there are not a lot of doctors out there offering this kind of therapy and having insurance pay.  Most of them are cash only, and with each injection running somewhere between $200-$500 that can add up.  I have not paid a dime, except for insurance premiums.

If you are suffering from any kind of joint pain I highly recommend looking into Prolotherapy.  If you are local, I highly recommend Mountain View Rehabilitation. Dr. Hoag has unfortunately left, but I am now seeing one of the main dudes, Dr. Joel Richnak. He's a whiz at non-surgical orthopedics. It took him a visit or two to catch up with me. I went in to see him about a trigger finger, but both shoulders, my right ankle, and left thigh/hamstring also needed attention. We're now on track and hopefully, hopefully I can start swinging a golf club again. And I will also be back here at the keyboard a little more often. The crowd-funding for our invention did not go as planned, so we are back peddling a bit and are now looking at simply marketing the patent(s). And then maybe go golfing. Look for Pura Vida-Resort'n Done Right shortly!