Sunday Morning Opening

So we performed our Sunday morning ritual-----open the pill box, you know, the one branded with the days of the week on the cover of the little compartments; get out the various drugs, supplements, vitamins that prolong our lives; and load up the box for the week.  Every so often, of course, one of the bottles of prescription drug or fish oil needs to be opened.  That’s when thoughts of the Tylenol poisoner come to mind.

Back in 1982, some bozo, to this day unknown, laced bottles of Tylenol sold in the Chicago area with poison.  Seven people died.  The result was a recall of the product and the familiar safeguards applied to packaging today.  Which of us hasn’t struggled with opening a bottle of vitamins or a prescription drug?  First, cut off the plastic that is shrink-wrapped around the exterior of the cap.  Then push down and turn to open (hopefully) the cap----best not try this if your arthritis is kicking up.  Now, the third layer of protection, the aluminum foil paper stuck to the top of the bottle----puncture it, peel it, scream at it....

I have but one wish for the perpetrator of this incident. The individual who caused all the rest of us law-abiding citizens to suffer and plan when opening our meds:  I sincerely hope he develops such crippling arthritis that he cannot open his pain killers or other treatments, that it hurts so bad when he battles the protective packaging he caused, that he surrenders himself to the authorities so he can be jailed-----and his sentence can be to discover a more humane replacement for the methods used to preserve product integrity than those with which we presently struggle.

Feelings of Inadequacy

It's only Tuesday.  The Army has found left-over nuclear waste in a bunker at Biggs airfield, next to Fort Bliss in El Paso.  Not to worry, it's only alpha and beta particles buried a foot and a half or so deep but fortunately higher than the water table.  This information was revealed by a retired serviceman who was there when they buried the stuff in the 50s.

The Florida court system worked, given their laws and rules of evidence, and George Zimmerman was acquitted in the shooting of Trayon Martin.  'Nuff said-----you can find any opinion you want on the 'Net.

Almost forgot---the Senate reached a deal to confirm a handful of people to positions in the executive branch without filibustering.  Considering that the vote to move forward with the nomination of Richard Cordray to head the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau was 71-29 one wonders why it was held up (filibustered) at all.  Ah, the mysteries of sausage-making, sorry, the machinations of politics in our Congress.  Cordray was confirmed 66-34.

God told a little girl in Santa Fe to go to the bathroom, saving her life as a bullet plowed into her bedroom wall.  Good thing he's around---could this be our long sought-after solution to gun violence??

The capper to my feeling inadequate, though, is my abysmal failure last Friday to navigate a single track mountain bike trail in the Organ Mountains.  I would remind readers of this blog that I used to mountain bike frequently back in New Hampshire.  Together with some friends, we completed a 50 mile loop through southern NH, mostly rail bed and sand churned up by ATVs and dirt bikes.  For a solid year, I rode my bike down the rail bed 11 miles each way from home to work to build up my legs for a pending knee operation.  So traversing the Sierra Vista North section, 2.8 miles of relatively stable single track with no major climbs, should be child's play.  I made it about 1/2 a mile into the ride and my thighs felt like they would burst and my lungs screamed for air!!!  Inadequate me----and stupid, too.  There's a huge difference riding the ditches, flat and graded, at 3900 feet and tackling a mountain trail starting at 5100 feet elevation.  Obviously I need to ride more and for longer distances, and on terrain other than the ditches and bike paths.  I will complete this ride, and others, because the ultimate goal is to ride down the mountain at Angel Fire, starting at the summit which is only 10,650 feet high.