I phoned my GP’s office and said even though there’s nothing wrong with me, I’d like to come in for a general check up with my doctor. The receptionist looked up my file, and said, “Oh yes. I see you were last here two years ago, so you can have an in-person appointment.” I said, “great thanks,” thinking wow, what if I had made the mistake of calling earlier. I would’ve been told I could have a phone appointment, I suppose.

One of my friends who shall remain unnamed is looking forward to this with great anticipation. She hardly drinks but has had blood tests showing elevated liver enzymes. My last blood tests of a few years ago showed my liver being “fine” according to the doc which made her shake her head in wonder. She’s now hoping for similar results on my new blood tests which the doc will presumably order.

This is why we’ll all be waiting with bated breath for these results. Tomorrow when I see the doc, I guess she’ll do the usual and ask how many drinks I have in a week. This then causes a few moments of mental consternation as I begin to cipher it out. “Let’s see. Three times seven is, no wait is that six plus two? um I think it’s around ten drinks a week.”

She then probably writes down twenty which is more like it. I believe we’re supposed to have a limit of one drink a week, or something nuts like that. This will never work, just like once-a-week watering in the Okanagan summer heat doesn’t work either. And really folks, with AI threatening human extinction, is it reasonable to follow some of these untenable rules?

How embarrassing if I have to report I also have elevated liver enzymes. My parents would be so ashamed. There was one thing they always agreed on: you can’t trust a teetotaler. It was one of the worst things you could say about someone.

I’ve been in some kind of writing mania for the past several days as I wanted to enter the San Miguel writing contest that closes today. I also wanted to finish the third and final kids’ book featuring the dachshunds as the neighbourhood crime watch. And now those things are indeed behind me, so I can fully concentrate on the impending reunion weekend in Osoyoos.

Alison’s arriving from Toronto on Thursday, Penny from the Island on Friday, and we’re heading south to party with Phyllis and Mary. It’ll be grade ten all over again, just with more liquor, better food and heavier participants.

You’ll recall I sent photos and wording for a website on Mom’s property to Luke but I’m sorry to report we are nowhere with that. I don’t know how to get that kid to move. He’s been like that since he entered kindergarten though so I shouldn’t be surprised. It’ll be nice when done, but by then the house may have crumbled into the ground.

We did pass the inspection on the modular home and so that hurdle’s behind us. I just wish someone with imagination and ambition sees the potential in two houses on one acre with a hundred feet of private beach across the road. I like to imagine a couple who adore cooking and hosting running a high-end Airbnb or else creating an artists’ retreat.

In the meantime I just have to wait and hope. It’s not unlike the writing contests.