The smoke is so thick today, its only the absence of toucans that convinces me we aren’t in the Amazon jungle at misty dawn. Apparently it isn’t from local fires, as the weather service posted a smoke warning on their website this morning. There was a fire up near Roger’s ranch last Friday, though it was put out quickly. After he had left my place for the day his sister-in-law called me up to find out where he was, and I had a minor heart attack when she said his ranch was on fire because my very first thought was this had better not screw up my construction schedule! My next thought – much more charitably – was oh, they’ll get it under control before Monday, when he has to get back on my job. My stress hormone level is such that that is just about as charitable as I can get. They got the fire out in a matter of hours, though two of the firefighters were hospitalized for smoke inhalation.
Its a good thing I didn’t have a real heart attack, and that the firefighters were out of our district, because the quality of medical response around here has been called into question. It seems that the other day there was a fellow who, while cutting firewood, felt chest pain and rushed to a house, banged on the door and begged the inhabitant to call 911. The Quick Response Unit arrived all right, but decided that the guy wasn’t having a heart attack at all, but was just dehydrated. They cancelled Mercy Flight and the ambulance, and the guy died. Please, people: if you are in enough distress over whatever your condition is to call 911, you should go. A few weeks ago one of my neighbors thought he was having a heart attack, and it turned out that he’d taken a friend’s nitroglycerine which made him feel worse than the original heart-attack-like symptoms, but I sent him in anyway. Never rule out a heart attack without a cardiogram, and never take anyone else’s medication. Now I will descend from my soapbox.
Asides aside, life is smokey but comfortably cool at night in the Bustling Burg of Babbling Brooks. The townsfolk, as usual, are at eachothers’ throats, and filling the days with earnest, impassioned and strongly-worded tirades about the administration of, among other things, Town affairs. Our mayor Bill, who got to be Mayor because no one else ran for the position has taken the dictum that government should be run more like a business to an extreme so great it has metastasized to hubris. I’ve even heard him identified not as Mayor Bill, but King Jong Bill, as he emulates the North Korean leader in every department but stature and hairstyle. A few citizens were so smoking mad at his latest financial and administrative frottage, I’m sure they’re only exacerbating the atmospheric viscosity around here.
Cripes, its a good thing some of you followed up on my suggestion that you get a dictionary to look up “smatchet” because I’m getting positively florid with the prose here. Time to go.