Ssshhhh! Don't tell anyone but you see this plane? Yeah, I'm on it. Seat 8-D. I'll be landing in Panama this afternoon, meeting up with my brother-in-law, and taking off for his beach front property in the Bijao resort in Santa Clara. I didn't want to tell you sooner for fear of jinxing things.
Some of you may recall how my earlier plans for a six week Panama sojourn were dashed when my hematologist refused to let me go in December. Well, my latest blood work results show a vast improvement. No cause for concern. And my next doctor's appointment is in late March. So, hey, I've decided to squeeze in a couple of weeks on the beach, in the ocean and at the golf course in central America.
And I've left poor Mrs D behind working hard at the office. I think if she has some spare time she's gong to paint the kitchen. That'd be a nice treat for my return. Isn't she swell?
I've worked hard for this. I've followed my doctor's directions. Watched what I've eaten. Exercised. Drank plenty of fluids (including the odd Corona). I've trained hard.
And it's fitting that now I've finally made it to the homeland of Balboa.
No not that Balboa! Vasco Nunez de Balboa. He's the guy who made the very first trip across the isthmus of Panama to the Pacific Ocean. There are all kinds of things named after him in Panama. Statues, streets, trees, my brother-in-laws' condo building (no shit) and - most importantly - beer!
But I'm not going to over extend myself. After all, things didn't end well for Balboa. Unlike Rocky, poor Vasco was beheaded. A misunderstanding to be sure. Nevertheless, I intend to keep my wits, and my head, about me.
That's why I've been practicing my Spanish.
"Dos Balboa cervezas por favor"