I am starting to feel like an administrator for Obamacare.
At least, when it comes to my much-anticipated trip to Central America.
You know the drill by now. Last September I told you how my cousin Dan presented me with an offer I could not refuse. (a new dawn)
He and his wife were planning a three-month road trip from Florida to where the Pan-American Highway ends in Panama -- and then returning. It was exactly the type of adventure that drew me to Mexico.
And then reality intervened. Dan had a great employment opportunity arise. The trip was postponed until later in the year -- October or November. (i'm on the road to central america)
I was still excited about the prospect. And well I should have been. The prospect of seeing Central America Jack Kerouac style was something that every aging American male would like to do. The spirit of Jack London is more than ethereal in our aging souls.
In mid-February, Dan let me know the Apollo rocket was back on the gantry. (the inevitability of surprise) He would be waiting at my gate in Melaque when I returned from this tax trek north. But not in October. It would be a mere four weeks away in March.
I would fly in on a Wednesday, and the three of us would pull away on Saturday -- headed to the land of pistols, ponies, and bandits. Well, maybe not so many ponies.
Just before I came to Oregon, cousin Dan contacted me again. The allure of more employment had once again postponed the trip. Until October.
With each postponement, he has apologized profusely. There is no need. When it comes to figuring out where I will be on any given day, I am as flexible as they come. Combine that with my obsession with taking this trip, and I am more than happy to wait until October. Or wherever it happens.
And that is why I am not as concerned as the Obamacare administration. I know my trip is going to happen -- and I am going to have a good time.
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