I know you are all wondering what happened with the medication. Let me get this out of the way. Good news. I presented my calculations (via the message portal) to the neurologist (her assistant, actually), and begged again for help (implying it's their damn fault I am running out of pills). I think it was the plaintive line that did the trick: "I am far from home, and I need help." Who could ignore that? The prescription was forthcoming forthwith. It only took a long walk and a long train ride to get to a pharmacy in Boston's Back Bay (one of two pharmacies the neurologist had "in their system," whatever that means.) Lucky for me, I had an escort: My sister, is an expert navigator of Boston trains.
After Boston, I went through New York state, Pennsylvania again (but a in Kentucky. Each state has a unique personality, I have discovered. Crossing a state line sometimes means southerly route this time), a bit of New Jersey (avoiding toll roads), a bit of Maryland, West Virginia, and now I'm crossing a river, but sometimes it's just an imaginary boundary. If not for the GPS Lady saying "Welcome to New Jersey," for instance, I wouldn't have known I left Pennsylvania. But after a few miles, I can tell I'm not in Kansas anymore.
The one thing all the states on this trip have had in common is the extraordinary lush greenness of the land (with the exception of Indiana; I only saw the northern tip so it hardly counts). The decidous woodsy forests all along the highways are just starting to change colors. I'm sure the ocean of trees will be spectacular in a few weeks, but I'm from Oregon, I've seen a lot of leaves in all stages of decay, from glorious orange boughs to yellow blizzards to slushy mushy piles of gray muck in the gutters. It's fall. Been there done that. I admit, that is one thing I kind of like about the desert. Hardly any fallen leaves. Just those damn cactuses everywhere.
I've seen wondrous things on the eastern leg of this journey. GPS Lady sent me on some backroads, where I passed dozens of old cemeteries dating from the 1700s. Around every bend was a farmhouse with a steep roof, some in the final throes of collapse. Some were newly built mansions cleverly designed to look old, perched on the crest of a hill where the landowner could survey his kingdom of cows and hay bales. Barns in all stages of decrepitude. Truckloads of cows who (I'm guessing) would rather live than be slaughtered. Roadkill so destroyed by a vehicle, it looked like someone dumped raw hamburger on the pavement, just for the hell of it.
I've seen many wondrous things, and I am forever changed as a result.
It was 114°F in Scottsdale a couple days ago. Desert, I'm not missing you, glad you aren't here.
