Worry not, friends - not that kind of clinic! I woke up this morning and in what seems to be a repeat performance of the eye infection I had several months ago, I had what my mother politely called, "sleep" in my left eye. This is that crust that seems to form when something is going on.
So, I got ready for work then called the appointment line to get a same day appointment. Being retired military, I usually go right out to the base and see a provider there. Today's spin of the wheel of appointments landed me on, "Maybe we can see you next week". I sort of pressed the issue and they kindly authorized me to go to an off-base clinic and pay the $12 co-pay (I normally don't pay anything), but they couldn't give me a specific appointment time.
So, the lady gave me the address of the place and when she said it was off Highway 90 and 36th Street, I knew exactly where it was. But then she told me the address as 720 Pleasanton, and the name of the place, Gonzaba Medical, something seemed strange.
I called into the office and gave them the story and then grabbed the book I've been reading for about four months, Comanche Moon. It takes me forever to read a book when I don't fly often. Without an appointment, I figured I ought to be ready for a long wait.
Anyway, I drive over to the first place over on 36th Street and walk in to ask the people if I am at the correct place. The shrugged shoulders when I said "Gonzaba" were enough to have me get back in the car and call my wife. You know, I own a Garmin, but never thought to take it with me. Thankfully, my wife looked up the address on Google Maps, and much to my dismay, and as I pretty much expected, I was way off.
I have been down Pleasanton Road many times, and I was hoping that perhaps there was another Pleasanton, perhaps an Avenue, or Court, or Drive or Lane or something. Nonetheless, I was out of coffee and already a little irritated.
So I get to this place and walk in, and honestly, the building looks nice and clean and much to my surprise, it was not filled with screaming kids and their 15 year-old mothers and 30 year-old grandmothers, and there weren't a bunch of creepy looking people like I expected. I don't know what I expected, but the place looked fine.
I walked in and saw a sign that said, "Walk-Ins", so I figured that was me. After I signed in, a man with one fake leg and another leg cut off at the knee wheeled up in a wheel chair and signed in. I started to tell him this line was for walk-ins, but figured he might not appreciate the humor.
I took a seat in front of the desk where two ladies were chatting and generally ignoring everybody who signed in, and I started to read my book. It was actually sort of nice to have a few minutes to catch up on Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call. But as is my nature, I looked up every half a page to see if anything new was happening, and even though I had only been waiting for a few minutes, it was starting to irritate me that the ladies behind the desk had not snapped-to and called my name.
The place has a definite Mexican and Spanish feel to it. In fact, the seat I was sitting in was the spiffy hand-carved design that looks really good but is totally uncomfortable. It was getting impatient and the fact that I had been there for a solid fifteen minutes was wearing thin on my nerves. Seeing the two ladies at the desk giggling and whispering wasn't making me happy.
Finally, after several chapters and probably twenty minutes, a lady from another desk walked over to the clip board where I had signed in and called my name. Oh, I guess those two girls sitting around ignoring the patients were actually doing their job. Sorry.
The lady took my information, filled out some paperwork and politely asked me for the $12.00 in advance of seeing the doctor, then told me I would be called in a few minutes. And sure enough, it was just a few minutes.
A technician called me in for the standard weight, height, blood pressure check and such, then asked me why I was being seen. I pointed to my eye and she made a few notes and told me the doctor would be in in a few minutes. Once again, I pulled out my book thinking this would be another half hour or so, but I kid you not, a nice nurse practitioner named Barbara came in within a minute or two. 
She gave me a good looking over, peered into my eye with some periscope sort of thing and hooked me up with some lubricant that is supposed to fix things up.
And that was it - everything was fast and relatively pain-free considering I didn't have an appointment. Of course, I had to go back to the base to get my prescription filled and that was about an hour long process, but I was truly pleased with the people at this Gonzaba place.
The thing is, even when I do have an appointment with the regular clinic at the base, I am never seen in under 30 to 40 minutes from the time of my appointment. I just expect it to be worse without an appointment. I guess paying that $12.00 co-pay makes all the difference in the world. It almost makes you a customer!
How are your appointments? Got any complaints? Tell me about it.
The other day as we were driving home from the rodeo, we passed this little gem on Highway 90. 
This guy is apparently running for Sheriff, and decided to use this spiffy old Mayberry R.F.D. looking Barney Fife cruiser as a prop. I wonder if he had a single bullet in his shirt pocket, just in case.
You'd think that we would have something better to do than jump in a little truck and head southwest of San Antonio just for a little drive, and today, we did. We drove through our neighborhood seeking out garage sales, and I must report that the pickin's were mighty slim. So, on a whim, I said, "Let's go to Lytle", and my wife simply responded with , "Let's go!" 
We took Loop 1604 from the GNW and headed south through Atascosa to I-35. At this point I usually insert a comment about how nice it is to drive just a few minutes and be out into the country. I won't repeat it this time, but you can appreciate the feeling (unless you live in a really huge city, or you already live out in the woods and are only reading this blog during your monthly visit to civilization).
Directly west of San Antonio along Highway 90 is a town called Hondo which we have visited before, and today, we ended up there for lunch. I'll tell you about that later. But to orient yourself, check out the handy map provided by our friends at Google Maps, and appropriately annotated by Bill Gates and I using PowerPoint.
I had originally thought of this as being a very brief trip down to Lytle, perhaps lunch at some undetermined restaurant, a few pictures of the things we find interesting and then back home. I also can tell you that I was eager to see first hand the evil Cabaret that has opened outside of the greater Lytle Metropolis, and get a picture of it. I did. You can read more about that over at Strange in SA.
From I-35 south, we headed down 132 which is also US-81 and for those that live there, Main Street. Lytle looks like a typical small town farming community, but a lot nicer than many of have seen in South Central Texas.
Of course, I love the older buildings along the main drag, but the mixture of new homes tastefully interspersed among the older neighborhood just a few blocks in town was a welcome sight for someone who would like to move outside of San Antonio, but not feel as though either everything will be brand spankin'-cookie cutter-new, or completely run down shacks inhabited by folks hiding from the law. Think Christine.
If you need to mail a package or a final resting place, you can do it in Lytle.
Okay, one final shot at the goofy Cabaret thing. The place is not only out of town, but by my calculation, it was also in the next county. When someone in Lytle says, Not in my backyard, they ain't kidding!
Just a stones throw down the road from Lytle is a tiny place called Natalia. It is probably much bigger than what you pass on 132, I mean, there is so much farm land out there and just wide open space, but to the Saturday afternoon drive-by, Natalia looks pretty small.
Sure, they have the post office and even their own memorial to those who have served. Very nicely done and well maintained. This alone is worth a trip to Natalia.
I noticed this tiny little chapel and I swear, I think I have seen this thing in another small town. And if you look at the picture, it looks as though it has been moved. Who knows? I know it is tall enough to walk in, but seriously, you'd have to go outside to change your mind.
Further down the road is the town of Devine. I really enjoyed this little place. We have some friends who live just on the other side of I-35 and it is easy to understand why they are willing to make the commute to San Antonio for work.
And these people put on a serious flea market! We didn't stop, although we seriously thought about it.
This is sort of interesting. You know how sometimes, some guy will open up a business and it does so well, he decides to open up another one right across town? Well, it turns out that some lady named Ruthie knows a good thing when she sees it. Hence, two lounges less than a mile apart. Technically, that is across town.
Devine does have your standard items - the water tower labeled appropriately, and a big huge bank. We actually stopped in the parking lot of the bank and purchased some Girl Scout cookies. The taste just the same out in the country as they do in the city.
One thing that you don't see everyday. A motorized wheelchair junkyard. I guess I just didn't realize there was such a market.
There is an intersection of Highways 132 and 173, and when you head back north, before long, you will make your way to Hondo - and that is what we did. The drive is wonderful. Open farmland and the occasional house. About half way to Hondo, you can begin to recognize the change in landscape. Off in the distance you can see the beginning of the Hill Country. On such a beautiful day, it is a crime not to own a convertible anymore.
I only post a handful of pictures on these little reports, but I often take close to a hundred pictures in just an hour or so. I have a method where I transfer the full-sized photos onto a portable hard drive, then delete the images on my 1gb disk for the camera. Apparently I forgot to clean up the disk, so by the time we got to Devine, my disk was full. First stop in Hondo was the Super Wal-Mart where I purchased two 1gb SD disks for $18.00. How did the people of Hondo survive before Wal-Mart?
Once in Hondo, we were simply famished. I'll tell you about the vittles next time.
Worry not, friends - not that kind of clinic! I woke up this morning and in what seems to be a repeat performance of the eye infection I had several months ago, I had what my mother politely called, "sleep" in my left eye. This is that crust that seems to form when something is going on.
So I get to this place and walk in, and honestly, the building looks nice and clean and much to my surprise, it was not filled with screaming kids and their 15 year-old mothers and 30 year-old grandmothers, and there weren't a bunch of creepy looking people like I expected. I don't know what I expected, but the place looked fine.
I took a seat in front of the desk where two ladies were chatting and generally ignoring everybody who signed in, and I started to read my book. It was actually sort of nice to have a few minutes to catch up on Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call. But as is my nature, I looked up every half a page to see if anything new was happening, and even though I had only been waiting for a few minutes, it was starting to irritate me that the ladies behind the desk had not snapped-to and called my name.
The place has a definite Mexican and Spanish feel to it. In fact, the seat I was sitting in was the spiffy hand-carved design that looks really good but is totally uncomfortable. It was getting impatient and the fact that I had been there for a solid fifteen minutes was wearing thin on my nerves. Seeing the two ladies at the desk giggling and whispering wasn't making me happy.
A technician called me in for the standard weight, height, blood pressure check and such, then asked me why I was being seen. I pointed to my eye and she made a few notes and told me the doctor would be in in a few minutes. Once again, I pulled out my book thinking this would be another half hour or so, but I kid you not, a nice nurse practitioner named Barbara came in within a minute or two. 
She gave me a good looking over, peered into my eye with some periscope sort of thing and hooked me up with some lubricant that is supposed to fix things up.
