City street – Salt Lake City

I ran across the street this morning to get bread for tomorrow. As I was leaving the bakery, an attractive younger man was watching me intently.

In earlier days, I would have thought he was cruising me and I might be getting lucky!

My first though this morning was, “Rats, my pants are unbuttoned.”

I have no idea why he was staring. My pants were buttoned and I didn’t get lucky!

Jazz game

Okay, I know you are all thinking, “What the hell is Mac doing at a professional basketball game, especially one that doesn’t include the Trail Blazers?”

Well, it was a family thing. Just a chance to bond. A good thing.

I did learn the hard way that clapping is not good for my right hand. I am wondering how I will manage the Duck game!

A walk around Salt Lake City

Temple Square in the snow.

City Creek Mall

And everywhere, a little reminder.

Hiking in the Wasatch

My niece and two nephews took my brother-in-law and I on a trek through the Wasatch Mountains. Abby, Steve and John were kind enough to keep the pace at a tolerable rate so that I could keep up. I only had to ask them to stop once. 

Before leaving on the walk, I was afraid I wouldn't make it. I was scared that I would have to be carried out. But I made it out on my own volition. I really am pretty proud of myself! 

Having a great time!

December 26

The Battle for Tommytown

The fighting was fierce as the evil enemy stormed the Tommytown Hilton. You will note that the Tommytown Cafe is not there anymore. It was destroyed in a previous assault!

Obviously the force of evil planned to occupy the Tommytown Hilton for a significant period of time.

With little other recourse, the residents of Tommytown retreated to their citadel atop Mt. Icebox.

Just a bumper sticker

That I found at Artifacts in downtown Hood River!

No idea why I thought it was funny!

Maybe if you don’t live with a cat or two this isn’t that funny!

Thank you, Darby Conley.

And an interesting side note, Max is banned from flying on international flights.

Oh, come on... "He's a cat, Rob! It's not a far drop!" Admit it, you wish you had written that line, too!

π Day Celebration

Here is a totally cool fact: the π Day celebration in Princeton, NJ not only includes the full gamut of traditional π Day activities, but also features an Albert Einstein look-alike contest! (Albert Einstein was born on March 14^th and he lived in Princeton for a couple of decades. It all ties together, trust me.)

Now, if my hair grows back like I hope, I will be a shoe-in for first place.

Meet me in Princeton on 3-14-15 and we can argue π’s irrationality!

12-13-14

It will be almost 20 years before we once again have a date with sequential numbers!

(1-2-34)

I will probably be an old man by then!

MARCUS, MARCUS, MARCUS!!!

Marcus Mariota wins the Heisman!

18 years

The newspaper is showing its age. Thank the gods, I'm not!

Okay, I stole the picture

From the Facebook St. Bernard webpage.

But isn't he just the cutest thing you've ever seen!

Guess I'm missing my Ralph and Trixie (and Claude and Hazel)!!!

Ice Storm - Day 2

It never got above freezing yesterday, so we enter day two of beauty!

There's been no damage that I know of, and the sun should melt it all away today!

Quack Out Loud!

Quack like you mean it!

Ice storm

No, not the worst ice storm ever, but I decided to be the cautious one and stay home.

It really is quite beautiful.

Dining in Tommytown

Apparently the cuisine is the cat's meow!

Cute?

Or absolutely adorable... it's your choice! 

Semantics can be so important!

Crisis in Tommytown

Intruder alert, intruder alert. Man (or cat) the battle stations.

World AIDS Day.

Join me and take a moment to remember (and salute) the estimated 39 million people who have died due to AIDS.

It isn’t over.

Nothing left to say

'cept, "Go Ducks!!!"

Cold: it’s not just for winter anymore.

Technically, it is still fall. It is still fall for another month. Tell that to the blanket of snow that covers the Hood River Valley. Tell that to the single digit temperature that greeted me yesterday morning. (This morning was damn near toasty at 12°.) Tell that to the critter with a luxurious fur coat as he demands his own personal space heater.

Could this be a sign of a rough winter?

The first snow event of the season.

I got about 8” of fresh snow! I am prepared: I have nowhere to go until Monday morning.

Happy Fête du Bon Père.

 

It don’t get better than this!

Okay, it is a little dark.

But still funny as hell.

Thank you, Stephen Pastis!

The odometer from Richard's car

Talk about reliable and faithful!

I am still alive...

... By the skin of my teeth.

This working for a living crap is for the birds. Give me a life of leisure!

November may have started well

...but now it is falling apart at an alarming speed.

In 1 hour and 30 minutes I have to go back to work.

This is just so unfair. Why should I have to work for a living? Oh lamentable day, your harshness makes me sad. Go away... just go away and leave me in peace.

November starts well!

Oregon 45, Stanford 16.

It is good!

I feel my vacation coming to a screeching halt.

For the last four or five months, I have been unfettered and alive. Okay, part of that time I was barely alive and if you counted all the tubes and leashes and medical devices I was attached to, “unfettered” may seem an incongruous term, but there wasn’t a moment that passed that I didn’t bask in my leisure and freedom. I felt thrust into the world of trust fund babies and other idle people who didn’t need to work for a living. It was glorious. If I wanted to get drunk by 10AM, I got drunk by 10AM. (OMG, what an amazing idea! I’ll be right back.)

Okay, everyone ignore the clinking of ice in my cocktail glass and let’s get back to the task at hand, and that is preparing me to ease back into the work force; if you don’t feel for me, feel for my unfortunate co-workers. They truly do have to suffer through this with me.

 I have to be on the job at the ungodly hours of 9AM on Monday. I’m not sure how to even begin to prepare for this unfortunate situation.  If only I were born wealthy instead of so damn good looking. I think I will just sit here and lament my dire situation in life.

Don’t you hate it when the Medical-Industrial Complex…

…closes circle on itself and says that same thing.

I saw my PT. She could find no obvious reason my arm would suddenly be hurting more. She was very kind. She never used terms like “whiny little brat” or “loser-boy”. She thought that it was a good thing that I had an appointment with my primary physicians. Maybe something could be done about my prescriptions.

I called my oncologists office. I spoke with an RN who I didn’t know. She pretty much echoed my PT.

They both were quick to mention that nerves heal slowly, and after what I have been through, they may not heal totally. They were kind of “suck-it-up” speeches. I may get better, or this may be the new reality. We will find out over the next couple of years.

Food for thought

I read a book.

It was a bit of a tough read, but it wasn’t the verbiage or the grammar that gave me trouble. The book was “The Life of Pi”, and for those of you unaware, one of the main characters, a 450# Bengal Tiger, is named Richard Parker.

I knew that going in and thought I was completely prepared. I mean, Richard was a good actor, but I can’t quite picture him pulling off a role as a tiger. Yes, Max taught him the attitude and some of the basic vocabulary, but there was still the size issue and the movement that would stifle my Richard Parker.

There it was, tucked in the pages of the book: Richard’s boarding pass for the flight to Reykjavik. It was an amazing vacation. I wish… I wish… But as that old saying goes, “Why don’t you wish in one hand and piss in the other and see which one fills up first.”

Notes on daytime TV

It’s not bad enough that I had to have major surgery, but now I am also free daytimes, while most everyone I know is at work. I get lonely. I err. I turn on the TV. The quality of viewing options is amazing.

Take Jerry Springer. Everyone on that show is currently in a sexual relationship of some kind, with someone that they shouldn’t be. And after everyone has admitted to their extra-curriculum affair, they all get involved in a mighty rumble to see who is the absolute stupidest. Sex and violence in the same hour… be still my heart!

Then there is “The Young and the Restless”, or as Wayno used to say, “The Hung and the Breastless.” Occasionally they will throw in a stray murder or medical emergency to spice up the show, but it is really nothing more than a cast of people having sex with people they shouldn’t have sex with.

And let us not forget the infomercial for the Amazing Moveable Cooktop Thingy, that brazes and bakes and cooks and steams and sautées and damn near everything else that can be done to food-type stuff. All you have to do is program the puppy (the programming procedure is currently part of the entrance exam to Cal Tech), and presto, you’ve got the time required to have sex with someone that it is totally inappropriate to have sex with and dinner will be ready when you are done.

Or you can just switch over to the sports channel and watch the 1997 National Collegiate Badmitton championship’s first round game between a couple of college teams you’ve never heard of before. And you can tell by the looks on the competitors faces that they wish they were having the inappropriate sex that everyone is having on the other channels.

Daytime TV sucks the big one. There, I said it. I have purged my soul.

In those rare moments…

When writer’s block doesn’t have me speechless…

Tom does his part to keep me silent.

Dare to Dream

Lying in bed this morning I realized that I had left a bowl of fluid on the kitchen floor in front of the sink.  It was a bowl of the gooey, icky, sticky, slimy fluid of unknown origin. And to make things worse, I had kicked it over during the night, so now it was a horrific scum disaster encompassing the majority of the kitchen floor.

And the last of the rotating sisters rotated out weeks ago, leaving me once less option for cleaning the mess in the kitchen. I did contemplate calling, but thought that might come across as me being a bit bitchy.

So, I said horrible things to Max about his lineage as I stumbled out of bed and I grumbled at Tom as I passed his perching point of the edge of Tommytown. I staggered into the bathroom and grabbed a couple of towels to clean up the gross mess. As I enter the kitchen, I threw the towels down in total disbelief.

It was a dream, only a dream. If it had been a real life experience, I would still be on my hands and knees cleaning the kitchen floor.

Just an interesting tidbit.

My Great Uncle Dale and his wife Hattie spent the majority of their lives in Ottumwa, Iowa. For the last 25 years of Dale’s live they lived at the same house on Queen Anne Ave. Hattie may have stayed in the house (she could have added another 45 years to the residency) or she may have moved to another residence, I’m not sure.

 I have too much time on my hands. I’ve been surfing the internet for houses for sale. Great Uncle Dale and Great Aunt Hattie’s home is for sale. And for a very reasonable price!

Max and I chatted this afternoon.

And it wasn’t one of our ordinary talks. You know, the ones that start out with my telling him he’s a handsome cat and has wonderfully soft fur, and then he says some rather harsh things regarding my ancestry, throwing in more than one expletive.

No this time he told me I was handsome and that he withdrew his claim that my mother wore army boots. He purred and gave me a gentle head butt. He was an adorable cat. It was a totally amazing experience.

And then it dawned on me. Tom must be slipping something into his water dish. I just need to find out what it is so I can force feed it to Max every day.

Good Days and Bad Days

Yesterday was a bad day. I woke at 4AM, thanks to a screechy cat and a full bladder. I tried to gather my wits and begin the day, but my wits weren’t into being gathered. I was dizzy and confused. It was all I could do to get to the bathroom and back without falling. Needless to say, that screechy cat went treatless until about 11AM.

So, the first half of my day was spent in bed and the second half was spent feeling a general malaise. I got little accomplished. I guess the high point of the day was that I never fell over. I say take your victories where you can get them, even if you do have to scrape the bottom of the barrel.

Today, I feel much better and my wits have allowed me to gather them. I no longer fear falling. I’ve gone for two walks, done the dishes and just generally been a housekeeper on the mend. And I remember a year ago today. Richard and I spent our last morning in Cape May, having a wonderful breakfast on the veranda of our hotel. We packed our bags and fetched the car and by now were exploring the Jersey Shore.

I miss him; more than words can convey.

The dilapidated barn next door.

It is a mess. It makes my house look good. I’m glad it is next door.

My morning walk was all the way to the barn. That is more exhausting in my head than it is in print. I compare it to a walk up the Rue de Rivoli in Paris. There is no comparison. I must get better so I can stroll the streets of Europe one more time.

Frankenstein

39 staples, 4 stitches and some Elmer's Glue later: they have put me back together.

(The staples and stitches have been removed, but my beauty queen days are over.)

Another trip to Portland

And my doctor had more good news.

I don’t have to go back to Portland until 2015. I am well enough that I don’t need to visit with my doc until January! I call that great news.

And no more chemotherapy.

I think this calls for dancing in the streets!

The whole motley crew.

Another sib trip has come and gone. My four sisters and I gathered to commemorate what would have been our mother’s 100^th birthday. And commemorate we did. We visited Mom’s old stomping grounds; Winlock, Kalama, Ridgefield, Vancouver. Flowers were laid on Mother’s grave and maple bars were eaten in her honor. My frailty prevented us from visiting her birthplace near Spokane as originally planned, but we made it work.

And of course, we gathered to cheer on the Ducks! And the Ducks won again!

A perfect weekend!

Happy 100th, Mom!

I think Max tried to kill me last night.

I woke up at about 3:00AM. My oxygen tube had been taken from my nose. It hung loosely on my chest.

The only explanation I can think of is Max gently pulled it down and away from my face, letting it fall in a position where it caused no harm, but gave no benefit.

That cat is so lucky that he is soft and cuddly and purrs so sweetly, or I would scold him severely for attempting murder.

4:00AM – I lie flat on my back in bed.

My pain pill has worn off. There is another pain pill setting on my dresser. All I need to do is sit up in bed, throw my legs over the edge, pop out of bed, take the couple of steps to the dresser, throw the pill in my mouth, swallow and a short time later there will be partial relief.

It isn’t rocket science. As Nike would say, “Just do it’”, and but for that first step, I would be happy to do it. But that first step, sitting up in bed, is painful. Very painful. Lying in bed and thinking about it in no way will lessen the pain of action. I would pretend I am weighing the pros and cons, but there are no pros and cons, it is strictly a “has got to happen”.

After a 20 minute conversation in my brain, I sit up. Yes, it still hurts, but at least I know I have explored all options. Who am I kidding, there are no options. Tomorrow morning I will lie in bed and have the same conversation. Verges on crazy, don’t you think?

Turn up the oxygen, I’m gonna party like it’s 1999!

I got my pathology report back today. They got it all. I am cancer free! Yee haw, let the good times roll!

I’m skinny, I cough deep and hard, my right arm is numb and I am showing signs of Horner’s Syndrome, but I am cancer free. Crap, I get all weepy just thinking about it.

I call it VICTORY!

I am home: I have survived.

The memories may be few and fleeting, but I underwent a 5 hour surgery and a week-long stay in the hospital and am able to tell stories. I remember little, so my stories will be laced with inaccuracies, but hey, they are better that way.

I know the Ducks beat Michigan State. I remember watching the game. I had to forgo my traditional back flips after each touchdown, but I do remember the elation.

And I remember nights in the ICU, unsure of where I was. It could have easily been a terrifying experience.

I’ll write more as I make it up.

and without further ado!

I'm going to take a few days off and have my lungs ripped out.

So I sign off and bid you all Good-day!

My Daddy Warbucks days may be coming to an end.

I’m going in for surgery tomorrow, and it doesn’t sound like it will be pretty. They’ll go in from the front, the back and I’ll have tubes hanging from my sides. I think I’m going into my Frankenstein days.

Oh, well, everyone loves a really big scar. And I think my really big scar will be on my back, so I won’t be able to see it and as such, it won’t bother me in the least. The front and sides are suppose to be just small incisions. Not much for bragging rights, other than sheer quantity, I guess. 

Oh, and before I forget to mention it, I am scheduled to go to a PAC-U instead of an ICU after surgery. I know, inquiring minds want to know.

Laying the kitchen flooring!

7:00AM – I awaken fresh and ready to lay my new laminate flooring in the kitchen. I brew a pot of coffee and enjoy its aromatic flavor as I quick check emails and college football scores.

8:00AM – I start laying the floor. Okay, I screw up cutting the first piece. No problem, I’ve ordered more than I needed, expecting some waste. (This was per the manufacturer’s advice. Apparently, they have seen me work before. ) It takes a little finagling and some brute force, but I get the first row down and locked together. I am so proud of myself; some might call me cocky and arrogant. This is so easy I should be done by lunch.

9:00AM – I start the second row. The first piece goes in, piece of cake. I do a little happy dance and go to set the second piece in the row. This one just isn’t snapping into place like it is suppose to. I try everything except standing on my head, and trust me I seriously contemplated that maneuver; I just couldn’t work out the “tapping” detail in my noggin.

10:00AM – I am desperate. I finally read the instructions. I look nothing like the happy person who is setting the planks with no problems. I’m thinking he’s already had a couple of margaritas and those pesky little gaps in the flooring no longer carry any serious consequences in his mind. The dude is crazy and it shows.

11:00AM – Some cat is ralphing in another room. I don’t know which cat or which room, but I know I have a delightful surprise waiting for me somewhere. It is raining outside. There is a good side to that: the yard needs watering. Unfortunately, my staging area is on the back deck; the uncovered back deck. You will note the 11:00 picture this looks seriously like the 9AM picture. That is only because you can’t hear the cursing and primal screams between the 9AM picture and the 11AM picture. Now I understand why there is an advertisement for Dewar’s Scotch at the bottom of the instruction page. I’ll just check college football scores one more time.

Noon – It isn’t raining, it is pouring. I have brought all the tools into the living room. I would set up a mock staging area, but the living room is crammed full of all the stuff that used to be in the kitchen. There is no room. I guess I will take my lunch break and see what happens in a few.

It’s been a productive day.

I should feel guilty that I didn’t go to work and earn a living when I was feeling so well, but I don’t. I was down enough on Tuesday and Wednesday that I think I should get some good time to me. And I worked around the house.

The skylight is finit!

I fought back in forth in my mind, in an unkind and vicious manner as only a civil war can be fought in my head, between white and the kind-of green that I used for the trim in the rest of the bedroom. As you can see, the almost-green won.

I emptied the kitchen so I can start laying the floor as early as possible tomorrow.

Okay, so technically the stove is still in kitchen, but it can’t leave until tomorrow morning, as it will cut off entrance to the bathroom, and cutting off the bathroom from a man who drinks gallons and gallons of water for longer than necessary is a stupid idea.

I'm easily impressed.

I was impressed with the sea of logs left after the trees were felled.

I’m equally, if not more impressed with the organized (stacked might be overstating their condition)logs.

And I'm impressed I had the energy to do all the organizing. I think I wore myself out yesterday afternoon. I’m taking an easy day today.

Another exciting adventure in Hooterville

I got up this morning and finished trimming out the skylight. Actually, not quite. I can’t find my nail sets (yes, I have more than one). I’m sure one of the rotating sisters used them and put them away in the wrong place. That is the only possible way they could have disappeared. But I digress. I still need to set the nails, but other than that it is trimmed out. Oh, and it needs to be primed and painted, but that is after the nails are set. Then it is done.

After working on the skylight, I got myself all gussied up and drove into town. Yes, I drove all the way into town. I took in the recycling, stopped by the doctor’s office to leave a form to be filled out, picked up a prescription, did some banking, bought groceries and found, by gosh and begorrah, I was hungry. And sadly I was near a McDonalds.

So I donned the mourning veil I keep in the car for just these occasions and stepped into the restaurant (and I use the term “restaurant” loosely). When it came my turn, and I was in line before the snot-nosed little punk kid who tried to cut in front of me, I ordered a Big Mac Meal (okay, my name is Mac, I’m in McDonalds… what do you expect me to order). Of course, I use my best southern drawl while requesting my meal, just so no one could recognize my voice.

I skulked over to a table with my tray of goodies. I would love to tell you it tasted terrible, but it was really quite nummie. I am embarrassed.

But a truly positive side, it sure cured my constipation.

Oh, and the ferns aren't dead!

I was going to write an essay about how much fun my last three days have been

But I fell asleep in the first paragraph. It could be the opiates that are coursing through my veins, or it could be that my life has been boring. Frankly, I’m voting for a combination of the two. No trees falling, no new windows, but I do still have one enormous tree trunk occupying the land where I want to plant my new plants (or right behind the land, and I know the new plants would get destroyed when they finally come to pull it out.) So, I continue to wait.

Except the ferns: they can and do have a new permanent home. 

Let’s hope they survive.

On 11-11-22, I turn 66.

Does anyone else see the significance?

Put it on your calendar. Party time: time and place to be announced.

Nothing is final yet, but...

For the most part, I have been very happy with the treatment I have received at Providence. There is one area they fell way short of my expectations. The tattoos they gave me are ridiculous. I need to come up with better uses of the four points the inked on my body.

For those of you who don’t know, I received four tiny tattoos, one at the top of my chest, one at the bottom and one on each side. They are less than impressive. I’ve stopped showing them off because everyone is underawed to see them.

Right now I am thinking Celtic symbols to embolden the tattoos.

At the top of my chest:

Its meaning is Mind, Body, Spirit. It also references the family.

And for the bottom of my chest:

It signifies love.

And on the sides:

The four points: it has a number of meanings, but my favorite is referring to the four Celtic holidays, Samhain, Beltane, Imbolc and Lughnasadh. I’ve always loved a party!

This is a quick reference to life.

What better way to say fuck you cancer. I’m going to take the stupid little momentos you gave me and transform them into something neat!

It is official.

I am a sick puppy!

Okay, you already knew that, but… It turns out that my tumor has shrunk significantly. It is almost to the point where they couldn’t find it, but find it they did. And it turns out that all those tests I took, the PET scan and the MRI were good news, but (and this is a big but) the tumor has grown into my first rib.

The minimally invasive surgery I was hoping for is out the window. Instead, the kind thoracic surgeon will first put me on my back and cut the first rib in a couple of places, then roll me over on my belly and come in from the back and take out the tumor, the top lobe of my right lung and my top rib. More information than I wanted, but I guess I needed to know.

The surgery is scheduled for 7:30AM on Friday, September 5^th. The procedure will take about 4 hours and I should be in the hospital for 5 days.

Yee haw, let the fun begin!

And I'm sure you all wanted to see the painted closet doors

Complete with the ever present cat tail.

And the new and improved Cat Pantry

I know you were all dying to see the new shelves. 

If only I had some white paint!

The story of a cat and his new toy.

Yes, Tom is sitting proudly with his new die. Now, most cats would be head over heels to get a new toy, especially a die to bat around the house with wanton abandon. And when they learned it was filled with catnip, all hell would break loose as the cat and his toy played and played and played until the sated feline staggered off for an obligatory nap.

Not Tom, not Max. They looked at the toy, then looked at me as if I had finally gone over the edge. If I didn’t occasionally bat the die around, it would get no use.

Who would think I would raise cats that are opposed to drugs? Go figure.

Once, this was a deadly tree.

Twice it dropped demon limbs that damaged the house. But now it is just a harmless stub, awaiting its timely demise.

And it does have its art.

On the left is the ubiquitous tree rabbit. The only thing that makes this tree rabbit unusual is that he is wearing earphones. No one would ever guess that he needed assistance in hearing anything. Probably he is listening to NPR.

To the right is the tree weasel that is rare by disposition. Most weasels prefer Wall Street type environs.

The end.