It was a good day, it was a bad day.

Walking today was the worst it has been in… well I think it was the worst day ever for me. I had to stop every couple of blocks and sit. Thankfully, Palm Spring has many park benches spread through downtown. I guess they are used to elderly people.

But I used gift cards to buy some fancy new clothes.

The flight back to Portland was uneventful. We were a little late landing in Portland, as they had to de-ice the wings in Seattle. I should have known it was a bad omen.

I got to Richard’s car. It wouldn’t start. There was frost on the inside of the windows. Thankfully, the Port of Portland has people who jump cars and they are quick to help the needy. The drive to the hotel was harrowing, but I made it.

I am snugly tucked in, just a few miles from my brand new car.

Tomorrow starts a new era.

It's Christmas Eve Day

And the sun is shining.

Merry Christmas to all!!!

Forecast

12" to 18" of snow for the Upper Valley in the next 24 hours.

We will see!

It is time to stand up for what is right

I’m not out of touch. I do read about all the hell going on in the world. Radicals of all religions are doing shit that shouldn’t be done in the name of their god. Perhaps I am becoming a radicalized secular humanist. Maybe it is time I stood up and screamed and held up my (okay, is there a religious book for secular humanist) and shouted, “This is just wrong.”

America has a serious presidential candidate who is preaching hate and venom. It is time to stand up and speak out. Some say he is un-American, that his hate has no place in this country, but we have a history of hate in the United States.

It is time each one of us screamed from our rooftops that this kind of bigotry is not right. That prejudice has no place in our county. Be it blacks or Jews or Hindis or Sikhs or gays, we each have something to give to the world of people.

Yes, even Muslims have a place at our table. And attempts to silence or limit or marginalize them are wrong and hateful. 

Stop the spread of radicalism. Join hands.

No words

An odd memory from my youth.

I worked at Lewis & Clark Theater for a year during high school. It doesn’t exist anymore, done in by modern progress.

Many of my co-workers went to Tyee, my alma mater, but close to an equal number went to Glacier, the neighboring high school.  Technically speaking, Lewis & Clark was in the South Central School District, but I don’t remember any co-workers going to Foster High.

I remember being in the break room with a co-worker. He was a year younger than me and a star running back for the Glacier Grizzlies football team.  He told me about how he and some friends went gay bashing in downtown Seattle the night (or weekend) before. My memory is fuzzy. I can’t tell you his name.

He told me in a way that almost apologetic. I don’t think he was boasting and bragging. I think in a way he was looking to me for support. But, of course, I took the chicken shit way out, and left without comment. He may have been opening up to me, or I may have been laid out unconscious in the parking lot that night. I’m not sure. I hope he found peace.

Medical alert!

In a blatant attempt to steal my thunder, Tom has decided to develop crystals in his urine.

Bad kitty, bad kitty!

So, starting tonight he is on a special diet. For 6 weeks he can only eat one of the really expensive, specialty cat foods. This means feeding time has just gotten more intense and brutal. I haven’t had the heart to tell either Tom or Max that their free-wheeling days of eating whatever and whenever they want is crashing to a halt. 

Join me in a moment of silence, as my sleeping thru the night has just coming to a clawing end.

I am home.

And I am safe and sound, unless you count the hordes of marauding cats who demand attention and petting rituals and walking all over your prone body as you attempt to sleep.

And I am high as a kite. Oxycodone does a number on your definition of reality. I’m not sure how it got there, but I found my cell phone in my bed, early this morning. Either Max was expecting an important call or the phone was cold and lonely, or perhaps both.

But the surgery was successful, or so they say. Technically speaking, I was there, but my notes are sketchy and I remember very little, but Dr. Aliabadi promised me it was a success. She even showed me pictures of the tumor and the adrenal gland. It was really ugly. Now I understand why it had to go. Unattractive growths like that have no place in my body.

Oh, and I have a five more scars. (I know that in my last post I reported “4”, but Oxycodone and math are not friends.) I haven’t seen them yet, as they are covered by bandages, but these are on my belly. Frankenstein, you got nothing on me!

I am glad to be home and glad that I have Karla here to help me with the trials of reality.

More late as I make it up!

Surgery is complete

I have one less adrenal gland, and four new scars. And they are going to be great scars, I just know it.

Oh, and I am blitzed out of my mind!

On the way to the Heights

At the corner of State and 9th, there is a house that always has a hand made sign in the yard. Often they are witty, sometimes poignant, other times informational. (The sign is the only way I knew that HRV won the state boys soccer championship.)

Today's sign was just funny!

"Dogs have masters. Cats have servants."

How true!

Road Trip: Day Two

The Astoria Column, in the glow of the morning light.

And just outside Astoria is Ft. Clatsop. For those of you somewhat history challenged, Ft. Clatsop is where Lewis & Clark wintered over.

 (Yes Jane, Lewis & Clark were a rock band who drove Route 66 to the west coast, but ran out of money, so had to hole up for a winter in a fort they built.)

And the beloved Gleneden Beach!

Tonight we are in Newport.

Road Trip!!! Road Trip!!!

Karla and I are on the road again. Today's destination: Long Beach, WA.

Visiting a store Karla and I remember from our childhood. 

And actually, we are spending the night in Astoria, Oregon.

Okay, the results are in.

It appears to be nearly unanimous. Everyone from my oncologist, to a couple of sisters, to some nieces, to a pair of anonymous people, to a certain orange cat with an amazingly boring power point presentation and to a co-worker or two: they were all in agreement. Seems it was just my radiologist and I who were holding out for the easy route.

I guess the easy route is under water at this point.

So, on Monday, November 30^th, I am putting all my eggs in one basket and trusting Dr. Aliabadi to gently take out my adrenal gland and the accompanying tumor.

Part of what made it a tough decision was the compassion and devotion that both Dr. Aliabadi and Dr. Seung exhibited. Either they both truly believe that their treatment is my best option, or they are really good used car salespeople with doctorates. Neither offered a free turkey if I signed up before Thanksgiving, so I’m guessing that they truly believe in their science.

And as for me, I wish I had that wild eyed innocence of two or three years ago. I wish I could look Richard in the eyes and truly believe it when I said, “We’re gonna beat this.”

But Richard, we aren’t going to beat this. The painting is on the wall. I get to visit you at St. Mary’s Cemetery and at night when I hug a pillow real tight. But that isn’t enough, and I don’t know if there is any more.

This summer… perhaps the last hurrah! Iceland, Tromsø, Talinn, Dubrovnik, Rome, Paris, Amsterdam, United Kingdom; join me if you dare!

Tom finally gave his advice.

Okay, it was a 149 slide power point presentation. It took 2 hours and 19 minutes. Tom is meticulous to a fault. There was no possible option not explored. He needs to work on his presentation, he droned on and on. Even I started to doze off. Karla was out before the second slide.

It seems he got through to Dr. Sanborn immediately. She takes calls from my cat before she does from me? She knows the intelligence structure, but not the power structure. I am the alpha male. Well, unless you count Max.

Okay, I meant to make this simple, not long and drawn out. I will not create a flow chart of power in this household. That is relatively unimportant. As Tom pointed out in slide 47 of the presentation, it is unflattering to me to do a flow chart, as I am fairly low down on the totem pole. (Okay, is “totem pole”  racist?)

Slide 71: is it 60% or 70%? Depends on the study and the time span looked at. Both are right, both are wrong. Use 65% if I need a number.

And slide 98: so brutal in its honesty. It doesn’t really matter if surgery is easier after radiation or if radiation is easier after surgery. If whatever I chose doesn’t work, there is no back-up except for palliative care. So I guess this is kind of an important decision.

Slide 114: surgery is no cake walk, but nothing like a year ago. Radiation, while it can have side effects, it easier that what I had last summer. I can’t really say as I had any problems last summer from radiation, other that some burns on my back. (I can’t see my back, I don’t care.)

Slide 136: Max on his knees begging me to do what is best for him. Although the sentiment is pure Max, the ‘on his knees’ bit is obviously photo shopped in. He believes in the might of the claw.

Slide 149: you might ask for input. Press “1” if your mantra is “Pull the plug, pull the plug!!!”, and you think doing nothing is the best option. Press “2” if you would like to see Mac go through the horrors of major surgery again. Press “3” if you think he should take the chicken-shit way out and go for radiation with less misery.

Operators are standing by.

There are no words

Lacking the Wisdom of Solomon

I turn to Tom for advice.

I went in today to be mapped for radiation. Have a totally cool body mold and 7 (yes, count them, 7) totally butch tattoos! I am so friggin macho I can’t stand it. I am the totally awesome dude your mother warned you about.  Babe magnet: that is me. (And that part is kind of annoying.)

Anyway, after the mapping extravaganza, Karla and I went to Powell’s Books and I sold a bunch of Richard’s esoteric book collection. Had to beat the chicks off with a rolled newspaper, but I made some money. It was pretty cool in my book.

From there we drove almost directly to Costco. Come on folks, I haven’t been there in 20 years and what is the difference between 138^th Street and 148^th Street, other than one doesn’t get you to Costco? One number off and somehow you end up in the wilds of Tanganyika!

So, were strolling through Costco, (and yes, I am having to beat off the enamored women with a stick) when suddenly my phone quacks. (It’s Oregon; it isn’t that odd for a phone to quack.)

It is Dr. Aliabadi, the surgeon who wants to rip out my adrenal gland. She says she heard the dark rumor that I had opted for radiation. She said she respected my decision but wanted to make sure I had all the correct facts. Surgery was successful 80% of the time. That was the per cent that Dr. Seung gave. But she said that radiation was only successful 60% of the time: Dr. Seung said 70%. She also said that she was fairly certain she could do the procedure laparoscopically, meaning only a couple of weeks off from life.

Add to that, Dr. Seung said that radiation would start the week after mapping. Turns out it will start the Monday after Thanksqiving.

Okay, Tom… the question is: are the evolving facts a game changer, or should I stick with Plan A?

He puts his paw and my forehead and sweetly purrs. “Go to bed, dear boy and I will tell you what to do in the morning.”

Okay, I toddle off to bed.

The decision has been made

I’m going to go to a chiropractor. They can cure anything.

I jest, but I mean no insult to the chiropractic industry. It was just a funny.

I have opted for radiation. I go in next Thursday for my mapping. That’s where they make this amazing mold of my body (trust me it will be destroyed after I am done) and give me more tattoos. I am going to look so damn bad with eight tattoos. I will fit in with the biker crowd like there is no tomorrow.

Great, now the Hood River Chiropractic Society is marching up my driveway with torches and pitchforks. They really are pissed off at my joke.

Excuse me, I have to save the cats! 

Tommy head butted me!

Hard.

“If you think for one friggin’ second I’m going to allow you to do nothing, you are dumber that you friends say!” He then jumped off the desk, ran into the bedroom and grabbed a quarter in his mouth. He dropped it in front of me.

“Heads radiation, tails surgery, those are your only choices.”

He had that steely look in his eyes that only a determined cat can get.

And the spinal stenosis trauma goes on.

First, for those of you who don’t know about yesterday, a quick rundown: I have to chose between doing nothing (not a fan favorite with my sisters), having surgery or radiation. Doing nothing is easy, with no down time, but the prognosis is grim. Having surgery has the highest success rate in getting rid of the tumor (80%), but comes with a 2 week to 2 month down time. Radiation (a special, high dose, directly focused variety) has a 70% success rate, but has basically no down time. There’s way more to the story, but even I am bored with it. I ain’t no Solomon. I’ll probably flip a coin to decide. Does anyone have a three sided coin I can toss?

Today reminded me why I like my doctors in Portland so much. No one was rude. No one spat on my face. No one called me a whiny little brat. But they lacked the compassion I have found in Portland and with my primary care physician here in Hood River.

The doctor thinks I may have some nerve damage. But, he knows where to start with the medicines and where to do the injections. And he wants me to have another nerve conductivity test! Damn, those are so much fun!!!

Now, I wait for insurance approval to set the appointments.

My new surgeon!

I have an appointment with her at 8:45AM at Providence Portland!

I like her already!

It's All Saints day

I take a moment to remember Claude and Hazel and Ralph and Trixie. The four greatest Saints of all time!

Just thoughts rumbling through my mind

Odd to ask, but rumbling made me think of Rambler, a car for my childhood, I wonder if anyone still owns one? Or are they extinct?

Okay, let me type it out loud, one more time. I have stage four lung cancer that has metastasized to my adrenal gland. I am skinny and weak and in pain most of the time.

Excuse me, but Max is on my lap now. I need to pet him. It is required by feline law.

Have I told you guys lately what a sweet cat Max is? Sure, he curses and says thing you wouldn’t want your kids to hear. And he is a bully. But his fur is so soft and he purrs so loud and long. Any of you would be lucky to have such a sweet cat!

Okay, back to the main story line: weak, skinny, pain.

I always thought I would die before I reached 30. I didn’t, but so many friends died about that age: Joe and Tom and Pete and Bob and Jim and Harry… all gone in the 80s. AIDS sucks the big one. It wreaked havoc on my psyche.

But here I am. I have out lived both Wayn and Richard. I wonder if they have pay phones in hell so I can call them. Maybe they can get a day pass and come visit me. Okay, odd musing from an agnostic. And no, hearing I am near death does not draw me closer to any god. Okay, maybe Thor, but only because he is so hot!

Enough of the gods, I ain’t looking for no god.

Max is back. I need to take another break to pet him. Soft fur and big purr; amazing cat!

Max has been with me through the last few years. He lost Ralph and Spike and Trixie and Richard, too. But still he purrs. I don’t think I could purr right now.

Back to the main story line: weak, skinny, pain.

I have no idea where I am going with this, probably nowhere.

But, I am ready for the next frontier, ready to face a new reality. Face to face with death. Oregon was slow to allow same sex marriage, but our Death With Dignity law gives me comfort.

Bring it on, I am ready!

Tommy

He's a keeper. I love holding paws.

This is so last year!

I have an appointment with my radiologist, Dr. Seung, next Tuesday in Portland. (Aren’t you jealous, I have my own radiologist?)

Don’t be!

Dr. Seung treated me last time around. I really like him, but he is in Portland. There is no radiation therapy available in Hood River. The Dalles does have a radiation center, but it is an entirely different system, and I hate to give up the care that I have found so comforting over the last three years. And The Dalles is closer, but it is still 35 minutes away.

For those of you whom I haven’t told already, the cancer has metastasized to my adrenal gland. Well, technically it is a mass on top of my adrenal gland, not inside it, but inseparable at this point. Yee haw, another round!

At this point, I am not sure what my treatment choices are, my oncologist and I have discussed surgery and radiation. I’m not sure if that means chemo is ineffective, or maybe I just didn’t ask the right questions. I know Dr. Sanborn is on the radiation side of the equation, but I want all my options.

This is totally unrelated to the spinal stenosis.

I am falling apart, with haste.

I’m not sure where I am going with this. I have read the statistics. 4% of cancer patients in my situation are still alive five years after diagnosis. I know I am facing death in the face. I’ve said this before and I say it again, “Death ain’t sexy!” And I am ready to prove it!

My emotions are running the gamut. Sometimes I am cerebral and calm. Other times I am scared. And other times I regret what I am putting other people through. I can’t imagine losing one of my sisters, and now they will lose their baby brother. (Okay sisters, put down the champagne flutes! Totally inappropriate timing!) And once again I am letting down my co-workers. And other times I remember Richard and what he went through.

And my cats; who in their right mind would take Max? Tom will be easy to pan off on to someone, but who in their right mind would take Max?

Umm… time to start the campaign.

Max is so sweet. He is so lovable. He has a really soft coat of fur. And he purrs really loud and easily.

I do plan to keep this blog going as long as possible. Maybe someone can learn from it.

Oregon 61, Arizona State 55

Yesterday wasn't all bad news!

And I wait.

It has been a full week. Two calls to the doctor’s office, no response.

So I wait. They have to know my expectations hang in the balance. With each passing day, I get wearier. My hopes diminish.

Freaked? No, not me. You all know I am way too well balanced for that shit.

3:49 AM

I am awoken by Max screaming, “Timmy’s fallen in the well!!! Timmy’s fallen in the well!!!

Well, not knowing anyone known Timmy and not having any clue where the nearest well is, I did what any old man would do. I teetered off to the bathroom and peed.

It was in the bathroom that I found the crisis! You could see the bottom of the food bowl. I shook the bowl rearranging the kibble so all you could see was cat chow. Nuclear war avoided.

You’re welcome, world.

Good News!

Some of you may remember my earlier rant against Martin Scumbag, I mean Martin Scrotum-needs-busting, I mean Martin the-total-fucking-asshole, who raised the price of Daraprim, a pill that fights Toxoplasmosis from $13.50 to $750.00 per pill.

Well, a rival company is offering an equivalent generic pill at $1.00 each. My prayers have been answered! (I am speaking metaphysically.) Martin Shkreli will probably not go bankrupt over his investment, but if we, as a people watch him, and predatory animals like him close enough, we can’t do the world a lot of good!

Everyone stand and chant, “Shkreli Sucks!!! Shkreli Sucks!!! Shkreli Sucks!!! Shkreli Sucks!!!.” Louder now! “SHKRELI SUCKS!!! SHKRELI SUCKS!!! SHKRELI SUCKS!!! SHKRELI SUCKS!!!”

There is little that makes me happy these days, but this one does!

A beautiful day in Portland, Oregon

At 8:30AM, I left my room at Providence Guest Housing and took the 2 block walk to Providence Portland Medical Center. I gave myself half an hour to get there, just in case. It may be only two blocks to PPMC, but it is another two blocks through the hospital to the Short Stay Admitting desk. I was there at 8:40AM. Pretty damn proud of myself!

A short time later and I was in my stylish hospital gown.

Does anyone question why my nurse screamed, “Pull the plug” and ran out of the room?

I kid, MyAnh was great. So were Dr. Vegas, Daniel and Princess Awesome Amanda down in the procedure room. No one even hinted at euthanasia. The biopsied their big hearts out!

Eventually, they let me go, but not on my own volition. A CNA, who has a name that is now escaping me, wheeled me back to my building. I am reminded why Richard liked it here so much and why, while I can’t really say I like it, I am amazed at everyone’s kindness.

Both ways I passed Richard’s old apartment. I successfully fought back the tears. Maybe time does heal all wounds. I did lose it briefly when they made me take off my ring.

After all was said and done, I took a short walk. Beautiful day! And the new housing is spectacular.

I am home.

I know I am. I can hear Tom in the bathroom hawking up something that I would rather not think about while Max is upstairs screaming like a banshee. Yes, I will soon go into the bathroom and clean up another mess and Max will soon come down from upstairs and scream like a banshee right beside my ear. This is the paradise you always read about.

Surely you know I jest. It is great to be home with the cats. I spent hours yesterday being granted the privilege of petting every square inch of their bodies. It was such an honor.

Oh, and I lied. Tom didn’t ralph in the bathroom. I have no idea where he tossed his cookies, but it wasn’t in the bathroom. Don’t worry, I’ll find it in the middle of the night with my bare feet.

Made it to the gate!

All my planning was for naught! My parking lot was closed. The shuttle was cheek to jowl. Delta's machine sent me to SkyWest to check-in. My second lap through the ticketing lobby, I stopped at United and asked where the SkyWest counter was. The woman was very nice, but it turns out SkyWest doesn't have a counter at PDX.  But she kindly looked it up for me. I wanted Alaska Airlines.

In the security check line the guy behind me whacked me with his skate board. (It was accident, he apologized profusely.)

But I made it to the gate. I am almost on my way to Santa Babs!!

Off to Santa Babs!

For a week of fun in the sun. Okay, almost a week of fun in the sun.

Oh, and Alex and Anne's wedding!

Summer is officially over.

I turned on the heat in the house. It is amazing. I am home, the sun has set and I’m not freezing my tits off. 

What a difference the flip of a switch can make.

October 1, 2015

It is a beautiful day in the Hood River Valley. Our current temperature in the Upper Valley is 78°. Damn near perfect in my book.

And today, recreational marijuana goes on sale in Oregon. Yee haw, life is good.

But all of that takes a sour note when you hear of the people killed at Umqua Community College in Roseburg, Oregon.

I have no direct connection to Umpqua CC. Yes, I attended Southwestern Oregon CC 60 miles west of Umpqua and the University of Oregon, 80 miles north. I loved a man for 16 years who taught at Columbia Gorge CC. (Who am I fooling, I still love a man who taught at CGCC), but it is all still theoretical to me.

Still, this tragedy hits closer to home than I care to admit. Oregon has had more than its share of school shootings: Thurston High School, Rosemary Anderson High School, Reynolds High and now Umpqua. How can you make sense of it all?

My thoughts go out to all those killed and their families and friends (current count is 13 dead… not sure if that includes the shooter) and to those injured and their families and friends (current count is 20) and to everyone traumatized by this senseless act.

We must do something, but I don’t know what.

Please, a moment of silence in support of the people of Roseburg. It’s a fairly small town (20,000 people). I imagine most are touched in some way, most, more personally than me.

Notes from a long life

I’ve been watching a number of videos on YouTube from the “It gets better” program. It is pretty amazing the organizations and colleges and others that have videos, from the expected places, like Cal Berkeley and Pixar (and yes, there is at least one from the University of Oregon) to less expected places like Gustavus Adolphus and BYU.

I thought maybe it was time to talk about my experiences. Yes, I was bullied in junior high and high school. I was called “faggot” and other equally unpleasant things and push into lockers and treated like shit. It was a part of my growing up experience. Oddly enough, one of the worst bullies, no, the worst bully, asked to be my friend on Facebook. I declined.

Coming out for me was a blessing. My parents, while dealing with their own demons, expressed unconditional love. You have to remember that back in the ‘70s, homosexuality was a result of a domineering bitch of a mother and wishy-washy milquetoast of a father. In particular, Mom bought into that belief. But they both loved me, no matter what.

I’m pretty sure I told all of my sisters by letter. This was way before email and text. And without exception they all stood by my side.

I now know how lucky I was. So many of my friends were either ejected from their families or never told them, out of fear of rejection. Of my relationships, Doug’s parents were open and excepting, Wayn’s parents threw him out, and Richard never told his parents.

In Boise, there were harassing neighbors who made obscene phone calls and would come to our front door and scream less than nice things at us.

In Los Angeles it was co-workers who objected. One of my saddest memories of LA is a manager’s party where I was asked not to bring my partner, as co-workers would feel uncomfortable. Sadly to say, I went to the party without Doug: if I could take back time and do it over again.

And yes, even in Hood River there were issues with one neighbor. Screaming “faggots” at Wayn and I as we were in the yard, turning us in for trying to grow pot, and entering our house when we weren’t there, that kind of shit. But karma being what it is, they got their own. (Their daughter, the worst offender, got pregnant and tried to kill herself and the baby by shooting herself in the belly. Child died, she didn’t.)

And there was the honker-flipper-offer who used to harass us. Hood River wasn’t pretty in the ‘90s.

But yes, it gets better. Every day it gets better.

It has been 20 years since I have had any issues.  From my co-workers to the congregation at St. Mary’s to the community as a whole, there has been amazing support for me. I am in awe of the change since my youth.

It really, really, really does get better. And Reilly, I am so proud of you.

First of all

I’m not paying close attention to details lately: today is the last day of summer, not yesterday. I feel like the New York Times having to make a correction on an article from the day before. Crap, I was so close!

But let’s get to the point. I’m sure many of you have read about the pharmaceutical company that has raised the price of Daraprim, a drug that is used to fight Toxoplasmosis (a disease that often accompanies HIV and cancer, neither disease which is in anyway significant to me or has affected me in any personal way) from $13.50 to $750.00 per pill.

Martin Shkreli, the head of the pharmaceutical company defends the price increase by saying that it was unprofitable at the previous rate, and that the increase was “reasonable”.

Mr. Shkreli, I have one word for you: you-asshole-you-bastard-you-money-hungry-thieving-buttplug-and-yes-you-motherfucker.

Let’s face the facts, of the people who take Daraprim, a handful are fabulously wealthy and will pay any price for the drug. Many, hopefully most, either have private insurance (yay, Obamacare) or are on some tax-payer funded program. The rest will find they can’t afford it and will die. Teach them to get a dread disease in the United States instead of some civilized country.

Okay, according to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, 60 million Americans suffer from Toxoplasmosis. (Wow, who would have guessed!) And let’s guess who is will be paying the vast majority of the increase in the price of the drug, be it through increased taxes or insurance rates.  

That would be you and me and Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice, folks.

Let’s say they all take one pill a day. Do the math. The government and yes, the healthcare industry, could set aside just over $800 billion dollars for a five year program to create a new drug that is as good and still not lose money.

And as a sweet sidelight, we could send Mr. Shkreli bankrupt. He is already there, morally.

A perfect Monday

It started innocuously enough. Normal morning routine: brew coffee, read the news, slowly wake up.

All was good until I stepped into the bathroom to get ready for work. I heard that odd hissing noise that you only hear when your pipes have burst after a good winter freeze. I hope that is a noise that none of you have heard. I am sadly familiar with it. But it didn’t freeze last night.

I did the unthinkable; I crawled into the crawl space. There was water where there shouldn’t be water. I did what any middle (okay very late middle) aged man would do and called a plumber. You know, someone who is limber and able and has a fricking clue what he was doing. I then shut off the water supply.

Four hours later, the plumber shows up. He finds the problem quickly. A hose to the water heater has broken. He tests my water pressure. It is like way high. He gets the water district on the horn, and before you know it, there is got a bevy of men digging in the front yard.

A pressure reducing valve later, all is good.

And that is how I spent the last day of summer!

Happy 101st Birthday, Mom

It seems like just yesterday you were here. Miss you.

In my next life,

I’m coming back as a domesticated house cat.

Full body massages, on demand, 24/7.

It doesn’t get better than that!

There is good news and bad news.

I heard back from my neurosurgeon. I have an appointment.

Anne and Alex will be married before I get to see Dr. Sandquist. Apparently he is that good.

Okay, I have this great scene in my head, and this won’t embarrass Anne or Alex in any way. I assume they will lead the procession from the court house to the restaurant. We could be right behind them, with me on a litter (a là Cleopatra), with my four sisters carrying the stretcher. I would be dressed very seductively (full body covered) and be throwing rose petals. We could sing our tribute then.

Wow, this is a good idea!

Oh, did I do a Beth and disclose a secret?

A year and a half (+) later

From the heart:

Sometimes it feels like yesterday, sometimes it is ancient history. 

 Fuck cancer, fuck survivorship. Fuck this, fuck that, fuck the other thing. Fuck it all.

Richard, you held me together. I close my eyes, I think of you. I dream you are by my side. But then I open my eyes.

I am alone.

I’m so lucky to have had you in my life.

But, what is moving on suppose to be like? Is it accepting reality without question? I’ve never dealt with reality well. This is gonna be tough.

It’s just a bad day. Tom will talk me down.

No reason to panic.

And while we are talking about old queens.

I'm not saying I've lost my original luster, but yesterday I offered myself as a human sacrifice to a volcano and it spat me out.

Congratulations, Liz!

It is official today, Elizabeth II is the longest reigning monarch in England/Great Britain's history.

63 years and 216 days later, she leaves Vicky in the dust!

Everybody loves and old queen, right?

More timely advice from Worldly Mac

Dear Worldly Mac,

I am deeply troubled by the ongoing Twinkie difficulties. I grew up with Twinkies as a constant companion. They give me great solace during times of strife. During the calamity of 2012/13 when Twinkies weren’t available in the US, I made several drives to Canada to secure a supply. This was very difficult as I live on an off-shore island.

Ignoring the cars I lost before I thought of driving one on a steamer, there was the time involved.

I live in constant fear that Twinkies will once again be impossible to buy. I am losing sleep with my anxieties. What should I do?

Signed,

Off-shore Twinkie Addict.

___________________________________________________

Dear Off-shore Twinkie Addict,

Dude or dudette, I understand your dilemma. These are troubled times in which we live.

Do as I did. Dig a bunker under your house. Line it with lead, so that no radiation can get in, then order a couple of truckloads (or in your case, ‘boatloads’) of Twinkies from your local grocer. Problem solved.

Not to worry, they have a shelf life longer than you’re going to have if you eat that many!

Bon appétit!

Worldy Mac

No!!! No!!! Say it ain't so!!!

Come back, Judy Carne.

We all need a good laugh!

Attempted murder in the Upper Valley.

A loud thump in the night: I jump up out of bed. There is a large cat, not of the orange tabby variety, with a brass candlestick in his paws. He drops it for a second time when he sees me coming. It lay on the floor.

His aura is one of pure innocence. Hey laughs and says, “Who me? You think I was going to carry the candlestick to the bedroom, jump up on the bed and beat you senseless? Oh, I laugh at such a silly idea. Besides, someone already beat me to it.” He licks his paw casually, “Now, you go back to bed and I’ll clean-up in here,” he purrs.

I did, he didn’t.

I've started a new advice column!

Dear Worldly Mac,

My cat just threw up on the floor. I cleaned it up, but now there is a clean spot on the floor. What should I do?

Signed,
Cat Owner

Dear Cat Owner,

Been there, bud.

There is only one thing to do. Have a cocktail or two or three until you no longer notice the clean spot. Don’t worry, it will go away with time.

Then pet the sweet kitty and tell him/her if (s)he ever does it again, (s)he is toast. [Not to worry, (s)he won’t understand anything other than the petting.]

Oh, and a note here, make sure the ASPCA is not on speed dial on your phone. Your other cat is crafty! 

Worldly Mac

I’m not meaning to complain.

I know. It was such a short time ago that I was whining about the heat, but I really think that lowering the temperature to 41° is a knee jerk reaction. I’m not sure who is in charge, but I feel it would be appropriate to have the a high temperature of 75°, and a low of 60° for the next month. Oh, and while I’m putting in my order, I would like sunny days with light rain overnight, so that I don’t have to worry about watering my weeds.

And while I’m dealing with exterior issues, what the hell happened to the weed-whacker fairy? I haven’t seen him all summer. And the "lawn" shows it.

Some things are beyond comprehension.

I went to the Goodwill drop-off to unload some perfectly good items that I no longer needed.

I pulled into a parking place a couple down from the actual loading area. I only had a couple bags of light items, no need to take the prime spots. As I was returning to my car, a woman pulled up and parked directly behind my car. Straight ahead was a fence. I was trapped. She brought her first load of stuff up and the kindly man who was working the drop-off made a comment to the line of “Ma’am why don’t you pull out of the way so the man in the pick-up can get out.”

She responded with a snippy, “I’m only going to be a few moments.”

Apparently, I am chopped liver. What in hell made her so much better than me? She was no beauty queen, she wasn’t fabulously young, didn’t drive a particularly nice car, nor was she dressed any better than me.

Have you ever wanted to bitch slap a complete stranger?

A view from downtown Chelan, WA

I don't know Chelan well enough to know if we are looking north or south or east (the lake is to the west, so I am throwing that out.)

The picture is a couple of days old, but dozens of homes have been lost.

Bad news turned to good news.

Yesterday, it was announced that St. Mary’s Academy, an all-girls high school in Portland had rescinded a job offer after it was discovered that the female applicant was engaged to another woman.

It should be noted that St. Mary’s is a Catholic school. I can feel Richard roll his eyes, only for the obvious fact that the chance of an all-girls high school named “St. Mary’s Academy,” would be anything but Catholic is so slim as to be non-existent.

Today’s news is that the Board of Directors unanimously voted to add “sexual orientation” to their non-discrimination policy.

From the President of St. Mary’s board;

“St. Mary’s is a diverse community that welcomes and includes gay and lesbian students, faculty, alumnae, parents and friends, including those that are married. We are proud of our work preparing the next generation of women leaders for service and leadership. We are still deeply committed to our Catholic identity.”

Wow, progress so fast it is blinding.

The smoke is back.

Mt. Hood had returned for a brief visit, but (s)he is gone again.

And the smoke is thicker than ever. It is kind of like being by a campfire and there is nothing you can do to keep the smoke from blowing into your face.

And I saw my oncologist today. Good news! The tumor on my adrenal gland has not grown. And my lungs sounded good. Yee haw!

I do a CT scan and another visit to the oncologist in early October.

I’m not saying it’s smoky in the Upper Hood River Valley, but

All indications are that Mt. Hood packed up his/her bags and moved to the coast. The state of Oregon will be issuing new maps as soon as Mt. Hood is found again.

All joking aside, my heart goes out to the many people directly affected by fires in the northwest, and let’s omit the smoke-whiners. The entirety of Okanogan County, Washington is on evacuation alert. A building burned in downtown Pateros, Brewster High School is being used as a shelter for evacuees. At one time or another, the towns of Malott, Riverside, Twisp, Conconully, Winthrop, Tonasket, parts of Okanogan and other towns have been evacuated, and some still are. Omak and Okanogan have fires to the east, west and north of town.

And a hats off to the brave men and women who are fighting the fires. And an open heart for those who have lost their homes. And a moment of silence for those who have died.

Travelogue: Day 8, I am home.

2,600.2 miles later, my vacation is over. (Come on people, let’s hear some sympathetic phrases!)

As I was driving north from Grants Pass, the smoke was as bad as in California. I heard over the radio, that with the exception of the coast, the entire state of Oregon was covered with smoke and there were warnings that people with breathing issues should stay indoors. Well, I was in an air conditioned vehicle, so basically I was indoors. The smoke was so thick through Eugene/Springfield that it was almost eerie.

And the view of Mt. Hood awaited me from the top of my driveway.

All that is missing is the mountain.

The cats are happy to see me! (And I am happy to see them!)

Oh, and it was 102° in Hood River, but only 95° in the Upper Valley!

Travelogue: Day 7, Volcanoes and Fire.

Leaving Reno was tough. My new best friend didn’t come with me. Promise me you’ll write, Ducky!

Lassen Volcanic National Park was my main goal. Yes, there were pretty rivers and big trees along the way, but I wasn’t satisfied until I saw the entrance to the park.

Mt. Lassen is pretty cool, in fact the entire park was amazing. I imagine that St. Helens will bare a strong resemblance in 70 years.

Sadly, smoke began to fill the air.

It was very smoky from Lassen until my stop for the night in Grants Pass, Oregon. I think all of northern California is on fire. Oh, and just a by-the-by, my plan to escape the heat didn't work. It was well over 90° in Reno and was 104° when I reached Grants Pass.

Travelogue: Day 6, Grrrr...Reno, redux.

I found my way out of Hawthorne and wound my way to Lake Tahoe, one of the many things I really wanted to see on this trip. I had never seen Tahoe before. Taking the advice of friends, I avoided South Lake Tahoe by winding through the mountains south of the lake. My first glimpses of the lake were as I was driving north on Highway 89. At that moment Highway 89 was two narrow lanes with a steep cliff on the uphill side to my left and a major drop off on the downhill side to my right. There were places where the asphalt had dropped off the precipice, taking the fog line with it. A sign said to share the road with bicycles. Better a bicycle than an oncoming car, or worse yet, a speeding semi!

Lake Tahoe is drop dead gorgeous.

 It would be magic, other than the throngs of tourists who ruin the place. Any place worth seeing had no parking spaces, there was road construction with delays in 4 separate places, and… well my list of whines could go on and on.

I did actually get down to the lake at one point. It was a pebble beach; no one else wanted to be there. But I can say I have put a digit in Tahoe! (“Toe in Tahoe” would be too corny!)

Don’t let my complaints dissuade you, at any time Tahoe is worth the visit, but if you pick your time better than I did, it really could be magical.

From Tahoe I went to Carson City. A small city like many other small cities; for some reason this picture captures the feeling I got better that any other I took.

I pressed on. Zak warned me that Virginia City was tourist kitsch, but I had time to kill so I went anyway. He didn’t lie.

What he neglected to mention was that the trip to (Silver City and Gold Hill) and the trip from (views of Reno) made it worth all the tourist traps.

And to make the day great, a visit with Zak and Whittney and the bunnies!

Travelogue: Day 6, Grrrr...Reno!

More later, decided to visit with Zak and Whittney instead of type!

Travelogue: Day 5, Where exactly is Hawthorne, Nevada?

It was another great day, albeit with some minor disappointments.

10:03 AM, 20 miles south of Beatty, Nevada, the thermometer reach 100°. A few miles west of Beatty is Rhyolite, where it was a frosty 98°. Not to worry, I put on a sweater. Rhyolite is a neat ghost town (with a couple of places that looked like they were still lived in.)

And from there, on to Bishop, California. It was smoky there from a fire at the entrance to Yosemite National Park. It was obviously drop dead gorgeous, but the smoke was so thick it bothered my eyes, and hindered all pictures irrelevant.

And Mono Lake, despite its iconic nature, was less than impressive.

And now I find myself in Hawthorne, Nevada.