Tommy is home.

He seems comfortable. But there is no miracle cure.

He is a little better than when I took him in, but he still has troubles jumping up on my lap. He misses sometimes. 

He was on my lap and purring for much of the afternoon. 

How do I say this gently?

I just got off the phone with the vet. Tom is in renal failure. They are going to keep him over the weekend and hydrate him. Dr. Foss said he should feel better.

Okay, let me back up to a point of reference that all may understand. I knew Tom had lost some weight, but he was beginning to have problems with co-ordination. I knew something was amiss. The obvious losses of skills came on quickly, in the last three days. This morning I knew I had to do something. I got the first vet appointment I could, at 4 this afternoon.

Mike, or Dr. Foss as I usually call him, said Tom may have a week, maybe a month, maybe six months. Mike is a friend from the horse show days, but I believe he, like all people who went for the doctorate, deserve additional respect. Would you agree with me, Dr. Wells?

With that all said, I am in total shock. I sit here at my desk, alternating between typing and crying. I miss Tom sitting on my lap. This is Tommy-time!!! Not that long ago, there were six creatures roaming these halls. Tonight it is just Max and I… and he is sleeping. (Wow, what a surprise!!!) My cats mean the world to me. They are all I have left.

This really fucks up my Christmas plans. But I made a commitment to Tom to be the best catdad I can be. And if he only has a week… or a few… I want, or I need to spend them with him. 

More house pictures

My beautiful new backdoor!!!

The stairwell is about half sheet-rocked!

It is exciting... as soon as I get home from Utah, I will have to make choices... light fixtures, wall colors, etc...

Just some odds and ends I have cleared out, but.....

They will live on.

My vet sent me this when I had to have Bart put to sleep, so many years ago. I know why I saved it, but it needs to be recycled.

And a tribute to Wayno.... he believed in tomorrow!

Just a brutal reminder from one of my many hospital visits!

And, come on... just give us the cash!

A beautiful Saturday morning!

29° and 18 inches of freshly fallen snow!

Let’s see, according to the forecast, I should have between 17 and 20 inches of snow. I guess they are doing a fairly good job!

My plowboy hasn't responded to my texts yet, and just shoveling the porch and steps wore me out, but I love the snow. It is so picturesque!

Tom is perfectly content to stay inside!

20 years ago today

Wayne Edward Peterson left the world we know.

I still miss you, Wayno. I guess I always will.

The Blizzard of ‘16 has begun!

I would like to point out that it is two hours late in starting. The Blizzard of '16 is a bit of a prima donna… all the build-up, the tardy appearance and a bit of a blow hard!

But I have a warm house and two cats to curl up with.

Life is good!

The weather forecast:

This morning, I woke up to the following 10-day weather forecast for the Upper Hood River Valley.

Okay, the prognosticated temps are a little on the chilly side, but nothing out of the ordinary. It is December, after all. But what caught my attention was the projected precipitation: between 36” and 54” of snow!

Holy Toledo!!! I could be in for a winter wonderland!

First snow of the season!

So far, only about an inch, but it is suppose to snow all afternoon!

Yee haw!

And I have heat and I know how to use it!

It ain't over folks!

It is World AIDS Day.

An estimated 36.7 million people are living with AIDS. 40% don't know their status.

We must not stop caring and supporting: even when a new, trendier disease comes along!

And remember the 35 million people who have died because of this scourge. 

More excitement

It is so totally cool!!!

This is the house from the north (coming up the driveway).

And this is my new back deck!

And looking from my soon to be new back door to the mill.

And looking up the new steps!

Exciting New Photos

Okay, they aren't that exciting. They are actually utilitarian!

The indoor unit to my heater/air conditioner. (Yes, it is true. I now have an air conditioner. I have sold out!)

And the outside unit adds little luster to the mess that I now call my back yard!

I have heat. Well, I am very, very close to having heat. Okay, all I need is an electrician for a few hours, and then I will have heat. It is so close I can taste it. I can't feel the heat, but I can taste it... yeah that pretty much describes the situation!

View of a new stairway!

Looking up from the main level (off the living room)!

Looking down from the loft!

The view out of my new window at the top of the stairs!

It is getting done so fast.... it is exciting. Right now Logan is pouring concrete for posts for the actual back porch. I should be sitting on the back porch having a cocktail tomorrow night!

What do you call a pianoless piano room?

Seriously, what do you call a pianoless piano room?

It is like I have lost a good friend. But there are pieces around that I plan to use as objet d'art.

La Fête du Bon Père!

The time to celebrate a great man has come again!

And I am happy and soon will be full of macaroni and cheese and ice cream and Johnny sauce…. Not to forget candy corn! 

Let the gluttony begin!

Have you ever wondered what the inside of your piano looks like?

It is actually quite interesting and beautiful!

More pictures of the house

The house is almost water & air tight!

Just missing the door from this angle.

(This is from the backyard, with the roof to my new back porch already on - just missing the porch itself!)

This is the view from the driveway.

Logan is working on getting it papered and the last window in as we speak!

On Friday the remnants of the old deck come down!

It's a beautiful day in the Upper Valley. Cool (46 degrees), but beautiful!

Breaking a long silence

Nothing earth shattering to report.

Just a picture of the addition to the house.

Roof got done today!

Happy Birthday, Annie!

See you soon at LAX!

thunder and lightning

I tell you it's frightening!

And did you hear, the NBA is pulling its all star game out of Charlotte, NC in response to its anti gay and trans law. Whoo! Even the macho pro sports are getting the balls to do what is right!

I read of Nice

I can't help but cry. The Promenade des Anglais is a beautiful drive along the Mediterranean Sea. Karla and I were there, it the exact spot where the massacre happened, just over a year ago.

Is nothing sacred?

I haven’t posted in awhile

Max was sitting on my lap. He asked me point blank why I hadn’t written anything recently. I just kind of laughed it off and said it was because he wasn’t a cute kitten any more.

Tom started to laugh. He fell to the floor holding his little belly and rolled around in uncontrollable laughter. Max got mad.

Ummm… don’t worry, I’m okay. And so is Tom.

It's been eighteen years

I still miss you, Richard!

Happy Fathers Day

Such a dapper man!

I hope everyone has a great Fathers Day!

One year after the massacre in Charleston

Am I the only one who finds it odd that when a person of the Moslem faith kills, it is called terrorism; but when a person of the Christian faith kills, it is called murder (or mass murder when appropriate)?

Home for over a week

And finally getting off my fat derrière to write a post.

I have this amazing new scar. True, it does pale compared to my titanic scar from lung surgery, but surely it is large enough to be noted.

I have a great picture of it on my cell phone. And from all appearances, it is going to stay on my cell phone for eternity. All my attempts to put it on the net have failed. It is not possible that it is user error. Damn these old smart phones.

I feel good. In fact, I can honestly say that it is hard to remember there are things I shouldn’t do, when I feel the best I have in a year. It is amazing.

They told me to watch the BLT’s. I’ve had a craving for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich ever since they disclosed that life-saving secret. What they really meant “bending, lifting and twisting”. Hmm, new set of rules to break!

Anyway, I am home and I am better than I expected!

As to the whine

Saturday was 94.8, Sunday was 99.8, and if the thermometer in my fancy car can be trusted, today was 103!!!

I am now in Portland. I have back surgery tomorrow at 7:30AM. The hospital better have air conditioning!

The official first whine of the summer season of 2016

It is suppose to get up to 94 today and 96 tomorrow.

I ain't built for the heat. Actually, I'm not sure I'm built for anything anymore!

Cruising the Carolinas, and a brief nod to Georgia

Cruising the Carolinas seems simple. Just hop on your hog and go for it. But three side cars was, oh about two too many. So we rented a car. It was a selfish and unrelenting play on my part to get closer to my goal of having been in all 50 states. I am currently at 47. Umm, someone could get married in Arkansas, it would really help me.

First and foremost we were all very social. It is important to keep personal contact alive when you are spending a week together

And guess who made it to South Carolina!

A wonderful, if not surprising memorial to the Holocaust in Charleston!

Just a boring street scene in Charleston

I think it was the selfie debacle that made Jane go flat on the experience!

Beth brought a unique fashion experience to the Low Country!

Another street scene, this time from Savannah, Georgia!

Trust me, they are one more beer from a drunken brawl!

The Carolinas

Electronics has kept me from posting to my blog, but for some unknown reason, tonight it is allowing me to communicate!

The Carolinas and Georgia have been amazing. Yes, the conservative and religious culture can be stifling, but the hospitality is amazing.

I'll give details and pictures when I return to Oregon.

Preparing to give a speech.

There is an event this evening, a fundraiser for the Columbia Gorge Orchestra Association's Richard Parker Memorial Fund. For some inane, insane reason, I asked to speak. Just shoot me now!

It's hours away and already my knees are weak.

I'm calling it a success if I don't wet myself. I'm going for an easy victory. Well, I hope it is easy.

Happy Birthday, Sister Dearest

It must be stated that there is no proof that my sweet sister, Peggy Jane pushed me down a flight of steps. That is just propaganda being forwarded by some radicals who are anti-Enforcerists.

Anyway, happy birthday Jane! I’d announce your advanced age, but I am fragile. I don’t think I would survive another “fall” down the stairs!

Finally, a touch of humor return

Someone save that poor lady!

Happy Mothers Day

I can't believe it has been over 18 years. It seems like yesterday that you were here.

I miss you dearly and love you, Mom!

The smell of lilacs wafting through the house.

A beautiful spring day; high of 81 with a light breeze. Perfect!

Saw my neurosurgeon this morning. Driving to Beaverton is not the nightmare I envisioned. I was there 45 minutes early.

Neurosurgeon recommended surgery. Basically I agreed, but I have backed out on procedures before. For those of you who want to know, he's talking about a "L4/5 laminectories, medial facetectomies and foraminotomies and far lateral disecktomy.

I have no idea what any of it means, other than sometime in early June I will be having even more fun than now. Wow, hard to believe!

Now here is an interesting fact

There are 17 states and 200 cities that protect the rights of their transgender citizens. There has never been a case of a transgender person molesting someone in the restroom in any of those locations.

Oddly, Republican congressmen can't make the same claim.

The red states seem to be legislating against the wrong group of people.

And a happy birthday to the Parker

Howard, Bob and Richard.

To each and all!

Patty Duke is gone.

I am saddened. I never thought I would lose Patty and Cathy!

I came across a tattered little book that I wrote in as a child.

I remember Mother giving it to me when we lived on River Lane Court in Brooklyn Park, MN. I probably was about 9 years old. I immediately wrote in two quotes that I liked at the time:

“A boy throws a stone at a frog in play; yet the frog dies in earnest.”

“Once in a century a man may be ruined or made insufferable by praise. But surely once in a minute something generous dies for want of it.”

Pretty heady quotes for a punk kid to record. I wish I would have noted the source, but I think I got them out of Readers Digest.

Farther back in the book are a couple of quick samples of my poetry from my high school days. You will all soon understand why I am not the Poet Laureate of Oregon.

“Crayons to draw your mind.

Afraid to go out of my lines

Stay on your tower and in your lines.

I’m sorry.

I thought you understood

When you saw Paris burn.

That it is no use

My crayons melt.

When you remember me

Light a candle and cry.”

and

“When times

Come that you need

Someone to depend on

I wish you only the best of luck

My love.”

Now the book is garbage!

They say it is spring!

But, being all out of vestal virgins, I am taking it easy today.

Chemo sucks!

March Madness

South Dakota State 74, Miami of Florida 71!

Damn, where's the Jackrabbitmobile when you need it!

A day unexpected

I had chemo today. No, that was not the unexpected experience. Despite my declining memory and deteriorating mental dexterity, I did remember that I had chemo today. I even remember that I was having it in Hood River. Yeah, I’m pretty damn proud of myself!

What I wasn’t expecting was the emotional experiences of the day.

I’ve never had chemotherapy at Providence Hood River Memorial Hospital, but I have had fluid transfusions a couple of times while (or shortly after) I was doing chemo last time; times when there was no other need for me to go to Portland, so Hood River was more convenient for me.

I pretty much know the drill at PHRMH: been there done that way too much time for other purposes. I checked in at the main desk then they instructed me to toddle off to Oncology/Infusion where I pushed open to doors and stepped into a little slice of… well, we go into that later.

I was immediately greeted by Carrie, a nurse who gave me a baggy of water 18 months ago. Okay, I know they have a manifest and the can look up all the information on the patients with appointment. But that means she really did take the time to read the manifest and look up my information. And she remembered me enough to make it feel real. Do you have any idea who cool that made me feel?

I got myself seated in one of those super comfy chairs they have at PHRMH. They are way better than the inferior Brand X chairs they have in Portland. The ones in Portland you have to pull a lever to lean back and raise the foot stool, and those are the only two positions they have. Can you say “primitive”? The ones in Hood River have electronic controls that you use a remote to change it to the dozens of different possible positions. I could have played with it all day, but Carrie came over and asked me not to. It was making other patients nervous.

Surely, you know I jest.

Sort of.

Okay, I’m situated and getting cozy when Liz, who with Carrie were my co-nurses for the day came over to (and I’m going to get real technical in terms here, so those of you without the medical training I have may not understand, but) put a needle in my arm so that they could pump pounds of lethal poisons into my body. She offered me lidocaine first, something they don’t do in Portland. I accepted. It didn’t even bother me when she came in with the backhoe for explorative purposes.

So now I have a needle in my arm, and I have given blood for testing. I am ushered in to see Dr.Bernstein, the new oncology doctor at PHRMH.

(Just an author’s footnote here: I just wandered into the kitchen to… I found myself with the freezer door open. I was stunned to realize I had no clue why I was there. I came back and sat in front of the computer again. Now I need to get back into the story telling mode.)

Okay, back to meeting Dr. Bernstein, after a moderately short wait in his office, immediately adjacent to the infusion room, he walked in and said, “Hi Mac, I’m Eric Bernstein”.

Okay, Dr. Bernstein came highly recommended. He used to work at Providence Oncology in Portland with my oncologist, Dr. Sanborn. Patty, the woman who works the front desk (and I could go on for ages in praise of Patty) told me he was great and to give him a great big hug from her.

It should be noted at this point that Dr. Bernstein and I decided, with this being our first encounter maybe a big hug was over the top, but it immediately broke the ice.

I was comfortable with him quickly. We talked about my medical past, but he knew all the general details. I think he was trying to get into my mind and see if I was doing okay. We ran the gambit of conversation, from Richard’s diagnosis to his death to my diagnosis to my lobectomy to my adrenalectomy to my reactions from my last two sessions of chemo. Dr. Bernstein was as compassionate as my general practitioner, Dr. Foster. And everyone knows I shout her praises to the moon. He has the technical knowledge of my oncologist, Dr. Sandborn, and everyone know I adore her, and he has the down to earth advice of Michael Dupré, Nurse Practitioner who has guided me through with such amazing counsel.

I know, I’ve written damn near a novella and you’re all thinking, “Hell, good experience with nurses, comfy chairs, toys to play with, good food” (remind me to tell you about the amazing lentil soup and sandwich they gave me for lunch) “incredible doctor; where the hell is he leading with this piece?”.

As my visit with the doctor was winding down, we were talking about future appointments and that kind of crap when an obvious question came to my mind, “Are you my new oncologist?”

“I would like to be. I know you have a long past with Dr. Sanborn, and I respect that and understand if you would like be her patient, but you are welcome to call me you oncologist.”

And I paraphrase freely, despite the quotation marks. I got the drift. He was cool with talking with Dr. Sanborn, or me getting a second opinion from her. His ego seemed in check.  I’ll see him in three weeks at my next infustion.

Maybe the thud didn’t hit you like it hit me. Dr. Sanborn has been my oncologist for almost three years. Okay, for the first year she was technically Richard’s, been same damn difference. This would be a life changing change; convenient, comfortable, caring, but different. Okay, on Dr. Sanborn downside, there is that unfortunate fact that Richard did die. That is something that is a trifle difficult for me to overlook.

But still, THUD. Do I make the change?

Woo-Hoo

Ducks go dancing!!!

The battle begins. Again!

Yesterday, I began the arduous and seemingly impossible task of collecting benefits from my cancer insurance. Less the 24 hours into the war and I am already contemplating admitting defeat and slipping away into the void.

I thought, innocently enough, that I would try the online process. I even watched the tutorials they posted on their website. My god, it looked easy as pie. And they say they will pay within one business day and deposit directly to my bank account. I was heady with confidence and excitement. I plunged into the course with glee and self-assurance. I knew this time was going to be different, I wasn’t going to deal with the frustrations and disappointments that I encountered last time around.

The claim started with some simple questions: a true/false portion and a multiple guess portion. The true/false part was fairly straight forward, and I’m pretty sure I aced it! Lordy, was I feeling buoyed. I was damn near cocky. The multiple choice portion was a little more daunting. For a number of the questions, there was no answer that fit my circumstances. I began to lose my poise, but I pressed forward. I answered as close to the facts as I could. But I knew this wasn’t going well.

I then began to scan the 22 pages of documentation to attach to the online submission. At page 12 my scanner died. This is the same printer/copier/scanner/fax machine that had already decided not to print or copy. This is the machine that is now in the back of my car awaiting a trip to the recycling station.

As much as I try, as many facts and realities as I distort, the demise of my scanner is not the insurance company’s fault. It is just a tragic coincidence.

I have two critical messages from the insurance company in my in-box this morning. They are so critical and vital that I don’t know how to open them. I remember this from last time: there is some trick you need to know, but I don’t remember what it is. It may include sacrificial goats. I do recall that last time, after repeated efforts to get it right, I finally gave up before it was accurate.

Supreme Being, give me strength and courage to navigate the seeming impossible web of an insurance claim. I need divine intervention.

It is official: I am retired.

The fête is done. It was a great party. It is well documented on Facebook.

To all who attended, thank you. For those who couldn’t, you were missed.

I feel honored.

Without fanfare and with little ceremony

Yesterday was not an uncommon day in the Upper Valley. The sun shone brightly, the wind blew with a vengeance and it rained, all at once.

I had been waiting for the perfect day, but perfect days don’t always come. I had wanted one of those blizzards when tree limbs crash to the virgin white ground and the world is silent and full of hope. Rereading that last sentence, I understand why perfect days don’t come. Sometimes our visions of ideal aren’t realistic; they will never materialize. So we move on and do what must be done.

I spread the ashes of Hazel and Claude and Ralph and Trixie and Tillie to the wind. For the dogs, this was their home. It is what they knew. They had to remain and be part of the world that they created. Tillie just went along for a ride with the big boys.

Over two decades of joy and happiness, of love and pain tossed to the gusts. They will be forever in my heart, but come on; it was time they got off the kitchen shelf.

If this don't scare the peewadens out of you

Nothing will!!!

A rambling message

It hasn’t been a bad day. Actually ran into Hood River and did some errands… a number of errands. It was a full morning.

I came home and took all my new meds.  Can you spell “wasted”? I guess they are sending me back into the Paleolithic stage of my existence. Wow, this is cool!

And I got a letter from Social Security. I am medically cleared, with a retro date of 9/3/14. Soon I will be rich!

I qualify for “Compassionate Allowance”. They won’t dawdle. Playing the “Cancer” card to the max!

Oh, oh, oh

And I forgot to mention.

I had my caudal injection a week ago and I think it is helping. Could just be my wild imagination, but I really think I am getting around better. It ain’t perfect, but hey, at this point I will take what I can get!

The day after the day before

All in all, it isn’t too bad. One of the side effects of one of the drugs that I take to take care of the side effects of chemo is that I get wired. So although I am tired as hell, I can’t sleep.  None of the horrible side effects of chemo have kicked in, so I slowly get some things done! I am really pretty okay.

I am taking it easy today, because I want to go out tomorrow and have lunch with friends. And do some other errands while I am out. Hopefully, I will feet up to it and not overdo it. Keep some strength for when it all hits.

And Tommy seems better. He is to the point of being obnoxious again. I am happy, in my own strange way!

Tomorrow is my second chemo treatment.

I feel like a convict being sentenced to jail; a common criminal being forced to pay for his crimes. The cold permeating my bones; the unbreakable exhaustion; the heinous sores on my lips, in my mouth and down my throat; the rash covering my torso and the itch that can’t be scratched: these are the joys to come. Throw in some delightful nausea and you know it’s going to be such fun.

And I have this morbid fear that I have been lied to. There was excess hair in the bottom of the tub when I showered and when I combed my moustache, too many hairs fell to the counter top. Cursed is the poison that takes my pride.

Fuck, I don’t want to lose my hair again. I don’t look good bald!

Another morning in paradise

Actually, the colors were much more beautiful than they appear. My photography skills rank right up there with my singing skills, obviously.

Junior is so proud!

Took him into Odell with his new plates. He had this cheesy grin from ear to ear as he strutted into town. 

At long last

The license plates have arrived. Junior is legal at last!

I sit

With a candle lit and tears streaking down my face.

Two years and it feels like yesterday.

I still love you, Richard.

Some old photos I like

And yes, I had some 'splainin' to do when Max and Tom saw the first picture.

I discovered the most fascinating article on the internet.

It was an article written by Lord Monckton defending "... a courageous coucillor (Rosalie Crestani) of the City of Casey, a leafy suburb of the Melbourne megalopolis..."

And I quote:

"Official survey after official survey had shown that homosexuals had an average of 500-1,000 partners in their sexually active lifetime, and that some had as many as 20,000."

 "...and for the consequently short, miserable lives..."

Obviously, I have chosen just a small amount of the article to comment on, and it could be argued that I have taken them out of context. You can read the entire article at http://www.wnd.com/2014/11/calling-the-non-heterosexuals-bluff/#WRLHdPvb9SKM7bf8.99, and then decide for yourself.

But really, I just want to comment on the math. Okay, if you start having sex at 12 (it happens, just not to me) and you have a different sex partner every day of the year, you celebrate you 20,000^th partner somewhere in your 76^th year of life. Keep in mind that you would have to double up on some days to cover holidays, sick days, etc… And how can you really be sure that you haven’t done this dude before, and as such he doesn’t count toward your 20,000 quota?

Wow, you’re 76 years old and having sex with a different partner every day. Your dick is worn to a nubbins, your eyes are crossed, you drool incessantly and you are amazing! You are a total stud! I am in awe. Can I give you my home number?

You certainly can’t say that 76 is a long life, but calling it “short” is somewhat misleading. I have no plans for my 76^th birthday, so from this angle it looks like an amply sufficient life span.

And “miserable”? Oh lord, give me such misery!!!

I think this just goes to show that if you believe everything you read on the internet, you will become insanely jealous of some senior stud and strive to be more like him!

Hey, good chatting, but I have to run. I need to find my sex partner for the day, and that ain’t gonna be no easy task!

My humor may be returning.

I laughed until I cried when I saw this!!!

Oh, and happy day-after your 157th birthday, dear Oregon!!!