A Three in One Special

     

Update:

I spent yesterday afternoon getting prepped to have the PowerPort in my chest removed. The ridiculous part of it was an hour and a half of prep and an hour recovery for a 15 minute procedure that I don't remember. That little joker looked like a ping pong ball under my skin though it looked smaller recently because I gained some weight. For the past 8 months it made for easier access for chemo and bloodwork and saved me from looking like a pincushion. It definitely feels excellent to have cleared that hurdle. 

                            Cold as a meat locker there per usual




Coming Attractions:

I've let the days get away with me lately and haven't posted anything though I have been writing daily. I realized that some days the email correspondence I've had with a couple of people was taking the place of working on pieces or other ideas. I had to allow myself to be okay with that as those emails showing up in my Inbox had become a big part of my recovery. I am working on a post for something I had promised to a former coworker and friend that needs to be up here pertly. There are actually more things in the works though right now that one has jumped to the head of the line.

Tribute: 

Any basketball fan knows Craig Sager took his step this week and he'll be missed by more than the people in his immediate family. The friendships he created with the athletes he covered were obvious when he did his sideline interviews.  Seeing the reverence from his colleagues when he covered his first NBA Finals game this June was a great example of getting back what you put out there. He was an example for me;  I wondered how he managed to handle being a public figure and going through what he was going through off camera too. Being in the public eye while being a member of that dubious club with a cancer diagnosis; I'm not sure I would have handled it as well as he did. Over the past several years of my sporadic NBA viewing his wild  colorful suits have been the highlight of most NBA games. I do know he's okay where he is. Godspeed Craig.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah

I Hope You Got a Better Birthday Present

     This post has been probably the most difficult one to write of any that I’ve posted here. It has taken me the better part of a year to finally just put it out there. It was not because I was planning to rewrite War & Peace or something ridiculous like that. Even now sitting here tapping out some edits of these words I find myself hesitating to continue.

     Why so hard you ask? Well, there are a couple of reasons behind that and they are interconnected I’d have to say. I can’t say with any conviction which one carries more weight than the other though that can and has changed from day to day over the past 8 months. Anyone that knows me or has over a long stretch of time and thankfully there are still a good few of them around, knows I’ve been known to keep stuff to myself. The other is there have been many days I wasn’t up to it. Actually there were quite a few of those days and contact of any kind was too much to handle at that juncture.

     Back in February on my birthday my intended Facebook status for the day was coming to the conclusion that as the calendar page changes and the days roll into years the only thing anyone truly wants for their birthday is another one. Within a few days I wasn't sure I'd be able to fulfill that desire.

     Before I was able to actually update my status that day I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t catch a breath and was gulping air like the goldfish that jumped from his bowl to the counter. Needless to say I scared the living crap out of my lovely wife when I woke her from a dead sleep to call 911.

     So off to the ER at the nearest hospital I went to endure what passes for emergency medicine for the next 8 hours or so. After blood work, a chest x-ray and some pain meds they decided to keep me for observation.

     That night I saw a parade of doctors and nurses either just checking in or checking vitals. If your doctor ever tells you they are putting you in the hospital for rest and observation you can tell them from me that they are full of shit; especially the rest part. Granted I often sleep only in 2 hour stretches anyway but having someone else wake me up every 2 hours to poke me and fiddle around gets old real quick.

     By the time I got to day 3 I knew something was up. I spent that day having what felt like every test known to man. They stuck a camera down my throat to look at my gizzard then I rode the Stargate machine, otherwise known as a CT scan. The pain in my back made the MRI virtually unendurable and they had to fill me with goofy juice so I wouldn’t fidget. I dubbed the MRI tech Cruella DeVille for her sparkling bedside manner.

     Later that day the doctor who I’ve spent the most time with these past months came to see me while I was waiting for another test. When he told me he was an oncologist I wasn’t surprised. My initial reaction was more like scared and pissed and in that order. I liked him immediately. The fire in his eyes communicated to me he would do his best to help me whatever it took.

     He told me I had Stage lllA adenocarcinoma small cell lung cancer that he saw in my left lung and he wanted to start me on chemotherapy as soon as possible. Some of the horror stories I’ve heard about chemo flashed through my mind as I listened to him tell me the plan.

     Over the next two weeks I spent a good part of many days sitting in waiting rooms for tests, bloodwork, etc. Since I was feeling pretty much lousy as a constant state of being at that juncture doing all this really wore me out.One of those trips included getting a little plastic and metal power port attached to a big vein just below my right collarbone. It’s used to administer chemo and take blood so I wouldn’t end up being looking like a pincushion. The damn spike they use to access it is over an inch long and it’s buried to the hilt when they use it. Thankfully they use freeze spray most of the time before doing that though the image of it going in is a bit freaky. And with no freeze spray it would bring me right off the chair. Fun was not had. I still have it and it’s not a problem other than the weird feeling I get when I happen to run my hand across it.

     After my first chemo treatment I was still continually fighting to breathe and I was worn out. My days turned into a series naps in my recliner when I wasn’t going for tests or doctor’s visits. My doctor put me back in the hospital after one visit when he became concerned about my breathing. So off to the ER again I went from inside the hospital this time for more tests. The ER doc looked at my CT scan and determined that the tumor had grown since I had started chemo. It hadn’t changed size it had just moved. Since oncology was not his specialty nor was reading CT scans he started a chain of events that landed me in the hospital for the next few days and also start the mapping out of the next several weeks. My Oncologist and Radiologist decided they wanted to push the start of radiation ahead and do both together. Little did I know what would transpire in the coming days.

     I’m not going to bore you, though I may have already, with the details of the hell the next 6 weeks entailed. This is the part where I talk about the cure being worse than the disease. It’s definitely true when referring to what we know of medicine here in the US. Losing over 60 pounds in the matter of a few weeks will knock the ever living shit out of you. By the time radiation ended I had 3 more stays in the hospital ranging from 2 to 5 days. The last one was for a blood transfusion after I crashed in the oncologist’s office and would have bitten anyone that got close enough to me. This happened during my last week of radiation. I was done with all of it. I was beat up, beat down and just plain tired of feeling like I wouldn’t make it through the night and enduring  other days hoping that I didn’t. Those were some dark days, very dark. Thankfully one of my radiation techs talked me off the ceiling to finish the last 4 days of radiation since I was having none of it.

     Since then I’ve been slowly building myself back up. Of course we all know patience is a virtue and there are days I don’t feel so virtuous. Patience with myself to get back to a sense of normalcy hasn’t happened fast enough for me, though it’s getting there.

     The good news is this. My first CT scan 2 months after treatment ended showed the mass had shrunk from the size of a billiard ball to be the size of the ball that comes with a set of jacks like I used to play with as a kid. Even better was the last one 2 months later that showed the tumor as nothing more than a shadow, basically gone plus the node I had from a dose of valley fever in my right lung is now gone too. Also, the part of the tumor that was pushing my spine and causing my pain is stable and hasn’t changed though the pain still reminds me its around. My voice is improving but I still sound a bit like a villain from a 40s gangster flick. Talking for an extended period of time still tuckers me out pretty well too.

    I do get tired out pretty quickly and the nueropathy in my hands and arms makes writing both therapeutic and taxing. When I get to the point of having to retype almost every word I know it is time to quit for the day. Naps have become an important part of my day to regroup and recharge. Life has become simple; Eat when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m tired, do what I can when I have the energy to do so.

     As of today, I’m doing good though right now I’ve reached one of those simple points; it’s time for a nosh and a nap.

     Thanks for reading, as always comments and shares are welcome. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere just yet.  

No You Didn't See Me in the Funny Papers

     I know it has been a right good while since I’ve dropped a few words here and at the risk of being cryptic I’ll ask you to bear with me a bit longer in that regard. I haven’t been locked up, in a coma or hiding in a cabin in the mountains in case you’re wondering. This year has been one for observing, a lot of that in fact, and there has been much to see in the view from my chair.

     One thing I did do, which in hindsight I seemed to have spent an inordinate amount of time on, almost to the point of literary paralysis, was attempting to decide what my niche or target audience would be. That question crops up repeatedly when reading blogs, books or magazine articles about the writer’s life. Many days just reading became a singular accomplishment in itself.

     Several, if not many times I sat hands poised above the keyboard with a blank document open in front of me and I somehow managed to find something else that jumped in line ahead of what I had in mind to put to paper.  I sure cannot say that there hasn’t been enough happening around the globe to leave me at a loss to write about.

     I’ve never liked being pigeon-holed and I imagine most folks don’t like to be either. That particular feeling for me is akin to standing in a hole buried up to my chin while waiting for someone to use me as a Whack-A-Knoll. What I did learn however is that I have a myriad of interests and any posts in the future will continue to be my usual mixed bag of whatever I’m tickled to write about.

   


     In between my bouts of research and some forced inactivity I did manage to get a few bits of short fiction at least partially in the can. Getting to the point where I force myself to stop trying to tweak and edit it further or getting distracted to work on another idea has become the proverbial double-edged sword.


     I also spent some time going back through the posts I’ve already dropped here and realized a few things; I definitely need to bone up on my editing skills and my blog layout is in dire need of a sprucing up. Those projects will be good for days when my muse is asleep.

     To say this year has been one full of profound challenges and startling epiphanies would be a gross understatement. One exceptionally positive note has been the many examples in my experience that reinforce my gratitude for the people that show me they love me which repeatedly reinforces the feeling that I am the luckiest cuss in the world.


     Reconnecting with some old friends and peers has frequently left my heart full and my face wet. You or I can read a pithy post any day of the week on Facebook or any social media site how big a role friends and family play in one’s Life. Often though it is easy to overlook taking the time daily to consciously be grateful for those folks being part of our daily existence. There are definitely situations that can arise at any time that can cause one to just get stuck in dealing with what is on the plate right in front of you to the exclusion of anything or anyone else.  Whether that is right or wrong it is how it is. The last guy who we were told had an almost perfect batting average ended up with holes in his hands and feet so the bar has been set rather high.

     In some ways it’s hard to believe it is almost October. This year has flown and in other bouquets of moments has been somewhat agonizingly slow. I’ve learned much, so overall it has been a grand success in more ways than one.

     For now I’ll put a bookmark here and ask that you keep your eyes open for my next entry. To those of you who have been reading since the beginning I thank you for your support.  Comments and shares are appreciated and welcomed whether you read on a PC, tablet or phone and comments should be open on all devices.

From the Vault: One for Father's Day

Connecticut Defense Council Auxiliary Police ID, probably WWII era

(I found this among some of the things I had written and though it has been out there on the web previously I felt it needed a little edit. So I fixed the writing faux pas’, added a little and thought it was worth re-posting in honor of Father’s Day)

Yesterday, April 5^th, was my dad's birthday, he would have been 107. I've wondered more than a few times what he would have thought of the changes the world's been through in the 40+ years since he passed and the discussions we would have had about them. I’m sure his analytical mind would love the idea of the Internet but the endless posts about where I’m eating a sandwich or the myriads of bathroom selfies would be lost on such a private person as he. I bet he sure would love the animal videos though.

He left home at 14 and hooked on at a number of shipyards up and down the east coast. I still have a piece of paper written in his spare efficient block printing of his "resume', which is just a list of the places and the hourly rates he worked for from 1922 onward. 

He used to tell a story of living in New York during those years. He lived in a 3rd floor walk-up and to help pay his room and board he made horseradish for the landlord. His telling of the story of having to stand by the window and having to grate this gnarly root by hand never failed to produce a laugh from those in attendance. He always told this story with a bit of a grin, as he knew that good times and bad times often overlap and the differences weren’t always discernible in the moment. Onions apparently have nothing on grating fresh horseradish when it comes to making tears. He said you couldn't wipe your eyes because that made it worse, so he'd have to stop periodically to throw water on his face. Sometimes he'd shred his fingers instead of the root and be just a total mess with tears running down his face and bloody fingers that stung like hell from the horseradish  juices. Needless to say he found other accommodations quickly.

He managed to keep working pretty much all through the Depression, which was an uncommon feat in those days. I worked for a while at the same place he and my Mom met and it was also the last job he had right up until he passed. I heard a few good stories about him from some of the guys that were still around from the time he worked there. 

The guys in the shop gave him the nickname “The Gray Ghost” because he had an uncanny knack for walking around the corner just as a group of guys would decide it was goof off time for a few minutes. They said he was a good boss and always fair, though you didn't fuck with him or any of his crew. One day a guy from another department was giving one of his crew a real hard time and preventing him from getting his job done in their mutual work area. When my Dad went down to find out what was going on the guy got pushy and mouthy. One punch later he was on his back, lights out. I still grin when I picture Jonesy telling me that story just shaking his head with his big bugged out eyes, his battered hard hat reversed on his head. "Nope, no sir no one fucked with the guys on Bill Mark's crew ". He was also not without his moments. One day he happened upon Little Charlie B_____ hammering away at something on a workbench, his hand choked up on the handle near the head of the hammer. Dad stopped and said to Charlie, “Don’t you know how to swing a hammer by now, doing it that way will take forever. Give me that.” My Dad took the hammer, gripping it at the end of the handle like one should and took a swing with it. The hammer head flew back over his shoulder and skidded under another bench about 10’ away. My Dad’s face got beet red, he turned to Charlie and handed him the empty handle and told him it was time get a new hammer then walked out of the shop. Hilarity ensued among the witnesses though it took Charlie a couple of minutes to stop shaking.

I wonder sometimes what my Dad would think of the pussification of America, where you can't tell someone, "You're an idiot for doing that" but it's okay to be rude as hell to someone you've asked for help in a customer service position. He always had a good word for the waitress or the checkout person. He always took our cars to the same mechanic, even though he could fix them; he used to say, "Those guys need to make a buck too." I feel fortunate to have put my wrenching days behind me since I found a good honest mechanic too.

The house I grew up in was the first stick built house he'd ever owned. He had always lived in apartments or trailer homes. That house was a bit of a fixer upper and he put a lot of time into improvements after we moved in. I remember him wrestling big rocks out of the ground with a long pry bar on the hilltop in our backyard. Then he'd roll them down the hill where he would split them with a hammer and chisel to add to the stone wall he built to keep the back hill from washing on to the red brick patio he laid. He had most of it done but never was able to finish the wall before he passed. 

He didn't know a lot about playing sports, though he did play golf and do some caddying for a while when he was younger; well before golf became more mainstream. I guess he gave up golf and pipe smoking when he married my Mom. He coached my little league team when I was 12. We spent a lot of time practicing my pitching in the driveway. His shins were always black and blue that summer due to bouncing balls that hit the dirt from what passed as my fastball in those days. We got to share the first ever season of Monday Night Football, though I never got to see the end of games since they ended at midnight on the East Coast. He would stay up to watch the end and leave me the scoring that happened after I went to bed written on small piece of paper on the kitchen table.

                                                             

                                                        Family Friend's backyard 1960's.

My uncle used to tell me frequently that he was the smartest man he had ever known, they did a lot of projects together at my uncles house. He also told me after Dad’s funeral that he'd never seen so many people at a funeral before. Dad's was the first funeral I ever attended and for years after it didn't matter who passed I refused to go. I remember sitting next to my Mom and shook so many sweaty dead fish-like hands that to this day I always look sideways at anyone who shakes my hand that way. That experience really threw up a lot of walls in my young mind and I never wanted to attend another funeral; that attitude changed as I got older, though that is a story for another day.

He left me a tough legacy to follow to be respected by so many. I wonder sometimes what he'd think about what I've done with my life, both the successes and failures and the hope I'd done well in his eyes just to keep on keepin' on. Like most things I write I don't know where this came from, I guess I just fell through the hole in the paper.

Thank you for taking the time to (re)read this and to all the Dads out there, Happy Father’s Day.

Still Here

     I’m sure more than a few of you have wondered where my blog posts went. They are still here, though a lot of them stayed stuck in my head.  It’s not like I ran out of subject matter; the news is filled daily with all manner of things to poke with a stick and I have good supply of sticks. My focus changed to a different format. I started putting more down on paper than in the air; mainly in the journal I've had since President Ford was bonking spectators with golf balls. My trusty journal has served me well over the years to help me work through the occasional fork in the road that comes to everyone’s experience at one time or another. Plus I've been going through old things that were only on paper and converting them to digital. 

     A few weeks back I decided to jump off the end of the pier and do something I've wanted to do for a long time;make writing a full time occupation. Like any new venture there is a bit of a learning curve. Writing isn't just about writing there is a lot more to it than that. I find I've spent a lot of time doing research whether it be to find material for something I’m working on, discovering ways to improve my craft with books I've found or finding new avenues to produce income. I still sit in front of computer all day, now I’m my own boss, peon, and IT department. Some days it feels daunting, others float by like a trout fly riding a soft lazy current. My desire is to keep moving that fly down the river.

    I never saw myself as a published author though I did have a couple things put to print in the past. Now all of sudden I realize I am published, self-published I guess, through this little old blog of mine. I've never had any formal training other than what I learned in school and my own research. I've been told I write like I talk, which depending on the venue can have both advantages and disadvantages. Fortunately for me I have support here at home, from family, my friends, and those of you who take the time to read the things that jump off the end of my fingers.

    For those of you who have been reading right along I thank you for your support. Please feel free to post comments. You can do it anonymously if need be. If you liked what you've read share it, please.  I know Blogger is a bit cranky if you read it on your phone. It's even cranky for me; it hates the apostrophe in Microsoft Word. I have to replace everyone I use. I am investigating other places to possibly move this blog to if I find that necessary. If I do you'll be the second to know. Thank you joining me on this journey it will probably be safer than riding next to me in a pickup while plowing snow.

The Year of the Pen

    Each year as the end of the year rolls around there are numerous lists of the 10 best, worst, funniest, saddest, and whatever other name can be slapped on a list of 10 somethings during the year. I like checking out some of those little "year in review" lists; they become snapshots to remind me what went on during the year while I was busy being busy. Relax my friends, this is not going to be one of those lists. Well, then again no promises, I’m just going to follow this missive to the end.

   I spent a bit of time thinking about this past year and the new one hurtling at us. Not surprisingly I decided I wanted to get some thoughts down on paper, though I didn’t want to make just another "year in review" list type of thing; several someones have been gracious enough to do that for me already.  The end of the year easily lends itself to look back at what was; whether with fondness, or a tear, a grumble, or a guffaw, we all have things to be grateful and thankful for.  The New Year is always a bright shiny box we have to wait to open until January 1^st. We open that wondrous mystery with the hope that within there will be bigger and better, new and exciting happenings;ever hopeful it includes untapped wells of quiet strength and boundless faith tucked in the corners to carry us through till we say goodbye to the year that was at its conclusion.  

     The year 2014 was another typical atypical year; it had 365 days like any non-leap year, the sun rose up in the morning and dropped below the horizon at night. During those days strung end to end there were many moments for us to stop and take notice that it was a great year, mainly because we’re still above ground at the end of it. Not everyone was so lucky. Some of us lost someone close to us, or at least near the sphere of our day-to-day; their absence most notable during those moments we know they would have enjoyed too. Others we will miss from afar because there are no new offerings to make us laugh, the sound behind the music that carries us on epic road trips is silent, or the eloquent words on paper we use to whittle away a cold rainy day have come to the end of that life's book. Many of us have added to our families, whether by an exchange of rings, bundles of joy with tiny little fingers and tiny little toes, or made some new friends to add the family that’s not related by blood.

     This has been a year of change for me, the biggest of which you are a part of now by reading this. Starting this blog and keeping it going has been a big step for me and an ongoing one at that; finding my voice and keeping my ear tuned to the world around me has been a lot of fun. I’ve written for years, since I was a kid really, though more in earnest after I started keeping a journal in the 70’s, and I’ve never really shared those words on paper with more than a handful of folks.  Now a day doesn’t feel complete unless I’ve written something, even if it’s just a book review or two on Amazon.

     I really want to express a big Thank You and attempt to convey how grateful I am to those of you who take the time to read the musings, rants and silly stories that flow from the ends of these fingers. If i had to give 2014 a name it would be the Year of the Pen, and now I face 2015 with a blank piece of paper and my trusty pen with the hope that I never really find the bottom of the hole in the paper. Thank you for stopping by.

                                                  *** Happy New Year! ****

. 

A Test You Can't Study For

     

     There is nothing quite like a cancer scare to make your ass pucker and push your thought in all sorts of directions. One of the aspects of something like that coming down the pike is the knowledge you’ll may end up running the gauntlet we all know as the health care industry if the test results force you to start down that path. I had a procedure done the other day that still gives me little reminders of Gregg’s Not Excellent Adventure in a paper gown. I came through all right, though the two weeks leading up to that result is really what this post is about. I've waited a couple  of days with the idea in mind that it would help cut down on the profanity that may erupt from the end of my fingers during what will follow here: I make no promises nor apologies.

     My regular GP sent me to a specialist to get something checked out that gave him pause.  After some research online using the list of names I was given I made an appointment. When I arrived they asked me to pee in a cup and I dutifully complied.  After the usual vitals stuff the doc arrived about 20 minutes later. His entrance set my teeth on edge for the days ahead:

“Hi I’m Dr. ___, we found blood in your urine we are going to check you for cancer.” 

“Um, what?”

     At this juncture I’m still a big groggy after getting up 3 hours earlier than usual to get this appointment in before I get to work, though he has definitely got my attention, so  I listen to what the has to say. Essentially the hook was set for me to come back. He rattled off a short description of what happens next, tells me I need another test first before I came back, and explains the procedure. He then proceeds to tell me he does over 750 of these a year and I start doing math in my head. He shoos me off to see the receptionist and collect my cares and ways so I can head home.

     I scheduled the other test, which was taking a ride on the Stargate machine, AKA a CT scan; since they can’t do anything but take the test then hand you a CD I had to wait another week to get back to the doc again after that the test. Needless to say more than once that week I woke in the middle of the night and had to talk myself down off the ceiling before the appointment day rolled around.  After all is said and done, I’m right as rain, though maybe a tad grumpy, which is pretty much my normal state if you ask some folks. Am I glad all worked out okay?  You bet your ass I am, though I am definitely torqued at what I experienced.

    

     I felt like I was run through a procedure mill, right from my initial conversation with the doctor to the fact I got the EoB from my insurance less than 2 days after I had the procedure done. I never get those EoBs that fast. Never. The doctor himself and his staff were very pleasant, professional, and efficient though almost too much so; I felt like I reached warp speed as I was hustled through every little detail of my visit. When I was on my way out from the first visit I was told that my CT scan had been scheduled with an imaging place right down the road from this doctor’s office. I told the scheduler I’d rather not drive a half hour for the CT scan and preferred to use a place closer to my house, she wasn't too happy. That unhappiness was reinforced on procedure day when the doc asked me why I used the place his look of disdain just didn't sit right with me. I get the whole referrals thing and the back and forth, though seriously don’t be so fucking obvious. I told the gal who took my vitals that I felt like I was being hustled through a procedure mill. Her response was, “You know what this test is for right?” “No, I’m a goddamn idiot that hears the word cancer in the first 15 seconds of talking to the doctor and decides instead that it’s a good time for tennis lessons.”  Meow. When the doc came in he asked me the same question and I told him to just get this shit done. When we finished he asked me again and I told him, “You pretty much hooked me to come back when you the word cancer popped out of your mouth in the first words you spoke to me.” His response to that statement was the same question; obviously he didn't get my fucking point and I doubt he never will or cares too. 

     The whole procedure mill phenomenon is just way out of hand. From doctors performing a half dozen Lasik surgeries before lunch, to being knocked out so someone can stick a camera up your ass to check your tonsils, and though I don’t have them I’m sure most women don’t enjoy putting their tits in a vice. In essence it’s about billing; a hard sell under the guise of healthcare.  What we have is one continuous call to grab our plastic sheeting and duct tape to cover our windows so we can feel proactive as we wait for disaster to strike.

     The whole setup is based on fear; making us afraid and using that as an advantage to justify the process, which really fries my onions. So much of our health costs and our time spent are about responding to fear. My issue here is really how we have been conditioned to be afraid of various and sundry diseases that we willingly submit ourselves to all these tests over and over. Once we get our results we are usually handed a pill or two and the cycle repeats itself.  

     For me, doctors are essentially body mechanics and I go to them when I need a diagnosis if I think something is wrong.  Being stubborn as hell some times that noticing needs more than a little prodding from my other half. She is extremely adept at using my own advice against me; she simply asks me if she was experiencing whatever the symptom may be, what would I say to her. At that point I call her a brat, she giggles and I go make an appointment.  I guess I don’t see the value in looking for trouble, though I know a lot of you beg to differ when it comes to this kind of stuff. 

     My issue is not with the tests themselves, it is the fearful mindset we've allowed to be foisted upon us. Fear is a great motivator and an excellent marketing ploy that is used by basically anything that we buy whether it’s cars, zit cream, or the stuff on the “As Seen on TV” rack at your local grocery store and healthcare. You ask, have I fallen prey to the marketing of fear? Of course, if I had conquered the human condition I wouldn't be here. My biggest fear now is running out of things to write about and having the time to do it, and as boogy men go that’s not a big one. 

Mixed Nuts

     This past week has been more about writing words on actual paper instead of in the air, which is how I think of typing on the keyboard.  Don’t ask me to explain it, that just popped out of mind and refused to go back in. Most of my posts I type out before I post them, rarely do I hand write them first, usually I can sit at the keyboard and just go. There are times though when the keyboard isn't quite real enough for me, it doesn't seem to engage enough of my senses to make the words flow; some thoughts just tell me they need to be written by hand. Most of the handwritten stuff I've put down over the years hasn't seen the light of day. If you asked me to give you a reason why I would probably say I simply wasn't ready to share it, which accounts for the recent silence from this chair.

     Lately I've taken to reading things written by other writers, other than their books. I've found a lot of interesting thoughts and observations about the craft along with a glimpse in to their own writing life. The paths each of us has taken to reach the point of putting ourselves out there on paper are as varied and unique as the individuals themselves. I've found it interesting to see how other writers view their writing, what it’s meant for them and the struggle with trying to find their niche. Apparently in today’s world a lot of writers feel pushed to have a niche. I guess if you’re a retailer trying to sell books it makes sense to be able to categorize the times you have to sell.  For a writer I can thoroughly understand how that niche can feel too confining, almost like someone else is trying to force you into a box.

     Boxes are for keeping shoes in, or little keepsakes like granddad’s broken watch and that penny you left on the railroad tracks when you were 12. I imagine most folks don’t like being pigeon-holed, I know I sure don’t. I guess that’s why I've done so many different things over the course of my life, though it sure has put me in some strange places. I know others don’t seem to mind those definitions since it gives them a sense of structure or some boundaries to work in. I have no issues with boundaries, they are so necessary in so many situations and without them what we may see now as chaos, would be even more so. 

     I tried to sit and think what my niche is, I really spent some time and mulled over the idea, and being resistant to creating a box for myself I will just keep chewing on that one. I looked over the things I've posted here and it’s rather a big can of mixed nuts, a magic can with the type of nuts changing each time I open it. I never worry about spilling any, there is always more where those came from.For the present I suppose I’ll just let the world and all its wonder furnish me with nuts to keep that magic can full. 

Chromie and the Page Gnomes

If I didn't need another sign that Google+ is deader than Abraham Lincoln I still managed to find another one here. Well let's say maybe outdated. Might be time to move this collection of paper filled holes to another site. I tried to add some pictures to a post the other night and it kept failing, needless to say the air was blue in this office. There was this little ball on here that kept changing colors from red to yellow to green to blue and around again while I was trying to add my pictures. The message revealed when I hovered over it? It appears your have compatibility mode enabled. Not!, that's asking for trouble. A little more poking around brought me to a page that showed me the best browser for using this site. The little page gnomes made me aware that my browser is out of date and pointed out to me I should be using IE 9, 10 or Surprise! Chrome. I have IE 11. Facepalm. Lo and behold when I closed out and opened back up in Chrome I had no issues loading pics. I've tried Chrome here and there but was never a fan of it, the bare bones look for me was like buying a brand new Cadillac with manual window cranks. In the meantime I will keep on scribbling while I investigate another home for my musings, all the while with one eye peeled. watching and hoping the pages gnomes don't follow me.

Actually, There is Something On

    Writing for me is often a bit like pulling a loose string on a shirt or a pair of pants, I’m not always sure where my intentions will lead me, though hopefully not too far from where I intended to go initially. Sometimes I start with an idea, then I have to go around the coffee cup a few times before I remember there is a handle, such is the delight of falling through the hole in the paper.  Yesterday’s entry for your perusal began as the back story to that handle I never managed to find before it was time to roll up the sidewalks for the night. Instead, the back story became the story when my keyboard and I jumped in and kept on falling for a while.  While I was reading it over, hoping there were no typos or sentences with the structural integrity of grape jelly, I realized I had left out what I had started to write about in the first place.  Thus again I have managed to make a short story long.  I’ve been talking and ofttimes living backwards since I was 5 so it’s not an earth shattering surprise to have done it again. My brief sojourn back in time, to the hysterically inefficient mess that is over-the-air broadcasting did result in a payoff that my wife and myself still enjoy to this day. 

     My wife admits to being a horse crazy girl growing up and I have seen first-hand how that feeling still lurks beneath her quiet demeanor, ready to be unleashed at the first scent of horse sweat.  Myself I had never spent much time around horses due to the circles I ran in and I haven’t ridden one in many a year.  The past few years have been a lot of fun spending time at horse shows and riding barns being around these amazing animals with a few bruises and a slobbered up hoody being well worth the price of admission.

     Late one Sunday during the cable hiatus we flipped the TV on at my house and saw a small herd of horses flash across the screen. ”Wait, stop, horses, what was that?” my honey exclaimed as her eyes grew big and her face lit up when the channel went past.  Of course we clicked back and stopped to watch and see what this was all about. Little did we know that chance happening would still resonate three years later since we are still watching the show.  We had discovered a little Canadian family drama called Heartland that is now in its 8^th season.  We made a point of watching on Sunday nights when we were near a TV and were a bit bummed when it disappeared from the local late night Sunday fare.  We have a stack of DVDs we don’t watch now and adding to the collection didn't make sense for us after pricing them online so we held out hope it would come back around again. Lo and behold our hope was rewarded, we happened to see it was playing on the UP Network and fired up the DVR. The best part was they were running it from the pilot right on through season 7; love my DVR.  

     I could say I don’t know what has drawn me to this series, though the truth is there are too many reasons to list why I like it. I've never considered myself a family drama fan, though I did enjoy crazy family sitcoms through the years starting with All in the Family., and wholesome would definitely not describe Archie Bunker. Simply put it’s a good show with great scenery, good writing and acting, some really good characters, and oh yeah horses, lots of horses.  I hesitate to type the word wholesome though the word is inescapable to describe it since it is just plan good family entertainment. This little show has all the stuff families live through day to day, the laughter and tears, the bickering, teasing and making up, success, failure, heartfelt moments and occasional fisticuffs, but no swearing since the network bleeps out even the word, Damn! That usually elicits a giggle from the couch.  It is definitely not sappy and takes on issues that each of us has either gone through at one time or another or we know someone who has. The backdrop is a 600 acre horse ranch in the middle of Alberta, Canada and to describe the scenery as fabulous doesn't do it justice, though the amazing camera work makes up for it.  It is back to being our Sunday night wind down to get ready for the week ahead thing to do. Anyone out there with a horse crazy sweetheart would be wise to check it out with no caveats since you’ll enjoy getting hooked yourself.

On the Hood of a Pinto

I’ve been going through the collection of scribbles that I’ve clung to despite my many moves over the past several decades.  I didn’t realize how many unfinished stories I had in various and sundry states. A paragraph or two here, a couple pages there, some sentences that seem like they fit something else I found over there. The other thing that surprised me in my treasure hunting was the number of poems and songs I had on the most random bits of paper. Some of them had dates and/or locations where and when I wrote them. One such notation read,”First written on a half pint bag on the hood of a Pinto.”  Guess I was lucky I had a pencil that night.  Looking over the songs and poems their most common characteristic would be my trouble in deciphering my own scrawl.  It’s kind of bad when you can’t even read your own handwriting.  My wife makes fun of me when I have to sign anything because I close my eyes and just move the pen. I just don't like to watch when I sign my life away. I guess the time has come to clean my glasses and get all those little ditties into digital format so if anyone wants to read them they won’t have to ask me what this word is right here.

Bits

Writing is like anything else you need to practice and keep practicing the craft. I equate it to sawing off a log with a hand saw. You have to keep going until you run out of steam, rest for a bit then get back at it. I’ve been keeping a journal for many years. On occasion I would fill it with songs, poems and stories along the way.  Mostly I used it to work through stuff that was going on in my life.  Grab some coffee, my smokes, a spiral bound notebook and a pen then go to town. Sometimes I would fill 5 to 6 pages before I put the pen down. The time spent was really helpful at different points along my path.  Thinking on paper I suppose you could call it.

Now I am at a point in my life where things are good, very good and I find that I want to use those writing muscles in a different way.  I use little exercises to keep the creative juices flowing and I find myself collecting things and ideas here and there. I collect things like a phrase that becomes a thread in an old sweater that keeps unraveling as you pull it or an unusual name for a street or a person, a chance glimpse that brings to mind a connection to something old relating to something new. I find myself looking forward to being home to write after work at night. I do have some time in the morning so I take advantage of that too. Every little bit is another little bit and those bits come together bit by bit.  And so I continue to practice and collect bits.