Where's My Human?

My father went back in the hospital a week or so ago, he kept falling down and hitting his head - he was mildly concussed and very confused - and in that state, messed up his medications - mistaking Percocet for high blood pressure medication (for starters). It was a very crazy week.

He is now in a Rehab Center - the staff are making sure he exercises, takes the right medications at the right time, and eats properly. He looked pretty good yesterday (I mentioned to my mom he looked a half dozen years younger). So we are encouraged as of now.

His dog, Zoey has been really lonesome. She misses every member of "her pack" when we aren't around. I qualify as a pack member!

I took my dad's dog over to the rehab center because he wanted to see her. Just outside the center's dining room is a small gazebo and it was nice and shaded.

While we were waiting for my dad to come out two old ladies stopped by in wheelchairs wanting to see the dog. So Zoey was happy enough to say hello and lick their hands softly. You should have seen their smiles.

My dad then came out in a wheelchair and we had a big reunion! My dad was very happy to see Zoey. It has been about two weeks. You should have seen the tail wagging and heard the gleeful wuff-wuffs! After my dad returned to his room two more patients came out in their wheelchairs just say hello and to pat her head. They were absolutely thrilled to see her.

Zoey waits for human to come home - he should be there tomorrow (Friday) noon Zoe!

Heartache - Friends that Hurt (Part 2)

I can not write words that express what a dear friend, one that I have admired and respected since the day I first found her blog. She suffers from pain that cripples her and makes her largely a "shut-in" but you would hardly ever know it - she is cheerful, optimistic, honest, courageous, talented beyond words both with her hands and with story-telling. In short she is just a plain and simple "good" human being that looks and lives outside of herself and sincerely wishes the best for everyone she encounters.

She is very reluctant to ask others for anything - let alone something as simple as a kind thought and a gentle word. I deeply admire her.

I read her recent blog entry with dismay. I am sure it pained her to ask her friends for some kind thoughts and prayer. She valiantly strives to be independent and a burden to no one. And she is so. Despite it all.

I hope the power of prayer - can bring some sunshine into her world.

Stop and Smell the Roses!

On Sunday afternoon, on my way home from the houseboat, I was stopped in Georgetown, Maryland when a drawbridge opening occurred. I've been keeping track of how often I have to sit and wait at this bridge (not that I mind, the views up and down the river are nice!) and have been stopped seven out of seven times heading home and two out of seven times heading to the houseboat.

I took this photo with my cellphone and sent it to my mother and to the one-legged lady at the wharf telling them I had been stopped once again and both of them told me, "Patience! Reflect on the fun you had during the weekend and enjoy!"

The hood of my car is a mess, I parked under a tree at the wharf to keep it in the shade!

Before heading to the wharf, I make sure I mow my lawn, sometimes I use a push mower when I want the exercise. It takes me about two and a half hours pushing - the riding mower is much faster, but I've been having trouble getting it to start. Turns out the connector to the starter was loose - and I fixed it, so when I'm in a hurry, I ride the mower and get the job done in about forty minutes. I was so happy when I got it to run!

My mom's birthday is coming up soon - and I've been looking around for something she might want and like. I spotted this wooden wire reel at the wharf and asked the owner if he had plans for it. He said, "Take it away and it's yours!" So I stuffed it into my car and brought it home. The next weekend my mom said, "Durn, the wire reel is gone! I was going to ask if I could buy it. I think it would make a neat patio table.

Mission accomplished.

One day last week, I got home from work and saw an ambulance and a police car in my neighbor's driveway. I was very concerned about them, they are good neighbors. By the time I walked over, the ambulance and police car were gone and no one answered the door. Their dog, a seven year old mutt that thinks she is still a puppy was tearing around the backyard like a maniac. An hour later, she was still out there and no one answered the door - it being hot as heck out, I let myself through the gate and made sure she had a bowl of water (she did). She seemed a little lost, so I sat with her for a half hour, hoping her mom or dad would come home. It grew dark and quite late so I went home, but I checked her a while later and a light was on in the house so someone came home.

Turns out her mom, who had lung cancer, had a dizzy spell and was choking on something. She called 911 for herself and put the dog out in the backyard so she wouldn't jump all over the EMT. She went to the ER and her husband drove there straight from work. I told them I "doggy sat" and they were quite pleased that someone was around - I told them it they ever needed a doggy sitter, emergency or not, I was "up for it." And if they needed a helping hand, I was "up for that" too.

Last weekend was the annual "Swim for Life" event at Rolph's Wharf. I loaded some photos into Flckr. There were about 300 swimmers and they swam 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5 miles - unless they were in the triathlon, in which case they swam 2.4 miles and then biked 110 miles and then ran a marathon.

I was feeling somewhat cocky, having swam a mile and a third at the YMCA the week before in an hour and fifteen minutes. And then I heard during the awards ceremony for the swim, someone had swum a mile in nineteen minutes! Some days, I can't even walk that fast!

Life keeps ya humble...

The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of the Feet

As you know, a year and a half ago, while I was doing some photographs of gravestones requested by Find-A-Grave members, I found myself short of breath and nearly passed out amongst the mossy stones. Early the next morning, I did pass out on the way from my bed to the bathroom, a few short feet away. Alarmed, I got myself to the emergency room, and there, after much poking, prodding and testing, it was determined that I had been waylaid by a pulmonary embolism, a blood clot in my lungs.

The images showed that the probable source of the clots (there were three larger ones in my lungs) was the calf of my left leg. Forced off my feet for a bit, I was unable to walk much, and unfortunately my weight ballooned.

After several weeks of intense Physical Therapy for my shoulder, I was able to walk more normally, swinging my arms as I did so - for the first time in many months. I was able to use the treadmill at the local YMCA as well as the swimming pool, and with some effort (mostly stubborn muleheadedness) I worked myself to the point were I could walk 90 minutes at 3 1/2 miles an hour on a 8 percent incline.

The Doctor asked me if I felt "recovered," and my answer was "I don't know. I'd have to test myself."

So yesterday morning found me at the Hamburg Reservoir, (north of Reading, Pennsylvania) and looking at a sign that said "Commemorating the Appalachian Trail - 75 Years - 1937 to 2012 - Georgia to Maine. This sign is at the foot of Blue Mountain and near the location of the now long gone Winsor Furnace and the famous Hawk Mountain.

I used to walk up the mountain here when I was in Boy Scouts (many years ago) and have not attempted the rather strenuous hike in years. Could I do it? The path from the parking lot looked daunting.

About 1/2 a mile of steady walking up the path brought me to the crystal clear waters of the reservoir. The morning was cool, but I had started to sweat pretty freely from the exertion.

At the far end of the reservoir a small stream trickles down from the heights and the path wends its way through the green rhododendron bushes. I said to myself, "Okay, slow and steady. Its about a mile and half climb from here to the ridge line."

Time seemed to slow, the only sounds were the gurgling of the stream beside me, and the call of the birds lost from view high in the still bare trees.

At length, I passed a couple walking hand and hand that stopped and said, "Gorgeous morning!" And I replied, "Indeed it is!"

After stopping only once for a minute to catch my breath at a particularly steep part of the trail, I at long last reach the ridge line trail. I exulted! "I did it!" The trail from here to the overlook, while long and rocky, is basically level. One step after another, I plodded onwards. After some time, I spotted a neon yellow vest ahead, "I'm catching up to someone! Me!! Slow pokey me!" and then the vest disappeared at a bend in the trail.

"Oh well," I thought, "I guess they got their second wind." And onwards I went. The path getting more rocky and difficult. Suddenly, I was spooked by a voice behind me!

It was a lady wearing a neon yellow vest and two friends of hers, walking determinedly behind me. "Where did they come from? I thought to myself?" as they eventually overtook me and went by me. Somewhat befuddled by the exertion of the hike, and confused by the need to eat, I let the mystery of their appearance go. By that time, we were nearly at the overlook.

"Ugh! Look at the rocks underfoot, now I remember why I didn't come up here all that often!" I slowly scrambled over them and at long last, the object of my walk came into view. The Pinnacle. 1635 feet above sea-level, and 920 feet above the level of the parking lot, the overlook is spectacular. The three ladies that passed me asked me to take their photograph, which I did, asking them, "I thought I saw you ahead of me, and then you spooked me coming up behind me."

With a loud voice, overheard by the dozen or so people sitting in the rocks around us, one of the ladies says, "Jenny had to stop and pee!"

My brain flickered, and I thought, "oh...Oh... OH!!!!"

After a brief snack on a cool rock, during which I congratulated myself for having made it to the top. I started back down the hill, still working on getting arm around so I could pat myself on the back, when I saw three young guys in shorts and t-shirts RUN up the path I had so laboriously trod.

Now that burst my bubble! :)

Sometimes things don't go as planned...

This past Friday morning, I left home and went to Rochester, New York to see my nephew graduate from High School that evening.

After seven hours on the road, and a quick shower at a motel, I joined my brothers, parents, my older brother's wife and her family and we rode to the Rochester Institute of Technology's Gordon Field House.

My nephew, who plans to go to St. Bonaventure University this fall, was really excited to see everyone - its been a while since everyone in his family has visited him in Rochester. He had a crowd of twenty-two relatives there to cheer loudly and lustily when he picked up his diploma.

Well, almost.


I think there were about 20,000 people in attendance at the ceremony. I felt hemmed in and claustrophobic, so I moved toward the back and midway up some grandstands to get some air. And was stuck back there alone when ceremony began.

About midway through the reading of 450 some graduate's names, my cellphone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at the display and saw "Urgent - Rochester EMT needs to talk to you". I moved out of the noise, called them, and was told, "Find your mother and bring her outside NOW. Your dad is in the ambulance at the curb." So I elbowed my way back into the crowd, found my mother, and dragged her outside to the ambulance where she hopped in, tossing me her car keys.


I didn't see my nephew get handed his diploma. I found my brothers and made hasty arrangements to get out of the parking lot before the crowd poured out of the building.


I did hear the commencement speaker - the town manager of Henrietta, tell the graduating class, "Now it's time for you to find your way in life, and let me tell you something, you are young, and you need not decide today what you want to do with your life. If you find yourself in a college you don't like, or a job that isn't making you happy... Change! Get a new college, a new major, or new job! Life is to be enjoyed, I myself, have had five different jobs before finding this one - the job of my dreams."

I think he was "right on."

But that night, as I raced across the parking lot to my parent's car - I found myself in electronic contact with my deaf brother texting me directions, while my nephew celebrated a milestone in his young life without me seeing it, to a hospital I've never seen before, traveling on dark roads in a city far from home, wondering why my dad had been carried away underneath a strobing red light and mournful siren.

I got to the ER without mishap, and learned my dad had become dizzy during the graduation ceremony and had staggered out of the building, where a campus security guard found him and led him to a standby EMT crew. My dad was profusely bleeding internally and before things were stabilized, would require 8-9 units of blood transfusions.

Late that evening, I took my mom back to the motel in hopes she would get some rest and early Saturday, we returned to the hospital to be told "we would need to wait and see" what would happen. My dad said, "You two go and visit with the others, I'll be okay here." The Doctor said to stay nearby just in case.... "Just in case, WHAT??" I asked. He's only reply was it would take some time to stabilize my dad, he had lost a lot of blood. It turned out, it was just case they needed someone to donate some blood...

So, remembering a happier day, my older brother said, go to the Pittsford's Canal, where we walked with Aunt Eleanor when she was here for my (older brother's) wedding in 1982!

I scratched my head, got the car out of the garage, "poured" my mom into it, and drove down a couple streets that I thought looked "vaguely" familiar and then the old photographic memory kicked in. Fifteen minutes and ten miles later, I pulled into the parking lot where I had last talked to my (Great) Aunt Eleanor, 35 years ago. My mom looked at me and said, "I don't know how you do that, and it freaks me out sometimes, but today that ability of yours is really a blessing."


My older brother joined us a few minutes later and we had an early lunch and took a short walk on the Erie Canal.

As we were leaving there, I remembered I had something for a wonderful blogger friend, Yaya and her son Alex, but hadn't made arrangements with her yet or found her place on a map, so my older brother put his thinking cap on and said, "I know where that street is... you two follow me, it's just a short distance away." We found the street and her lovely house, but the blue-eyed, orange-loving Yaya wasn't available.

Oh well. I hoped to be able to go back and meet her later that weekend, but things refused to work out that way. My other nephew graduates next year. Maybe next year things will go a little smoother?

It wasn't until Monday afternoon that my dad stabilized and was discharged from the hospital. I immediately drove my parents home - and then drove myself the rest of the way home last night. My dad is doing better today - but is visiting his own doctor for follow up today.

I have been alone all day today in a cool, very quiet office and just can't stop yawning... I think I'm getting too old for this kind of exciting weekend.

I hope to visit your blogs soon, if I've not done so yet.

A Melancholy Day

As some of you know, my Dad had a mild heart attack recently, and the medication they put him on has left him anemic, short of breath, and in general, easily tired. With Mother's Day coming up, he has been sort of "out of it" - and I'm not sure just why.

Perhaps it's because of the recent loss of his "second" mother. I don't know, my Dad is about as close to the vest kind of person as they come.

He mentioned wanting to go to Scranton (the home of the TV show, Office) to see the old trolley and street cars there. The Electric City Trolley Museum is located next to Steamtown, a National Historic site preserving and explaining steam locomotives.

Regardless of the steam heritage, Scranton calls itself "the Electric City" since it was the first city in the USA to have an entire system of street cars operating entirely by electric.

I told my Dad I would be glad to join him in a trip to the museum and yesterday, the first of May, and the first day the museum's trolley car resumed excursions for the summer season, we went.

When we pulled into the parking lot, my Dad's tired eyes lit up.


The green trolley car to the left, with a destination sign in the upper-left window saying "Erie Avenue" was one of many similar ones that my Dad rode to High School and other places during the immediate post-WWII era. When he and my Mom moved into the Philadelphia suburbs (it was the country side back then), they saw the orange "freight" trolley regularly. The freight trolley was used by the Lehigh Valley Transit Company to bring milk and bread to the city and take mail and hardware out to the farmers.


Just a little further down the track was red, white and blue Car #206 (built by J.G. Brill Co. of Philadelphia in 1931) is one of the Philadelphia & Western’s (P&W)famed "Bullet" cars, named for their pointed streamlined ends.

Bullet car #206 continued to rocket along the P&W tracks under Red Arrow and later Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority (SEPTA) management where it got its garish paint job.

My Dad nudge me in the side and said, "You and your older brother probably rode in that car." It seems that when my older brother was "fussy" as a toddler, my Mom would take him for a ride on the "P&W" from Norristown into Philadelphia and back - letting the gentle sway of the car and the rhythmic clackety-clack of the rail soothe my brother and ease him into a nap.

Apparently it worked, and my Mom did the same with me.


On a bright sunny day, the excursion trolley waits for some riders to board. Car #76 (built by J.G. Brill Co. in 1926) is a "Center Door" car originally built for the Philadelphia and West Chester Traction Co.


This trolley roamed the "Red Arrow Lines" system from 69th Street Terminal in Upper Darby (Philadelphia) to suburban terminals in West Chester, Ardmore, Norristown, Media and Sharon Hill.


My Dad found the exhibit of trolley wheels to be great interest. My dad pointed out that the "trolley" is actually the round wheel at the end of the pole - the word stems from the word "troller", the device that allows an electrical current to pass from an overhead wire to a streetcar. The trolley car is the vehicle. My dad's like that.

At any rate, he and his father made many of the trolley wheels used by Brill trolley cars, along with repair and replacement parts in the family's brass foundry. He pointed out a couple in the display case "he might of made."


My dad says he might of rode this trolley back in the day with his father. He sat on the wicker trolley seat a bit winded from the walk from the museum building to the trolley station grinning like a two year old.


The excursion trolley ride went along a couple tributaries of the Lackawanna, a stream that flows into the Susquehanna River in Wilkes-Barre. The trolley line was once called "The Laurel Run Line" as it went from Scranton to Laurel Run just east of Wilkes-Barre.


The pride of the museum is P&W trolley car #46 which was built by the St. Louis Car Co. in 1907. This trolley was found abandoned in a field being used as a storage shed. Now restored, it literally gleams from the loving attention it garners from the volunteers that work at the museum.

I put a poor quality, short video of the ride we took on the trolley (here). The first part was shot in the "Crown Avenue Tunnel" which was completed in 1905. This tunnel is one of the longest interurban trolley tunnels ever built at 4750 feet. The second part shows the seemingly ruralness of the ride through the valley. The last part shows the far end of the trolley ride - the car barn at the baseball stadium where the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Yankees, the AAA affiliate of the New York Yankees play.


For much of the ride back to the museum, I watched my Dad looking out the trolley car window and pondered. Was he lost in the many memories of trolley riding in his youth? Was he contemplating obsolescence, the passing of the trolley car and the no-longer used trolley wheels that he and his father made? Or was he just enjoying the passing scenery, happy to be able to take this ride?

I don't know. I do know one thing. He's my dad and I'm glad he felt good enough to go to the museum and spend the day with me.

An Easter Weekend BBQ at the Grandparents

Yesterday, I went to visit my Grandfather and Step-grandmother. My grandfather was in good spirits and eating like a growing teen aged boy.

My step-grandmother, on the other hand, was frail and confined to a wheelchair as she gets very lightheaded when she tries to stand on her own. She was diagnosed with lung cancer and the prognosis is ... very grim.

To celebrate the Easter holiday, and rather than focusing on the grim news, we got together - her rather extended and complicated family and mine, for a BBQ outdoors where some very warm and much welcomed sunshine and spring flowers greeted us.


My step-grandmother on the left, her sister-in-law on the right. I told them to say "cottage cheese." My step-grandmother's family is complicated because I think she and everyone of her children were divorced and remarried, some a couple times.

Sometimes, the ex's were actually on better terms than the 'blood relative', so there was a crowd of people that have only gotten together once or twice before and I couldn't begin to tell you "who was who".

I can tell you that my step-grandmother's brother is a gifted guitar player, and his sons, nieces, nephews, grandsons and great-nieces and nephews have no small talent of their own.


The young man in the yellow shirt is my step-grandmother's nephew (and no relation of mine). The other young man is my step-grandmother's grandson. The young girl holding the youngest grandson in the family is a friend of my niece and no relation to anyone at the BBQ! You confused yet? Welcome to the club.


I brought some orange lilies, some colorful folding chairs, and a cooler full of soda and ice.


The non-related (to me) grandchildren play on a chair between the related grandchildren (me and my brother) while the musicians entertain us all.


As the circle of life grinds on, the older family members look to the young to continue the family and its traditions in the years to come. I can't help but think that this bright, blue-eyed boy will be taking on the world with joyous music in his head and a bright shining love his in heart.

Happy Easter everyone!

When Friends Struggle

As we turn yet another calendar page over and greet July, it seems like many of the people I call my friends have been struggling with a variety of things.

Some of them struggle with chronic physical conditions, some with injuries to their backs or their legs. Some struggle to recover from major and minor surgeries.


Some feel left behind or left out. Some feel that they have been forgotten. Or that the world is so big that they are insignificant and lost.

Some of them struggle with lost jobs and some with lost homes.

And some with both.

Some struggle with sick or hurt family members which include loved pets. Some even struggle with their friends.

Some struggle with coping with expectations that remain unmet. Some struggle with love lives that are dead on arrival, missing, or worse are in relationships that are actually abusive.

And a goodly number struggle with many of these things all at once.


Someone dear to me often says, "Life! Aye, it's what we signed up for!"

Some days, I just wish I could remember signing anything.

I can understand how many of my friends feel the way they do. Many of their struggles are mine too, perhaps only in a different shape or form or degree.

Sometimes I wish I could give them an umbrella when it rains or pull them under the roof when the contrary wind blows. Life weathers us all. It beats against us and batters us, and leaves us fractured, blistered, peeling, and perhaps even rust-stained.

Today I find myself struggling with all the struggling. The Golden Rule is my guide, but it fails sometimes. Sometimes I can't do what I would like to do. I can't transform myself into a Harry Potter-like wizard, wave my wand, and forcefully say incantations like "Cancer Exspellarium!" or "Hurtyknee Allbetterum!"

And of course, I know no one expects this of me.

And more practically, I know sometimes the best thing to do is to do nothing.


Sometimes no matter what bruise the world has given a friend, the best thing to do seems to be "just sit next to them and listen".

Sometimes just soothing talk about something else entirely is a help.

Sometimes a shared laugh over a particularly good joke clears away some of the hurt.

Sometimes something physical, something tangible to hold, like a card with a scrawled line or two of ink can mean something really big. Sometimes flowers (or even a picture of a flower) can bring some sunshine into some one's world - I've never really understood how they do that.

Sometimes watching a butterfly emerge or seeing an extra special sunset or rainbow works like when mom kissed your boo-boo and things were once again set aright back in the good old days.

Sometimes the hand that mows their lawn or brings them hot soup helps. And sometimes just a couple quarters and some loose dimes is really all it takes.

The helping hand could be like the magic of having a fresh coat of paint - Perhaps not so much the fresh color but the personal touch of a caring application. But does that just conceal the damage? Does it put it simply put it out of sight and out of mind?

And how do you know what to do when?

I sleep less easily on the days when friends struggle.


My friends have their pride and dignity. Many of them are a very independent lot - and would never ask for help - come hell or high water. In fact, that trait may be the endearing quality I see in them and the very thing that caught my eye in the about them in the first place.

How do I respect that - their pride and their dignity? I know I surely would be causing them even more hurt if I damage that - however unintentionally and inadvertently.

The balance of being there, showing that someone cares, and letting them know they aren't really alone, forgotten or even lost in this chaotic world of ours - weighed against their independence and diginity and sense of self-worth - seems to me to be a difficult one.

Maybe I'm just thinking too hard.


Your friends reflect on your identity. A part of their substance becomes at least one of the numbers or letters that name you. Somewhere inside you - there is a place that holds the part of them they have choosen to give you.

A place that needs an open window and some open space to give them light, fresh air and a place to grow. Sometimes, there needs to be a door - so that they can go their own way.

But I want that door to have a welcome mat and remain unlocked - so should they want, they can return at a time of their own choosing. I hope that, should they go - they will want to drop a line or two - just now and then.


And in the end, we are all "flying solo". Life is ours to live it the way we chose to, within the constraints we find or even place ourselves in.

And life is a journey to somewhere - I'm not sure exactly where - Our friends are our traveling companions.

I feel blessed to have the traveling companions I have. I don't mind helping with them overcome seasickness or contrary winds when I can. When any one of them gets laid up on the shore, broken or simply in need of a rest, I want them all to know that I'm not going to willingly leave them behind.

Get Well Soonest

I walked down the Perkiomen Trail yesterday, and found myself thinking that so many people I know are struggling with bad backs, bum knees, painful necks, trying to make adjustments, unhappiness, depression, crummy neighbors, and even every day stress from these uncertain times.

So many people - so many struggles.

I just felt a little overwhelmed - there is so little anyone can do - but to be there; either physically to give them a hand, a hug, to hold their hand, to just take out their trash or bring them in the paper; or to be there with them in your mind...

I know it's not the same thing - but sometimes that is all one can do - and sometimes - deep down... I think it helps - somehow.

I spotted this little stream by the trail and sat and rested my tired legs - I had gone nearly three miles from the car at that point - and I just drank in the scene - alone - but knowing I wasn't really alone.

The fresh air and the gentle burble of the stream made me feel a little better - and I don't know if you felt anything yesterday - but I was trying to...mentally share this with you - not so much the placid scene - but it's calming and healing effects - while I was thanking you - for being there for me.


Get Well Soonest -

MarmiteToasty, Tori Z, ChicagoLady, Dorkys, Alice Kay, Karla, LadyStyx, Wife Of Riley, My Side of the Story, Yellow Dog Granny, Annie, and so many others.

The Most Terrifying Words

If you came here today thinking you might get a laugh please stop reading and go elsewhere. I'm sorry to disappoint you.

It's 2:30 AM in the morning and after hours of tossing and turning on the sofa I finally gave up.

The big "C". And being an older single guy, my life has been shaped by it. No, the word I'm talking about here isn't "commitment", it is "cancer". I think the most terrifying words in the English language are "It's malignant."

Recently I've begun to think that I am a carcinogenic.

In the 10th grade of high school, I dated a young woman who was full of life and very talented. She marched in the band, acted in the school drama club, took honors English, and laughed with me when we did things together. She and I never actually broke up - one morning she learned she had pancreatic cancer, and few short, horrible months later, she was gone and I bitterly learned that life is transient - and we don't actually ever have anything to keep forever.

I didn't date much after that in high school, and in college, it took just about everything I had to keep from being flunked out - 20 hours of class and studying each day didn't make for much free time. For all I joke about doing foolish things with the guys, those episodes of fun where few and far between. Once I graduated, I moved back into the area I grew up in, and started dating again. One woman I enjoyed seeing soon after college broke up with me when her mother died of cancer. She became morose and withdrew from life - actually closing the curtains in her home and refusing to leave it for months on end.

About that time my Great-Aunt (my dad's mom's sister), who was a feisty, combative, spirited woman, was found to have cancer. She battled it as bravely as anyone I've ever seen - she never grew despondent, she never gave up. She didn't win her battle though.

A couple years later, my Grandmother was diagnosed with cancer - it started as freckle growths on her face and neck. She was a very sick woman for a year...before she too, lost her battle with the disease.

I was by this time working in the drug business - part of my motivation was to help find cures for these horrible diseases that haunt our existence. Not being a doctor or chemist, my involvement was setting up computers that were (and are) used to store the results of clinical trials; trials used to see if experimental, new compounds both work and are safe.

The second drug company I worked at, I worked with a engaging young woman with the most beautiful golden blond hair and a heart-melting smile. The warmth in her voice when she said "Hello" was truly genuine and she was a delight to work with - and our work paths crossed frequently - for she tended the computer that "my stuff" was on. We played on the company's volleyball team together, she was grace personified in the back court. I on the other hand was nicknamed Mr. Grass-stain as my efforts often left me covered with them. When we had a free moment she would talk to me about her dreams - simple sweet ones of having a couple children with Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome. Then the fateful day came and she no longer came to work. She had ovarian cancer. I remember going to the hospital to visit her - shocked and dismayed to see her bald head, the black rings under her eyes, and her voice but a husky whisper. She survived but lost her dream - and I never worked with her or saw her again.

A few months later, an older woman I worked with on projects together with, 8-9-10 hours a day, who I greatly respected both in terms of her knowledge and her attitude, someone that bailed me out of a dozen or more jams - found out she had a lump on her breast. She ignored it and worked on. Finally she couldn't ignore it any longer and they operated - and thankfully she survived by the narrowest of margins - but her attitude changed as she came to realize that she had a family with two young girls and she, as a workaholic was missing out on things - she resigned from work and only later, when her girls were grown up, did she go back to work - by then I had moved on. Here, I know it's just selfish to think about what I lost, a mentor and able teammate - but in the end, I should be happy she learned to "smell the roses" in time.

At this time, I felt the need to...do more. So I did some walks for cancer, fundraising, volunteer work like manning tables and booths during parades and walks - and begun searching for other ways to...somehow make a difference.

And then I lost a friend, a mentor, and a personal hero to prostate cancer. The disease is relentless and it steals from both its victim and the bystander.

I ended up doing things for foundations like "Make a Wish" - and trying to ease the burden for children that had cancer (and their parents) - and to me, this is the most horrible form of cancer - that which afflicts the youngsters and the young women and men who haven't had time to realize the promise they show.

And I...couldn't do this anymore than I could work at the shelter for troubled people - I tried for a couple years, but the pain and grief of those that were left behind - combined with the tragic loss of those that lost their battles - and those that live on but are but hollow shells of what they once were - forced me to back away for my own preservation.

Today, I regularly donate to the American Cancer Society what I can - and look for ways where I can personally make a difference, but in a internal contradiction, somehow needing to guard myself from emotional involvement.

And in the wee hours of this morning, I am tormented with the thinking that some of what I've done recently is too little and far too late - and with the knowing that someone else I love has recently heard the words, "It's malignant."

Get Well Soonest AusGrl!

Just a short post to let you know AusGrl has not been feeling well lately and I want to wish her a speedy and complete recovery.

If you haven't seen her blogs lately, she's been busy and you may have been missing out on things like Australian foods (something that she calls "tucker") and some yummy recipes as well as Australian lingo - which has many entries on things Australian - like their national anthem, colorful birds, actors and actresses, historical characters, and of course their lingo (for example, they call redheads, blueys, isn't that odd?)