Soul food

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs
And as silently steal away.

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Music and books nourish the soul. So why do I go on jags of starving my essence?

Some songs strike a primal chord within me. The combination of tones and meaningful words delight even the Eeyore that I am. A feeling of warmth, almost palpable, envelopes me when I hear certain songs. (That same feeling overcomes me when I think of you.)

I wonder what draws me to certain songs and what combinations of notes repel me. Joan Baez comes to mind. Her voice soothes, her music, too. Tom Petty stirs the rebel in me. Leonard Cohen speaks me; he knows me, I swear he does.

Willie represents the dance hall rowdy Saturday night I am proud to be a Texan me.

Then there is Kinky. Kinky hits the mark, no doubt. Irreverent. Witty. Character. I mean anyone who could write "Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns in the Bed." Enough said.

Kinky's fiction combines Hunter Thompson and Raymond Chandler with a little Dr. Seuss thrown in. His columns in Texas Monthly hold no punches.

I have downed my share of the classics thanks to my English teachers in my early years.

I prefer to feed my mind candy, though. Oh no, not bodice rippers. Slasher novels. Detective fiction. Classic whodunits. The Kellermans, Faye and Jonathan; Patricia Cornwell; Agatha Christie; Mary Roberts Rinehart; the Prey series; and oh so many more.

When I get the itch to read, I might consume four or more books a week. I have not participated in a reading marathon in awhile. I feel the itch, though. No, not long now.

Later.

Old friends

Today it is my priviledge to spend some time with a friend.

I plan to go sit with former colleague Bruce while Tanya, his wife, makes a trip to the grocery store.

The docs diagnosed Bruce with stage 3-4 cancer more than a year ago. With lots of prayers, he has fought like the former Marine he is.

Bruce, Rick and I were the Three Musketeers of the copy desk for a big chunk of the 1980s. A transplant from Long Island via Minnesota, a small town guy and former Marine from Indiana and me. We had fun working together and often ate dinner at a local pizza joint that had all-you-can-eat spaghetti. For variety, we chose a chinese place that had drive-through.

Over the years, our jobs changed and Rick moved back to Indiana.

Bruce took on the chief cook and bottle washer job of the weekly community news tabloid. The job suits him well. He rubs shoulders daily with a wide range of people from the mayor to third-graders who are economically and educationally challenged. He wants to share their stories.

The community loves Bruce. Since the discovery of cancer, friends, neighbors and strangers have provided meals, transportation, prayers and more.

Bruce's battles, like any war, rage and ebb; each takes its toll.

Today I will tell Bruce how much I have appreciated him over the years. Maybe we can share a laugh about some of the goofy things we did during our dinner hours. I will let him know I care.

Later.

Mme du Pont

My social calendar (haha) reveals a busy day today. Betty and I plan lunch at one of the local Thai restaurants. I always enjoy lunch with Betty because she fills me in on all the happenings at the newspaper. The two most recent departures, I am sure, added a new dynamic there. As one of the last of the old hands, Betty offers an interesting assessment.

Tonight Keith is coming in for a brief visit. Keith and I met in college. He was a journalism major, too. He and I have shared some growing pains over the years. He ended up with a job in government, first in Vermont, then in D.C. He finally managed to wrangle his way back to Texas not long ago.

Keith stories could fill volumes. Together, with another journalism major and my Great Dane, Tess, we made a quick trip to Santa Fe in my Chevrolet Vega. What a sight we must have presented. That trip initiated Keith into the "darker" side of college life. Let's just say he had no world experience to speak of.

Over the years, similar stories unfolded. Keith remains a friend today -- not there constantly, but in and out of my life on a regular basis.

Yesterday I pooped out. I did too much the preceeding two days and I paid yesterday. I still do not realize that I can no longer do what I used to. I cannot clean the apartment in one fell swoop. What used to take one or two days, now takes one or two weeks.

Update: Cheryl and Kirsop continue to progress. Both are now out of the hospital and doing wonderfully well.

Well, dude, I hope you will be pleased.

Later.

'Tis true

After a purging of words yesterday, today I find myself bereft of even an adjective.

Paving the way: You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone (Thanks, Joni)

Dark morning: I'll Fly Away (Albert "Turn Your Radio On" Brumley)

Fair tribute: Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain (Ahh, Willie)

Forever: Take these memories that are haunting me (Papa Roach rules)

Later: Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in (Leonard, my man)

Spring! Into action

A wild hair twitched yesterday and I cleaned out all the drawers in the kitchen plus most of the top cabinets. Maybe the weather finally got to me or I am hoping spring will show up if I do springlike chores.

I got harsh with the gadget drawer. I chunked items I have not used in awhile into a large box. The box will find a home at the top of the pantry. If I do not use any of the items in the next year, then the whole box will go to charity.

The box contains cooking hopes and dreams never realized.

The pastry cutter came as part of a press release, though for what I do not remember. I figured I could use one. Right. Never could make pie crust or biscuits from scratch. Pillsbury offers near perfect substitutes, so why not take advantage?

The apple corer sounded like a great gadget, but in reality you need enormous strength to get those perfect slices. And how many sets of measuring spoons does one need? Certainly not four.

Right now, I do not recall what else the box contains. A year's reprieve for most of the items is quite generous.

The pantry and a major cleaning of the frig top the agenda for today. Also a run to the trash. I managed to fill two large black bags yesterday. To be fair, not all the trash was from the kitchen.

Already the organizing lifts a load off my head. About twice a year, the urge to clean and organize hits. Sometimes I can carry through only so far before I get bogged down.

An ugly brown overstuffed rocking chair has been a part of my living room for more than 30 years. The chair was one of the first pieces of furniture I bought when I was out on my own. I got it from Montgomery Ward, which died many moons ago, for about $100 on sale.

The rocker served as "my chair" for years. Over time its shape conformed to mine. Connie's children crawled up into it to rock and felt secure surrounded by the arms and high back. Several cats have nabbed a nap there.

I bought a new chair a few years ago -- an oversize chair much like the one featured in that laxative commercial on TV. I like the roominess; it gives me the illusion I am tiny, which I have never been.

The time has come. RIP ugly brown overstuffed rocking chair.

When the four walls begin to creep closer and closer, I need to simplify. The minimalist in me demands almost stark, yet surprisingly, I like antique furniture, which can be immensely cluttery. I am not such a fan of the doilies and horsehair sofas, but I do love the dark wood of desks and side tables.

I'm just a gal whose intentions are good, oh lord, please don't let me fa--il where I stood. (With apologies to The Animals)

Later.

Rough seas

Sometimes I feel like I am in a rowboat and a giant oceanliner passes by. The wake of the ship tosses me about like a cork atop a pond on a windy day. All the while I cling to the sides of the tiny craft and hope I don't drown.

So head to land, right? Well, so far, land appears just on the horizon. I cannot seem to get any closer. One of these days.

"Please Come to Boston" started running through my head just now. I felt your presence. Thanks, dude.

So many of your friends do not know me. I guess many of them think I am wacko. Maybe I have not given them any reason to think otherwise. My heart hurts no less having known you for six months than someone who knew you longer. The quality of the time counts, too.

Sorry.

Later.

Tears me up

The following seems appropriate today.

96 Tears

Track of My Tears

Tears on My Pillow

As Tears Go By

Tears of Rage

Tears in Heaven

Before the Next Teardrop Falls

Later.

Blessed

Somewhere I read people at the end of their lives regret what they had not done rather than what they had done. What kind of regrets do I have?

You know, after much thought, I really have no regrets about what I have not done. (What ifs do not apply.) My life, though not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, suits my personality. I would not line up to fly in space nor would I want to climb the highest peak in the world.

I missed, if anything, not having a husband and children. That was not in the stars. Maybe I did not have them so I could serve in another way. Speculation proves useless.

I can say I paid my way, with some gifts from my parents. I owe nothing except the monthly bills. Insurance covers the medications which keep me alive. I am far better off than millions of Americans.

The most important gifts my parents gave me remain great bits of truth: Nothing in life is free. If it is too good to be true, then it usually is. I apply that in all areas of my life. Seldom has it failed.

Sometimes I am guilty of adding meaning or interpreting something someone says inaccurately. Then I stew, it festers in my mind. Before long, resentment and anger sicken me. Why do I not just ask to begin with? Pacifist.

I miss you, dude.

Later.

Second thoughts

Smoke & mirrors: Just how much do government officials lie to us. Do we really want to know?

Outer limits: Is the space program a sham? What about the poop? (Thanks Mooney)

Split decision: Are the X Games shit sports or entertainment? Opinions?

Gravity defied: How do those little legs and feet hold up that big grackle body? The meanness?

Gravity defied deux: How do those thin legs hold up a racehorse? Would horses race for fun on their days off?

Take a chance: Remarkable coincidences are noted in hindsight, not predicted with foresight (thanks professor David G. Meyers). Still don't get it.

Not a dumb animal: Cats and dogs do think. Just watch one for awhile.

A challenge: Why can't chocolate retain its taste and texture but have the calories of carrots? OK, modern science, get crackin'.

Go figure: A watched pot never boils. Turn your back on something in the microwave and it boils over.

Oh woe: A bad day is one with plumbing troubles. A worse day is one with plumbing troubles and car troubles.

Suits them: Why do futbol managers wear suits and ties and baseball managers wear uniforms? Who decides the dress code?

Body and mind

I added heartburn and reflux to my repertoire the past week. Seems no matter what I do or consume, that burning, acidic sensation boils in the area between my sternum and throat. A couple of my PH friends say this comes with the disease. Since it has not bothered me before, does that indicate the PH worsens? Guess I need to ask the doc.

I am still dehydrated as well. I am consciously drinking more liquids, which is such an effort for me. I have never been one to drink a bunch, I am more a sipper.

My mind also shows signs of dehydration. It offers up no pithy topics today.

Later.

Swell turns to swill

Enough already.

I am up to my eyeballs in swill. Seems our society loves to mire itself in the baser facet of its "heroes" while all the time reveling in the accomplishments they make in their milieu. Today's media, driven by a society that cannot get enough, keeps feeding us decadance on demand.

Society always has wanted to stick its eye to the knothole. Town criers spread the word at the top of their lungs from dawn to dusk in the streets of London. The Sultan of Swat knew a thing or two about bad press.

Now the "press" climbs all over itself to deliver every tiny detail. We are like an alcoholic who usually gets his poison a sip at a time but suddenly finds himself alone in a liquor store.

We overlook the atrocities of the world but spend precious hours steeped in the sins of someone who is no more or less human than we are.

I wonder how far this will go in the future. Celebrities with microchips? Sports stars with internal cameras to record what they do?

I would love to have your take on this.

Later.

IMO

YouTube ranks right up there with Google for me. I remember snippets of a song. Hmmm. I Google what I remember. Up pops the name of the tune. Onward to YouTube where I find several versions. Instant music.

For an old schooler like myself, the innovations in my lifetime boggle the mind.

Innovation or revolution comes with its own slang or language. Munchies, a term from the 1960s, finds its way into the Urban Dictionary, an online Webster for the texting generation. Don't know what LMAO means? Check it out in the electronic reference. My command of slang falls short, but does continue to expand.

Wonder what a linguist thinks of all this? I know some slang eventually works its way into the dictionary of authority. I bet purists fear the end of the English language. I wonder how many purists remain. Will they eventually die out completely?

For good or bad, language does redefine itself over time. Old English ring any bells? Ever read Beowulf? I am glad Mrs. Foster thought it important to study it. There are few teachers today like Mrs. Foster.

Kirsop went home yesterday to his girls. Cheryl heads for an apartment Monday. They both inspire others who have the same or similar diseases.

Miss you like crazy, dude.

Later.

Little boxes

I began my morning trying to placate the cats. The catfood cupboard is bare. My fault entirely. Making myself leave the apartment, especially in winter, often develops into a major battle -- one I prefer not to wage.

I admit I ran out of catfood yesterday early enough to restock before dark. However, my refrigerator overflows with people food Pogo begs for any other time. Ham, hamburger, leftover meatloaf and his absolute favorite, chicken. So I figured I could delay the trip at least 24 hours.

I fed him ham and meatloaf yesterday. He gave his finicky approval. This morning I tried more ham. Humph. After following me around the kitchen voicing his displeasure, he finally decided I was not going to produce a can of catfood, and he ate the ham. Oh, did I mention the boys have unlimited access to dry catfood? that I am not out of it? That Satchmo will not eat people food? What does that tell you?

Now the boys hang close by, ready to run if I should head toward the kitchen. This time canned, please, please, please..........Sorry, boys. I intend to make a kittyfood run today.

My life seems mundane to me, but reading FB posts, I realize many people think the same about theirs. Which brings to mind the song Little Boxes. Pete Seeger does a good version.

Dude, today I mourn the conversations that will never happen. I mourn the losses for the people who will never get the chance to know what a brilliant person you were. I mourn the missed chances for you to be happy again.

I hope you have peace.

Later.

Boys, boys, boys

Yesterday Connie called on me to watch Zane, her grandson, while she took Aidan into the doctor's office. I am experienced at sitting in the car with young children. I filled that role many times over the years.

Aidan's personality includes lots of talking. He constantly asks questions and definitely shows a mind of his own. When I watched Aidan when he was Zane's age, we talked about the birds, the trucks and anything else going by. Aidan lives to talk.

Zane on the other hand can entertain himself. True, we talked about the balloons that had escaped small hands and floated to the treetops. But mostly Zane sat in his carseat and played. Mind you Zane just celebrated his second birthday.

I was about to nod off when I hear those noises boys make when their action heroes fight. So I tune in to see what's happening. Spiderman, the Penguin and the Lone Ranger are fighting the bad guys. Hi Ho, Silver. Really, he said that. Where on earth had he heard of the Lone Ranger and Hi Ho, Silver?

I love little boys. At least I seem to understand them better than I do little girls. When little girls issue those high pitched squeals and screams, images of the Spanish Inquisition come to mind. You know, torture. Little boys wrestle and are rowdy and rough -- all part of learning to be human, I guess.

I had another wonderful visit with Kim this morning. Too bad half a country separates us. I wonder what you think about two of your friends becoming friends.

Later.

Sweet!

My sweet Bubber sent a dozen hand-dipped strawberries to me yesterday. While so thoughtful of him, I know the money situation squeezes him. I admit though the thought cheered me tremendously.

Pogo and Momo's shedding marathon appears over for the moment. The canister on the vacuum swirled mostly with dirt this time.

Pogo's inner kitten escaped yesterday. He killed that "bird" about a dozen times, even had feathers stuck to his lip. The boys romped through the apartment and then shared a thorough bath, each helping the other with unreachable areas. Ah, the good times.

Connie got stuck on the ice in front of my apartment last night. A kind young man from upstairs came and pushed her out. Thank heavens chivalry lives yet. The rest of the ice should melt today and tomorrow. Temps should hit the 50s. Heat wave!

My sister in sensitivity and I had a wonderful talk this morning. She has a good head on her, as my grandmother used to say. Partners in grief, she possesses the maturity to help me along the process, and I hope I return the favor.

In some ways, grief demands privacy. The precious moments I spent with you I tuck away in my mind. The joy of sharing a match together replays when I am missing you. But some moments gain strength in the retelling. A solid shoulder to lean on, someone to say "me too." Validation of my feelings and hers, too. Karma plays out in good ways, not just bad.

Missing you.

Later.

Living where you live

Cabin fever threatens. I shun the outside world, but now it seems as if the four walls get closer by the hour. I think a change in the space might help or a shift in routine. I do virtually the same things at the same times every day. I do not want the rut to get any deeper.

Spring cleaning in February? The idea poses possibilities. Productive ones at that.

A little meditation on a daily basis should soothe my soul. That strategy benefits me and in turn others. I enjoy the quiet. Pogo and his purr would help I am sure.

The wind blew fiercely from the north yesterday. The door made that humming metallic sound that I remember from my childhood.

I love my apartment because of its size and the number of closets. But like most people when they reach 50, my home suffers from shifts and sags. Doors might stay closed depending on the season. The glass screen door does not quite hang right, so it barely does its job.

Several companies and people have owned the complex during the 25 years I have lived here. As expenses and rent rose, the little things fell by the wayside. No more garbage disposals after the originals failed. Cheap tile installed by inexperienced workers over concrete disintegrates with age. Potholes in the parking lot are patched endlessly so that a little rain or snow causes them to reopen like a scab on the knee of a 5-year-old who falls from his bike.

A faded whore once prized for her youth and now able to lure only the dregs, the complex does not draw the tennants it once did. The middle class working singles set once flocked here because of the pool and location. Now retirees on fixed incomes, young couples down on their luck and those medically challenged in some way find their way here.

Did I mention I hate change?

Later, dude.

Love, love, love

We loved with a love that was more than love.

--Edgar Allan Poe

My parents shared life for almost 50 years. Did their love burn after all that time or was it more like a comfy old pair of jeans?

After the initial romance becomes familiar, true measure of love begins. Life hurls hardballs. Whether it's homers or strikeouts, team effort counts the most.

Love comes in many forms. The Greek language offers several words for love, each with a specific meaning -- agape, eros, philia, and storge.

English, as a language, falls short. Love no longer carries much meaning. After all, we "love your hair," "love that movie," "love that song" -- commercializations of a meanful word.

Love is none of the labels we attach to it. Cars, houses, bank accounts, pets are things. Love is not a thing. Sometimes we fail to see this.

We celebrate love today mostly with things. Try to see with your heart today, not your eyes. What goes around, comes around.

Dude, I love you.

Later.

What you see

With time comes understanding.

Written words can make clear the situation or further the biases. The pen truly is mightier than the sword. The hard part comes when trying to narrow the chances of misinterpretation or to make the meaning absolute.

Misunderstandings, and hurt feelings, arise when words cloud the intent. So often people toss words into the air to fill a void. Sometimes the words come back down with the force of hail in a sudden summer storm. The clueless continue with their ignorant prattle as if shrouded in a fog, not realizing they have run over innocent bystanders. Once the miscreants get their heads out of the clouds, it is too late, the corpses line the streets.

Wield the power of words with great care. Hold a mirror up occasionally. You might be surprised by what you see in the reflection.

Later, dude.

Tired

I am tired.

Tired of trying to be clever. Tired of trying to be all things to all people. Tired of being rebuffed by some people. Tired of wondering what I did wrong. Tired of what if. Tired of feeling hurt. Tired of feeling envious. Tired of feeling like the bad guy. Tired of feeling like people think I am crazy.

Tired.

Later.

Chilled

Visited the vampire yesterday. The winter wind on medical hill cut right through me. I did find a parking space in the first row. Thanks. *looking up*

I also hit the grocery store to pick up diet DP, which was on sale. I grabbed a bag of green grapes, on sale as well. Hoping to save Connie a trip, I got her six, eight-packs of diet DP. So I pushed a basket full of drinks to the checkout. I bet lots of folks thought I was a bad addict. Haha.

The outing appears to have affected my lungs some. I am extra congested this morning and have a cough, too. Hope this does not mean doctor. A bug is making its rounds, I hear.

After checking on the IRS website, it looks like I do need to file after all. I plan a trip to H&R Block. The company did my taxes last year and I got some money back. I doubt if I get back any this year, but maybe I will not have to pay much.

I think what I am feeling about you and the memorial, etc., is shut out. I am not part of the Paul CF group nor a part of the family. This makes my contribution to your life seem trivial. I do think Kim understands. In the great scheme of things, I don't count for much. This saddens me. Going to the memorial would only rub your family's nose in what they perceive as my weirdness. I do not know how to handle this. I wish I had some guidance.

Later, dude.

A smidge

The number of people with PH who pop up on FB still amazes me. If the disease is indeed so rare, then I must now be friends with more than half. Many are older women. I am as old if not older than many of them, yet I see myself as younger.

I talked to Cheryl on the phone briefly last night. I could not believe how good she sounded. Then the phone battery died. Sheesh. But probably just as well for Cheryl. I will try to reach her sister today to explain.

The way things are turning out disappoints me. Your family does not want to have anything to do with me, SG is acting the widow, princesss role and S only wanted to be friends to get something from me. They are not you, though. I know you were not pretending to like something to be nice or making yourself be nice.

The whole situation makes me sad.

Later.

Modern medicine

This is Cheryl texting, less than a week after her double lung tx. Wonderwoman!!

I marvel at modern medicine. The ancient Egyptians had their methods, which topped all during their time. But what Cheryl went through boggles my mind. Whew!

Docs did a bronch on Kirsop. Hope that does not mean trouble. Waiting to hear results today.

I hate hiding from online friends, but I guess part of that reflects my shy nature. Plus I need space at times, just like anyone does. I hate change as well.

You're the best, dude.

Later.

Sounds of friendship

Talked to Sylvia on the phone today. I always enjoy hearing the voices that go with the pictures or the IM. She sounds every bit as sweet as she does on FB. I really hope she can keep up the fight. Those side effects take their toll. I try to show her I back her as much as I can. She always puts on a brave face.

The snow continues to fall. It stops briefly from time to time, but not permanently.

Someone used your login on FB last night. That always causes a quickening in my pulse rate for awhile.

Pete intrigues me in many ways. He exhibits intelligence, a dry humor and a total love of music. He revels in his heritage, too. And, oh boy, that nephew of his stirs such love. I hope he can find Ms. Right. He deserves a partner.

The biggest fools are the ones who fool themselves.

I will catch up with you one of these days. Much sooner than I would wish.

Later.

The chow bowl

Moving the cheese upsets everyone's world. Look at the improved FB. And now my blog.

Super Bowl Sunday. One more day of wanton eating. *sigh* Today's menu features fried chicken, potatoes, summer *haha* squash and carrots. The squash and carrots cancel out the chicken and spuds, right? If I must after all that, maybe some frozen cherries. I also envision a nap on the couch this afternoon to rest up for the big game. I would hate to sleep through it. Pogo expects a nap buddy, after all.

Oh yes, I plan to slow cook some boneless pork ribs, too. Connie needs something to reheat when she gets off work this week.

Later, dude.

Points of contention

Your mom avoids me like the plague. That saddens me, but I do not know what else to do. I have tried apologies and asking Dave. He says I worry too much. Yep, that is me all right.

Arthritis pain must be just terrible. Poor Connie suffers so much and says so little. I need to try to pay more attention and help when I can. She needs to try to slow down some, but that is not her nature. I need to figure out something to help her.

Cheryl looks so wonderful. Positive thoughts go to her. Kirsop also looks great. Thank goodness. I am ill prepared for another loss.

Connie says she has not hounded me to go back to exercise though she thinks I should. Then she threw in the excuse of the weather. That is a true friend.

The hunger monster follows me everywhere. I am not doing a good job of facing it down, either. Not so sure my stomach communicates very well with my brain. Or perhaps they just avoid each other as much as possible. The lure of chocolate and sugary treats has been so great, I cannot allow them to cross my threshold. They probably would not last more than a day.

I do not know what I want anymore, but I cannot get it from you. I miss you so terribly, but what good does that do? Again I ask: what is the proper mourning period for someone you knew six months? Who knows?

Later.

Heroes

The larder starves. I think a trip to the store needs to happen soon. I cannot remember exactly when I went the last time, but I think it was a couple of weeks.

Developers changed FB again and the hew and cry has begun. After checking it out, I like some of the new features. Moving the cheese discombobulates many though.

Cheryl continues to amaze me. Her will pushes her through this unimaginable time. I adore her and her bravery. Her family truly rocks, too.

Kirsop also mends well. The docs moved him out of ICU yesterday. Wow, less than a week. His determination serves as an inspiration to many.

I should honor all my PHriends as heroes.. They all go through so much pain to live. I treated my body like crap for many years and I still am better off than them.

Dude, I miss our chats.

Later.

Positive thoughts

Cheryl has been in surgery for about five hours now. About three or so to go. I cannot believe it went so fast for her. Cheryl is strong. She will do just fine.

Kirsop also is doing marvelously. The man has lots of reasons to live.

You took over the lead in EPL this week. Hahahahahahahaha.. I won the round but I still am in the cellar. Pete probably forgot to even make moves. He is emersed in the National Board thing. I hope he does well. That would make a nice tribute to you.

I am thinking of you, your mom and friends today. Two months. That is a third of the time I knew you. Whew. Won't be long before you will have been gone longer than I knew you. Hard to believe how fast time goes by.

Later.

Not much of this nor that

Having me manage your teams would have been a joke. Dude, you still are leading in the soccer leagues or close to it. You are not far behind me this week in EPL. Fulham plays today. We shall see what that does to the standings.

I left the house yesterday for the first time in almost a week. Had to pay the rent and go to the drugstore. The roads were not bad at all. The weather dudes say more to come. Why is it now their accuracy rates go up? I should have gone for bloodwork, too.

Kim sent me an email with the date of your Massachusetts memorial service -- May 1. As much as I would like to go, I cannot justify spending the money nor putting more pressure on your mother. I wonder what you would think, but I am doing the best I can.

Kirsop still is in lots of pain and has a hard time sleeping. He has the will and you are watching over him. Both good things.

If I am reading everything correctly, I did not make enough money this past year to have to file a tax return. That certainly is a first for me. Medicare looms right around the corner, too. Ugh.

I do miss you, dude.

Later.

Taking stock

Today I realized I am the oddity in this whole mix. I came on the scene real late and do not have CF or a transplant. I think the time to bow out gracefully nears. That saddens me.

I played a role in your final days. I may have seen you out of this world, but my friendship in the total measure of your life was infinitesimal.

I could have begged you to keep trying. I could have reacted in other ways, but I told you it was OK to leave. You not so politely told me that was not my decision to make. Even telling you that you could leave irked you. You told me it was a nice sentiment, but one that was misplaced.

Your friends, who knew you well, say you would have come back around on your thinking about SG if you had had more time. Maybe so. But you did not have more time, and I know you knew that. You were mad at her right up until the end. Of course, I do not know what you told your mother in your final hours. Maybe you did come around.

See, you left a trail of doubts and questions behind you. I guess that is good. Each of us has to settle in our own minds what we meant to you. But the penguin also left clues, huh? Some of them are easier to read than others, though.

I wish I had asked more questions instead of just listening. I miss you so much, dude.

Later.

New month, new me?

A few more days and the two-month anniversary of your death will be here. Time has gone by quickly.

I keep thinking I need to get out of the house. The cold and snow make a perfect excuse though. Sooner or later, like today, I need to get some prescriptions, pay the rent and check the mail. A grocery store visit also looms.

I managed to haul in the points this weekend in EPL. We shall see that happens the rest of the week. The schedule includes weekdays this week. La Liga matches are under way as well. You know how that experiment went. Haha

I see your mom online occasionally, but she has never hollered at me. Your brother says she does not know about chat, etc. I think he is wrong, but you know what? I am reaching the point I don't care.

Kim has asked me a couple of times if I am coming to your memorial in the spring. Dude, for you I would come. But I know you do not expect me to, and it might be terribly awkward. What say you?

Kirsop is doing quite well from what his brother is posting. He is awake this morning. He has a long row to hoe, but I think he has much reason to heal quickly in the form of two little girls and a partner. His donor was from Scotland. I wonder what Krisop will say now that he has some Scot in him. Haha. Will he start cheering for Chelsea?

Peace dude.

Later.