A couple of fighters

I met Bruce at work; Tanya, too. My first memories of Tanya are of her in the library at the paper. She might have had another job beforehand, but our schedules and my location in the newsroom kept us pretty well separated.

My first awareness of them as a couple was when he paid for her meal at one of our features department lunches. I knew things were serious when an ambulance had to take her from work to the ER and he went along carrying her purse over his arm.

Bruce and Tanya came to the relationship with baggage. This time the combination jelled for both. Bruce put Tanya through school and she became a teacher. They adopted a kitty family.

Bruce was never much one for animals. But The Fearsome Feline Foursome became the subject of many of Bruce's columns. Amarilloans loved them and followed their antics through Bruce. When times got rough, readers contributed money, food and litter so that the four could remain together. A vet contributed lifetime care for the cats, anonymously.

Bruce spiritually adopted Tanya's children. He often wrote about his daughter and how proud of her he is. He is a wonderful father.

Life for them was good when doctors found cancer.

Tanya rose up like the mighty woman she is and took charge. Bruce's co-workers and friends, readers and Tanya's colleagues joined forces to help Tanya manage the many trips to the doctor, not just here, but to Houston as well; meals; and chores around the house.

Over the months, and in fact more than a year, the help gradually subsided. I am guilty of thinking, "I will call tomorrow," etc. I get so involved in the day-to-day. I do not forget them, I just assume others fill in the needs. Tanya is not one to ask, either. There really are no valid excuses.

My friend Bruce suffered a seizure early, early Saturday morning and cut his eye and broke his wrist. He was hospitalized and may go home either today or tomorrow.

Bruce and Tanya continue to fight fiercely.

* * *

Tonight Chicago will rock. My thoughts will be at The Hideout 'bout 8.

* * *

I dreamed about little boys last night. I seldom remember my dreams, but this one was pretty vivid.

The boys were trying to get enough together to play some sort of sport. Whichever one it was, they needed more than nine or 10 to play. I did not know any of the boys, but whenever one talked to me, I felt I knew him. No names, however. Dreams are strange that way.

* * *

I miss you, dude.

Later.