Zen what?

Mo outdid himself this time!  Thanks, Mo, I always wanted a Zen garden, but figured I can't buy one, it has to find me somehow.  This inspires me to move faster on some of my other projects, like the large driftwood bonsai holder that had termites.  I sprayed it last week, and need to stabilize the wood with varnish or something.  I have another load of jade tumbling away in the garage, on the second week (medium grit), so a few more weeks to go.  I have always had the idea that I would create a fountain of all the jade.  I have been giving pieces of it away to cancer patients I meet.

I have been going to a cancer support group at the local cancer support center, and have now met two people that are trying to decide or have decided not to have chemo and radiation, but to fade away instead, they don't want to deal with the pain and sickness.  This actually hurts me, but I have to shut up, it is their choice.

Today I will get my Literacy Council student and start out on that journey.  I am eager and anxious to begin, knowing that I will have to muster all the patience I can, all the positive energy I can, and especially all the empathy I can.  It should be fun and rewarding, zen-like even.

I had my last long training walk yesterday, 12 miles, and I had to go it alone.  The scheduled walk/run was Saturday, but I had Literacy Council training all day.  I planned to get going at 8am while it was still cool, but one thing led to another and I started at 9:30.  It was already in the mid-70s.  As usual my left hip was crying in the first mile, but the prednisone and Aleve kicked in and it shut up.  The temp was climbing and it probably was up to 87 or so, but I chugged along and finally made the shady Bob Jones Trail in Avila for the last two miles.  Various body parts were crying out the last three miles, but I acknowledged and then ignored them.

Avila Beach was packed, but I found a table in the shade at a coffee shop and got a frosty mocha, against the advice of the training manual, and Dana showed up with ice packs and our dog.  She says, 'Want to go for a hike on the beach?'  Wow, what could I say?  So we went to the dog beach, where dogs can go off leash, and Woody was overwhelmed, lots of dogs, lots of balls, lots of fun.  It was probably best for me to keep moving anyway.

I love these prednisone-off days, waking up at 4am and charging into all the things that need doing without making any noise.  The tutoring is at 7:30 tonight, so I may have to take a nap when the 3pm crash comes.  I usually don't, but end up asleep at 9pm.  That won't work today.

So if my karma was broken before, I am taking steps to fix it.  The poemery about the broken cow in the comments on the last blog was awesome, as is always the case with poemerizing of Manny, Mo and Mac, the Pepcid Boys. 

No more bubbles
is what caused my troubles.
In the rag bag
in the shed
I grabbed old skivvies,
what was in my head?
I wrapped that cow
with old underwear,
that it would shatter
I had no fear.
Too small a box, too little padding,
and now the cow is not so fine.
I feel bad, I'm really saddened
that I hurt my karma with that bovine.

Love and Hope and Sex and Dreams

I'm in tatters!  I had this crazy idea (ok, one of many) while I was in Florida .  My Mom had this ceramic cow that had 4 parts, front, middle, back and head, and each section had an opening, so it was meant for something like sugar, flour and cocaine, or other dry goods.  It was nothing special, made in China and with peeling (and maybe toxic) paint.  She didn't want it and I was going to leave it.  However, then I spotted a copy of an In Memoriam of Pope John Paul II, and a postcard depicting Jesus, and another of the Virgin Mary. 

I had never sent Mac anything to say thanks for all his support, so I packed up the cow with the religious iconography inside, and sent it to him, anonymously.  It was a test, to see if he would figure it was a Holy Cow.  He figured it out instantly, but the middle section was SHATTERED!  I'm in tatters.

M. Jagger/K. Richards)

Shattered, shattered

Love and hope and sex and dreams

Are still surviving on the street

Look at me, I'm in tatters!

I'm a shattered

Shattered

Friends are so alarming

My lover's never charming

Life's just a cocktail party on the street

Big Apple

People dressed in plastic bags

Directing traffic

Some kind of fashion

Shattered

Laughter, joy, and loneliness and sex and sex and sex and sex

Look at me, I'm in tatters

I'm a shattered

Shattered

All this chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter 'bout

schmatte, schmatte, schmatte -- I can't give it away on 7th Avenue

This town's been wearing tatters (shattered, shattered)

Work and work for love and sex

Ain't you hungry for success, success, success, success

Does it matter? (Shattered) Does it matter?

I'm shattered.

Shattered

Ahhh, look at me, I'm a shattered

I'm a shattered

Look at me- I'm a shattered, yeah

Pride and joy and greed and sex

That's what makes our town the best

Pride and joy and dirty dreams and still surviving on the street

And look at me, I'm in tatters, yeah

I've been battered, what does it matter

Does it matter, uh-huh

Does it matter, uh-huh, I'm a shattered

Don't you know the crime rate is going up, up, up, up, up

To live in this town you must be tough, tough, tough, tough, tough!

You got rats on the west side

Bed bugs uptown

What a mess this town's in tatters I've been shattered

My brain's been battered, splattered all over Manhattan

Uh-huh, this town's full of money grabbers

Go ahead, bite the Big Apple, don't mind the maggots, huh

Shadoobie, my brain's been battered

My friends they come around they

Flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter

Pile it up, pile it high on the platter

Muggy mug, as they say

Friday
It sure has been a sweaty week.  I am in Tampa airport typing this.  I just spent the week packing up my Mom's personal items from her Florida snowbird house and shipping them north, and making the place saleable.  We may have a buyer on the line, we'll see if I get the contract tomorrow.


Good old USAir forgot to load the pilot's cabin with oxygen on Monday, so I got to hang in Phoenix for an extra 5 hours, landed in Tampa at 10pm, and made it to Estero at 1am.  Luckily I had plenty of time to get everything done, wrapped it all up this am at 11, left my bathroom kit and bag of chocolate chip cookies sitting in the driveway, and drove through 2 hellacious rainstorms (squalls) that lasted about 5 minutes but were treacherous.


It was cooking hot and muggy in Estero, in the 90s on temp and humidity, but I had the AC cranked and work to do inside, so no matter except when I tried to do my walks.  Luckily it is a 'rest' week, meaning only 3 mile walks.

I drove through two squalls on the way to the airport.  It was pouring so hard I got the Corolla I rented airborne off the wake of an 18-wheeler I passed at 80 mph, did an Ollie off the guardrail, and right back in the fast lane.  Pretty smooth, as they say. 

Sunday
Been up since 3, who needs sleep?  Troubling times, trouble in mind.  I think my old cat is lying out in the yard somewhere, dead.  Woody has been having nightmares this morning, lying here and moan/barking (barmoaning?).  Does he know something I don't, in tune with a fellow animal?  I'll have to go look for Figgy.

Instead of doing the 7-mile training yesterday, I went to a 5 hour Literacy Council training session, so now I can read and maybe help somone else to as well.  After next Saturday's training, that is.  So I had to do the 7 miles yesterday, and ran out of daylight and only did 4, and now I have to 3 today instead of rest.  Next Saturday I will have go 12; the whole week is very tough with a total of 32 miles, yikes, my hip is crying out.  Just when I need those steroids they are being stepped down. 

We may have reached the lower limits for a while, because that mucositis in my mouth that was going away is lingering at an annoying level, and my eyes are still dry as a Utah BBQ.  It finally rained here in SLO, while I was in Forida.  Our umbrella took flight and landed next door, with no injuries.  We thought Mikey was inside the umbrella, but it turned out he was hiding in the trundle drawer under his bed.  FOX news was going to get this live, but found out we didn't subscribe to Conservapedia and that was, as they say, poop without a fly.

The finches in the yard have winged their beaks, as they chirp, at the new lot of seed I bought them.  I had to return it all and get the preferred and pricier nyjer thistle seed, sheesh, picky birds.  I guess here in the 'Arbors' (chirped while looking down their beaks), they have other options, so walk the talk or take a walk, as they say.

By the way, if I see them, I mean them they who say, I will display, so to say, some dismay at their way of having so much to say, enough said.

Speaking of which, if you didn't see the poemerizing from Mac and Pat in the last post, go back and read it.  Oh yeah, I researched who owns what, and what you post in a blog is yours unless you give that right away, as many sites make you do by having you check some box.  Who reads that crap, as they say?  So anyway, I will be sending all you commenters a contract that you will have to sign to get your cut of the action, your piece of the pie, as they say.  It will look like this, but don't worry, just sign it and send it back:
I hereby agree to give John Fiore all rights in regard to everything I ever write, and any money I ever make or have.  Agreed, check here.

I have to get a smaller font so I can be more verbose and cut down on mailing costs, further spurring our economy.  Always happy to do my part, as they say.  This week's cancer writing prompt came with this cheery poem:

Larson's Holstein Bull



by Jim Harrison


Death waits inside us for a door to open.
Death is patient as a dead cat.
Death is a doorknob made of flesh.
Death is that angelic farm girl
gored by the bull on her way home
from school, crossing the pasture
for a shortcut. In the seventh grade
she couldn't read or write. She wasn't a virgin.
She was "simpleminded," we all said.
It was May, a time of lilacs and shooting stars.
She's lived in my memory for sixty years.

Death steals everything except our stories.

Monday quick update

I found Figgy down by the creek out back of my house yesterday, and went down there to get her.  She was still alive but looked very bad, and I didn't want to leave her for the crows or raccoons, so I carried her back to the garage and put her in her bed.  I just came back from the vet, and they agreed that she was beyond repair.  I will bury her ashes in her favorite yard spot, goodbye Figgy.


On a lighter note, I forgot to mention my washing machine adventure on last Friday morning.  I woke at Mom's in FLA around 5, and decided I should start cleaning the sheets and towels I used.  Normally I leave my dirty clothes until I get home, in case anyone tries to steal my stuff and can be warded off by the odor, but also because I am generally vacationing when I am travelling, so why use vacation time to clean clothes?


In this case, I had a half load, so I threw my dirty clothes in, started the machine, and it filled up.  Then, when the cycle kicked to churn, the motor made that sickening smell of $$$ burning, and the breaker popped.  Aaaarrrgggghhh!  I saw the slack time built into the schedule going away. 


I started taking out the clothes and sheets and towels, wringing them out and putting them in a hamper, to go to the laundromat.  I then hand-drained the machine, and with about 6" of water to go, I was about to take off the outer skin and decided to try the machine without much load.  Lo and behold, it drained, so I tried a short cycle with no clothes, and it worked!  Back in went the laundry, and all was fine, disaster averted.


There is some lesson in there about how to start up things that have been sitting idle for a time.  I think there was probably a small rust buildup or lime crust that needed a gentle nudge to knock off.


Make sure you check the comments; I am miffed to find I cannot make money on Manny, Mo, and Mac, the poemerizing posse.

Rocky start

Some years back Mo sent me a walking stick inserted through a rock, very cool use of the items always at hand.  I may have mentioned in some old blog that those were our essential toys as kids, a stick and a rock, and Mo has this company, 'Sticks and Stones' that makes 'Walking Sticks That Rock'.  He is at sticksandstones@surfglobal.net.  So, as I said a few posts back, here is a picture of the interactive 'Stones and a Stick' piece I sent to Mo, and which he has placed in a Zen sand garden.  This is simply some driftwood and some polished jade.  Awesome. 

We seek feng shui,
but in our own way

we hope that feng shui

finds us.

For many years Beauch and I have been going up to Plaskett Creek Campground, about 70 miles north, in Big Sur, surfing at Sand Dollar Beach, and hiking down into Jade Cove to collect whatever jade we could find.  This is California jade, nephrite, not nearly as workable as Chinese jade, jadeite, because nephrite is harder.

Google Earth shot of the area, Jade Cove on SW of pic, Sand Dollar beach on NW of pic

Sand Dollar Beach

A pretty big chunk of jade at the Jade Festival

In the early days we found some pretty nice pieces of jade by scrounging around in the coves.  Divers would get the big pieces such as the one above, called 'Blue Angel.'  The increased popularity of this spot (thanks to the internet and word of mouth) has Jade Cove pretty picked over, and the campground has changed from first-come first-served to half reservations, so now we don't go there until right after a big storm in the winter.  It's wet and cold, but the storm will churn up some jade, and we do the dance with the waves and end up wet and little jade.

Jade hunting is just a meditative ritual anyway, and I have a bunch and Mike has even more.  I finally got a decent tumbler and it is tumbling away in my garage right now, and when I have it all done I will give the tumbler to Mike.  He likes his jade in its natural state, so he may not use the tumbler, and then I will sell it.

The annual 'Jade Festival' is this weekend, and we may day trip up there on Saturday, although I am bored with the festival (it's pretty small and nothing new) but it's a nice drive.  A bunch of hippies and kooks and rich Monterey people buying rocks will be there, grooving to the music.

With all the money we are going to make turning this blog into a bestselling book, Mo is going to make us a two-masted sloop, the 'HolyCowKetcher', and all of us will write the sequel to 'Holy Cow', about surviving at sea with a bunch of loonies.  Mac will be blasting my mucositis with down home cooking with Ho-spice, grilled on his converted Dell laptop.  Mo is playing guitar, Pat riding the bow waves and playing with dolphins, and Manitouboo and Jeanne sunning herself, and I will man the poop deck.  I know I have mixed up a slew of nautical terms; can I steer from the poop deck?  Does anyone need to steer?  Where the heck are we going?  We may need a bigger boat.

Obviously I am still in the grips of prednisone.  It's almost 5 am and I've been up since 3.  Every other day doses means every other other day early awakening.  I'm good on 5 hours, I guess.  Maybe a bit rambly and jangly, but I am here. 

The writing prompt at 'Writing Through Cancer' this week was 'Nature offers us many images and metaphors to describe the emotions and experiences of cancer on our lives. Think about your cancer journey, the seasons of survivorship, the seasons of life, of nature. What images or metaphors come to mind? Write about seasons, wherever they take you.'  So, my mind spun out and I wrote this. 

In 2002 I was living in Frigiliana, Spain, an Andalusian hill town. We had rented an old house near the top of the hill where the Moors had made their last stand as the Christians took back their country. In that last stand, the Moors were at the top of the hill, and when it became apparent they would be overrun, the women gathered their children and leapt to their deaths off the cliffs at the back of the hill.

In our yard in Spain there was an old lemon tree, twisted and gnarled but still producing lemons. One day my brother called to tell me that our father was very sick with cancer and probably would not recover. I asked how long, and he replied ‘Weeks.’

Soon after, we had a tremendous windstorm, and when I looked out at the yard in the morning, the old lemon tree had cracked down the middle. I asked the landlady if she would have it mended; half of it was salvageable. I came to think of that old lemon tree as a symbol of my father. The gardener came and cut down the tree. My brother called again and told me to hurry home, time was up. When I arrived I was too late to say goodbye to my father, he had died.

Rocks, sticks, trees, earth, sky.  Makes me think of an e.e. cummings poem I love.

anyone lived in a pretty how town

by e. e. Cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain


children guessed(but only a few

and down they forgot as up they grew

autumn winter spring summer)

that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf

she laughed his joy she cried his grief

bird by snow and stir by still

anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones

laughed their cryings and did their dance

(sleep wake hope and then)they

said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon

(and only the snow can begin to explain

how children are apt to forget to remember

with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess

(and noone stooped to kiss his face)

busy folk buried them side by side

little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep

and more by more they dream their sleep

noone and anyone earth by april

wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)

summer autumn winter spring

reaped their sowing and went their came

sun moon stars rain

On November 7, I will finish that half-marathon that I have been working towards, and I will have given my speech.  Soon, I won't need to see the doctors more than anyone else, and the medications will be done.  This will be a funky period, the end of an era (it better be).

So now I am pondering my next act.  I don't see anyone hiring me, a 54 year-old two-time cancer warrior with big holes in his resume and memory.  I am not looking for advice; I know it's on me to come up with something.  I will start with volunteerism and take some classes (tai chi, Spanish, embroidery for my xx chromosome blood) and ponder yonder.  I can still do the daily jumble in under a minute, sometimes ten seconds, but who cares?  Look what that did for the Rain Man.

Happy Birthday to my bone marrow!

That's right, it has been a year since we laid in the bone marrow donation from Lisa, day zero was 9/30/08.  That seems like a lifetime ago!  I just finished reading almost the entire blog, mostly because I was looking for some pictures I know are there but lost in massive hard drives/multiple user hell.  I need those pics for the speech I am going to give on Nov. 6th, at the big pre-race pasta party, and the process of writing that and rereading all that has happened makes me reflect on what has changed and what has not.


It brings tears to my dry and scarred up eyes reading all the comments of love and support from all of you, people from my past and from my present.  When this began in '05 I expected a lonely monk-like journey back to health, but that is not what happened.  Instead, all these people stepped forward to help me, to cover my back, to prop me up, to do what they could to help me get here.  I cannot thank all of you enough.  I don't know if I ever would have made it without all the support and encouragement and love.  One stumble and a lonely monk might topple off the path, but I had a whole team around me, so when I stumbled they held me up and urged me to keep-a-goin'.


Everything has changed and nothing is the same.  In spite of a reconfigured brain I do some of the same old stupid things I always did, which sounds contradictory to what I said in the last sentence.  What I mean is, when I do the same old stupid things, now they are far stupider.  I am like an older car now, so when I take a curve too fast I sway, and my wipers aren't wiping very well, my struts are shot, and my transmission doesn't mesh as well as before.  So I have to learn to drive differently, or pay the mechanic. 


My mom ended up in the hospital a few days ago, so she really wasn't feeling any better when I left.  She has pneumonia and they are working to control it with antibiotics.  I called the hospital and tried to get her into a single room, and they will do that when they have one.  How stupid is a system that puts people with complete strangers when they are at their most needy and vulnerable?  We need to rethink this.


So I regret not staying in RI an extra week, not just for Mom but also for the people I need to see, Mo and Paul M. and Bill McNiff and Roger and others.  Unfortunately I may have a return trip sooner than later, to help mom's recovery, and I will leave that open-ended.  I am doing as my wife suggested and signing up for some volunteer work, Hospice (uh-oh, here we go again) and the Literacy Council, so that will complicate things.  The Literacy Council may not want me since I pointed out 4 mistakes on their website, or maybe they will want me because of that.  That is one of my OCD manifestations, noticing misspelled words.  It is funny because I found a number of typos while going through my blog.


I started reworking this blog into a book, but it is going to be a massive job of editing.  And I have questions, like what if it made money, what cut do I have to give Mo and Pat and Mac and Manitoubou and others?  I think the comments make the blog what it is, funny and irreverent and hopeful.  I was imagining how it might be without that support and I wrote this, in part in response to the weekly prompt from the writing workshop I attended and still visit online.


My friends are tired, tired of me
being sick, it is
taking too long.
They wouldn’t say ‘Die or heal already’
but they might think it.
Like a coconut I have shed my hairy husk,
down to a hard kernel, a nut filled
with the milk of life.
I worry that I have become the cancer,
it is all that is left of me,
it taints my milk, and my friends
smell what they think is death.
I must rise up and crack this hull,
spill out this life and
show them I am here, I am fine,
they are dying too.


My son Mike said that was 'woeful', and I had to remind him that I have a poetic license with no expiration date.  And furthermore, he is the one that dressed up as Nancy of Sex Pistols/Sid Vicious fame.  Dang, I used to think he might look too pretty!

Where have I been?

My Mom, looking good at 86, but not feeling all that well

Started this 3 weeks ago:

I am getting ready to go to RI, see Mom and celebrate her birthday, see Bill's new house on Arnold's Pond, play some golf, go see the Red Sox Thursday night (thanks Bill), party Saturday night with the East Coast friends. I should have planned a longer trip, but don't want to wear my Mom out.

This morning I noticed the knot of scar tissue on the inside of my left cheek is gone! The mucositis in my mouth is almost entirely gone! The doctor cut me back to 30mg prednisone every other day, down from 40, because all my counts are good and liver function tests are back near normal. My eyeballs are still goofy, googly even, so I lubricate regularly, this too shall pass. Now if I could only regain some strength; Bill is going to be shocked at how weak I am on the golf course, but oh well.

Even though I am weaker, I have beefed up my legs, I think. Training is upwards of 20 miles/week, Saturday was 7 miles which I did at 17 minute miles (I am walking). I was going to mix in some short jogging periods to mix up the muscle groups, but when I mentioned this to the doc he said not to do that. Not only are my muscles wasting from a year of prednisone, but my bones are getting so brittle that he is afraid I could fracture that crappy left hip if I jarred it by jogging. So I walk. Somewhere in the first mile my left hip always asks me, 'WTF are you doing, Tonto?'

Saturday, 9/26

RI was not a particularly fun trip, as Mom wasn't well and I didn't give myself enough time. The airlines suck, US Air sucks, and I suck for not managing it all better. I can't see ever booking a round trip, since there is no cost savings unless fares are rocketing upward. In the future I will go one way, see how things are at the destination, then book a return. I did get to golf a couple of times with Bill M., but I could not get anything done with his clubs and my swing, and shot over 100 twice. Shot an 89 yesterday at Dairy, so I guess I won't quit just yet.

Bill bought this house on Arnold's Pond in Warwick, awesome spot. I think he did the tax return for the old doctor that lived there, and when they carted the old guy off to jail for evasion, Bill got the house. There is this mural in the living room that was painted way back in the 60's by John Lennon and Jerry Garcia, who grew up in our neighborhood and I used to beat up JG in basketball and broke one of his fingers many times. I think he had problems with that later but took up guitar just to show us he was tough. Some of this story may not be true, and the names changed to protect the guilty. Anyway, here are some pics, unretouched so they are real.


Bill and Rose's front yard, private beach and all

View from the LR

The mural

Bill took me to see the Red Sox v. Angels on Thursday, and we had a great time even though the Sox lost, 4-3. We went to get a dog and a beer (my first beer in a year, maybe the last) and while we were in line the Sox scored all three runs. Grrr. Still a lot of fun, 20,000 sports fanatics and me, the only one without a Sox shirt or hat or something because it was back in CA. Thanks for the game, Bill!

Donald W. drove down on Friday and met me in Lincoln, and did my 8 mile training walk with me, which was like a walk in the park for him. Wait, it was a walk in the park! Anyway, we then went and had dinner with Randy, good to see them but too short. I had lunch with Earl at the cool cafe that Pat runs, and I brought a piece of driftwood and some jade for Mo, which I like to think of as interactive art. A couple years ago he sent me this cool stick in a rock, a walking stick that could be a blunt trauma instrument if needed to be, so I reciprocated with some rocks in a stick. Mo, send me a picture once you've interacted it so I can post it, and I will put up the walking stick too.

The downside was that I didn't leave enough time to see Paul M., Mo, tool around on Earl's boat, get calzones at Elaine's, fix Mom's faucets, and generally visit some more. I thought Mom was feeling better when I left, but she checked herself into the hospital yesterday when her oxygen levels were real low. I talked to her today and she sounds much better, but they are keeping her and running tests, as they would with any other celebrity.

The finches love the new feeder we put in the yard; the white sack feeder was there to introduce them to the new clear feeder, which they didn't seem to figure out for a while but are now all over it. They eat more than I do.


That is where we are at. Dana is getting tired of me being all-talk and little action, so I have to shut up and get moving. Beauch gives me a lot of the same flak, calls me a not-blogger. So here I am, blogging about not blogging. The eye doctor says my eyes are getting better, but I can't see where I am going and I am not sure where I have been. I now have the DVD of the wedding we held at Patrick's Point, but it needs some work to shorten it to something I can post. I have been confirmed as one of the podium speakers for the big LLS/Team in Training pasta party the night before the Santa Barbara Press Recorder Marathon, so I am working on a speech and slide show, about eight minutes at East Coast speed. Why would I do that? To say thank you.

Eyes without a face

Waric awaits. I had lab work done last week, and everything looks good, liver numbers are almost normal, barely anemic, immune system is fine. When I mentioned that I was losing strength in spite of working out, the doc told me that I was suffering from 'prednisone wasting', where over a long term of prednisone the long muscles, especially quadriceps, start weakening. Time to get off prednisone, in other words, so we are weaned back to 40mg every other day.

The mucositis in my mouth is better, but my eyes are getting worse. I went to see the eye doctor, and he showed that I am building scar tissue in the inside of my eyelids. The eyeball does not like that, it likes a nice smooth surface, and if left unchecked I could rub a hole in my cornea. That would be bad, and they would sew my eyelids shut for a few weeks to heal it. Hmmmm. So the path is to lubricate the eyes many times a day, and use restasis drops, and go back in a month. The eye doc also said stay out of the ocean, the salt water is just adding to your trouble. Just as well, my balance is so shot I can barely stay upright on dry land, forget about on a surfboard.

I am going back to RI on 9/14-9/22, to see my mom for her birthday, so all you crazy Waricians get ready. I have been taking my time writing this post and now it is Friday. I should have gotten this done as I was home without a car most of this week, and it has been 90+ out, just bearable in the house. Mike is in full swing at school, very busy, and Sean his carpool mate got sick, so I go without a car more than my share, that's the deal. Mike came home feeling very sick on Monday, flulike without a cough, but then mustered by Wednesday.

Dana is back at work full-time, which means at least nine-hour days plus some weekend hours. And it means I have to start thinking about making dinner again, which is just not my normal way of thinking. I was getting there in spring but floundered in summer. What is frozen that I should thaw for tomorrow?

It is now tomorrow, and the chicken is thawed, and it is bad, it has been thawed for days, as it turns out. This morning, Saturday, the TNT half-marathon team did a 6-mile training walk/run. I am trying to get under a 20-minute pace and hit it at 18 minutes/mile this am, so at least that. I did 3-mile walkd 3x this week and a 5 miler on Wednesday, so a 20 mile week. And I feel fine, meaning no worse, although the hip likes to sing me the blues now and then.

This has been a strange period, with Mike taking my car at least every other day. What do I do? I cleaned house, cleaned the garage, did some gardening, the laundry is all done, but I am having a real difficult time getting into the kitchen and caring about cooking. I need to tie it all up into a menu for the week and see how that goes, but Mike and Dana have been coming in from school at odd hours, so I have that excuse.

Maybe I will start doing market research and see if I can make more money with the money I have. I've been hunkered in CDs while this neoconomics finishes playing out. I can't think of a better way to stimulate the economy than by losing all my money in the market and going to work at Carl's Jr. I have started some genealogy research, so we'll see where that goes.

Something borrowed, something blue

On Wedding Rock at Patrick's Point

Something old (me), something new. I was a minister on Friday, and married Michaela and Damien so good they are going to stay married. Quite a wonderful affair, outdoor at Wedding Rock at Patrick's Point State Park, perfect weather, a perfect day.

Beauch had secured a group camping area for the week, so I drove up on Wednesday. Mike Fiore wanted a ride to Calaveras Big Trees to go camping with the Sheffer Clan, and I agreed thinking Calaveras was in Half Moon Bay. Oops, that's Butano State Park, Calaveras is east of Sacramento. An extra three hours driving to make for a thirteen hour drive, oh boy. Once I got to Patrick's Point it was 10pm, and I could not find the group camp area for the wedding, so I put up camp in some empty area. It turns out the group camp was no longer shown on the maps as a group camp, but that is where we were camping, and I moved there the next morning.

Once I got resituated, we spent the day traipsing the area, and then had a rehearsal in the afternoon where we ironed out the movements of the wedding. We feasted that night with a barbecue, but only a few of us camped, as most had friends in the area, or were staying in a hotel or at the spectacular house Michaela and Damien had rented for the reception.

On Friday I hiked around with Scott, one of the guests, then we all got ready for the wedding. We all marched out to Wedding Rock, a somewhat challenging hike for a seventy year old, maybe. There were about 20 guests waiting, and Joel, Mike B's nephew, was posted higher up in the rocks, playing violin and setting the mood. Patience was the Flower Girl, and she came up the path, carefully placing daisies an exact distance apart from the prior daisy, even going back to make some adjustments to daisies that were suddenly out of place.

Mike walked Michaela up the aisle to where Damien and I and the Best Man waited, and once she was ready we began the ceremony. Michaela and Damien wanted me to begin with the scene from the Princess Bride, where the minister begins, 'Mawwiage is what bwings us togethaw today. Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam.' So I did, but then brought us back to the solemnity of the occasion, and it all went very smoothly, short and sweet.


Michaela, me and Damien

We then had a reception at this nice coastal house with tremendous views, decks and a great room that was magnificent. George cooked us up a feast of salmon and all the fixings, and when we realized there were enchiladas coming, it was too late, we were stuffed.

I hope to have some video really soon to put with this, and I may wait for that video before I post. (I didn't)


The Beauchemin Clan

It is now Saturday morning and I don't have video yet, but I do have these pics so I am posting. I just booked a trip back east to visit my Mom for her birthday (86!), from 9/14-9/22. Training for the half-marathon is getting more challenging, and I need to get a 5-mile jaunt in today. No team training today as many are doing the Montana de Oro 8K tomorrow, but I did not need to spend $25 to find out I am slow and out of shape. I have been humping up Islay Hill every other day as part of a 3-4 mile walk, and 2 miles flat on the off days.

It is amazing to watch my gut swell with steroids in spite of all this walking. I bounced up to 170 lbs from 160 when the steroid dose was increased, 50mg every other day, so I have to watch the nervous steroid snacking thing. I will see the eye doctor this week, and the local oncologist, as my liver function numbers remain high. I went through Scotland and Ireland without a drop, and the wedding without a drop, and for what? Is life fair? Heck no.

This is guilty week for me, as Dana prepares to go back to full-time teaching and Mike is off to PCPA training. Dana does not want to go back to work full-time, but there is the quandary of retirement based on your three highest-earning years. Each time I sniff at a job, I find I am over-qualified or have too diversified a background. Hah, what do these people know? So I have to clean the whole house and do yard work to show I have some value, but it doesn't get me anywhere. I am just playing out the string.

Back to Reality

The beach at Lehinch

The Poulnabrane Portal tomb

The Burren landscape, in background

Tourism on the Burren

Dunguaire Castle

Modern thatched-roof estate

Laura flipping the bird

Ladies Day in Galway (for the races)

Mikey sings 'Nantes', camera refuses to tape

Downtown Clifden

Kylemore Abbey in the background

We are home at last, mostly recovered. It is Saturday afternoon, and my sleep pattern is pretty messed up, getting up at all hours, and finally giving up at 4:30 or so. My eyes are really hurting me, very dry - I woke up last night with the feeling I was being stabbed in the eye with a dull nut pick. I finally went surfing, yesterday morning, and maybe the ocean water didn't help my eyes, they were horrible after I got out. It was great to get back in the water and find out just how bad the engine has gotten - pretty bad. I caught a couple of little waves, splashed around, had some fun. Beauch and I went, and as we were suiting up the Jr. Lifeguard squad invaded the spot, 20 of 'em, oh well, we went anyway. I ran at least one of 'em over! Oops!

This morning I went with the Team-in-Training on a training run, or walk, of 4 miles, not bad. Now I will try to catch up the last of the trip.

Saturday night and Sunday we spent day-tripping the area around Kinvara. We went to Aillwee Caves, and they had a brids of prey show that was pretty cool, and we toured the cave. The terrain of the burren area is very barren, stripped bare over time and left to limestone and whatever can survive in the windswept rocky terrain. We also visited some burial sites and ringforts, and a portal tomb that is 6,000 years old.

Monday we made a short move to Lisdoonvarna, where we were all going to stay in the nicest hostel in Ireland. Maybe it is, but Dana and I went looking for a B&B for us. We found a very nice one with a great bedroom, tiny bathroom, and great Irish breakfasts, and the same net price when you account for the breakfasts (coffee, tea, eggs, toast, yogurt, cereal, 3 types of sausage, fruit, date breads, ham and OJ). The kids stayed at the hostel.

When we were in Ireland in 2001, we finished our trip with a bang, at a banquet at Bunratty Castle, and that next night Dana and I went to Lehinch, the Cliffs of Moher at sunset, and into Doolin for a great music session. This time we went to a much smaller banquet at Dunguaire Castle, and it was good except it was only a 3-person show about the writers that had come from the area. The Bunratty show had many singers and dancers performing songs that many knew and sang along with. We went into Doolin for the session music, got there early and had good seats, but it wasn't really happening that night, with just a few players, no guitar to match ukulele chords with, and lots of tourists. Disappointing.

In 2001 when we got to the Cliffs of Moher, it was sunset and there were maybe ten other people in the area of the old fort tower. It was pretty wide open, small parking area, very serene. Eight years later and the Cliffs had been turned into a tourist exhibition, with movies, exhibits, gift shops, cafes, and 10,000 people all so happy that it wasn't raining they went to visit the Cliffs of Moher. Disneyland, Legoland, Ireland - Cliffs Adventure.

There is a trail that traverses the cliff edge from the visitor center all the way to another tower lookout, about two miles plus. About 500 meters down that trail is a barrier noting the cliffs are dangerous and saying that from this point on is private property. There is also a memorial dedicted to all who have died at the cliffs but the tourists are going right over the barrier and getting their pics taken as close to the edge as they dare. Remember, it has rained for the last 28 days, so that cliff is pretty soggy. John and Laura right away go over and head for the far tower, and within a few hundred meters the crowds have petered out. I wish I had gone with them, but Dana's foot is bad and she is hobbling so we stay.

Tuesday we go out for our last meal to a recommended pub in Lisdoonvarna, change tables three times, and have dinner. When the bill comes, we find they don't take credit cards, and there is no ATM in the whole town, the nearest is 20km away, and we are about 30 euro short. Mike goes back to the hostel and scrounges up all the money he can from John and Laura, and we have just enough. As we are paying Dana spills the last of her cider on the fiddler, and we leave.

At the airport in Shannon we discover that we are to be the first group to go through US customs on Irish soil, a new method, so we wont have to pick up our luggage in Phila and go through customs and then recheck it. The downside is we lose our pears, and barely make it to our gate on time, when we started with 2 extra hours. Otherwise, uneventful flights, and when we get home our house is lovely and stocked up with stuff, thanks Cindy.

Kinvara

Sunday, the 2nd, in Kinvarra, 7 am
We are in a B&B in this coastal town about 50km south of Galway. We left Clifden Saturday morning, picked the kids up in Galway, suffered through a two hour traffic jam to get through Galway and here we are. I will try to remember what happened to get us here. but I can tell you for sure that it has continued to rain every day at least some, the wettest July on record (I overheard). The kids are checked out mentally, they are road weary and disinterested. It appears all they want are better gaming units, and Mike wants his girlfriend.

Last Tuesday, the 28th, Dana and I did go into Roundstone, a very quaint and artsy town. The kids were dropped off at the Atlantic and presumably spent the day on the internet and throwing darts. We went to the Modhran factory, where they make the Irish drum, pronounced bowrawn. We were greeted with a 'How y'all doin?' by Tex, the proprietor, and he told us everything we needed to know about bodhrans. We bought one, and somebody will be making a lot of noise with this thing soon. Eventually it will look good hanging on the wall with the other instruments in the house. We bopped around town looking in all the shops, and got the scoop on all things local from the antiques dealer, a guy from Boston MA. Go Red Sox! We ate a very good seafood dinner at O'Dowds, and headed home.

Wednesday I filled you in on the last post.

Thursday, 8/30
We got a pretty early start to Galway, where we are dropping all three kids off at a hostel. It's about a 1.5 hour drive. On the way we stopped at Recess to check out Joyce's Crafts Shop, and the home of Connemara Marble. The owner is a sculptor of this soft stone, and the marble is beautiful. I traded him one of my last jade pieces for a piece of polished marble, and it turns out a couple of bigger stones we picked off the beach are also Connemara marble. The shop has a ton of woolen pieces, so we want to check it out further when we don't have the impatient easily bored crew in the car waiting.

It is race week in Galway, the biggest week of the year, and additionally Thursday is Ladies Day, so the place is crawling with ladies dressed to the nines, all looking very stylish with fancy hats and stilletto heels. Vavavavoom! We get the kids dropped at the hostel, which looks pretty cool, right near the heart of Galway. They will be in a dorm room with ten bunkbeds, just what they need. Dana and I go off exploring (shop-a-rama). Galway has a nice pedestrian area, the way SLO should do it, and the joint is jumping. There is a gritty side to the city, and we are told that after dark it can be dangerous, but what city isn't? Dana and I get out of there and take the coastal route home. We stop in Spiddal and have another great seafood meal, salmon, fish cakes, brown bread, great veg.

Friday, it rained all day, and we just hung around reading books all day. That night we were committed to getting to the music at J. Coneely's early enough to get a good seat, and we do, sitting right up front, sharing a table with an English couple from the Cotswolds. It was the same 2 guys that were there last Tuesday, Fergal Scahill and Mickey Martin. Mickey says Fergal is the Senior Fiddle Champion of Ireland, but he looks about 30. Mickey plays bazookie, a flattened mandolin, and sings, and Fergal also plays guitar. They are awesome, Fergal with the mad skills, and Mickey is very entertaining, great craic and a laugh like Amadeus. The joint is jumping, and people get up and show their jigging skills. Two gals are dancing a swing style right in front of us, and near the end of the night one of them goes looking for a partner. She is denied by her boyfriend and settles on me, and won't take no for an answer. This turns out to be the big finale song, and it is fast and long. I am in a sweat trying to keep up. The other girl joins in, Fergal is up on the bar tearing up the fiddle, Mickey is up on our table, the girls are spinning me around and toying with me, and of course we don't have a second of it recorded. It's probably on YouTube under 'Pathetic American Tourist gets schooled by Irish lassies!'

Saturday we pack up Clifden, check out, and head for Galway. We stop at Joyces' Crafts and pick up some gifts we've been meaning to get, go through Cong where 'The Quiet Man' was filmed, stop on the road for lunch, and enter Galway, where the worst traffic of the year has the city in a knot. It takes us 2 hours to drive 5 km through it, with the kids jumping in the car as we are stuck in traffic. Bad timing, I wish someone had warned us. Mike and Laura are asleep within one minute, and John is on the PC. They may have had too good a time in Galway. John says they were denied entry to the pubs because the bouncer said they were drunk, but my guess is he was unimpressed with the waif-like nature of their appearance. They got booze somewhere, because they sure seem hungover now. Once we get out of the traffic jam, it is not too far to Kinvara. Our B&B is very nice, The Meadow, but the view of ocean and castle they used to have has been blocked in the building boom that has gone on here. A lot of these houses are going begging now.

The kids go into town to get something to eat, while Dana and I engage our hosts, Mary and Denny Duffy, in some talk about the area. Mary is a retired nurse, and Denny is a retired policeman, so they know everyone in town, and Denny is an Irish history buff. Later we go into town to check it out and get a prescription refilled. Seems I shorted myself a few days. Of course, I forget the bottle, so I make the 1/2km jaunt a few more times, and then pay 35 euro ($50) for 15 pills, all they have. I pay $20 for 120 pills in the states. The big difference is these are brand-name, and I get generic at home. Ouch. We get some food, go back and take a short nap, and then Dana and I go check out hte session music downtown. The first bar has an accordion and bagpipe player, who are competent, but then they are joined by a fiddler that is learning, and a bazooki player that started yesterday and is clueless. So we leave there and find the other session is jamming, packed to the gills, and so loud with talking that we can't hear the music.

Today, we have started with a big Irish breakfast, eggs, yogurt, toast, 2 types of blood sausage, scotch ham, breakfast sausage, coffee, tea, cereal, and tomatoes. Criminy. The kids have mustered, it is 10:30, I am going to post this and then we will go touring the local caves, ring forts, dolmens and cairns.