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 |   My journey through (and beyond) the valley with Cancer as my companion. |
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Dear Friend: This is not a Blog about writing! (I already have one of those.) This is a blog about a journey I am taking with illness. I have recently been diagnosed with Cancer. My goal is honest therapy as I progress through, and beyond this new reality in my life. I hope that, somewhere along the way you will find some words that will help you too. While this is, in fact, an interactive Blog, I hope that you will scroll slowly down this page. For you see, the front of this Blog IS my journey. The entries are conversations that are held along the journey.Yes, there is a lot on it--before actually getting to the Blog entries. But, I hope that by the objects and words which appear before the Blog itself, you might come to understand just a little bit about me, and my journey, and some truly amazing friends who have agreed to journey with me. I hope that you, too, will choose to accompany me on my walk--through the Valley. I invite you to join me, and discover the wondrous truths, meet some truly amazing people, and share those "memorable" moments this journey will undoubtedly present. Come along, won't you? In His Care, ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Would you like to help me help others? I found this amazing organization, and I am proud to be a sponsor. I hope you will check it out. It's called The Network For Good.  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "RISUS OMNIA - INCRUMENTUS PER DEDECUS - SAPIENTIA PER DAMNUM" ("Every thing is funny - Growth through humiliation - Wisdom through loss") ~Leunig~ The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse. ~Helen Keller~ "If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people." ~Virginia Woolf~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "There is strength in truth." ~The Barton Family Crest~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** “Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” — Helen Keller, American social activist, public speaker and author (1880-1968) I have moved the list of my thanks for those who have helped to make this little Blog so very special. I hope that you will take a moment to read the list, growing every day, and let these fellow travellers along this journey know that you appreciate the contributions they make to our walk together.
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4 ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Please feel free to click on the Blog Rings icon below to be transported to some of the very best of the Best Bloggers around WDC. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** If you are new to WDC, or to our Blogging community, I highly recommend the monthly edition of "The Blogville News". Feel free to click below, and let Scarlett   know that a Blogger sent ya!Hey! We've started a Christian's Blog Ring on WDC. Click on the logo, and join us! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Budroe
 Ring LeaderI have three publications at the moment. Here is a link to purchase my latest one. Buy a great read, and help a fellow writer out, Okay?  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I need some help. I've got a project that will be happening near the end of this month. The work is pretty much done, but I need the talents of one of WDC's astounding Graphics Artists to translate the work into an original, popping graphic set--a complete set with the addition of a Web Page replete with Graphics. Also required are badges and Certificates. Over the years, I have had the privilege of being the recipient of our most excellent GA's, as a mere look at the top of this Blog will attest. I have been mostly away for much of the past year. Is there a new talent here that I have not yet discovered? (Yes, I do look!) Is there a veteran of WDC graphics willing to commit to a real artistic opportunity? If you are one of the new talents with a distinct skill with creating completely original work, I want to see your work. I want to talk to you. If you are one of my favorites, I want to talk to you. Quickly. I can give you only the concept. My wish is for truly spectacular representations of the theme of the work, and a unifying theme which will augment the work. It must be your work alone and must be completely original, from clean screen to finished product. I also need to know your proposed fee (GP's only, please) for the completed work. 1/2 of the agreed upon price will be paid at the time of the awarding of the work. 1/4 will be paid when your completed concept artwork is approved. 1/4 will be paid at the time of delivery of your work. (I have been known to be impressed to the point of additional payments as rewards and thanks! :) ) I look forward to seeing YOUR craft, and cannot wait! :) Send me a note, or leave a comment if you would like to "audition" for this project, or if you know of someone you would be willing to recommend for this project. I know the busy season is already upon our GA's, so the sooner the project can be awarded, the better for all concerned. Good luck as you continue the journey to YOUR success. Thank you for helping create the success for this Advent Project. May you be, In His Care, Budroe PS: It is an old, well-known military contractor term. "Request For Proposal" In my world, we usecd to call it "Cha Ching!"  |
| It can be, you know. For me, there is no doubt that it is. I do a lot of it, every day. Sadly, most of it is not here, where it most likely should be. The topics don't lend themselves to objective neutrality. There is a reason for that. I intend it not to be. Good writing takes form within virtually any venue where communications is encouraged, supported, endorsed...or necessary. I've broached the subjects of my writings in other places here with mixed, but mostly negative results. There is also the whole notion of having a "neutral zone" for writing which is NOT controversial or polarizing. Whether religious or political (and many easily conflate these two separate arenas with too much regularity), genre or topically induced, I wish to have a "safe place" in my writing life. That's where the therapy part comes in. This particular place holds a treasured space in my heart. For several years now, this blog has reflected my soul, my mind, and my heart. Along the way, many new friends have allowed this blog to do the same for them, as well. I never meant the work here to gather an entire community of friends and fellow travelers. But, in the larger sense, I have come to understand that Dad did. I do take the time, occasionally, to reread many of the posts that have shown up here. I will tell you, with all humility that much of the writing under my name in this blog has impressed me. It is not the writing of my own capability. In an amazing turn of events, it is I who am often the recipient of the grace some of the writing here brings to so many. I, too have been lifted up, encouraged, and urged to fight on through the comments and conversations that have begun here. It has been, and I do pray will continue to be much needed therapy for me. I hope it will be for you,too. Death has no religious or political or educational affiliation. Illness truly is an equal opportunity employer. The kind of illnesses I have been given could be some of the nastiest ones out there. Yet, in this space it is a little bit as if death and illness are forbidden entrance. The patient who lives within these words seeks solace here, away from the maddening crowds, and the "White Coats" (and the places they inhabit), and the policy wonks and politicos who feed off the indigestion (myself included) of others. In the same way, this blog is therapy for me because I do not have to "be" anything other than who I am at the moment of the writing. That truly is a blessing. This is an emotional open range for me. While that also means that you will see parts of me that perhaps a real life meeting would mask, it is because of the therapeutic nature of this space that I can be who, and how, and where I am for a time. I ask no judgments here, and try really hard to give none, although I know plenty have been given and received here. Therapy is not only hard work. Therapy is also very often uncomfortable, discomfiting work. Having the vulnerability to be myself here, on the journey, also means that I may be tasked to difficult truths here, either as recipient or messenger. Therapy. I love this space, along the journey. Writers are solitary by nature. It tends to be a requirement of our craft. Yet, we do need not only introspection, but community response to our craft. We have reviewing in this place the way a fast food joint has soda. There is a reason for that. There has been amazing kindness shown to this blog, and the keeper of it. Thank you for that. I have, and will continue to remain aware of the opportunities this blog provides to dispense kindness, compassion, and understanding as well. That to, you see, is a function of therapy. To learn is education. To apply selflessly is wisdom. That is why we are given gifts from our Dad, or even from each other. The experience is only valid when it is replicated. Kindness begets kindness. Evil intent is returned with kindness, too. Consistency plays one of the most important functions of therapy. Consistency is one of the most difficult of all skills to master. There is little consistency to this blog, from regular posting to regular interaction, to consistent purpose or content or subject or genre. Sometimes, things happen at the speed of life. And that is the therapy I need most often. Sometimes, I just need to vent; to get something off my chest. Those who have found community here have come to understand and accept that truth. I'm very glad that is true, because giving yourself permission to be, yourself, is one of the greatest of all gifts. It is surely the greatest gift of therapy. This is one of the most important reasons I can declare to you that, on this journey, I do remain, In His Care, Budroe |
| Okay, so I do love to hate thee, dearest NaNo . I posted the Prologue (First Pass, First Draft) for my NaNo 2013 project. Already, there are nine characters involved (all but five are "redshirts" that will not be seen again.), but in true "Grand Organ Mysteries" fashion, the plot and all elements required to solve the crime will be "in" the work by the end of Chapter 1. It has developed into my own mystery writing style. As is also my style, I have (at the moment) no bloomin' idea who does what to whom, when, where, why or how. My characters talk, and I type. I do know where the novel winds up, so it is not just pointless rambling here. . Additionally, the first pots of nanocoffee have been consumed (that reminds me...be right back!) and the first batch of nanocookies (nanochocchip, as tradion now dictates for the "first" batch) have been baked and (mostly) consumed within the nether regions of my Buddy Lists and Fora. Yes, NaNo is back! I've got a goal to beat my all-time personal best of 17 days to 50k. That is because I do not have additional time to engage this novel. It is also because (at least so far) the novel is pouring out of my fingers at an alarming clip! The only way I have a clue as to what is going on in the novel is to actually READ it. (True.) Two weeks ago, I believed the NaNo project would not exist for me this year. I also believed that, if it did, it would be Dr. Blair and his nearly capable team slogging off to some remote part of the world away from Central Kentucky to try to live long enough to return. Plans! Harrummphhff! There are other games afoot, as well. I'm teaching online again (3 Courses), new websites/blogs/etc. being created and activated. Three future radio shows in pre-production, and two in active status on three different radio networks. I keep getting asked why all the activity, and why now? The health ain't so hot, after all. Perhaps that is why, but I can't say that definitely. But there does truly seem to be an over-sized impetus to get things moving. Thee WILL Be an Advent Adventure this year! (I happen to know that because it is original, and already written! So *sticks out tongue* THERE! :) It is a short one (13 days) and has the same general theme (Let's Go To Bethlehem!) with a more modern flavor) under the working title: "Are You Talkin' Ta ME?" Prior preparation will be required, in the form of a character, character sketch, and a very special added assignment. Stay tuned. I thnk this is why I have come to so seriously dislike Halloween. For some, this holiday gives them a sense of the soon-coming "Holiday Season". For me, it marks the beginning of a very serious work season. (Please excuse my four-letter phraseology!) There was a time when this amount of prioritized projects would be nothing more than extremely limited part-time stuff. That was a time or so ago. Perhaps that is a reasonable partial explanation of "Why?" I'm feeling it more and more with each flip of the calendar. NaNo sets high standards of draft-quality production. The thing of it is, it also amplifies the need for the highest quality in everything else, as well. That is why you've just gotta LOVE NaNo. Right? |
| I wrote an article tonight on my political blog remembering the one year anniversary of Hurricane Sandy's unending devastation to the Northeastern United States of America. Strangely enough, this came after some considerable amount of real-time discussion with a filmmaker friend about the feasibility of doing "right now" a documentary on the potential of a "human extinction event" that is ongoing in Fukushima, Japan. This conversation began after I read a desperate plea for help FROM Fukushima, Japan. It would seem the Japanese government, either at the request of, or with the explicit demand of the Japanese utility which owns the Nuclear Power facilities in Fukushima Prefecture, that an entire "information blackout" is about to be put into place. This is in consideration of, as I understand it, a powerful earthquake and two extremely powerful storms have attack the wounded facility this week. A "human extinction event". Yes, it really is. Yes, we should know this, right now. The people most drastically effected have asked for someone to create the record of Fukushima past, present and future. Back to my friend. Our conversation reminded me of the one year anniversary of Hurricane Sandy, and the ongoing difficulty for those most deeply affected by the storm who still are struggling to survive, to begin new lives as a result of the storm. Which reminded me of October 28th, 2006. I survive still today. Seven years. As the country music song says: "I'm in pretty good shape...for the shape I'm in." One thing that I have definitely discovered along this journey to, through and beyond the valley of the shadow of death is that the life you left to get here is not a life you can ever live again. It's done, gone, over. The difficulty is in the creation of a new life of worth that matters; that creates a new footprint that may honor, encourage, or prod those new to this journey to take one more step.
Sometimes, that just feels so futile, so worthless. Today, I opened my Nano 2013 project folder. That's a step. From winning a bet with a friend while recouperating from a broken foot in 2004, to the reality that I opened a new folder for Nano 2013 today. The project even has a working title: "One Too Many". A step. Sometimes, just one step is a victory. It is always enough, especially when you have been called upon this journey. I'm still kybudman over at nano. If you find the moth-gathering appeal of Nano to your liking, I hope you will join me, and friend me. Another lesson learned? The journey is very possible on your own. It is much more pleasant, even in the worst of steps, with friends. Know that some, or even many will step away in their own time. I have found the truth that they just make room for those true friends who never fail. Know that there are not many of them, and they usually come in the most amazing time and circumstance. But this journey has never been about easy. Just worth it. Every single step. No matter what. |
| Challenges galore! Hospital x 3. Determination of origin of disease process! (Genetic blood disorder) The teacher is student again. This time (and isn't it so very appropriate!) it is an amazing study, offered by University of California-Santa Cruz, on The Holocaust by Professors Murray Baumgarten and Peter Kenetz. Among the other courses I am enrolled in, or will be teaching this Fall, this one really has my fullest attention. My general attitude is good, not great. I've been patient for entirely too long without a resolution to the original problem. This is completely and entirely frustrating, and is eating away my peace. It is also intruding upon the peace of others, and especially those who provide my care, care for me, or know me. My outward display of attitude is mostly confined to anger and discontent. I am working very hard on this, but this particular step through the valley is one which I, at some level, must somehow accept, work through, and walk beyond. I am distracting myself to a previously unseen level. I can only say that this is part of a process I must survive. It is not fun, or good, or joyful. That I have life today is my greatest gift. I do appreciate every single day. By the end of these artificially orchestrated days, I find myself disappointed, and sometimes even discouraged. Yes, I know I have attitude. Yes, I am doing my very best to work on it. Right now, I am equally willing to simply cruise through such times than address or attack them. How do you give yourself permission to be so mean and unfeeling for those whose only desire is your happiness every day? I hope a Counsellor will help; at least that's the plan. Along with a laundry list of medical specialists and personal concerns that just seem to overwhelm me more days than not. Oi! Hello, September, 2013. May you bring more joy than August. In the meantime, I am doing my very best to remain, |
| I never imagined myself as someone who would write one blog entry per month. Of late, I have been. I am amazed. I received, today, official notification for my 8th inclusion in "Who's Who". I am amazed. These two truths seem to consume an entire spectrum, bounded only by each of them. Amazing, huh? |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Yes, I have been most terribly neglectful of you, my dear blog. I am here today to write a short story of an event which occurred many times in my youth. I was reminded of it while watching a Mark Lowry video tonight. It burned within me so clearly that I wanted to get it down into words fitting to the memory, lest it should somehow depart my heart. Yes, it's one of those memories. I have many memories which I cannot seem to find these days. There are so many things about which I would like to write, without the attendant "necessity" of getting something written. The usual result of that particular pressure is that nothing gets written at all. I'm not sure what that says of me as writer, but it does go against my writer's motto: "Writers write. Every Day!" To be completely transparent, I actually DO write every day, about one thing or another, and in many different places. To know that, of all the places I write, this my most beloved writing space stands so often empty is a sadness which sometimes brings me to tears. And, there is so much to share with you about my continuing journey. It is not all bad, or sad, or scary. Much of it is. This memory is bittersweet. When I was but a young boy, I got the opportunity to meet my mother shortly before she died. I had been near to her every day of my life, but had never had the opportunity to meet the person I had previously only heard about in reports from family and friends. For almost, but not all of my life with her, my Mother was a complete and certified alcoholic, you see. Most of my time within her sphere was a time of fear and pain. But, one day I watched my Mother quit alcohol. Sadly, less than one year later, she would be gone, and I would be in a different place, and in a different world. Living with an alcoholic parent is a very unique world. I would learn that living with two of them, even one at a time, is a very special kind of place. I do not recommend it to anyone. But, I watched my Mother battle, and find victory over alcohol. It took most of a winter for her to even trust herself, but she and I together weathered that particular storm of life, and I gained a friend. Instead of flinching in her presence, I did not want to be away from it. Oh, my, talk about the "good days"! One of the things I used to do for my Mother, first to at least try to calm her from an alcoholic's anger, but then to do all I could to bring a smile to her soul, was play music. It was my special weapon, and a very special gift. Sometimes when I played my Mother would sleep. Sometimes, my playing made her cry (I thought it was due to the quality of my playing!) the saddest tears I have seen since. But, during that year that I had this special friend I called "Mommie", I saw her smile clear down to her heart. A talented musician herself, Mother had been known as a singer, and a pianist. The previous summer, my Aunt had given me a Ukelele. It then became my personal responsibility to learn how to play it, which I did with my usual determination when it came to playing music. From that summer, through the following Winter, I made it my mission to learn to play that instrument. Not only to play it, however. My mission was to play the Ukelele so well that my Mother would smile. The epitome of my efforts would come to fruition in a most unusual, and completely unexpected way. She sang. I had never really heard my Mother sing with a full, clear voice in my life. Mine were the tears as I heard my Mother, for the first time in my life, sing. I played, she sang. "East Side, West Side" had been one of the songs in the Method Book I had been given with the Ukelele. I was outside, sitting on the stoop of the apartment building in which she and I lived. I heard the door open, and my Mother was suddenly sitting down beside me. I honestly do not remember that ever happening before without immediate fear. She was smiling. I was playing the song, and my Mother began to sing! I remember shaking from the moment itself. I remember that moment to this very moment. I had heard stories from my Sisters, Aunts, and Uncles--even both my Grandmothers. None got it right. My Mother had the purest, clearest, and deepest Alto voice I had ever heard. It was glorious! Then, she did the impossible. My Mother requested a song for me to play. Can you just imagine? I had just experienced perfection in singing, and my "Mommie" wanted ME to accompany her! How's THAT for confirmation of my goal, I ask you? You see, my Mother had known something about me for all of my life that I had never known myself--two things, actually. The first was that I had perfect pitch. That means that if, for instance, you were to play a single note on any instrument, I could tell you which particular note it was without any clue or sensory input, other than hearing. These days, it's a "45" and it skips badly! The second was that my Mother knew I had perfect memory. Once I heard something, I remembered it. Anything I read, I would remember it. Anything I saw, I would remember it. Joined with the perfect pitch, there was pretty much no song I could not play. Trust me when I tell you that, these days the film is still there, it is just expired.  That was fortunate for me, as it would turn out. My Mother had the same gifts. We had in our home, for instance, a Hymnal. It was there so visitors could sing with our family. We very literally knew them all, every verse. This included the "other" stuff any usual Hymnal would include (The "Amens",The Doxology, The Nicene Creed(s)--everything!) as well. I would later learn that long before I was born, we had a piano in our home and everyone sang. On Sundays, we would sing from the Hymnal. You must, however, understand that means from cover to cover, beginning at page 1 and going to the last hymn in the book. I missed out on that. I'm so sorry I did. A flood took the piano, and it was never replaced. On that stoop, on that day, my Mother asked me to play hymns. On the Ukelele, mind you. Remember that "perfect pitch" stuff? Well, if I began a hymn in a "comfortable" key to play, and it wasn't the key the hymn was written in...no go, no pass, and don't try it again! An additional challenge for me. Trust me when I tell you that D-flat minor is NOT a Ukelele-friendly key on a C Uke, it isn't. No matter to the singer, however. That's when I learned that my Mother was similarly gifted. And I had thought I had known pain and deprivation! Not even! Because of the requester, and especially because it was her first request, I played the song, the Hymn in the correct key (Ab Major for those of you playing along!) When all four verses had been sung (from memory, mind you) including an improvised final verse that had somehow, through transposition resulted in the key of C being played (artistry knows no bounds, especially with the tired mind and fingers of a very young teenager!), and the "Amen!" had been completed, I stopped. In the following silence, I noticed three things: 1. I was still alive, as shocking as that was. 2. Silence, until a bird began singing (A Cardinal). 3. My Mother's inconsolable sobbing. I have, since that day so long ago (1970) pondered her tears. Were they tears of regret, or of remembrance? Were they tears of sadness, or of satisfaction? Sorrow, or just pain? I considered disappointment in my playing as a real possibility. But, in those few moments, I did not ask. Truthfully, I was afraid to find out. I didn't want to know. It really didn't matter because it was so human, and so fragile a moment for each of us, and for both of us. I do know some things as a result of those few moments, however. The very first thing was that I had confirmed for myself what I had always known and believed to be true: there is incredible power in music. I got a real education in the power of music and the spoken word. My Mother actually thanked me for that experience. Sometimes, when you have a gift, it can be called upon at any (and I do mean ANY) moment. Most of all, in those few moments, lives were changed; two of them. That was the moment my Mother became my friend. I would spend the following months reveling in every new story, every new remembrance (even the bad ones) and every opportunity to play and sing Hymns (and all manner of other songs!) with my friend. As she approached her death, I would spend countless hours singing to her, and playing for her, while not even knowing of her condition. It was, she said, the only thing which could calm her terrible headaches. Tonight, I heard that Hymn, and was transformed and transported to a place long forgotten: a stoop in Lexington, Kentucky. Again, the tears flow, the heart breaks, and the sorrow is as it first was when I lost my friend, my Mother. It is not because of a date, or any kind of momentous event in my life then, or now. It was the scene of an 89 year-old woman simply singing an Hymn. My Mother would be well into her 100th year of life now. I wish it were so. But, that selfish desire on my part has come to realize that the lessons of our friendship do remain, even today. All I have to do is to remember them. And, if my Mother be a fair judge, to live them completely. That is a truly herculean task for anyone. I had not known it until that day, and in that moment. Quite apart from what anyone saw when they looked at the staggering, embarrassing alcoholic who bore me, my Mother had been living the full measure (and more) of her faith each and every day, through and for five children. The alcohol was the only "grown up" friend I ever knew my Mother to have. Sadly, I would meet many of them at her funeral. She had been cheated out of her friends. I still feel cheated at the loss of mine. Until I hear that song again, and remember those words again. Then, for a moment, I am again whole again. Like writing, music is a demanding, forgiving, strict, merciful friend in my life. When I hear this Hymn, I do not need to seek understanding, or "original intent". It is true that I am a Musicologist. I know the story they tell. From the author: "I read…the story of the greatest morn in history: 'The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, while it was yet very dark, unto the sepulcher.' Instantly, completely, there unfolded in my mind the scenes of the garden of Joseph…Out of the mists of the garden comes a form, halting, hesitating, tearful, seeking, turning from side to side in bewildering amazement. Falteringly, bearing grief in every accent, with tear-dimmed eyes, she whispers, If thou hast borne him hence… He speaks, and the sound of His voice is so sweet the birds hush their singing. Jesus said to her, 'Mary!' Just one word from his lips, and forgotten the heartaches, the long dreary hours….all the past blotted out in the presence of the Living Present and the Eternal Future."1 They will never tell the story I know. I hope you will understand this story. It is my story, and hers. It was true for her. It is true for me. May it be true for you. In The Garden I come to the Garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses; and the voice I hear, falling on my ear, The Son of God discloses. And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own. And the joy we share, as we tarry there, none other, has ever known. In His Care. Budroe ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Footnotes |
| On Friday, I visited the "White Coats". Very nice folks, actually. Although, it did seem as though they were quite intent upon causing me as much pain as possible. 10 mg Valium made it an "interesting", but completely observable event. 27 Samples were biopsied. Several sounds which unnerved me, as the docs and the Nurses (self included) dispassionately discussed the taking, selection, and the inevitable "Clicks" which sounded a lot more like cannon fire. The pathologists were there, requesting specific points of biopsy along the way. Talk about connecting dots! Wow! Friday's remaining time is much a blur to me. It seems as though the drugs took effect AFTER the procedure. I know I took my HCA to breakfast at Waffle House. PROTIP: Going to Waffle House...AFTER biopsies...ON Drugs? Priceless! It was a very early ("First Case") appointment which got me out of bed during what is, for me, the middle of the night. I had just GONE to bed, as the "0430" time had struck with a particular, and vaguely peculiar force. We will most likely hear from the docs Tuesday or Wednesday as to when the surgeries will most likely occur. They will be soon. No Chemo, and no radiation at my request. (At least, not for now. We've got to see what we have in front of us first. I'm not feeling too good about this one.) There are times, when you are called upon this journey, that the path seems too steep to climb. What do you do? What do you say? How do you respond to the concerns of those who care most for you? How do you respond to your own concerns? I have always said (and believed) that information is knowledge. Knowledge is power. Even to the powerless. I can deal with anything I know. It's always been that way for me. That is not necessarily true for everyone. If you are very, very lucky, you will have someone alongside who can find comfort in the silence, and who will not become a "problem" you must deal with. Trying to allay someone else's fears is just a bit much at such times. So is it when another tries so very hard to lessen YOUR fears. Both are truly impossible. In the best of circumstances, you lean, and step forward. That's what it was like for me on Friday. So much as I have appreciated, and been comforted by your kind words and prayers, so do I covet them now. Not for an outcome, but for an outlook. Pray that I, and those who care most for me, would see my Dad in this moment, and that His Will might be done to His Glory. It seems like the ole bod is breaking hard. There is just so much yet to do. That is the most telling of all thoughts for me. I am reminded of St. Francis who, upon his conversion, was so incredibly angry with himself for all the lost moments, days, and years of his life. And I remember my paternal Grandmother who, at more than 100, fettered in concern over so much she had yet to do. If I were told (again) that I only had a little time, what would I change about tomorrow that I experienced today? Nothing, really. Every day has been a glorious gift to me, especially since this particular journey began. I am reporting this now only because it is only now that I am recovered enough to stand the stress of being here, typing these words. I do no know if anyone will read them. But, I only knew they were read by your kind and caring comments. If by chance you do read them, would you be so kind as to leave a footprint? This we know: The Thyroid has to go. The Parotid tumors have to go. The Diabetes is pretty uncontrolled, even with what some consider to be massive amounts of Insulin; some "other" Endocrine system seems to be the reason for that, but it is yet found--much less confirmed. The Lung lesions are growing. Different problem all together. And, of course, the original bullets in the rifle aimed at me, blood clots, are rampant even on lethal doses of Coumadin. The INR numbers are all over the place, from 1.1 to 11.9 ON the Coumadin. I do not want to die. But, much more importantly, I want to know that my living has mattered. There are times when I think that maybe it does, or has. But there are many more moments when the only thing I can identify, looking over the course of my life, is pain, sadness, anger, frustration, and general mayhem--for others. And that, my friend, is what is known as a "nearly sucky life." To know that I would have gladly died for others, yet they could not get close enough to speak for me is not a very nice picture. And, yes; I have known loss, and betrayal...and evil. I have fought them for most of my life. But, did it matter? It is at times such as this that I am most likely to answer that question differently than usual. It mattered; just not much in a good way. There are those who would tell you that the world is a better place without me in it, and not be shy in the least about it. They have their reasons. I leave them to their reasons, and their results. I would hasten to add that there has been, in these past (Can you believe it?) five years, a group of friends who did not run, who did not "flinch". And, among them, one has stood every angry outburst, every unreasonable attitude, every unkind act. Not without significant pain and sadness, mind you. Yet, my one true friend "in the flesh" is with me still. It is through her acts of selflessness that I know Dad is close. Thank you, Sara. And, as the journey continues, through and beyond the Valley, I'd like to once again thank you, dear reader. You and I have seen the Valley through a quite peculiar lens, haven't we? As I find myself so terribly concerned about my country, my fellow citizens, and my work, still I find it necessary to write. These words are not, as I declared in the beginning, easy words to write. I know that many of my words here have not been easy to read, either. Nor will they be in the future, I would predict. But, they have been my soliloquy to myself. In them, I have not necessarily found peace, or acceptance, or kindness. But, I have found truth, and accountability. Both can be quite painful, you know. One of the problems for those who care for those on this particular journey is finding a reasonable and sometimes detached way of dealing with both truth AND accountability. When you are the subject of the journey, you can believe me when I tell you it is much more difficult than you may suspect. It is, as it has always been, in the "0430"s of the journey that we most often find no place to turn, no safe harbor, nor dear friend to watch with us "yet one short hour". It is in these times that the Angle Guys let me feel their movement around me. It is in these times that my loving Dad shows up, and stays. I cannot tell you if this is true of everyone called to this journey. I can only tell you that this is true for me, on my journey. My faith has led me along the way, where reason, common sense and intellect have refused to tread. That is, you see, one of the most diffuclt struggles along this particular journey. My reason and intellect fight ferociously, each and every day with the things of this world. It's what I call "being productive". Silly, isn't it? Your friends and loved ones want your time. You want to tilt at windmills. They feel short-changed and hurt. You feel frustrated. Yet, you battle on. In my spirit, there is not battle. My faith is secure, no matter what. I told you, in the beginning of this trek together, that these are the most difficult words in all the world to utter with honesty and commitment. I say them still. I love you. No matter what. May it always be so, as I remain, In His Care. Budroe ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Well, actually they arrived via my mailbox today. Simple, really. What, you DON'T have wolves in your mailbox? Today, I received a petition to complete and sign to send to Secretary of the Interior Ken Salazar regarding the public hunting of gray wolves in this country from one of my favorite organizations, the Sierra Club. I love wolves; I have for my whole life. I really appreciate the Sierra Club. There are a few things I noted in this kit from TSC. 1. The packaging was sublime. It's not just that someone included stock photos of a wolf. Someone went, found, and existed with wolves and told me who and what they are with skillfully crafted personal, biographical photo journalism. That skill graced the entire package. Stunning. 2. The words were masterfully written. From the petition itself, to the personal appeal and call to action of TSC Executive Director Michael Brune to the organization's Blog we get a true and real sense of the purpose, mission, vision and action of The Sierra Club. It's not a passion you merely feel. Just incredibly amazing craftsmanship. That really brings impact and strong response to the reader. 3. The petition, and the enclosed documents speak to an amazing, different viewpoint: from the wolf.. The Gray Wolf, in particular, as both the subject and the victor of the saving of the breed in the Yellowstone habitation project. The Gray has been, finally, removed from the endangered list only to find mankind encroaching on their ever-diminishing habitat. Solution? Kill Gray Wolves. Sponsored public hunts and kills in Wyoming are especially highlighted in what is a letter from the hunted to the hunter. I signed and spent a stamp on the Petition. I can't do a membership. I wish I could. I wonder if you would join The Sierra Club for $15? You know, the folks that brought us National Parks, the largest organization in the world making Global Climate something to discuss, and stuff? Since 1892, the organization has been tasked with providing and guarding the stewardship of our public lands and their inhabitants. Like, wolves. They too, remain,In His Care. Budroe ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| This is called "Celendar Cheating". Yes, I am doing it. I've got something to say, but I want to work on it first. It's gonna be on three topics: A new business opportunity I am looking at--again. A response to another diary. An update on The Annual Lenten Adventure: 2013 Edition" Just remember what Arnold S. Said: "I'll be bahhk!" In His Care. Budroe ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
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