My journey through (and beyond) the valley with Cancer as my companion.
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,
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.
"RISUS OMNIA - INCRUMENTUS PER DEDECUS - SAPIENTIA PER DAMNUM"
("Every thing is funny - Growth through humiliation - Wisdom through loss")
The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse.
"If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people."
"There is strength in truth."
~The Barton Family Crest~
“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.
"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."
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|There are two issues here.
The first is that writers should write (about) what they know.
The second is that I pretty much decided the Annual Advent Adventures were done.
Lately, I've been in a corner learning a bit about adversity. Adversity is one of those topics people usually don't much care to write about. It's difficult enough dealing with it, without writing about it. I've been journaling about it. I have also been learning a bit about it. I do make the bodacious presumption that I am not the only person on the planet, or even in this blog, who has had plenty of reason to be thinking about adversity this year. I know. I'm jaded.
In years past, the "topic" that seemed to be in the sharpest focus for me, personally is what seemed to drive the idea for an Adventure. As much as sharing where I was in the journey with others, the Adventures seemed to strike a positive chord with others, and they shared the Adventure as well.
I have had not only the opportunity to share what I've picked up along the way, but I have always been able to punctuate the experience at the conclusion of an Adventure, as well. That usually happens from within the Adventure, by folks, and in ways I've never expected--but always in a good way. I've even been told it has helped another person or two in the process. Learn. Teach. Give. That's the story of my life, in a nutshell.
Of course, this blog has had a lot to say about adventures in my life, and it seems a great place to "think out loud" about another Adventure. While the blog is mostly personal, Adventures are shared activities on WDC. I feel deep gratitude for being able to write these words, and write them here, now. That may not be a final punctuation on my year's adventure through (and beyond) Adversity, but it could well be a semicolon.
"An Annual Advent Adventure in Adversity!"
I admit that I'm wierd. I like it.
This could be a very interesting Adventure through, and beyond, Adversity. If you have any comments, requests, suggestions, recommendations...ultimatums? on this subject, please let me know either via comment here, or by WDCMail.
Eight ideas. Three days per idea. 24 days, then Christmas. First day: questions to ponder. Second day: Scriptures or discussion or short writings about the adversity being dealt with at the time. Third day: A reflection from me or another Adventurer. Possible.
What do you think? Shall we adventure this one more time together? Let me know, won't you?
|I come to this place every day. I find something here, every day to be thankful for. Perhaps it's a new follower along the journey, or a friend leaving a kindness footprint.
A few years ago, I wrote an essay about Thanksgiving. You can find it, should you wish, here:
There have been quite a few visitors to this writing, and many reviews, most of which were encouraging and kind. I thought I might share with you the story today of how the piece came to be written.
You may well note the essay was written in 2009. It actually had its genesis in 2005.
I was living in Clarksville, Indiana at the time. I was happily ensconced in the midst of a truck driving career that was soon to come to a voluntary end in 2006. On this particular day, the essay found it's genesis in a truck stop in a place where cooking food went hand in hand with breathing. Strangely, but quite descriptively, the Pioneer Truck Stop was (and I do sincerely hope, still is) located in New Berlin, Wisconsin.
Truck drivers have this knack of finding the very best places to eat. PROTIP: If you ever find yourself looking for really GREAT food, check out the parking lot for big trucks. Every one you see is a Gold Star Review!
I was in the habit of working holidays as a trucker. I was single, and roamed the highways and byways of North America sometimes for months at a time. I was as snug as the proverbial bug, you see. Fellow drivers for my company often had great difficulty getting these days off to be with their families. If my driving meant a compatriot could be home with spouse and offspring, family and friends, I was more than happy to be motoring. It was always a very special gift that could be given to someone who really needed one, and it was always anonymous. About June, I would innocently ask around to see if there was a driver, or if anyone knew of a driver that could really use a holiday at home. I could get it "fixed" to make sure they got home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, a birthday, or anniversary; you get the picture.
On this particular Thanksgiving, I had the unfortunate (for me) situation where I was parked outside the official home of the Green Bay Packers,Lambeau Field that is. Wisconsin. Green Bay, Wisconsin. Cheesetown, USA. According to my "plan", I was supposed to be met there at 5 AM to be offloaded. You know, before the craziness was to begin. The "plan" didn't quite happen that way, and the load of broadcasting equipment I had brought turned out to be, in fact, backup equipment for some possible case of emergency. I didn't mind too much, except that there were all these people packing themselves like sardines into the Thanksgiving Day football frenzy. Gazillions O' Folk. It really was a party atmosphere. That was really strange for me, because it was like -100C in the place, the wind was blowing trash, broken limbs, unwanted children...all over the place! Cold it was.
Originally, the equipment was to be dropped at Lambeau's staff parking lot. I (or someone else) would come back the following day, after the load was re-loaded into the trailer, and it would then go to the next assigned place.
The equipment manager for the national broadcasting company airing the game that day and I had some fellowship about the unseemliness of offloading, and reloading equipment that wasn't going to be used that day. Listen, this was a plum assignment. Drivers get paid by the mile, and sometimes you could get into a "loop" where you basically followed the load around the country for a while. Imagine the miles equipment for some national broadcasting company could spin up over a few weeks (or months, thus the reason I would stay out for longer periods than other drivers!) following the talking heads from one venue to another. I didn't want to lose this opportunity. It was embarrassingly good money. I wanted a particular new car badly. Win/Win. Right?
So I got to sit in the broadcast booth for the game! Now, to a football fan I gotta tell ya...heaven!
At 5 PM, I learned the next destination. My trip was paid for. I got to see the game, IN the booth. Truckers usually drove about 700-750 miles a day. At somewhere between $0.50 and $2.50 per mile, a 2,000 mile trip was not even average! Next stop? San Diego! Usually a three day trip, easy going! I had five!
Thus endeth it, the back story.
I make it out of Green Bay about 7 PM. I make it as far as New Berlin, and I had already decided that I would be eating dinner at the Pioneer. Of course, at this late time, at the tail end of Thanksgiving, I didn't really hold out much hope for traditional Turkey Day fixin's, and sleep was beginning to sound pretty good to me. Into the Pioneer I pulled. Things were looking dim; there were only three other trucks there. For this place? Not good news.
I shut down, and went to see if the door was open. It was. In I went. There were a lot of people in the restaurant, so I guessed they must be locals in for a snack, and maybe some Pumpkin Pie. I even saw a friend in the place, eating. I sat down, and asked him about the possibilities. He looked at me kind of strangely.
"You DO know where you are, right?"
He was telling me that the Pioneer was still the same Truck Stop it had always been. I needn't have worried.
One of my favorite waitresses was working, a very good sign. I would be cared for today! I asked if there was any possibility of getting a Thanksgiving Dinner. Not at all unusual for this place, she smiled and said:
"Leave it to me!"
When you sit at a booth in a Truck Stop (as, say opposed to any "real" restaurant...shakes his head sadly) it goes without saying that people will be talking, and usually loudly. New Berlin, Wisconsin. Do you actually think these happy, food slingin' family folk would be whispering? Fuhgetaboudit!
A family behind me was having a rather intense discussion about the recent behavior of a young teenaged male and his friends on the previous evening. What I heard was:
"I cannot believe you boys actually did that. And, of all places, in a Church!"
Raised voice of teen fairly shouts "So what if it IS a church? I don't care. God never did anything for me, and that's fine by me!"
I hear the sound of a rather hefty Lutheran-esque slap dismember previous voice's word from thought.
"Need I remind you that if it weren't for God, you wouldn't be sitting here right now; you'd be in the cold ground!"
"Yeah, well, I didn't ask God for any favors!"
What could have passed for the quiet voice of a Grandmother calmly said:
"No, you didn't. But I did."
Seems young Johnny had been the victim of a drunk driving accident which took the life of his mother, the older lady's daughter.
"Young man, I do hope you live long enough to understand what has happened here tonight."
"Yes ma'am, Nana. I'm sorry."
The voices dimmed a bit, and my mind began thinking.
Natural gratitude. Thanksgiving is a noun. Thanks-giving is a verb. My mind went to playing in its usual strange places.
Gracious gratitude. Gracious Thanks-giving.
Radical gratitude. Radical Thanks-giving.
I would pen the story, and file it away. I thought I might even maybe some day write it on WDC.
Like a diorama, or tableau, these concepts were played out before me in a truckstop on the road. I got plenty of time to consider the purpose these thoughts had been given to me. I got plenty of time to think about what they meant to me, in my life in those wonderful days of the good life of a long-haul truck driver.
Evidently, the good folks that ran the Pioneer thought I was going to be their last customer--ever! I didn't get some Turkey. I got about five pounds of White and Dark meat on a platter. A pure mountain of mashed potatoes. It was just obscene, the amount of food those folks gave me that evening. And, I got a whole Pumpkin Pie to take with me! There's only one price for any meal (drinks and dessert included!) at the Pioneer. That is the way it has always been. $9.99 was the Holiday price. Laughter. Joy. Fine dining. Fellowship. Life playing out before my eyes.
Well, anyway. That's where the essay was birthed. So now you know!
Radical grace. Radical gratitude. Radical Thanks-giving. That's what I feel this second as I recall those events on that special day, my last Thanksgiving as a truck driver.
I hope you can feel that, too on this special day for Thanks-giving. I am so very thankful for so very much. You are a huge part of that, too in my life. Thank you for being along on this journey with me. I have discovered since returning to full membership here at WDC that there are many writing friends who have passed on, and gotten beyond their valleys. The shock of the sheer number of them has had me quiet for a few days. knowing so many of them as beloved WDC members really had the effect on me, personally.
I also had the privilege of discovering that, during my absence from my portfolio, friends along the way had submitted 227 reviews of my writing! Purely Radical! The leaving, and the staying committed to one another.
No, it isn't mere wordplay. That's the entire point. It is really important to me as a person, as a writer, and as a member of this amazing community! I hope it is for you, as well. I know it can be. If you don't think so, just ask me. I'll tell you.
Happy Thanksgiving, beloved friends. And, if you still haven't found a reason to give thanks of any kind today, won't you please stop by the writing of one of the most important people to me, personally along this insanely wonderful WDC journey? She has been a much more loving, dedicated and committed friend to me than I have ever deserved. That's got nothing to do with me, and every thing in this world to do with her. Read HER Thanksgiving story, and consider that giving thanks should always be about.
You might see her as a moderator at WDC, or an instructor, or maybe even as a writing friend. She is my hero, and my friend, and a soul to lean on when the "sometimes" of this journey get really difficult. I owe her very, very much as a mentor, as well. By the way, she's also, as it turns out, a completely wonderful writer.
Stop by her work. Leave a footprint there, and let her know you saw her words. That is a form of thanks giving all its own. I'll let you figure out which kind of thanksgiving, but I do promise you will feel it in yours.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. No, REALLY! Radical thanks to you all.
Budroe...They call me Budroe.
|Okay, let's rejoin this journey simply.
In my last entry, I promised that if/when dates were known, I would tell you about them. We have dates--conditionally.
I again must remind those following along or sharing this journey that there is someone who knows the answer to any question you might pose to any entry in this blog, should I not be able to answer them for you due to incapacity. She goes by the username Budroesgirl and the reason for her screen name is to remind folks that she speaks for me when I cannot. Her name really is Sara, and she is probably the nicest humanoid you will ever deal with. Our agreement is "Honesty in all things, no matter what!" She knows what I prefer to share, and what I do not. If not, she will say so. If it is about my writing here, there is nothing I am unwilling to share. She knows, and agrees with this. She also agrees that her purpose is to fill in when I cannot. When I can, she refers to me. Not only is this a voluntary role for Sara, but a legal one as well. Please treat her gently. Don't be concerned about what I might say or do, that's easy. But if she gets riled, well....
Today, the surgeon's schedulers called with a surgery date for the Thyroidectomy. Interestingly enough, it is for Tuesday, December 29th, 2015. That will, naturally, make my birthday wish rather singular: I want to be home on my birthday. Spending your birthday without internet access, or in a hospital bed are two of the worst ways I know of how to spend one's birthday. I spent enough of them away from home as it is. There is no need to extend that particular record.
The condition is that my cardiologist, primary physician, and a host of other folk must give me clearance to undergo the surgery in the first place. These folks, to be fair, measure their interest in my health against necessity, and this is one reason it has taken these years to get to this point. Usually, only one of two outcomes is reasonable. Either such a procedure will extend my quality of life, or not having such a procedure will lessen my quality of life. It's this second one that is of most concern to me, while the first is their first concern. Except for the surgeon. His concern is the second issue, as he must insure a completely successful outcome with no errors or unanticipated consequences.
I must tell you that this Surgeon is a physician. We have spoken of potential negative outcomes, and he is aware of my wishes in this regard. Among them are that I must keep my voice, and the ability to use my facial muscles. For you who are medically inclined, the Thyroid has more or less fully involved the Laryngeal nerve, which controls the voice box. Even touching it with a surgical instrument can either temporarily, or permanently damage that nerve to make it useless. Bad outcome. That's the concern for this first surgery. (And, he must remove it all, of course.)
That's a bit of a problem. Although not common, there is the reality that my Thyroid has grown very, very large. Not only is it compressing my windpipe and swallowing tube, but it has grown into my chest, under my ribs. He may decide, during surgery, that he can only fully extricate my Thyroid by taking it out via my chest. He's in Brentwood, Tennessee folks. This means that he has very definitely been described as the "Surgeon TO Country Music" and that is a well-earned moniker. He also is a known commodity within the Gospel Music realm, as well; several of his recommendations to me have come from there, as well. His rep is solid. Mine as patient is, too. Oh, well. Ya wins some....
The condition will be met, or not met on December 22nd, when I visit the Cardiologist. By that point, several others will have weighed in. His report will go to my Primary Care Physician. I will then visit with my PCP sometime prior to the 29th for his final evaluation and recommendation. The final decision will be the Surgeon's and mine. To date, the decision has been to wait. Now, that's not really a good outcome.
This would be the first surgery. Right now, it is the most important one for the reasons I've stated above. It's very difficult to eat, and not really easy to breathe. This journey began with me at about 243 pounds. Today, I'm almost down to 150 pounds. It's a hell of a diet, and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. On the one hand, I feel completely awesome. On the other, not so much. A lot of meds, many of which affect my stamina and mental state. I'd love to trade some of them in for one dose of one med (SynThroid) a day. I would also very much like to keep talking, and perhaps even singing.
This could be one way to shut me up. I think I'm bigger than that.
It's of a passing interest to me that I have not expounded my concerns about these upcoming moments before, in any way. It's taken me a good while to write these words because I want them to be accurate, fair, honest and true. I think they are, but they give rise to a question I was recently asked about this very journal. The question was: "Why did you call it 'My Journey Through (and beyond) The Valley'?"
One of the realities of writing this blog has been a rather interesting (to me, as it turns out) observation I made while reviewing every entry in it. I know what I wanted to call it. I know why I did not call it that. I think maybe I should have. I'm not going to change the title at this late date, but I am going to write an essay about it. Yes, I do need to do that for myself. Perhaps others will gain something from reading it, but I need to write it for me.
Doesn't that always make the best writing?
There's another reason, too. I have ended most every entry here the same way: "In His Care". It is(not) kinda strange, but I am currently thinking that would have been much more obvious with my choice of the original title to this effort than the one I chose to use.
Who knows? Perhaps after I am no longer editor, the title will change. Or not. Yep, I definitely have to write that essay. I'll let you know how to read it, should you wish to, when it's done.
The original title may be more obvious, or perhaps even more appropriate, but it wouldn't change a word of what I have written to date. In October, 2006, I was given no more than 18 months to live. Looking at my watch, I see that was a bit too conservative. But, in my heart, it was just an uninformed guess. I still don't know why, exactly, but it's obvious to me that Dad had entirely different plans for my life. And, as I've said many, many times, He never said it would be easy. He just promised it would be worth it,
In His Care,
Budroe...They call me Budroe.
|With apologies to all who follow and share this blog, I know it has been a while.
Finances did not allow me to keep my Premium Account. A kindness shown by a friend allowed me to have an updated account for a time (a long time!), but of course that restricted my work here from my usual production.
This blog has been a lifeline for me during this journey, and for those called to this journey themselves (and for others). Looking over the entries over the years, it is with humble gratitude I return to continue this journey. Yes, this journey continues.
I will be having a series of surgeries in the coming months that will attempt to rid my body of things that should not be there. There is a bit of risk involved, but if you have been sharing this journey with me, you will know that risk is a companion. I am rather nervous about it, for many reasons.
One is the unshakable fear that I will not survive these coming steps. While the surgeries themselves are considered somewhat "usual", they do involve some potentially serious side effects. Facial/vocal cord paralysis being two of them. We won't talk about blood clots, or Subclavian Steal Syndrome, or Diabetes issues for now, but they are there.
I do not say this for sympathy, or to unnecessarily belabor the point. These are points of information to share because I have remained honest during this journey, and I will remain so now.
I can now report that there is an answer that I have been seeking since October, 2006. Dudette promised not to stop until she could definitively tell me WHY this happened.
A lot of work has been done to seek this answer. I know now. I'll post about it soon. It's genetic.
For those sharing this journey, there are a lot of interesting steps which have been involved. Those steps continue. When I have a date for the first surgery, which will remove a very, very large and diseased Thyroid, I'll update with specifics.
I hope you will follow and participate as this journey through the valley continues.
Soli Deo Gloria!
|Once again, a music moment underlines the vagarities and tragedies of life.
Yesterday, in the community of Overland Park, Kansas-a suburb of Kansas City, three people were killed by hate. The attacks took place at a Jewish Community Center, and at a Jewish Nursing Home a short distance away. The last words heard by the killer as he was ranting in a police vehicle about to deliver him to jail was "Heil Hitler!".
Two of the victims, killed at the Jewish Community Center, Dr. William Lewis Corporon (A Methodist) and his grandson, 14 year old Reat Griffin Underwood (A Methodist) were arriving for Reat's performance in a singing competition.
The third victim, killed at the Jewish Nursing Home, was Terri LaManno (A Catholic), aged 53, was visiting her mother as she did every week.
The killer is a very well known White Supremacist, former organizer and leader of the paramilitary group North Carolina Ku Klux Klan, and rising star in the Missouri and Kansas White Supremacist Movements. Identified as "a raging racist, and white supremacist who idolized Adolf Hitler by the Southern Poverty Law Center (and others), he is now incarcerated facing multiple counts of premeditated, aggravated murder. His arraignment is set for today.
Sometimes, when we hear of such tragedy, we do not connect to them in any meaningful way. A Grandpa, and his Grandson died together yesterday. A daughter lost a father; a mother lost her son. A mother lost her devoted daughter. Survivors lost their innocence. Why?
Because of hate. Nothing more.
Here's a short clip of that grandson, singing.
Last evening, Reat's mother, Mindy Corporon, spoke at a remembrance gathering in the family's home church in Leawood, Missouri. She identified herself only as "the mother of the teenager killed today at the Jewish Community Center". She thanked those who were gathering around her families, and asked for privacy for their grief. She acknowledged the other victim, as well while admitting she had no personal information about them. This is what hate was forced to confront last evening in, of all places, a church:
It never fails to amaze me how people attempt to justify their hatred for others. Or how they act out that hate with such casual arrogance as to believe it is acceptable behavior. Yesterday and last evening were hate-filled times for me that ended with my possibly making a fool of myself about it.
If there is anything to learn here, I don't know what it is. There's nothing to reveal that will be earth-shattering or paradigm shifting for anyone. The usual formula is that first, lies are generated for the purposes of hate, and fear. Then with all the casual arrogance possible, propoganda is created to not only justify the hate, but to approve it's general use. Individuals exercising their newly discovered hate then begin experimentation to see if they can get away with hateful acts against those they know, and most especially against those they do not know.
Then, hate and hateful acts create their own legitimacy through repetition until hate is normalized within a group, or a community or even a society. That is when the truly abominable acts begin, and people begin to die. Horrific events fully utilizing the most powerful tools of hate: Words and weapons.
Hate only wins when we, the observers of it, permit. Fear and hate are illusory, tools for those who would ursurp reason with unreasonable action. But there is some good news, too.
Hate doesn't always win. We cannot reply to hatred with hate. The only result from such response is that hate grows. That's the example of Mindy Corporon, a person with some truly powerful motivation to hate. That was not her response last night. It should not by my response today, or our response tomorrow.
May all the victims of hate find peace and rest. May we all dare to stand as witness to hate until it has no place in our societies ever, ever again. May we all remain,
In His Care,
|I have long said that The Holy Bible was God attempting to communicate to His Children, and that music was His Children's way of trying to communicate with their Dad.
It's not too often any more when I experience that. Today, I did. My response to it was emotional, and sublime. I hope you will respond to it, too.
In His Care.
Budroe...They call me Budroe.
|China vs Shikoku Islands. Russia vs. Ukraine (and World-At-Large). Road construction in the middle of my town.
From the Court House to the White House, and around the world, things are changing. Not necessarily for the better, by my estimation. In a very strange perspective (admittedly), there is a tendril of commonality between these, and many other possible observable changes. I do really wonder if it is only me, and my observations. Or, is it a consensus agreement of silence? Perhaps there are others who will recognize this thread of consistency which I see, yet who do not have any idea that other observers do, as well.
The thread is of the greatest concern to me, and the worst possible observation I believe I could make. Even as we consider these and many other communities, I believe we must also look at our own communities. We should begin around our own kitchen tables.
We are not caring well for each other.
There are things which can be legislated, or even settled via military means. There are things which cannot. We really do need, I believe, either a Primer or Refresher course in each. People are suffering, and dying close by us because of either our ignorance or our arrogance. It may well surprise you to learn that some of those very same people live within twelve blocks of your kitchen table. Statistically, that is true no matter where your kitchen table resides. The fact is, it appears as if that truth has little or no bearing on what we do once we learn it. We talk about failures of governments, or politics or religion. I think it's time we talked about our failure as people.
I believe it is well past time to have this discussion. I believe I believe that as a member of an amazingly small minority. (Read this sentence as it appears; it's not an error.)
Yes, there are countless examples in our communities, and especially this one, where caring for one another is apparent. Yet, even in this community, there are many who could use our help, but will not/cannot/feel uninvited to ask for it. They do not wish to hear some variation of "No!", even if it is said with best intentions. This is not a society of the fittest. If it were, I would not and could not be considered a valid member. Yet, I am the last humanoid biped to tell you this to be an uncaring community.
It doesn't take a lot to help your fellow citizen. Nothing will happen without purposeful intent. You have to both choose to do it, and you also have to move, to act according to that choice. There is an ever-growing majority who choose to act with their stillness, and their silence. They must necessarily stand witness to the catastrophe occurring around them, whether they say or do anything at all.
This is both a terrible trend, and a terrible observation. Upon those points I agree. I don't like seeing the trend, or speaking this particular truth. My reservoir of hope in my fellow humans is running quite low. I cannot come up with a call to action that will blast into action the indifferent, or self-indulgent I see around me with growing regularity.
I see these things, and I do spend a lot of time wondering what Jesus would do in these situations. He depends upon me to do those things. I am looking around, and behind me with growing concern. I don't see allies anywhere nearby. That is just wrong. Yet, I will remain,
In His Care,
Budroe...They call me Budroe.
|Someone I was chatting with online today referred to herself as a "semi-professional writer". It stopped me, and we had a conversation about that.
I wasn't sure what qualifications one needs in order to be a "semi-professional writer". I'm still not sure, after hearing her explanation.
It seems such a transitory definition. Maybe that works for her, but I'm not much of a fan of the phrase. Yoda comes to mind.
I've written a lot of words in my time. I've been told that, once you get paid for having written words, you are a professional. Everything after that is relative to the pay check. Writing professionally seems much different to me than being a professional writer. I'd like to know what you think about this. I do remain,
In His Care,
Budroe...They call me Budroe.
|My sister, Anne Lawson Fields departed this life on March 4th, 1967 at 1800 EST.
Anne was 2 "up the ladder" from me, and was a High School Senior, Salutatorian of her class, and off to Duke in the Fall on a full ride scholarship to study Psychology. She was a beloved sister, daughter and friend, whose entire community came to grieve with her family and share her home-going.
Anne had some issues that she could not, or would not dare discuss with anyone and most of all with our Father. Because of a difference of opinion one day, she became the victim of her Father's silence. The man of this life she truly adored would not speak with her--and would not allow her to speak with him. After three unrelenting days of this behavior, she walked into his back yard with a pistol, and ended her life.
As tragic as this truth is even today, it is really much more tragic than this telling. I have many of these days to remember: entirely too many. Yet, with this early interaction with death, a huge portion of my life, and my living were reduced to stone. To this moment, I miss her. I love her. She knew this moments before her life ended, because I told her so. It wasn't enough to alter what I knew in my soul was about to be the beginnings of a terrible and horrific journey. I love her in this moment, as I have every moment of my life.
In His Care,
Budroe...They call me Budroe.
If there is anybody in your universe that you love, respect, admire, like...tell them. You never know where they are in their world. Let them know how grateful you are to have them in yours. It might not make a difference, but it may.
|This is just a short entry to let everyone know that I am still around.
I suddenly realized that I have been able to make my calendar "Blue" exactly one time since beginning this blog. The reason it is still active is because the purpose for this journey's journal is still the same.
I had to laugh as I remembered "plans and intentions" for my communicating with others. It's very strange when your communications, after these years, suddenly really is just for you. So, I don't feel so motivated? We'll see how this month goes.
The radio is another communication device I use several hours weekly. I have a lot to say, about a lot of things. Some things are personal, and it is nice having a local writing access point with a supporting community of writers to share my words, and my work with. Some things are topical, temporary current events which will most likely pass within a short time, and are much better suited to the radio.
At this moment (with the possible exception of the pain levels) I feel about as well as I have since this journey began. Given my personal history of finding some great days linked with some good days and a few really bad days, I have become superstitious about feeling good, and about feeling alive. Historically, doing so is a preamble to something really bad.
I have some serious concerns, but this is not a place to discuss those, because others are involved. Yet, my mind is strained between not forgetting what day it is and trying to plan to do something to be alive among the land of the living without feeling like an unwelcome interloper from the land of the leaving. Winter is still here, and will be for some time. I still have a distinct dislike of Winter, and the SAD is still full bore in my world.
Winter is also the time when I usually dedicate the majority of my writing to the creation of new words. That hasn't happened this Winter (so far). I hope I will find the passion and muse to create some quality new words before the Jonquils bloom. Docs are becoming more incidentally common in a nearly (but not completely) increasing regularity. After these years, I am very limited, but am thinking I would really love to experience life among the living for a bit, just to see what that is like. Doing so, I can still know that I do remain,
In His Care.
Budroe...They call me Budroe.