Day 149

Top Design.




















Sometimes we get so comfortable in our routines, our habits, even our wardrobe, that we can't see the rut we are trapped in.

Sometimes we need to step back and allow another person access to evaluate these chosen lifestyles.

It can be terrifying.
It can be nerve-wracking.

It can be liberating.

And then we may finally let go of the balloon pants we can't remember buying in the first place.

Day 148

My
Fair
Lady









Tonight I was embarrassed.

I secured tickets for my co-workers and myself to attend a local regional theater production. Planned several weeks in advance everyone showed great enthusiasm.

By the end of intermission, I was sitting alone.

Oh there were great excuses, don't get me wrong.
One after another.

But if I ever, and I mean EVER, hear one of my co-workers complain about the lack of a theatrical "community" I will hurt someone.

Tonight, I was hurt.

Day 147

Bailout.

If we are going to spend hundreds of billions of dollars to bail out the billionaires, who is going to bail me out when I am most in need?

Why should we help the wealthy maintain their lifestyle?

Because, without their fantastically absurd and unpractical life model, I wouldn't have anything to strive for!

Day 146

Eagle Eye.

Can our government really spy on us?
Listen to our phone calls?
Read our emails?

Probably.
But really, why?

Honestly, if they want to be that nosey, they can open my email ahead of me every day. Delete my spam. Save work-related messages. And keep all bill reminders in the inbox in hopes I might someday take care of them.

They can listen to every call I make. In fact, why don't they just call me and keep me awake on the road. Motivate me when I am feeling lazy. Make me laugh when I am down.

They can read this blog and see if there is any anti-American sentimentality to be aware of. Or they could write it for me.

Better still, our government could just leave us all alone with faith that there still are some decent people left i this world.

There just have to be.

Day 145

Art Walk.

Anticipation can be a great thing.
It can also be terrifying.

Anticipation of the unknown (hurricanes, terrorists, economic depression) has been driving our country and our world's media for a long time.
And its time to stop.
High time.

There is enough fear already in our world. We don't need the extra push to bring impending doom into the forefront each night on the news or each time we log on to our email.

Enough already.

Day 144

The Curiosity of Chance.

People come in and out of our lives.
Some form acquaintances.
Others become friends.
And a small few fill our heart and soul and grow to be part of our very being.

When life separates us from these particular persons, fate has a way of keep them part of us. Bringing them back in our lives.
Fate, and Facebook.

An old nursery rhyme sums it up better than I am able to at the moment:
"Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold."

No matter what jewel, they are precious and we should hold on to them with all our hearts.

Day 143

Thank you.

A special note to anyone who, even if only once in the past 3 years, has sent me a letter, dropped me a funny card, made a visit, dialed me up, or just said a prayer for me. I will forever be indebted to each and every one of you for giving me strength, support and courage.

The other night I (finally) began sorting through 3 boxes of get-well cards and letters. I have read over 500 notes from friends, family and even strangers who wanted to let me know I wasn't alone.

And, I am not sure I ever got to tell each of you...it really worked.
I never felt alone. I never felt frightened that I was fighting all by myself. I always knew that you were out there watching, praying and cheering my recovery on.

Thank you.

Day 142

Newspaper Ad.

First days are sometimes hard.
Exhausting.
Long.
And frustrating.

Or they can go by in a blink of an eye because you have not one second of free time to even catch up on the office gossip (and eat ham salad sandwiches).

Guess which one I had!

Day 141

Scapular.

Driving from Cleveland to Virginia Beach today was not the smooth 8-hour car trip anticipated. Traffic was heavy. Very heavy. It being Labor Day was no help at all.

Stand stills.
Accidents.
Police cruisers.

And an upset stomach.

Not the ideal car trip.
Made even more nerve-wracking when my attention came upon the fact that I wasn’t wearing my scapular.

I always wear my scapular. Always.
I think I have had it on most every minute of every day since August 1st, 2005.
Not the same scapular throughout this whole time (105 degree fevers tend to destroy more than just the party atmosphere I the hospital) but a blessed scapular nonetheless.

For those unfamiliar…and of course, I am not claiming expertise on the subject…the scapular is a religious cloth necklace (for lack of the correct word) with a small rectangle that is worn on your chest and a matching worn on your back made in honor of Mary’s appearance on Mt Carmel at some point in history. The vary in phrasing. On the front of my original was written “Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, please pray for us” while the back declared that “Whoever dies wearing this scapular shall not suffer eternal fire…Our Lady’s scapular promise”.

Even though, death from leukemia seems less likely every day, I kept the scapular.
Not superstitious as some have teased.

But a believer. And to be honest, I don’t even have a clue what the vision of Mary was about and to whom, but she hasn’t been wrong yet, so I won’t push it.

Besides, a get-out-of-jail/hell-card might come in handy one of these days.

P.S. For those wondering, yes, I had an extra in the car and am wearing it as I type!

Day 140

Lent.

If you read this, you haven't given up on me completely and I appreciate that.
I am alone.
In Virginia Beach.
In a laundry room. Of a deserted Condo complex.
On February 18th.

And I am unmotivated.
And hating myself for being in that state.
And the state of Virginia!

But I am making money.
And finding myself.

Little by little.

Please have patience.

Day 139

Baptism.

Will I ever be a god-father?
Not godfather in terms of organized crime but in the Catholic sense of the word.
Will anyone ever call me (or, more likely, facebook me) and ask me to be the godfather of their newborn son or daughter?
I wouldn't mind.
Seriously.
Seeing as the chances for me to father my own child are slim to none (cancer took care of that) I wouldn't mind the opportunity to be someone special to a new life.

So girls and boys, get married and pregnant already.
I'm ready.