Tag People

Making the Case for Glitter Free Decorating

Michael 1 Comment

You all know I am just out of the hospital a few days now. I was out only a few hours when I discovered that my fingertips shimmered in the dark. No, it wasn’t some reaction to a drug I was given. It wasn’t a remnant of some procedure done. No, it was glitter. Glitter. That shimmery, flaky stuff that adorns cards, bows, wreaths, probably even some brands of toothpaste for all I know. Oh how I hate glitter.

While protected under the blanket of sterility and cleanliness of the hospital I was able to enjoy a couple of weeks knowing my immediate environs were blissfully glitter-free. Then I got better. I was released to the world overrun with those sparkly specks. Oh how I hate glitter.

Why do I so hate glitter? First consider that I too recognize the prettiness of light twinkling from multiple surfaces. I just wish one of those surfaces wasn’t me! Once I come into contact with glitter it is with me forever. I can’t wipe it off. I can’t blow it off. It doesn’t wash off, scrape off, or soak off. It doesn’t even loofah off. Glitter on me is like iron filings on a magnet.

I think we need to establish some glitter rules. First, no surprise glitter. If I see a glitter gilded wreath on a door I will gladly climb through a window to get into that house. But if you send me a glittery card in a plain, white envelope – that’s just not fair. Second, manufacturers of shiny objects must identify the presence and level of glitter used in the making of said sheen. And third, stores, particularly card and home good shops, must provide a glitter free zone for glitter magnetic consumers.

I’m sure working together we can have a glitter free society where sparkly prettiness and good mental health can coexist.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you.

Sticking With It

Michael Leave a comment

We passed a milestone last month. The Real Reality Show Blog turned 5 years old on November Somethingorother. (It was November 7 but Somethingorother has a more reflective ring to it, don’t you think?) I find that quite amazing that somehow I’ve managed to come up with a mindless topic a couple of times a week every week for five years. Well, almost every week if you don’t consider those times that I was more or less in a coma and not writing much of anything.

Some of the mindless stuff that I’ve brought you shows how notably I’ve mentally deteriorated over those 250 or so weeks. Five years of rambling has resulted in many times of hitting new rambling heights. But of all of those words written might some of them actually made any sense? In the process of trying to answer that I just spent a few minutes scanning some past posts and have come to the conclusion that some of them actually didn’t. I suppose if what I wrote made much sense I would have had a grand career as a journalist. Since I didn’t that should explains it.

But that’s ok. I’ve enjoyed the last five years so I guess I’ll stick with it and keep on posting posts and challenging your sensibilities for maybe even another five years. After all, I have that kind of time.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

 

Everything I know about being a gentleman I learned from Hockey.

Michael 3 Comments

When I was at the hockey game this weekend I got to thinking how much as a society we can learn from hockey. Yes, the sport that is the butt of the joke “I went to a fight last night and a hockey game broke out,” is the same sport that can be our pattern for good behavior.

Stay with me for a minute or two and think about this. It started at the singing of the national anthem. I’ve been to many hockey, baseball, football, and soccer games. Only at the hockey games have I ever been in an arena filled with people actually singing along. Only at the hockey games are all of the players reverent to the tradition of honoring the country where they just happen to be playing even though they come from around the world – Canada, Russia, Germany, Sweden, Finland, even a few Americans.

A decent dose of nationalism notwithstanding, hockey has much to offer the gentility. Even those fights. Or rather any infraction. If a player breaks the rules he is personally penalized for it. Ground isn’t given or relinquished like on a battlefield, free throws or kicks aren’t awarded to the aggrieved party like victors in a tort battle. Nope, if you do something wrong you pay the consequences and are removed from play for a specified period in segregation from the rest of your teammates. No challenges, no arguments, no time off for good behavior. Do the crime. Pay the time. In the penalty box. Try doing that to a school child who bullies and you’ll have some civil liberty group claiming you’re hurting the bully by singling him out.

Hockey is good at singling out people but in a good way. At last Saturday’s game the opposing team has two members who had previously played for the home team. During a short break in the action a short montage of those two players was shown on the scoreboard screens and they were welcomed back by the PA announcer. And were cheered and applauded by the fans in attendance. There weren’t seen as “the enemy.” Rather they were friends who had moved away to take another job and were greeted as friends back for a day.

While play is going on in a hockey game play goes on in a hockey game. Only if the puck is shot outside the playing ice, at a rules infraction, or after a goal is scored does play stop. Otherwise, the clock keeps moving and play continues. Much like life. If you’re lucky you might get to ask for one time out but mostly you’re at the mercy of the march of time. Play begins. After a while play ends. If you play well between them, you’ll be ok.

The point of hockey is to score goals. Sometimes goals are scored ridiculously easy, sometimes goals seem to be scored only because of divine intervention. Most times, goals are a result of working together, paying attention to details, and wanting to score more than the opposing team wants to stop you from scoring. There is no rule that says after one team scores the other team gets to try. It all goes back to center ice and starts out with a random drop of the puck. If the team that just scored controls the puck and immediately scores again, oh well.

Since we’re talking about scoring, the rules of hockey recognize that it takes more than an individual to score goals. Hockey is the only sport where players are equally recognized not just for scoring goals but for assisting others who score goals. Maybe you should remember that the next time someone at work says you’ve done a good job.

handshakeThe ultimate good job is winning the championship. The NHL hockey championship tournament is a grueling event. After an 82 game regular season, the top 16 teams (8 from each conference) play a four round best of seven elimination tournament. It takes twenty winning games to win the championship. That’s nearly 25% as long as the regular season. It could take as long as 28 games to play to the finish. That’s like playing another third of a season. After each round only one team moves on. And for each round, every year, for as many years as the tournament has ever been played, and for as many years as the tournament will ever be played, when that one team wins that fourth game and is ready to move on, they and the team whose season has ended meet at center ice and every player on each team shakes the hand of his opponent player and coach, wishing them well as they move on and thanking them for a game well played. No gloating. No whining. No whimpering. Only accepting.

So you goto a fight and a hockey game breaks out. It could be a lot worse.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Visions of Fall

Michael 1 Comment

Each season has its own personality, its own identity, its own character. Fall is inexorably marked by the colors of the leaves, the aroma of burning logs in backyards and fireplaces, the promise of family gatherings, and the growing piles of laundry that threaten to lay ruin to your detergent budget.

It’s almost cruel that a single autumnal wash load comes close to equally all of summer’s dirty clothes. Think about it. Summer’s wardrobe is all the same fabric, all the same color, and in smaller pieces. Whites, pastels, t-shirts, shorts. If it wasn’t for sheets and towels I could probably go through an entire summer month on a single large load.

But fall, fall starts out ok. You trade in the shorts for khaki slacks, t-shirts for golf shirts, and you add socks to the mix. But in a couple of weeks you’re in to long sleeve shirts, polos, and jeans. Another week goes by and now you start layering. In one day between undershirt, shirt, sweatshirt, and hoodie you’ve worn – and dirtied – what would take almost a full week just 3 months ago. And all the different fabrics and colors. Everyone has to be checked for what can be washed with what at what temperatures in which cycles. It’s enough to make you breathe a sigh of relief when you find a care tag suggesting not to be machine washed.

And it’s not just the volume of laundry that torments your sanity. It’s the additional danger the fall wardrobe poses to your health and safety. Long sleeves and trouser legs get wrapped around the agitator causing you to wrench your back or possibly dislocate your shoulder trying to extract them from the machine. (And you wonder why they named that part an agitator!) Socks that are optional equipment in the summertime become entangled in other laundry pieces from the time you toss them into the hamper until you’re returning to the dresser. The only thing lost more regularly in laundry rooms is your temper when you realize you missed the beginning of the rinse cycle and your last opportunity to add fabric softener to the mix (an essential component to minimizing the chafing you’ll certainly encounter when untreated broadcloth rubs across the back of your neck).

But I digress. I was talking about the visions of fall and breathing in the sweet smell of burning logs while walking along the lane wrapped up in a warm, snuggly sweater. I hope it’s Dry Clean Only.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

 

What I Did On Election Day

Michael 1 Comment

I don’t know about you but I had a very full day this past Tuesday. And the high point was not the 105 minutes that I stood in line outside the polls waiting for my turn to spend 35 seconds in the voting booth. It sort of reminded me of having an EKG done. But that’s a different story.

My Election Day activities actually began Monday evening when a knock came upon my door. About the only people who knock on my door are relatives and the UPS driver. I knew it wasn’t UPS because when he comes a-knockin’ I’ll hear the truck rumbling outside my window then the THUD of the package and the single rap that follows. And it wasn’t a relative because any of them won’t wait to be received but will knock and then enter on their own. Since this was a “knock, knock” without an accompanying THUD or a subsequent “Hello!” it meant I was going to have to climb out of the recliner where I had just settled in with a much read 38 year old Lawrence Sanders novel.

Upon making my way across the room and opening the door I saw there the rather confused looking yet still earnest looking young man who asked if he might speak to Rosemary. I was tempted to fetch him my terra cotta bound woody herb but even with just those few moments to rush to judgement I decided he wouldn’t get it. So I said, “I’m sorry, there is no Rosemary here,” resisting the temptation to slam the door shut as I returned to Mr. Todd’s ongoing investigation.

Tuesday morning I was up early, showered, shaved, breakfasted on eggs, sausage, muffin, juice and coffee, and set off to do my patriotic duty. The large breakfast was because I figured it was going to be a bit of a wait so I wanted to be properly fortified; the shower and shave was because you never know who you might meet wherever crowds gather. I had gotten as far as the outside of my front door when I was met with my first head-scratcher. A note. A sticky note. A sticky note stuck to the outside of my front door that read, “Rosemary, Stopped by to remind you to get out and vote!” I was certain the young chap meant to conclude with “XOXO” but ran out of crayon.

With those thoughts pushed deep into the darkest corner of my mind I drove the few miles down the road to where two of my municipality’s 12 districts share a building. The building’s south entrance, where residents of District 7 go to vote, had about 12 people waiting visible through the glass doors. I could tell because I saw them after I found the end of the line of District 9 voters stretching from the building’s north entrance, across a portico, though a tree-lined courtyard with some tenaciously holding onto quite a few leaves (trees, not voters), and along the overflowing parking lot. And there I joined the mini-throng where people wondered out loud how far they would have to move in order to get to vote with District 7.voted

To make a long story short I should have stopped about 350 words ago. But since I’ve gotten you to read this far, let me continue.

While there in line I got to hear how to mark fabric for cutting out a pattern when you have no tailor’s chalk, the shortcomings of Candy Crush versus Bejeweled, why 12 year olds can’t vote, that yes this is the same polling place for District 9 as it has been for at least 12 years, why if banks can take your money at any branch you can’t go to vote at any poll, and who are all these other people (that one by the obviously clueless but much too old looking to be a first time voter upon seeing the complete sample ballot indicating all of the candidates in all of the day’s races at the building entrance).

From there it was only another 15 minutes or so until I was through the rest of the line and being ushered to a machine where I was left to make my selections. In all of the day’s races. I was on my way to the exit doors when a poll worker stopped me and said he had run out of “I VOTED!” stickers but if I’d wait he would only be a few minutes while he went to get more from his supply across the room. “No thank you,” I told him. “If I really need to prove I voted I’m sure my new nervous twitch due to the muscle memory of trying to fight the urge not to push the “Cast Your Vote” button will convince just about anybody that I did what I had to do to get my free cup of coffee.”

And then I went home and had some coffee. With just a wee bit of bourbon to sweeten the brew!

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

The Road Un-Traveled

Michael Leave a comment

Boy the United States is a big place. I realized that when it hit me that the farthest I have ever traveled to get somewhere didn’t even get me out of the country. In fact, I had traveled farther more times when I hadn’t left the country than when I had gotten outside its borders. That’s a big place.

Becauseworld I have that kind of time, I took a few minutes over the weekend to figure this out. The greatest distance I’ve traveled from home to somewhere is a few miles over 2,500. That didn’t even get me completely across the country

I’m not complaining about any of this. I think Americans sometimes forget how close other countries can be to each other and how much of a challenge that might sometimes be. We can go pretty far and still be in a part of the  world where people speak the same language, eat the same food, and respect the same routines. We may have come from different places but we have a sameness that is quite comforting. If you live in the middle of the United States you have a long way to go before you leave home. But if you live in the middle of Europe, you’re never more than a day away from a different world, often from several different worlds.

Sometimes I envy a European version of me who can step across borders and immerse himself in other cultures as easily as I travel from state to state seeing few changes other than the colors of the license plates. While we take pride in our backgrounds and traditions it’s very likely the customs we observe in our families and friends may be our only exposure to different cultures. From generation to generation our ways of life mingle and meld becoming even less different. Other times I recognize how wonderful it is that I can sample fairly authentic foods and dances, customs and costumes of so many nationalities just by visiting nearby nationality days celebrations.

Yep, the US is a big place. It’s not the only one of course. Canada, Russia, China, India, Australia, and Brazil are all big with lots of space from end to end. Iceland isn’t so big but it’s so isolated that it’s still a trip to get anywhere else. And then Greenland is big and isolated.

I suppose this like many other things in my life if I could change I probably wouldn’t. I may not get to see a different country every time I want to take a trip somewhere but then I haven’t had to add any pages to my passport.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Falling in Line

Michael Leave a comment

It’s officially fall in my living room. I have the previously posted about fall peanut butter cups (see “Caution, Fall(ing) Pumpkin Ahead,” Aug. 29, 2016) and pumpkin spice Hershey’s Kisses (which in two years I’ve neither previously seen or really even wanted) spilling out of their candy dishes.  It won’t be much longer before I’ll start seeing the Fall Fifteen around my midsection. Certainly you’re familiar with the Fall Fifteen – every bit if not much immutable as the Freshman Fifteen yet not restricted to young college goers.

It’s no wonder that by the last week of December so many around the world consider “lose weight” a leading New Year’s Resolution candidate. We’re just barely into fall, not even to October, and cooking magazines, Internet sites, and television shows are expounding on fall 20160928_193516flavors, all of which come in hearty (aka “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing”) stews, soups, and sandwiches. From classic cassoulet to common casseroles, from homey hashes to homemade pot pies, calories are on the menu!

Just a week ago I was grilling salmon with peach salsa and roasted corn with fresh fruit for dessert and yesterday I was roasting a whole chicken with potatoes and beans, followed by a maple, brown sugar, spice cake with butter cream icing for dessert. That would make it about 150 calories versus 8,574. (I made those numbers up. You may recall just a few weeks ago I listed calories among those things I just don’t know. See “I Didn’t Know That,” Sept. 12, 2016.)

Often people will justify that by saying, “But winter’s coming. You have to prepare for it.” What are we, polar bears? The only prep we need to do is making sure the car has enough gas to get to the megamart. Well, and that we are appropriately attired for the weather, whether it’s weather out there or not. (See “Winter Rules,” Feb. 17, 2014.) But if that’s what it takes to get you to justify all the yummy soups, stews, casseroles, and roasted beasts, I say go for it.

As for me, I’ll just enjoy the extra calories and won’t even fret about putting “Lose Weight” on a New Year’s or any other resolution list. In fact, I resolve to enjoy all things fall. However, I do reserve the right to try the pumpkin spice kisses first.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Trust Me

Michael Leave a comment

Tonight, across America, viewers will be avoiding the season’s most unrequested multi-station premier of the new situation comedy, the U.S. Presidential Election Debate. Like all good comedies the magic starts with the scripts. Since this show was written primarily in Politispeak, the RRSB is thrilled to present to you this Politispeak-English dictionary. You may find it also handy for everyday use particularly if your day involves interactions with bosses, workers, children, parents, friends, siblings, enemies, or aliens (legal, illegal, or extraterrestrial).

 

We begin with some key phrases.

Connect the dots – I have no idea how these things go together but I’m pretty sure they are right, good, or otherwise suitable to whomever I am speaking so let’s go for broke and put all our eggs in one basket.

Hard work pays off -or- It takes hard work to get the job done – You do the work, I take the credit and/or reward, preferably monetary.

I approve this message – Although there is little if any truth in this message, my legal team tells me that there is little to nothing that anyone can prove is at all to completely untruthful.

I got your back – You really are gullible.

In all honesty – I have no idea what I’m talking about

No offense intended – You suck

People are our most important asset – People who agree with me are sort of tolerable; people who disagree with me are scum.

Together we can make a difference – I need your vote/approval to accomplish my personal goal. If you happen to get anything out of it, isn’t that a happy accident?

Trust me – Yeah, right.

What you think matters or Your opinion is important to me – You’re kidding me, right?

With all respect -Boy, you really suck!

With great power comes great responsibility – with great power come large book deals and obscenely high speaking fees.

 

In addition to key phrases, professional misleaders also rely on certain words to confuse, confound, or bewilder the listener.

Actually – “I haven’t given it any thought.” When a speaker uses “Actually” as in “this is actually what writers of the Constitution intended,” they are really saying “My advisers/handlers/trainers told me that this would be a good place to interject something thought provoking but I haven’t given it any thought myself.”  Everyday users probably recognize this as a common phrase uttered by spouses, partners, or persons otherwise of interest to yourself as in “That’s actually a good idea.”

But – Everything before the “But” is bullshit. Examples include, “You are the most wonderful person I have ever met, but I think it’s best if we never see each other again.”

Honestly – In its most basic meaning, everything after “Honestly” is bullshit as in “Honestly, I value your opinion.” Occasionally “But” and “Honestly” will be used together to create a compound incredulity. Thus, “I have the greatest respect for you but honestly I feel we need to explore this idea a little deeper” translates to “You suck and your idea does too.”

Really – When used to indicate degree of something positive as “I had a really good time,” the speaker means the opposite. To imply a good time was had, the correct phrase would be, “I had a good time.” Likewise, in Politispeak, “Really” interjected into an otherwise positive phrase such as, “I am really the best option,” means, “I question my own press releases.” Note that “Really” interjected in negative phrases can be successfully removed from the phrase without changing its meaning. “You really suck,” generally translates to “You suck.”

Seriously – When used as an adjective it means the opposite of what is being modified. For example, “This is a seriously important issue,” means “This has no bearing on life as we know it.” You may be more familiar with “this is seriously good coffee,” meaning “this coffee tastes like brown toilet water.” When used as an introduction, “Seriously“, connotes a desire for the listener to consider the speaker as a personal friend of the listener as, “Seriously, you can count on me.”

 

There you have it – the official, first ever Politispeak-English Dictionary. This is seriously the most fun I’ve had writing a post. I have researched this topic thoroughly but I’m sure there are some words or phrases I have left out. In all honesty, I value your opinion, so if you think of any really fabulous examples, add them in the comments section.  Actually I know our hard work will pay off and people will soon be able to completely understand what others are saying. Honestly, I look forward to continuing this discussion. Together we can make a difference. Trust me.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Pressing My Luck

Michael 1 Comment

Today marks the first day of autumn and the transition from those lazy, hazy days into the dark, blustery days. It’s a day to reflect on what I didn’t do on my summer vacation. I’ll warn you right now this post is just a tad long, but I think you’ll find it fun and interesting.

For the purposes of this discussion, the vacation season began on the unofficial beginning of summer in May sometime during the Memorial Day weekend and not the actual but much too late first day of astrological summer in June or the anticipatory but much too early first day of astrological spring in March.

Actually, for me, every day is a vacation. I have no urgencies in life nor engagements to keep but those imposed upon me by me. The list of things urgent or imposing this summer was pretty short. One thing both of those was wear long, adult-style pants. And save for a few hours in June, I didn’t wear long pants for the entire summer. It was a great summer to let your legs hang out. A pair of shorts, a golf shirt, some comfy footwear, and I was living the great outdoors. Adding to the comfiness of my summer attire comfy, it was iron-free.

I mentioned there were a few hours that I had to dress like an adult. As much fun as I had hanging out at the pool, using much less sunscreen that I really should have, there were a few hours in June that required a traditional shirt, tie, jacket, long pants, and uncomfy footwear. No, it wasn’t a wedding. It wasn’t a graduation. It wasn’t a life-event celebration of epic proportions. It wasn’t even a night of champagne, caviar, and cocktails at a mid-summer gala. Nope, none of those. For a few hours in June I dressed and acted like an adult in order to witness two evenings of my state’s daily lottery drawing.

You’ve probably seen them or something like them. Three or four machines blow some bingo balls around and then a vacuum cleaner sucks up a few numbered balls and somebody becomes rich. All in 35 seconds of bingo ball madness. You’ve probably never wondered if somebody is watching what’s going on there. Somebody at the state lottery office did more than wonder and required that each drawing be witnessed by a member of the public. That’s why they do it. Why I wanted to was because it seemed fun and interesting.

The 35 seconds of the actual drawing probably don’t need a “member of the public” witness. In my state each drawing is conducted under the eyes of two on-site lottery officials, two on-site auditors, two cameramen (camerapeople?), one floor director, one off-site lottery official, one announcer, one off-site auditor, and the two (yes, two) “public” witnesses. In addition, each ball is tagged with a RFID chip read by a sensor as it passes through the capture tube and transmits its ID number to a computer receiver. That confirms the number you see on TV is actually the number that got sucked out of the pack. And all that is just for those 35 seconds.

But the actually witnessing started a couple of hours before those frantic on-air seconds. It took three different people to disengage the alarm and unlock the room and cabinets where the machines and balls are kept at the television station where the drawing was held. Once inside, the witnesses select the machine that will be used for each game and the ball set that will be placed into the machine. One lottery official verifies the weights of the balls and the operation of the machines. Another official places the selected ball set into the chosen machine for a particular game. On the first night that I witnessed, six games requiring six machines and 16 separate ball sets were scheduled. Six machines out of a possible 12 were selected for the four daily number games and 14 sets of 10 balls each were picked from 30 possible locked sets. Four two additional games two machines out of a possible 8 and two different sets of balls (one of 42 and one of 47) were chosen from 6 possible sets of each. All of the ball sets were confirmed to be complete and properly weighted. Each chosen machine was loaded and confirmed intact. Then all the machines were moved from the storage room to the studio by lottery and studio employees under the eyes of the auditors and witnesses. And under the eyes of at least a dozen security cameras that I was able to spot plus who knows how many other.

Once in the studio each game was simulated three times to confirm proper operation and allowed the auditors to confirm that all drawn numbers were within appropriate randomness limits. Then a rehearsal was held, the 35 frantic seconds played out, a final round confirming each machine’s operation run through, the machines locked, returned to the storage room, and the sequence reversed where the machines were emptied and put into their places, the removed balls were re-weighed, reset in their cases and lock away and the three people locked the various cabinets and doors, and the alarm was reset.

Twenty-one hours later I returned to the studio for day two of my witnessing obligation which was more of the same except that there was one less game and thus one less machine and one less set of drawing balls required.

Because on one of those days I would appear on camera I had to be dressed at least a little less like Ernest Hemingway on Key West. And because the TV station where all this was taking place is about 200 miles from home, those clothes made the trip in a suitcase. So wouldn’t you know it, the only times I had to not only be in long pants and a real shirt I also had to iron them.

It was still fun and interesting.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

And now, the start of the story…

Michael 4 Comments

Let me start right out of the gate and say this post is going to be a little different. Not much humor, useless trivia, or sarcasm in this one. Depending on how long you’ve been following this story you might know that a couple of years ago life was interrupted by a bout with cancer. It seems that for so many today, cancer is just an interruption. Cancer strikes this celebrity, that athlete, or this actor and they recover, return to their former lives with an even greater performance, voice, or achievement.  For me, cancer was maybe more than an interruption. But one thing it was for sure, it was inevitable.

Fifteen years ago I was diagnosed with one of the rarer immune system abnormalities. Not one of the many rheumatoid conditions that today have so many wonderful drugs advertised on TV so you can get back to golf, fancy restaurants, delightful carnivals, volunteer work, or unashamed workouts from high energy spin classes to meditative yoga. Nope, the one I got wasn’t even in researchers’ microscopes looking for a sometime-in-the-future remedy. Treatment for me meant high doses of prednisone and immunosuppressive agents once used in the early fight against cancer. I knew from the start that over several years the treatments themselves could cause problems like renal failure, heart failure, liver failure, or the cancers they were initially developed to treat. I also knew from the start that left untreated, over several months my condition could cause problems like death and dying.

I chose Door Number One.

Then three years ago I found out I had cancer. I knew that I most likely wouldn’t come out of it with an even greater performance, voice, or achievement. For me it wasn’t that one thing I had to overcome. It was just another thing in the yet increasing number of things that had happened, and will continue to happen to me.

Over the years I’ve had so many pieces of me removed, replaced, or rebuilt that I could give Lee Majors a strong run for the Six Million Dollar Man title role.  Over the years it’s gotten harder to say if the latest ache, pain, or procedure is due to the condition or the cure. Last week I spent a day in an outpatient surgery unit having an artery and vein in my right arm tied together to form an entry and exit site necessary for dialysis. It was inevitable and got me thinking about that cancer diagnosis from three years ago.

By then I had already been given about a dozen extra years since choosing Door Number One. In those 12 years I had gotten to see my daughter graduate high school and college and discovered the difference between being a father and being Dad. I had met new people who I would never forget who before I could never have ever imagined. I had earned national recognition in a field that itself is rarely recognized. I had earned about a million dollars, spent about a million and a half, and probably would do it the same way all over again.

The more I think of it, the more I think how lucky I am to have gotten to that cancer diagnosis. I got to hear a doctor tell me that I had a potentially terminal condition long before I had cancer. By the time I heard a doctor tell me “You have cancer,” (though more delicately than that) I had 12 years that I wouldn’t have had if I had chosen the path that didn’t include the possibility that treatment might cause cancer.

I wish everyone who ever has to hear a doctor say “You have cancer,” (hopefully more delicately than that) all the best things that life has in store for you. And although I can’t argue that having cancer is ever one of the best things that life has in store for you, there really are some things worse than having cancer. Sometimes, even not having it can be worse.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?