In The Weeds

Damn Belgians

2012-01-26T12:18:00.000-05:00

Christmas eve I made what has apparently become an annual tradition: a trip to Trader Joe's for some last minute holiday treats." Those candy cane sugar cookies looked good. Into the basket! Chocolate fudgie thingies ? Into the basket! One pound bars of imported Belgian chocolate? ( if it's half as good as their beer...) Into the basket! Fast forward a couple weeks ...one of those hefty cocoa bars was forgotten in a bag , left on a chair , in our living room. Then it was discovered by our dog, an undersized 20 month-old black lab mix. Discovered, then consumed in it's entirety in about three minutes. An emergency trip to the vet, $350( and many worried children's tears ) later she is back to her old self, aside for the fact that when she does her "business" it looks more like something out of a Kingsford bag due to the charcoal gunk she has been having to take. Another Belgian catastrophe averted. Damn Belgians.

2011-12-12T21:25:00.001-05:00

Thirteen years ago today we lost my brother David very suddenly. We lost not only a sibling, but a best friend. He was just twenty-six. He was the proud father of a seventeen-month old son, with another on the way. This was one of his favorites and I dedicate it to his memory, and to all those who have gone through similar tragedy. Thousands of days can pass; yet the wound remains raw.

2011-04-13T13:01:00.000-04:00

One of my earliest childhood memories is singing along to songs as my mother drove around delivering newspapers from her car. I remember hearing songs that would stay with me the rest of my life. I also remember being brought to tears and begging to change the station by either songs that were too sad, or just plain terrible. At least to a toddler’s ears.

At my elementary school we had no preschool or kindergarten, so my school memories started with first grade. It was the first time I was in the same room with a real guitar, when the music teacher would make her weekly visit to our class. Up until then the guitar had only been something I saw on television, or in the windows of music stores. Hearing the beautiful sounds those strings made when she strummed them, I thought “this must be what it sounds like in heaven“. I still remember the first song that music teacher played for us, all the way back in 1973. It was “Michael, Row The Boat Ashore”. I definitely can trace my love for, and my moderate ability to play the guitar to that very moment.

Like many families today, the 1970’s were not an easy time to raise a family. My parents had six children, and did not have an easy time raising their brood. They did not own their own home , so we moved around quite a bit. Not always to the best of neighborhoods, but we always had clean clothes and enough food to eat, so I can’t complain. Being the new kids at school all the time though,was tough. Many times the only tangible thing that stayed the same for me and my siblings was my mother’s old record collection that would go with us on each move. She seemed to have everything in her box of old 45s. We may not have had any friends at the new school, but The Beatles, Elvis, Buddy Holly, The Beach Boys, Carl Perkins et al would be ready to entertain us and keep us company in unfamiliar surroundings, as soon as we unpacked the box.

I had just turned ten when our latest move took us across the bridge from Beverly to Salem. After five years we left the suburban ,single-family confines of our former town and moved into a tougher, more urban neighborhood of triple deckers, where sidewalks and asphalt took the place of lawns and woods . A lot of the kids at my new school came from families where school was not the primary focus at home. For most of these parents, much like my own, keeping the roof over their heads took priority over supervising homework. Many worked two or three jobs, and their kids were pretty much on their own when they weren’t in school. I had a paper route of my own soon after we moved in, and classmates I would often encounter on the street would make the completion of my route “interesting” to say the least.

We only lived there for three years and I have forgotten most of my teacher’s names . I do remember though, my music teacher, Miss McSorley. Unlike some of the other music teachers I had had up to that point in my young life, she played contemporary music. At school! I couldn’t believe it. Elvis.The Beatles. The Beach Boys. The Carpenters.It seemed as though she raided the record box at our house. She knew the power behind music, and was able to capture and hold the attention of thirty hungry, hyperactive and streetwise kids with the simple act of placing a needle on a piece of spinning vinyl. The class would start out as a rowdy, seemingly uncontrollable group, acting like a scene out of the movie “Lean On Me” , but seconds after that needle dropped we would all be singing our hearts out .

Throughout my life, through thick and thin, music has remained a constant in my life. It led me to learn the trumpet which I played from elementary to high school , including the marching band which allowed me travel to places I could not have seen at the time otherwise. I was able to travel across New England to Canada , performing and competing in competitions. As a teen I returned to my first musical love, the guitar, which soon led me to learn how to write songs, playing and recording in local rock bands with gigs from Boston to New York, as well as making lifelong friends. Now as a father, it is so gratifying to see my children developing their own love of music, standing at the threshold of music’s call. I am honored that music has enabled me to sing and play songs with the children of my church parish. Every time my son or daughter puts their fingers to the keyboard, or the children let it rip during our sometimes cacophonous sing-alongs in Sunday School , I really do hear the sounds of heaven.

2011-04-06T09:17:00.000-04:00

he rises long before dawn
just to face another day
a boxer’s caught in the ropes
punch drunk in his own way

Holy Jesus,
I don’t know how
he does this

the hot steam rises
from that same old broken cup
I remember how it burns his hand
as he hopes for some better luck

Holy Jesus I don’t know how he does this
over and over again

his road is so well traveled
he might as well drive it blind
the miles pass like the sunsets
in the mirror behind him

the years keep on rolling by
like so many falling leaves
dropping from the sky
that one day will be calling him back home

Holy Jesus I don’t know how he does this
over and over again

this ain’t no deperate prayer
I’m hoping he can say
no , its just a worn out legacy
til he passes away

It's The Little Things

2011-03-24T15:15:00.000-04:00

Today I had to have my first follow-up bloodwork taken to see how the thyroid meds I started taking in January are working. I braced myself for a couple hours lost from an otherwise productive day.
Since I am under the care of an endo doc at MGH I figured I would have to haul myself into downtown Boston to get tested. Dealing with the traffic, the tolls, the parking fees and the lost time from work. You know, fun stuff like that.
How pleased was I to find out that the satellite branch they have here in Waltham would do the test . Not only was it not more than a bit out of the way of my commute to work, but THERE WAS FREE PARKING!
I was in and out in about ten minutes, but I easily spent eight of those minutes wandering the unfamiliar halls looking for the office. Turned out that they are only listed on one of the first floor directories. Guess which one I checked?

A Winter Valentine

2011-02-13T12:54:00.006-05:00

it always seemed to be

right out the chute
we're mired in the sand

and the rescue rope

you threw to me

only left its burns on my hands

sometimes you seem

like time standing still

it never does for me

there's not much more to say

when I built it all up

just to watch it blow away

lately we've been like

that fading bird in the sun

we found under that tree

it's hard to get close

even harder to read

what you wrote for me

sometimes you seem

like time standing still

it never does for me

there's not much more to say

when I built it all up

just to watch it blow away

if i could you know

i'd catch you when you run

to keep you forever in my arms

sometimes you seem
like time standing still
it never does for me
there's not much more to say
when I built it all up
just to watch it blow away

August Anniversaries

2010-08-19T20:20:00.121-04:00

I do not know if it is by mere coincidence, or whether it is due to something slightly more cosmic, but, many of the most important, and in fact traumatic events in my life have happened in August . It was in August at the start of my senior year in high school when my parents decided to up and move yet again, ending the Beverly to Salem to Beverly loop by moving to Ipswich. It was in August, 1990 when I received my first diploma. It was in August when my wife and I bought our first home. It was in August when we bought our second home. It was in August when we later sold the first. More recently in August I received my biopsy results. Ten years ago , on the third of August I became a father. Sixteen days later, a stretch of eight days began that would bring me as close to the title of "single dad" or "widower" than I hope I ever experience again.

Our son ,who I am convinced did not want to be born ( he had to be induced twice) finally joined the outside world at 9:45 pm on August 3rd, 2000. Two days later our discharge to go home was delayed as our baby boy came down with jaundice, so we had to wait for a blood test result on him to see if we could go home. Finally about 9 pm they sent us packing , more or less. That is what it felt like. They are just throwing us out? When you are new parents, you feel like every time you pick your baby up you may break him. At least in the hospital, if you do in fact break the baby, they can fix him right there. They have a baby-fixin' toolbox right there. I have seen it. No worries.

Eventually, though,the legally mandated forty-eight hours expires, and suddenly you find yourself escorted to the curb, thrust out into the cold cruel world( well it was August so it wasn't all that cold) entrusted with caring for this really tiny human. Really tiny. Hamster sized. Made out of Christmas Ornament glass. Well not really . But that is what it felt like. And they were keeping the toolbox. Sure they sent us home with a six- pack of Pampers,"just to getcha started", but that is like sending an Astronaut on a space walk with nothing more than a a scuba mask. But it would only be for sixteen days.

Ten years ago, for the most part August 19th was like any other hectic, sleep-deprived day in the life of new parents. At that point, after sixteen consecutive days of sleeping in ninety-minute shifts, Michelle and I were pretty much shells of our former selves. Our son was not what you call a "napper". He would so unwillingly submit to the sandman that I used to think we should have named him Dylan. So the fact that Michelle was not quite feeling herself that afternoon, at first did not seem that odd. Giving birth after a long labor, then a subsequent mild infection, and a baby that refused to sleep would do that to a person. But her unease quickly escalated to the point of horrific pain,so severe that when they asked her later at the E.R. to quantify the pain, had she not just given birth, she told them it would have ranked as the worst in her life.

They admitted her for tests, that would later reveal a massive gall stone attack. She needed surgery. Quickly. The doctors put her on morphine for the pain, then proceeded to explain to us how they would do the surgery. Many words flowed from their mouths. Large words like laparoscopic, hepatic, pancreatitis and not so large words like camera, gas, bile, risks, and death.

After approving the procedure, she was wheeled away a short while later for her surgery. For the first time in my life I was faced with the prospect that were something to go tragically wrong, my newly born son could be left without a mother. A mother he would never know. Comforting thoughts to a new dad. Good book title.

I spent the next few hours waiting, worrying, pacing, processing , and learning how to feed my child formula . Up to that point the plan was that he was going to be nursed. Morphine drips tend to change plans.
After her surgery they wheeled her back into the room, and declared that the surgery went well. Some relief seemed to float into the room alongside her gurney. But it would not last.

Over the next several hours it became harder for her to breathe. Out she went for more tests. X-Rays. CT-Scans. The doctor came back to speak with us. His earlier upbeat face had been replaced. This one was not smiling. This time he used a word whose gravity I didn't fully grasp at the time : embolism.

Up to that point she had been allowed to return to the maternity ward, to be close with the baby. With this new news, she was to be moved into the telemetry unit. More nurses there, he explained. More training to deal with this sort of thing, he said.

So we were taken to the new room. We left the carpeted, wood paneled , almost hotel-like amenities of the maternity ward and soon found ourselves immersed in more traditional hospital decor. It was at this point I began to fully realize what was happening. Then it was made crystal clear, when the nurse in charge at the new unit, informed me that Michelle could no longer breastfeed due to the "clotbusting drugs they are starting her on. So you need to go get yourself some formula for the baby".

Practically in a state of shock, I took my newly born son, left my wife to be tended to by what I hoped and prayed were capable doctors , and headed to the grocery store. I had no idea what was going to happen. At the hospital. Or at the store.

After a few false starts up and down the aisles, I soon located the formula . During my quest , my son began crying. He was hungry. I was lost. Not a good combination. As his screams grew louder I found myself confronted with literally hundreds of brightly colored boxes, each claiming to be the "best choice for your child's nutrition". Yet each named with such unappetizing words like Enfamil. Or Simmilac. Is there an Ipecac too, I wondered. I had no idea what to choose. It was so frustrating. I started to sweat. The baby's cries grew louder. People around us in the store started to look. What is that guy doing to that baby. He has no idea what he is doing. Well, this is not the plan . I would explain to them. The plan was for the baby to be born on time. The plan was that the baby would be nursed. I am not supposed to be doing this. I found myself suddenly feeling angry. Then guilty. The plan was not to be on this roller-coaster ride;one minute taking you up, up up, filled with the incredible awe, joy and wonder of birth, then down, down down , the next turn into emergency surgery, morphine, heparin, medical proxy decisions and last minute formula purchases .

But then again it is August.

How Elvis Saved My Summer

2010-08-16T22:39:00.008-04:00

Thirty-three years ago, on this date, the sixteenth day of August, nineteen hundred and seventy-seven, I remember exactly where I was. I also remember what I did pretty much the entire day.

That summer I was ten years old and my family had just moved from the city of my birthplace , Beverly, across the bridge to Salem. We went from living in a classic "leave it to beaver" kind of neighborhood, unified around a quaint, old-fashioned elementary school at it's center, to one split in half, divided as much by the physical location of the school, if not the socioeconomics of the inhabitants . One half of the neighborhood, the side we were now living, was filled with older Victorian-era homes that had seen better days, with mostly french-canadian names on the mailboxes. The other half was a more urban neighborhood than my young eyes had ever seen. Narrow,litter-strewn, congested streets filled with run down triple deckers, inhabited mostly by recent immigrants from Latin America and Puerto Rico.

It was a far cry from the neighborhood we left . At that time, Beverly was mainly populated by families with either Irish or Italian surnames. Names like O'Brien, Flaherty, McDonald, Giacomo ,Vitale were the ones that filled the phone books of the first ten years of my life.

We moved literally the day after school ended. I was still finishing my Little League season , in fact, and had to arrange rides to finish out the schedule. My parents had found what they thought was a way out of their five years of post-bankruptcy tenancy by pursuing a "rent with the option to buy" arrangement they saw in the local paper. "It's too good to pass up" my dad naively explained to his five kids, three of whom would be forced to change schools, friends, and last but not least ,baseball. Baseball!

Due to his previous financial misfortunes and having five children before he was thirty, my father could not pay the movers any more than he had to. This was to be the third move for me, so I knew the drill. About a month before the move date, he would begin secretly bringing home his truck from his job at the newspaper, so we could spend the last weekends of the school year packing, (which involved a lot of fighting between my parents over what to keep and what not to keep) and loading box after box into the van, driving it over the bridge into Salem, and unloading it into our "new" house. Not since the Berlin airlift had American's been involved in something so logistically complicated. There was also the added air of secrecy to our operation, as dad "would catch hell" from his boss if he was caught using the truck that way, burning company gas. Like the moonshine runners of the thirties, we loaded by daylight and unloaded by twilight.

The house up to this point had been serving as a defacto frat house for the nearby Salem State College. We knew this because evidence of its previous life was everywhere.The first thing I remember seeing when I walked in was the Christmas tree hanging from the antique chandelier in the living room, so dry it was practically mummified. In June. There was also the nice, collegiate-themed decorating touches in each room: "A friend with weed is a friend indeed" posters, along with matching exotic tubular "ashtrays" which my mother quickly gathered up with a gasp. Also hanging on the walls were the requisite velvet black light posters of the 1970's. They contained the usual suspects: Led Zeppelin, Hendrix, and some kind of a unicorn/water buffalo themed Dali-esque lovefest. You know, the usual stuff. This once proud Victorian, probably originally commissioned for one of Salem's early movers and shakers, had been carved in two, christened with the haze of post-Vietnam celebratory pot smoke, and rented out to students who, when the acid kicked in, must have thought they had died and gone to Hell .

Somehow during all the chaos and nashing of teeth that came to be known as the"Linden Street" move, my siblings and I "discovered" my mother's collection of vinyl, that somehow she had manged protect from her now brood of five. And we also realized that we had a turntable that unlike most of the household devices of my childhood,actually worked.

On top of being the "new kids" in a strange , tough neighborhood, the summer of '77 was extremely hot. So we mostly stayed inside. At first helping my mom unpack. Then driving her crazy. When it looked like we were about to become a murder stastistic: "five children found hanging by a Christmas Tree. In July" we found the vinyl. We then spent the rest of that summer listening to many, many old 45's. She seemed to have everything, from the Beatles to the Searchers' to Johnny Cash to Robert Mitchum. Yes that Robert Mitchum. Seems ol' Bob himself cut the theme song for his moonshine-running crime flick "Thunder Road" back in 1958.

But to us, the true piece of eight in this newly discovered treasure chest ,was the LP entitled Elvis' Golden Records. From the moment the needle hit the vinyl on the opening track "Hound Dog", once we placed that platter on the turntable, it never left. We loved it so much we began performing the songs , grabbing whatever was nearby to assume the roles of our instruments in our newly formed band. As the oldest, I naturally felt I should be Elvis, and my sister took on the part of the drums, and the older of my two brothers completed the rest of the ensemble.The other two kids were toddlers, so they were our "audience". My sisters "drum set" consisted of the arm of our beat-to-hell brown Naugahyde-cloaked recliner , which she would straddle and play, looking more like it was some bizarre headless animal , than a drum set. My part was to "sing" into my "mike":the hollow metal tube for the "power nozzle" attachment for our ancient Electrolux vacuum cleaner.
The racket we made singing along with the King probably made my mother wish she could actually put us in a vacuum.

There was a boy living on the other side of the duplex we met during one of our many "moonshine runs". He was about my age and introduced himself to us soon after our first visit. I remember thinking he must have just come back from the beach because he was so tan. His name was Jimmy, and his family was Greek he told us, not beachcombers, and his dad left his mom a along time ago so it was just him , his two sisters and his mom next door. He would be my friend if I wanted, he told me. I could also be his older sister's boyfriend if I wanted. She's twelve. He seemed like a nice kid. I remember just being relieved to know one person in this new place, but as things often go in families like his, he was gone just a year later, shipped off to live with his dad and I never saw him after that.

That summer after we were more or less settled in , my best friend from Beverly would sleep over on the weekends. Kind of helped ease the transition I guess. It was during one of these weekends when Jimmy burst through our back screen door , yelling "hey did you hear ? did you hear? Elvis is dead! The King is dead!"

He told us he had just got back from a plane trip to see his dad, and apparently the pilot announced the news over the loudspeaker to all the passengers. Women broke down and cried, he said. It was really weird. As suddenly as he had arrived, he left. Probably to tell Mrs.Hood next door, my mom said. We immediately went back to our 'tween Elvis Tribute Band performance. Appropriately, "Heartbreak Hotel" came up next.

Despite the traumatic start to that summer, when I left the only school I had ever known, and the looming uncertainty of it's end ,when I would find myself thrust into a sea of children as diverse
as the General Session of the U.N., the few weeks before and after Elvis' death remain a bright spot in my memories of that part of my childhood. So much so, that whenever I hear one of the tracks that was on the Golden Records LP, it instantly transports me back to that strange old house, surrounded by old vinyl, an electrolux, and the songs of a dead king .

Can You Hear Me Now?

2010-08-11T13:22:00.004-04:00

Seems I am finally getting my voice back to normal after almost 4 weeks. Sunday marked the first day without any real throat pain. Still feels as if I tied my tie too tight, but the main soreness has dissipated. Seemed to take a lot longer than they said it would. Needless to say, once you find yourself with an altered voice box, you tend to put off verbal communication as much as possible. The less I spoke the better. A week or so ago, I went into Dunkin Donuts for an iced coffee and it took three takes to get my order right. Not terribly enjoyable, but I would be lying if I didn't say it bothered me more that I repeatedly caught the clerk's eyes alternating her glances between my eyes and the bandage on my neck. In this period my main communication has been with my family , and aside from writing, not so much the rest of the world. Time to start getting back to "normal".

I realized I was regaining my voice during Donovan's birthday party, which we hosted this past Sunday. I was able to, for the most part, hold a tune when we sang "Happy Birthday" to the lad. Having some strength in the vocal chords also came in handy earlier in the afternoon, while I was simultaneously grilling and keeping his cousins from burning themselves on the deck-side inferno, aka our Smokey Joe Weber grill. While I grilled , there were gusts of wind that kept the flames a good 8 to 12 inches high throughout most of the cooking process. Good for the burgers and 'dogs. Not so good for children.

I spent most of my "fire safety" time on one cousin, who stared wide-eyed with pyro-maniacal desire at the billowing flames and smoke. I was tipped off to his infatuation earlier in the day, when he repeatedly peppered with me "Uncle Roger , let me try " while lighting the old newspaper we use to start the lump charcoal. The other children at the party could care less about the guy at the grill. Not this one. Had I left the grill for a moment, I am sure anything flammable nearby would have been thrust into the flames, and carried about devolving a late-summer birthday bbq into a suburban variation of "lord of the flies".

Letting It Sink In

2010-08-05T13:30:00.010-04:00

Today I had my first-ever, post-op, follow-up. (that has to rank as one of the most hyphenated sentences I have ever written.)

Throughout this process ,all the appointments were made for me by the doctor's office month's in advance, completely wrestling from me the ability to delay something I very much wanted to delay, if not avoid completely. These dates seemed so far off that they may as well not even have existed. I received my "packet" three months ago that laid out the pre-op consult , the pre-op physical exam, and the post-op follow-up, along with lots of documentation, needing lots of my closely guarded personal information. It was then I began to realize how much control over "self" you give up as soon as you decide to enter the mechanism known as the "Finest Medical Care In The World". I had just seen Gran Torino when the package arrived and unlike Mr. Kowalski(or is that kwaski?) I filled out all my forms, and kept all my appointments.

It has been a bit longer than two weeks since my surgery, and I am still adhering to the restrictions imposed on me as best I can. One such item was 'no driving'. I probably can drive now, but I figured rush hour in Boston was not the time to get behind the wheel for the first time in weeks. So Michelle drove me in to Mass Eye and Ear. My appointment was for 10:45, and we made it in with enough time to spare to hit the cafeteria on the seventh floor for some of their pancakes . For some reason they did not seem as good as they were two weeks ago when they were my first breakfast in forty-eight hours. Go figure.

When we got to the office , it became apparent that today the doctor was on a tight schedule. "He wants to keep things moving" one of his assistants explained to me as she escorted me back as soon as I walked in the door.

After showing us to the exam room, she immediately began her role in this process: removal of the steri-strips. She bustled about the cramped exam room, her extremely generous physical attributes only adding to the claustrophobic feeling I had as my personal space was invaded yet again, and began draping me with a gauze bib.

" I'm a-gonna put some unsticker lotion on you, and this will keep you dry"

Did she say 'a-gonna?'What the hell is 'unsticker' " I thought to myself as she started to squirt a cold fragrant gel all over my neck.

"Apparently the gel is mainly witch hazel," she informed us. By the smell of it, I had no reason to doubt her. After I was good and saturated with it, from Adam's apple to navel, and the room full of its aroma,she began pulling off the last surgical remnants of my summer ordeal. "Ohh look at that! He sure does good work" she crowed as she got the first looks at my nineteen day old incision. "Here come see for yourself" she prompted , showing me where the mirror was. "Oh. Yeah." I concurred, not so much agreeing as placating. I still had a six inch long scar on my neck. I still had the disturbing "path" report. I still had to "have a conversation" with the surgeon, and the endocrinologist. The only things I didn't have anymore were the nasty,yellowed, curling steri-strips, and half of my thyroid.

"The doctor will be with you shortly" she said abruptly exiting the room.

Michelle and I barely had time to make the usual, sarcastic wise-ass comments about the medieval-looking instruments laying about the room, before there was a light rap on the door and one of the "fellows" entered the room and introduced himself. I remembered seeing him several times when I was in the hospital, but Michelle was meeting him for the first time.

"Hello, I am Dr. P. Nice to see you again."

He took a deep breath before speaking. " So, I am going to talk with you first and then Dr. R will be in . I see he called you last week with your report, and informed you that the large lesion was benign..." he began with thickly accented English. My years spent in food service told me when I first met him, even in my narcotic-induced post-op haze, " he's Brazilian" . I wanted to say "Fala !" but restrained myself .

"...but we also found a small papillary carcinoma. This happens all the time and you have nothing to worry about" Now do you mind if I feel your neck..."

While he was speaking, I had become aware of a presence hovering outside the half-opened door to the exam room. Dr. R suddenly opened the door fully, said "hello" to both Michelle and I, then curtly asked the fellow, "Dr. P, Can I speak with you for a moment in the other room."

Michelle and I just looked at each other with a "wtf is going on?" expression as we awaited the fellow's return.

It never came.

Instead it was Dr. R who returned to the room. We exchanged pleasantries, and he flipped open the red folder with my name on it, and took a moment to look at the papers therein.

"As I discussed with you over the phone last week the path report showed the lesion we were concerned with, the large 16 mm one, was benign. So that is good news. But it also did show a small follicular carcinoma, of about 4 mm in size..."

I did not really hear the remainder of that sentence .

I heard the word "follicular" and my mind was off to the races.

The fellow had used the word "papillary" to describe the cancer. Papillary is the most common , and most indolent form of thryoid cancer. If it spreads at all, it mainly is confined to the lymph nodes of the neck. Very easy to keep an eye on. Follicular on the other hand spreads through the blood , bypassing the lymph system altogether. Immediately my mind began to think of the worst case possibilities. That my body was at that very moment being seeded with microscopic cancerous cells floating throughout my bloodstream, like bits of garbage swept away in a mid-summer's flash flood. That the garbage contained cancer-like maggots that would then infiltrate the organs of my body, devouring from the inside out. That what he was going to say next would include the words "six weeks" or " six months" or "to live". And "radiation." And "chemotherapy".

But it didn't. Instead the conversation contained phrases like " "minimally invasive", and "near zero","discussions" , "conversations" and "we will make sure we follow you".

But I couldn't let the slip-up by the fellow go.

"Dr. P told me it was 'papillary'. Follicular can spread through the blood" I blurted out, interrupting the doctor in mid-sentence.

"yes, Dr. P made a mistake. He is still very new, and does not always get the language right."

No shit ,he is new, I thought. Would it totally blow this guys mind if he knew with my advanced research tool , "The Google" , I found out on "the Google" that Dr. P was so new that his medical license, a "limited " one in fact, had only been issued to him on July 7th. Exactly one week before he was in the O.R. assisting you as you sliced open my neck? But I refrained.

" Yes, about that. I will be addressing that with him shortly. Forget what he said. You need to listen to what I am saying", Dr. R replied. I began picturing what will happen later, after we leave. I imagined this intern, fellow, whatever he is called being beat about the head by my enraged surgeon with tubes of witchhazel,clipboards, his "Limited License", and whatever else he could grab,amid screams of " Papillary? Papillary?!! I'll show you Papillary!!!!" Then, summarily being dragged by his ear to the cabinet where the wax for the Maserati is kept," I want two coats this time , dammit, you hear me? TWO COATS!"

Needless to say,henceforth our verbally challenged fellow has now become known as "Dr. Maserati" between Michelle and I.

Basically the long and short of my follow-up is my doc feels they got all of the cancer during the surgery. Yes it was follicular , a more aggressive variant, but the fact that it was minimally invasive in pathology means he feels ,aside from more frequent check-ups on the remaining part of my thyroid, "we can put this to bed at this time". The likelihood that it metastasized is in his words "close to zero". But that also means that the ability to have the certainty I need for my own peace of mind will be "close to zero" as well. I realize the chances at getting a doctor to speak in absolutes, or guarantees is also "close to zero".

So I surrender to my new reality. That of "lucky bastard post-op cancer patient" . I will be followed more closely. That means more frequent blood tests, checkups, ultrasounds, more invasion of my personal space, and whatever else they deem necessary, for the rest of my life. As a sufferer of "white coat syndrome" I am not thrilled at the prospect, but it certainly is much better than what the alternative could have been. As cancer diagnoses go, this is about as good as it gets.

The doctor began the visit "wrap-up" by summarizing what he had said previously, and telling me he understood "this was a lot to process " and I need to "let it all sink in." No kidding.

So I have begun the sinking-in process. If this is my only brush with the Big C , I will take it, but this year so far has been enough to make me old.

I sure as hell hope so.

Do You Suppose Thyroid Cancer Has A Sense Of Irony?

2010-07-29T21:35:00.348-04:00

Today, July 29th 2010, I got "the call" from my surgeon.

The call that has had my stomach churning the previous seven days every time the phone rang. The call that would quite possibly decide at the very least, the next several months of my life. In keeping with the ways of today's online existence, I received an email notification that a message had been left on our home digital voicemail. Noting that it was only 14 seconds long , I immediately thought " Oh its just the robo-call reminding me of my apppointment Monday AM." I will check it tonight. Then I decided to retrieve it and give it a listen. To my surprise , instead of an annoying computerized robot, I heard the sound of my doctor's voice.

"Hello Roger, this Dr. Randolph calling to chat about your path report. " Shit. Heart leaps immediately into my throat. Hands shaking, I called the number he left , and found myself speaking with his assistant, and not him. She seemed surprised that I had a message from him as she thought he had" left for the day some time ago," but she would check and see if he was still "up in his office". The next thing I heard was the dead air of a music-free hold.

Moments later the doctor picked up .

"Roger, this is Doctor Randolph. How are you? You got my message. Good. I'm happy to..."

Tell me that everything is fine?

"chat with you about your path report over the phone, or wait until the followup and we can chat in person"

He sure likes the word 'chat'.

"No I'm ok talking on the phone" I heard myself reply,with a voice still slightly altered in timbre and strength from my surgical event two weeks prior.

Dr. Randolph began, with his usual calm, almost upbeat way of speaking. (Had he not become a World Famous Thyroid Surgeon, he certainly could have had a future in recording self-help audio books. Not quite a Stewart Smalley, but you get my point.)

"Well as you know you had a lesion that was 16mm..."

Yup. Have to say I know it pretty well at this point. Pretty intimate with "the lesion" , doc. I have found myself in a longterm dysfunctional relationship these past 6 years with this so-called "lesion", discovered incidentally in the summer of '04,same year my daughter was born. You only just met it face-to-face two weeks ago. Dysfunctional to the point that hundreds, check that, thousands of subsequent hours of my life have been irrevocably lost. Ever since my "atypical" biopsy result in the fall of 2004, I have lived with weeks of anxiety,insomnia, unexplained weight loss,abdominal pain, an endoscopy, an abdominal CT-scan, and too many panic attacks to name in the last year alone because "the lesion" decided this past February to "change slightly in size and complexity". Not to mention I apparently gave myself a hernia this winter trying to get myself out of the funk, courtesy of "the lesion"( which will have me back under the knife at some point in the not-too-distant future). Yeah quite a relationship this one,ultimately ending in antidepressants and a mid-summer's thyroid surgery. Yeah, I am pretty familiar with "the lesion".

"...well the pathology on that turned out to be 'benign'. It was caused by -insert medical jargon here-thyroiditis" . Then he paused.

Somehow, I knew what was coming on the other side of the pause.

" however..."

No. Absolutely not. No "howevers".

Benign you say? Works for me. I'll see you Monday for my stitch removal/post-op checkup. In fact I will come see you every Monday to pay you tribute with the breakfast treat of your choice for a benign pathology, and a clear-cut end to this saga. "Howevers" are not welcome in this conversation, thank-you very much. In fact , maybe you did not notice the big " NO HOWEVERS" sign hanging up behind me. Did I mention my son turns 10 on the 3rd. Also my Dad's birthday. Big birthday, turning ten. He is so excited. All he talks about these days. His father's surgery is a distant memory at this point. Be nice to have the stitches out on the 2nd. Surprising him with a trip to the Fenway that night so...Good Day Sir.I said, " Good Day!"

"the report did show a 4 mm cancer underneath the benign lesion".

"what?" I heard my response , stunned to hear the C-word so soon after hearing what I thought was an "all-clear". Who's report? My report?

It's this damned tee-shirt, I immediately thought. What? What the hell does the tee-shirt have to do with ANYTHING? "Well you see, "crazy Rog" started to explain to "sane Rog", Remember the ' cancer' dream a few years ago? You were wearing the same exact shirt you have on at the moment, the HP Government IT one with the orange outline of the US Capitol when you took the call" Fucking HP. You suck. In fact when I took the shirt out of the drawer this morning, I almost put it back , in a move my overly superstitious mother would be proud of. But I told myself, c'mon, they haven't called by now they aren't going to call . Besides , it was a friggin' dream. Means nothing.

The next several minutes of the phone call was what I can only imagine an out-of-body experience feels like. My mind began to race as it tried to process what it was hearing. I had imagined over and over again in the time leading up to this moment:how would I react if the news was cancer? Would I totally freak out? Would I start crying? Would I faint?. Hollywood has given us all kinds of scenarios for this moment. Which one would I choose?

In reality I did nothing. I just listened. Almost semi-hypnotic. I heard the calm, soothing voice of my surgeon, droning on with the expertise of a well-rehearsed bass, explaining numbers and statistics, and my voice accenting his explanations with the carefully placed snare beats of my response.

"now this occurrence is a fairly common one, when dealing with lobectomies. In fact it happens one in ten" Bahh-dumm dee dumm.

"I see." Snap.

"And this week, counting yours, I have 2 of these phone calls to make " Dee-dumm dee-dumm.

"I see" Snap.

"Now four millimeters is very small , but that being said ,it is a focus of cancer. The standard protocol for thyroid cancer is complete removal of the remaining thyroid tissue, and radioactive iodine treatment. However..."

There is that word again. Jesus, can't this bastard read my sign?

"as I was saying..."

He continued to do the "As I was saying" thing for another couple of minutes, while I climbed higher and higher up the precipice. But then he began talking me down off the ledge. Damn this guy is good.

"given its size , and the fact we removed the entire lobe containing it, I feel the risk of additional surgery outweighs the risk that this tumor poses going forward. So that is very reassuring".

"uh huh". Reassuring you say. Easy enough for you . It's not your neck. It's not your thyroid. It's not your cancer. It's not your son's tenth birthday. Holy Shit. This can't be happening. When I turned 10 , the most traumatic thing in my life was my parents decision to up and leave the town I was born in, and move across the bridge to Salem, changing schools, friends, quality of neighborhood, changing everything. Donovan gets this. Variation on a theme,I guess.

"So we need to have a conversation about this, and an Endocrinologist that focuses on thyroid cancer has to be a part of that conversation. I work with an excellent one at Mass General, and have already been in touch with him. I discussed your report with him and we are in agreement about how to proceed in the short term. I like to involve him in these cases as he does not automatically just agree with me as to what is best for the patient. So that is very reassuring also...."

"Dr. Barbarino?" I asked. I was fixated on the name, not really paying attention to what followed. In keeping with the way fucked up things tend to follow me around, earlier this week I was working on a computer owned by a "Cotter". Go figure.

"Barba-See-no" he corrected. "As I was saying..."

It is cancer, but it may not be one of the more aggressive forms, which necessitate additional surgeries and chemo , at this time. According to Randolph lots of people have undetected thyroid cancer. Some autopsy results often show it in as much as 36% of certain populations. But in many cases it is happy to sit and stew in its own "cancerousness" if you will, growing so slowly , one ultimately dies from something completely unrelated. Right now I am hoping that is the case with me.

"and right now it in your case it is totally, and completely unplugged."

His words, not mine.

Is that an all-clear? I am not really sure at this point, and am still processing. I guess it comes down to being optimistic and trusting enough to put my life in the hands of the doctor(s) advising me. Unfortunately my faith in the medical establishment has been shaken by the fact that for the previous six years we were just "watching and waiting" my thyroid, assuming all was ok. But after meeting Dr. Randolph we learned that "atypical really means "suspicious" , and from the get-go it should have come out soon after it's discovery. Not treated as if it was benign, per the advice of the endocrinologist I was seeing. Was. Won't be darkening his doorstep anytime soon. The kicker is I only saw him in the first place because the ENT surgeon who originally discovered our friend "the lesion" in 2004, whether because of inexperience or plain stupidity, deferred to the endo quack.

What faith I have left in those who swear to Hippocrates also has to withstand my innate predilection to always assume the worst-case scenario when it comes to my own health status.

Hopefully my follow-up August 2nd will resolve some of this.

Pushed To The Limit

2010-07-28T16:10:00.003-04:00

of what remains of my patience with doctors, doctor's offices, their assistants, their mistresses and last but by no means least, their absolutely fucked up impression of what people want to read while waiting in their magazine-laden waiting rooms. Do I really need to keep up with the Kardashians even here? Fourteen days ago,( yes that's right FOUR-TEEN, not that I am counting) , I was fresh out of the O.R. after having a suspicious nodule removed for biopsy via the surgeon's scalpel. I still have no idea what the results of that biopsy are, despite being told just prior to being discharged, that they would call me with the results "next week". I know these things take a certain amount of time. After calling the office to check up on the results , I was informed that my doc was unavailable due to his being "in research" this week, and that I would have wait for one of his "fellows" to call me. Or wait for my follow-up which is scheduled for this Monday, almost three weeks after the procedure. Waiting for this just plain sucks. It will suck even more if it is bad news though. As a famous little leaguer/philosopher once said:
Good Grief.

Aimlessly meandering about

2010-07-25T17:33:00.003-04:00

Maybe it was the chance reading of a friend's "Smokey and Bandit" posting on Facebook that got the idea planted in my mind, but for some reason today just had the feel of a "road trip" kind of day. After spending the better part of mid-day lounging about the house, we loaded the kids (and the dog) in the car and hit the road, with no particular plan , but only one requirement: that wherever we may roam , part of the journey would include a stop at Kimball Farms Ice Cream in Carlisle.
Off we went up Route 128, then we missed the Kimballs exit , thanks to a careless driver in a late-model Mustang, who apparently felt he was the only car on the road. Michelle was more concerned with keeping our car in one piece (imagine that) and the exit ramp quickly passed us by. So we went up 3A , erroneously thinking we would cross at some point the road that would lead us to one of the two locations of our frozen treat valhalla.
Upon seeing the sign :"Entering Lowell" we quickly realized we would have to backtrack a bit, and soon,as the sky began to lose the bright sun that occupied it all day , and was rapidly filling with some pretty angry looking clouds.
A quick jump onto 495, then Route 3 got us back to 128, then 4/225. This time we made the exit the first try, and 15 minutes later we were sitting with our fellow parishioners, taking communion in our pews of umbrella covered picnic tables, dipping our spoons into the enormous creamy delight that never seems to tire our tastebuds. Summer at it's best.

Another Day Spent Waiting and Recovering

2010-07-23T16:19:00.001-04:00

Not quite sure what to make of the delay in getting the pathology report back from the doctor. Does taking a long time mean bad news? Or would bad news be reported sooner than good? Or is it simply a case of the doc being on vacation and the report sitting in his inbox on the desk?
It is something I am not that aggressive in getting answered as I do not want it to be a classic case of "be careful what you wish for".

There Are Few Things As Anxiety Provoking

2010-07-22T13:40:00.001-04:00

as waiting for your surgeon to call with the biopsy results after they removed a 1.5 CM tumor from your thyroid.
Everytime the phone rings, or the email notifier goes off, my heart does a flip-flop and my stomach feels like it has suddenly become a cement-mixer full of lead butterflies. Do I call? Do I call? But they told me THEY would call after about a week. "After about a week" . How many days exactly is "after about a week'? Do doctors have their own variation of the Gregorian Calendar......

I know it may seem like epicureal heresy but...

2010-07-22T10:39:00.003-04:00

I think some of the best pancakes I have had recently have been the hotcakes at the Golden Arches. They were not always this way, mind you. I seem to remember them being rubbery, over-cooked , over-salted, flavorless things. Something akin to what I imagined a sand dollar drizzeld in imitation maple syrup would taste like. But since my thyroid surgery, my throat has been so sore that I have had to eat much softer things. Pancakes go down verily easily, but they are not that convenient to whip together on a work morning. McDonalds to the rescue! So I have had them the past three days , and every day they are perfect. Light, fluffy and tasting like the ones you remember Mom making on Sunday mornings. Now if they could just do something about the syrup....

A week ago

2010-07-21T12:19:00.001-04:00

I was deep in a post-surgical fog, wondering how the hell this lady talking to me knew my name. Then it started to dawn on me that "it" was over. The big mystery that had hung over my head for nearly six years was about to be solved.

It Only Gets Harder

2010-07-20T12:25:00.001-04:00

so bored

2010-07-18T18:33:00.001-04:00

It is the thrid full day after being discharged from the hospital. I never imagined recovery from a surgical event would be SO BORING. Not that there is much energy on my part to do anything anyway. Each day there is slight progress on the sore throat front, but it is very incremental at best. I find I will have a 15 minute moment where I almost feel like myself, then the fatigue returns with a vengeance. And I have no real appetite. Which may or may not prove to be a problem.

Sleepy Time

2010-07-16T11:09:00.001-04:00

Day 2 back home after the surgery and I cannot shake this immense fatigue. Just sitting and staring at the wall seems to take all the energy I can muster. Also I totally expected to have serious pain at the site of the incision where they removed part of the thyroid. I mean, they did go deep into my neck right? So why is it the worst pain is in my mouth and back of my throat? Kind of makes it tough to enjoy a meal. One shouldn't break into a sweat eating foods with the consistency of apple sauce. Hopefully it will improve soon.

Life begins with half a thyroid

2010-07-15T09:57:00.004-04:00

It is the day after my thyroid surgery. Still feel kind of out of it. Going home today. Have to wait a week for the pathology results and then we will take it from there. Wish they could give me more than a pat on the back after such an ordeal, rather than another week of waiting. While I am avoiding any pain meds at the moment, the thing that bothers me the most is how sore my throat is , not from where the incision was made, but from the breathing tube they put in. After 2 days it still feels like a nasty case of strep every time I take a sip of water. They need to come up with a better procedure for inserting the damn thing. They told me beforehand that it would leave my throat a tad sore. Obviously none of them had ever had one done to themselves.

Did you survive Aquageddon?

2010-05-04T14:51:00.001-04:00

I wonder how the people that freaked out at the grocery store this weekend when the water main burst and bought all the available water , feel this morning after the boil water order was lifted ? Not only are they out some serious change ( some people spent upwards of a couple hundred dollars on bottled water) but they also revealed a nasty bit of their true inner self to the rest of the world.

Another Overblown Meteorological Prognostication

2010-02-10T16:11:00.001-05:00

I just don't get it. Why do the weatherpeople feel the they have a responsibility to whip the masses into a fear-filled, bread and milk - panicked mass every time there is a threat of snow? Today we had the panic in full effect. The city declared a snow emergency about 36 hours before the first flakes even began to fall. The schools last night decided they were releasing all students by noon today. So I am working from home, with my kids by my side .Since they were sent home to avoid the impending doom of another "blizzard" that has failed to live up to its hype, it did lend itself to a nice break from the crush of the workweek. Ahh, perhaps that is what it is all about after all.

Finally Our Long National Nightmare Is Over

2009-01-20T20:40:00.004-05:00

Did you feel it? Sometime after 12 today?

Suddenly everything around you seemed a little bit better. The air was a bit warmer. The snow melted a bit quicker. The sun began to shine a bit brighter as the cloud of eight long years of arrogance, ignorance, incompetence, and malfeasance was blown away. Blown away word by word on the fresh winds of hope that blew from the lungs of a lanky , young, (and yes African-American in case you missed it) Senator from Illinois.

Ever have one of those nightmares that are quasi-realistic , not sure when you awoke if what you just dreamt was a dream, or if it really happened? That is what the "Bush Years" have been like. Unfortunately for our country and the rest of the world, the last eight years did happen. Now it is time to wake up from our collective nightmare , America.

Farewell to you Misters Bush, Cheney et al. Farewell to all that you did to this great country of ours these past two terms. The dishonor and disgrace you have brought to both your offices will be legendary for quite some time I am sure.

You sure left one hell of a " Legacy" :
Enron. 9/11. Bin Laden & Afghanistan. Harriet Myers. Alberto Gonzalez. Kyoto. Iraq. Katrina.( I will add to this when I have more time)

Then , in your Coup de Grace, as if not to be outdone by yourselves in your own incompetence, you took the great ship that is the American (and subsequently the Global) Economy and drove it square into the financial equivalent of an iceberg, in such appalling lack of stewardship that it made Capt. Hazelton look like Admiral Nimitz . After taking a detour off the Road of Prosperity that America has been on since 1945, we can finally , collectively, as a nation take a huge sigh of relief that both of you are gone at last, one airlifted away to Texas, back to his boyhood land of entitlements; the other wheeled away in his "Mr. Potter" Signature Series wheelchair.( By the way Mr. Cheney, kudos to you on doing your utmost best to look the part, on this final day, that you played so well these past eight years from your "undisclosed location".

Like the builder that has to clean out the termite infection before he can continue building his house, so must President Obama clean out the infestation that you have left in the foundation of our nation. But he will. I have no doubt. Because although there are many striking differences between his character and yours, I believe the one that matters most is this : he truly cares about the ordinary Americans that are his fellow citizens,whether they voted for him or not. And that makes all the difference in the world.

Transition,transition! Transition!

2008-11-11T19:13:00.003-05:00

"Who, day and night, must scramble for a living,
Feed a wife and children, say his daily prayers?
And who has the right, as master of the house,
To have the final word at home?"
-Fiddler On The Roof

Ok, admittedly it may be a bit too patriarchal for modern times, but as I was reading the story today about Obama firming up his transition budget on the HuffPo , for some reason the tune "Tradition" popped into my head.

Traditionally , the transition period between administrations can be one area where lobbyists can really insert themselves in the process and set the tone as to how much influence they will have going forward while the new president is distracted with finding his footing. Not this time. Obama brings with him the strictest ethics rules on transition in the history of the country:

• Federal Lobbyists cannot contribute financially to the transition
• Federal lobbyists are prohibited from any lobbying during their work with the transition.
• If someone has lobbied in the last 12 months, they are prohibited from working in the fields of policy on which they lobbied.
• If someone becomes a lobbyist after working on the transition, they are prohibited from lobbying the Administration for 12 months on matters on which they worked.
• A gift ban that is aggressive in reducing the influence of special interests.

As the saying goes, the devil is in the details. So are the changes we need .

Paulson's Patriot Act?

2008-11-10T09:20:00.010-05:00

According to an article in today's Washington Post, while the financial system was in meltdown, the Treasury secretary " ...in the midst of this late-September drama, ... issued a five-sentence notice that attracted almost no public attention..."

"Some congressional staff members have privately concluded that the notice was illegal. But they have worried that saying so publicly could unravel several recent bank mergers made possible by the change and send the economy into an even deeper tailspin..."

"...The change to Section 382 of the tax code -- a provision that limited a kind of tax shelter arising in corporate mergers -- came after a two-decade effort by conservative economists and Republican administration officials to eliminate or overhaul the law, which is so little-known that even influential tax experts sometimes draw a blank at its mention. Until the financial meltdown, its opponents thought it would be nearly impossible to revamp the section because this would look like a corporate giveaway, according to lobbyists."

Ahh the tried and true method of getting things done in the Bush administration: hold a gun to the head of Congress.

Let the economy meltdown so we can get the changes we have tried unsuccessfully to achieve for two decades. Almost gives credence to the conspiracy theorists who feel that Bush , by ignoring Intelligence warnings about Al Qaeda , was willing to tolerate an attack on our soil in order to pass what he felt were much needed changes to our domestic surveillance system.

I cannot even put into words my disbelief at Congress' continued willingness to trust this administration. Have they learned nothing from the last eight years of deception and disillusion?
Incredible.

Right Wing Media Post-Election Anger

2008-11-09T19:28:00.003-05:00

Also known as "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot". (Or "Lies and the Lying Liars That Tell Them")
Hats off to A. F. for so succinctly putting it.

Rush's name could be subbed for that of Michael Savage. Or Michael Graham. Or Laura Ingram. Or Howie Carr. Or Jay Severin. I do not have the time to type all the possible names right now. But we know who they are. ( I can always add them when the time permits.)

I think the majority of the country, when faced with the seriousness of real life, realize that the lies, hate and bile that these blowhards spew from their self-appointed soapboxes have really become a caricature of reality. They have been Palinized!

Yes We Can!

2008-11-05T10:45:00.018-05:00

Last night when the race was called everyone else in my house had long since fallen asleep . As I did during the 2007 Red Sox World Series victory, I savored what was a surprisingly emotional moment in the quiet solitude of a slumbering household.
As I sit here muddling through the work day coping with my post-election euphoria-hangover ( I was up well after 1AM watching the saturated coverage of the moment) what happened yesterday is starting to sink in.

It has been a long time since a presidential election did not feel either fixed, stolen or tempered by the apathy of a disaffected electorate. The current (P)resident (with a silent P)in my opinion was never elected to his first term by the people, thereby rendering illegitimate this current mess of a "Presidency" , if we could go so far as to call it that. Under his "leadership" our government has been akin to a taxpayer-funded ATM, and the "friends of W" have the P.I.N. Bush was simply the door man that held the door open so they could get all their loot out as quickly, and conveniently as possible. His leadership skills were more or less nonexistent, he never was inspirational, and most importantly he stopped being Presidential a long , long,time ago.

Of course it is a massive understatement to say that this is a new chapter in the history of this country. In point of fact it may mark several new chapters unfolding concurrently.
The first African-American elected president is an entire book in and of itself. But the rejection of the politics of fear and hate are almost an equal story . We witnessed one of, if not, THE most hate-filled campaigns in history as Obama was repeatedly targeted with one unfounded slur after another by the right wing race-baiting Republicans. Hate was put first. Not Country.
They tried one meanspirited lie after another. Ayers. Wright. Khalidi. Rezko. He's an Arab. He's a Muslim. Socialism. Terrorism. Pro-America vs. Anti-America. Real America vs. Fake America. And certainly not the last but one of the most reprehensible: Barack wants to teach Sex Education to Kindergarten students. All of these were either out right lies or serious manipulation and factual misrepresentation. None of it worked! So many times in elections past, the GOP has tried to find just the right slander or slime that would completely cover and suffocate the Democratic nominee leaving them fumbling for a response. In the targeted Democrat's indecision on how to respond, they inevitably seemed to fall into an embarassing photo op a la Dukakis in the tank- looking like Snoopy (why did they think that was a good idea). But this time it failed. Finally! Maybe for once we have finally seen a watershed event. While it remains to be see whether or not the Right learned anything from this(serious doubts there) , at least for now, by and large the Rovian campaign tactics of hatred, divide and polarize, were rejected en masse by enough of the electorate on both sides to make a difference. "Not this time!" the voters screamed. "There is too much at stake!" All Americans should take pride in that.

I wonder if the irony of how this all played out is lost on John McCain. During the debates he repeatedly derided Obama's talent at the microphone as merely eloquence without substance. Obama also was disparaged and mocked at the RNC for his abilities to orate,to inspire millions of passionate followers across the country, in addition to his work as an organizer. Yet these very talents that were dismissed as inconsequential in determining his presidential qualifications, are the very reason McCain will be heading back to the Senate and not Pennsylvania Avenue. I think most of the campaign McCain had a serious case of sour grapes that interfered with his decision-making abilities. It is quite sad that in the final months the only eloquence we saw from a once respected and revered statesman was his final campaign speech conceding defeat.

That Obama is a great orator is without question. One only needs to watch portions of any major speech he has delivered to realize that this man has very high GRPW(Goosebump Ratio per Word). Certainly one should look at more than the words. There is more at work here than just a talent to eloquently string inspiring phrases together. When you listen to this man speak, what you are feeling , what has been so absent from the occupant of the Oval Office for so long , is more than just Hope. It is more than Inspiration. It is Leadership. For eight long years we have suffered through a White House resident who has done nothing but talk at us, awkwardly trying to explain policy and events as if we all possessed the same intellectually-limited "you're either with us or agin' us" brain as his. Now we have someone who has both the intelligence , passion, and integrity to not only speak WITH us, but FOR us. He GETS us. ALL of us.

Something that really struck a chord with me in Obama's acceptance speech was the impact that this event will have on the future of the children not only in this country , but the entire world. Like so many verities of the Obama era we now find ourselves in, it presents a far reaching and lasting shift in our society's interpretation of "The American Dream". The first thing my 8 year old son said to me this morning was " Did Barack win Daddy?" . "Yes he did " , I answered with a smile and a high five. Great societal paradigm shifts often happen with great drama , struggle and pain, but they also can happen with the subtlety of a child's question. In that little moment I feel an enormous paradigm shift in our world has occurred. In the next four to eight years millions of children in this country and around the world will become politically aware . In so doing they will learn about the history of the United States, it's freedoms, it's struggles at home and abroad and underlying vision of the Founding Fathers in terms of what The Constitution and The Declaration of Independence have historically meant to this country and the world. The election of Barack Obama to the Presidency of the United States lends a veracity to the words "We hold these truths to be self evident: That all men are created equal...." that for far too long has been preached, but not practiced; grasped at, but not attained.

Until now.

Goosebumps can't even begin to describe it.

Exxon-Mobil Posts Biggest Profit In History

2008-10-30T09:15:00.001-04:00

They have to get it while the getting is good!

Sentence Structure With Sarah

2008-10-26T12:21:00.001-04:00

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

It Hasn't Happened Yet....

2008-10-25T20:39:00.000-04:00

Simple. Brilliant. Effective. Made for Republican minds!

The Real Tragedy Of This Financial Crisis

2008-10-24T09:12:00.000-04:00

Class Act

2008-10-23T22:49:00.001-04:00

Barack on The Early Show discusses leaving the trail to visit his ailing grandmother:

Hey Rocky, Watch Me Pull A VP Out of My Ass!

2008-10-23T11:19:00.002-04:00

"Get "To Be Qualified??!!

2008-10-23T10:55:00.004-04:00

Can't say he even has the slightest clue what he is talking about. Palin is currently not qualified for the job she seeks in Ahnolds current opinion, but she will "get there "by January 19th. Yeah and monkeys might fly out of my butt. In the 2 months since she was haphazardly selected as running mate she has not even been able to nail down an understanding of what her job description entails . Sure knows how to shop though. And wink. Oh yeah and field dress a moose while shooting wolves from a helicopter and getting de-witched. What a train wreck this choice has been for McCain.

Crush The ACORN And Kill The Liberty Tree

2008-10-20T19:47:00.003-04:00

Or Voter Fraud 101.

The party that puts "Country First" continuously makes me wonder which country they are talking about. Apparently the GOP plans to descend to levels previously unmined in the vein of dirty politics.

Country First!

2008-10-20T09:26:00.002-04:00

Voting Machines Flipping Votes

2008-10-19T16:43:00.003-04:00

Appears that the Republican fraud machine is in full effect in the early voting in West Virginia.
ACORN is simply a distraction for the media to feast on while in the background they are manipulating votes to the results that suit them .
Reprehensible.
Please ask for a paper ballot when you vote !
We cannot afford to do nothing.
The phone number for the WV SOS office for voters in WV: (877) FRAUD-WV

Also, we should all take a moment to write to the WV SOS to let them know how outraged we are to hear about these problems: wvsos@wvsos.com

Powell Endorses Obama

2008-10-19T09:30:00.003-04:00

Paging all centrist/moderate Republicans!
Don't let your party be hijacked!
Join with General Powell and make "Country First " more than a weak political slogan.

When Fascism Comes ...

2008-10-18T16:19:00.003-04:00

“When fascism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.”
-Sinclair Lewis

Read the article the link in the headline points to.

Pathetic

2008-10-16T11:19:00.001-04:00

So the hits keep on coming for JSM.
It certainly smelled from the first time I saw the video when "Joe the Plumber" engaged Barack about the tax plans of each candidate.
So many things to take issue with ...where does one start?
But this is the best:
http://www.eisenstadtgroup.com/2008/10/15/joe-the-plumber-wurzelbacher-related-to-charles-keating-oops/

Pathetic.

Assume the Fearful Position

2008-10-10T12:06:00.003-04:00

Looking over the debris of yet another overseas crash in the markets has become as much a part of our daily ritual as pouring that morning cup of coffee...do the Republicans hope the masses will become desensitized to it so soon? I think that is what the "Feather-rufflin' dontcha know " team of "mavericks " is counting on of late.
So much so that the McPalin camp is able to rouse up crowds with demonstrable anger reminscent of 1930's Germany.
Country First! (Deutschland Uber Alles!)

One has to wonder ...when are they planning their Krystal Nacht? November 1st?

In other news this article does a great job at illustrating the "legacy" of the Bush years:

Have You Seen My Baseball?

2008-05-15T09:09:00.000-04:00

So I have been experiencing the proverbial "baptism by fire" these past 4 weeks. I am coaching a little league baseball team for the first time. Well maybe that statement is not totally accurate. Years ago,( about 24 or so, not to be too too exact) I assisted coaching my brother David's Minor (or was it Major?) team as Pitching/Catcher coach. It was a lot of fun and actually led me to my first paying job, at a time when I had no social security card , and the economy in the early 80's was pretty bad and very few prospects for summer employment. Nice memories.

I have to say it is quite a trip to suddenly be "in charge" of directing a dozen or so 6 and 7 year olds , trying to help them develop whatever knowledge you can impart to them , and instill in them your love of what is arguably the greatest game ever invented.

The biggest eye opening thing for me has been just how simple the phrase "keep it simple" has to be with this age group. Whatever dreams I may have had of showing them how to throw a fastball, or turn a double play, or the ins and outs of the " Infield Fly Rule" were quickly dashed against the rocks with the eager words " but Coach , I want to play Fifth base!"

Musings on a late summer morn

2007-08-21T08:14:00.000-04:00

It has been a while since my last entry. Where did the summer go. Of course I am quite pleased with the fact that this year I have three separate entries in my blog, compared to last years anemic sole post.The slow and steady march of progress.

The garden continues to do its thing. I have to say I am a bit disappointed with some of the seeds I bought earlier in the year from Ed Humes. The broccoli may prove me wrong in the coming cooler weather of the fall, but so far suffice to say it has been a bust with one tiny sprout off one of the 8 plants . The giant marigolds were good, the carrots seem ok but they have had a tough going this year as we were under attack for several weeks by a groundhog that moved into the old skunk den under my neighbors shed. I think we have harassed him enough at this point however that he appears to have decided to relocate and set up shop elsewhere. The roma beans did not disappoint but beans are among the easiest of vegetables to grow so that is no surprise.
The expanded flower garden seems to be a hit with Helen (and Michelle for that matter)
as I have received compliments from both on the "pretty flowers"
One thing I will note is that along the fence between ours and Pat's yard is that it is a very sunny dry area and the impatiens towards the back end of the yard have had a rough go with the dry as a bone summer we have had this year. Maybe Petunias instead next year, or some Black Eyed Susans as well.

This week is a bit crazy around here as we are gearing up for Jon and Christine's wedding on Friday night. When I have had a free moment or two, I have been writing down some ideas for the obligatory Best Man toast. (I hope there is a cocktail hour prior is all I am going to say !)

I did find some Irish toast ideas on the web so hopefully I will pull something together that is not a total embarrasment in the final moments . By the way, what is with all the Irish ones ending with something about "die in Ireland"? Public speaking is definitely out of my comfort zone to say the least. But seeing my brother so happy will certainly help with any nerves.

Have You Seen My Baseball?

2007-06-03T20:37:00.001-04:00

We have had a stomach bug working its way though the house the past few days. Needless to say it certainly puts a damper on enjoying the nice weather we had been experiencing (until today). Today was downright cold. It seemed to get colder as the day went on, and once a strong North-east wind kicked it was so long shorts and tee shirts. Mimzee was quite the site running around in her track suit we save just for this type or weather. Ponytail bouncing as she chased her brother around the yard. I would say the virus has been licked.

I spent the Red Sox-free afternoon finishing a project that in all honesty began about 10 years ago when we first bought this house. At our last house I had put in flower beds in the front and on the sides , and edged them with those scalloped concrete edgings you see in many yards in this part of the country.( One thing about those stones, if you ever desire to buy them , make sure you ask for "red scalloped concrete". If you ask for pink, as I did the first time I bought some, all you end up with for your trouble is the blank stare of the yard jockey, followed by a mean spirited " You mean RED.. Scalloped... Concrete... Edging ". I guess my lack of a degree in Concretology showed. Was it that obvious? My deepest darkest shame, lack of brick knowledge, suddenly uncovered at the Home Depot. How will I ever show my face on the streets again?)

Anyway..when we moved to this house about 10 years ago I did the same thing, but I have long since forgotten the reason why I only put the beds on 2 of the 3 sides of the house. Today I began digging out the final side . Now I remember why I stopped. We seem to have more rocks, stones, and boulders in the 1 foot by 3 foot stretch of land along the far side of our porch , than one might find in most quarries.

But as the saying goes, in for a penny, in for a pound so with my trusty sidekicks at hand, we dug, pulled , ripped and chipped away at 10 years of matted overgrown sod, until we had what began to resemble a flower bed. Let me say this: you really have not lived until you have witnessed first hand how amazing an overturned stone, a rusty nail, or a discarded nip bottle is in the eyes of a child. "Daddy is that a dinosaur bone?" "Daddy , is that pirate treasure?" "Ooooh Daddy look at that rock...it...is...GI-NORMOUS and on and on my private play by play went. Every shovelful, unbeknownst to me ,contained hidden treasures the likes of which can only be seen by an adult on a Hollywood screen.

Pretty cool that.

-R

Out Of The Gate (Take 2)

2007-05-31T10:09:00.000-04:00

So much for sticking with a daily/weekly gardening blog last year. It seemed like such a great idea at the time. Someday I would like to be disciplined enough to actually start some serious writing , and "what better way to prepare for that than to work on the necessary skills regularly with this simple little blog?", I naively thought to myself a year ago.
How quickly the demands of home and business take front seat , and those vapid little aspirations of one part-time writer quickly vanished like so many early morning fogs on Hardy Pond .

So here I am, a year later, some may say a year wiser ( I dispute that point of view) back at this anew, ready to commit, reinvigorated from the contact high of my first ever surprise party. Still coming down off that one actually. Then there is that one unavoidable, stone cold, hard motivator Tuesday when I awoke: "40 years?! Can it be? But I just turned 30? WTF! When the hell did this happen?! I wish someone could have let me in on it ."

May was a very busy month around our little backyard "farm". We are about to embark upon a major home addition project, and the small, back corner of our rapidly shrinking yard( where the garden beds lie,) will be affected somewhat, to what extent I still do not know. Trying to get a straight answer out of a contractor seems to be as hard as getting Bush to leave Iraq. This project has been in the works for over a year now , yet we still have no definitive starting date.

So I had to scale back this year and the first 2 weekends in May were spent constructing two 2x8x12" boxes and moving the 3'x8" deep beds into them. Hopefully where they are located now will give the contractor enough room to do what he has to do, while allowing me to have at least some gardening space to work.

May is a month that passes much too quickly in my opinion. It truly is one of New England's finest .The spring sibling to autumn's October I like to think. What great weather we have had to kick off the outdoor season! This weather could not be more of a 180 from what we were experiencing during the spring monsoon of '06. Bright , sunny, dry, warm days with few if any clouds in the sky. Makes me think of summer in Nova Scotia .

Last week my son (he is 6) and I marked off the 32 squares in the boxes for our square foot garden, and planted some roma bush beans, some wax bush beans, a couple varieties of carrots , and some romaine lettuce. So far we seem to have almost 100% of both of the beans, as they began poking through a couple days ago. It also looks like maybe some carrots ( or something - I cant remember what- was planted in that square) or lettuce are coming on strong as I write this.

We are trying our tomatoes on the side of our house along the driveway this year. Should get plenty of sun and warmth , just what they love. The soil there is a bit suspect I am afraid so will have to make a major effort to stay on top of feeding them. Usually I plant and forget and we get way more toms than we can eat . This year we went with beefsteaks, brandywine I think, that we started from seed on Easter . Should be tasty . We also have some watermelon next to them , but I do not have high hopes for the melons based on how anemic they have looked since they sprouted. Oh well . Keep our fingers crossed I guess.

D is so serious about his efforts in the yard. Whether its helping Dad build a container, or hosing off his chalk artwork from the driveway, the intensity with which he sets about is not to be trifled with. I am amazed at what a great little helper he has become ( and he is only 6!) He loves playing with the all the cool tools and hopefully he learns a little something along the way . And I cannot forget to mention little Mimzee and her absolute love of everything that flowers-perennials, annuals, weeds , if it has a bud she is ready to hug ! Needless to say there are more flowers in my garden than ever before this year. Up until my daughter was born I really only spent my efforts on veggies. But the delight in her eyes when she see a dandelion, let alone something really impressive like a Mammoth Sunflower, hell for that moment, I'll cover the yard in flowers.

Until Next Week

R

Rain Rain Rain Rain

2006-06-04T10:47:00.000-04:00

Here we are on the fourth day of June and we have already surpassed the average monthly total according to the TV weather personalities. Looks like it could be another washout like May. Hopefully not. I am happy to report that my bean plants are starting to poke out of the soil, although the carrots seem to still be MIA. I think if we can get some warm days after this soaking that they will respond pretty quickly. All the impatiens and petunias I put in over Memorial Day weekend seem to be doing well though.

Carrots and Beans

2006-06-01T10:09:00.000-04:00

Well the carrots are in. The Beans are in. The soaker hose is soaking. Summertime and the living is...well ...kind of tough to rhyme that one.

It seems that the potatoes that I planted last year could not take the hint that they really are not welcome in my anemic garden patch. They definitley get an A for Effort I suppose, as a couple of them are making their way up through the soil as we speak.

Reminds me of this Kale plant I had several years ago. No matter how much I neglected it , every spring as I was prepping the ground for planting, I would see new growth from its dead and dried trunk. This went on for 4 or 5 years. Then we had a New England winter from Hell, and that was the end of that.

I left the soaker hose on overnight last night to see if that will help speed up my bean and carrot seeds. Then I awoke to the weather report that they are about to unleash the monsoons on us (again) and we are in for a 4 inch deluge from the heavens.
May be time to think about a rice paddy.