Rushing's Eleven

...and the hits just keep on coming...

Some years ago, a few friends and I decided that in our old age it would be a good idea to start playing basketball again. Thus was born the “Dunks for Drunks” crew. The group consists primarily of architects (practicing and recovering), and others who dabble in the built environment. As the name suggests, the couple of hours of basketball was also an excuse to meet for drinks afterwards. After a several year run, the game waned over the last few months before my diagnosis. Immediately afterwards, the group pulled together for what proved to be one last game- it did not end well as a number of us succumbed to injury and old age. Due to our friendships and profession, however, we all keep closely in touch. A couple of weeks ago, I was asked by one of the boys to reserve a Friday night- the Dunks for Drunks crew was going to have a night out in the ATL.

Now that is a talented crew.

I’ve always had mixed emotions about Atlanta. Having grown up in Montgomery as a competitive young man, I made a rivalry of everything and as such my city was better than theirs. This changed when my mother and stepfather married and we moved to Colorado. Atlanta became a symbol of all that was good and righteous in the South. Despite not particularly caring for them before I left, being away from the South precipitated a love of all Atlanta sports teams- in particular, the Hawks. It was during this time of homesick outreach that I came to embrace my boyhood hero- Dominique Wilkins. (I’ve written about this before.) There is no point in delving into the details of my fandom, but in addition to patterning my game after him, every square inch of my walls were covered in ‘Nique posters and newspaper articles, I wore hawks gear or clothing lines that he endorsed, and I even drank Minute Maid Orange.

Upon moving back to the South, I made many a trip to Atlanta- invariably to visit a museum or see a sporting event. During these visits Atlanta also provided an education on the nature of cities. The most obvious example of the dark side of American urbanism was the horrible traffic- enough said. The other examples I remember most had to do with humanity.

One story in particular is illustrative of my ATL experience. In the mid-eighties, Mom took my brother and I to see the Hawks. Having arrived early, My brother and I decided to take a stroll around the Omni/CNN Center. At some point a “homeless” guy approached us, told us a heartrending story and asked for money. Having never experienced a situation like this before, I was devastated for the guy and turned out my wallet to give him what few dollars I had earned and saved to spend at the game. I was saddened to not be able to buy Hawks swag, but felt great that I was able to help someone. Two years later, I was back in town to see the Hawks. The same guy approached us and told us the same heartrending story. I reminded him that we had met before under similar circumstances, he turned on his heels and bolted. That incident not only made me feel foolish for getting duped, it negated the feeling of having done something to help someone. Years later, while at UNM, the architecture school was literally on Route 66- I got a much more expansive education in the nature of panhandlers, homeless, and “urban grit”. That first experience in Atlanta, however, has always stuck with me.

Fast-forward to my adulthood, and Atlanta was again a place of significance for me- it was my last “normal” trip. Last spring, the youngest and I escaped for a weekend away together- it was a great trip, we went to some fun restaurants, spent too much time at their Aquarium (ours is better), rode the Ferris wheel, and enjoyed walking around. Of course, his favorite memory involves us sleeping in at the hotel, watching a couple hours of Teen Titans Go, and eating skittles for breakfast (in my defense, skittles were consumed during breakfast hours, but were not technically our breakfast). While we had a great time, I felt a bit under the weather during the trip. The Monday after our return, I went to the doctor and that led to the discovery of my cancer.

All of this is to say that I’ve had a long and complex history with Atlanta. While most of my stories have negative connotations, I have had my share of good times there: many a concert (including several Oasis and Noel Gallagher shows); the ’96 Olympics; a fair few Alabama football games (those would be SEC Championships); and my last few years of following the CFC Academy 05 Boys team to tournaments in the metro area.

On this most recent trip, twelve friends made our way down I-75 for the evening. After arriving mid-afternoon, it was “game on”. I suppose it is good fortune that I am unable to drink these days, as I probably wouldn’t have made it to dinner otherwise. The call was put forth to dress for the occasion, and having just finished watching Skyfall and Legend back-to-back on a flight, I pushed for tuxedos. Looking rather smart, the crew headed out for dinner at Marcel. This was a perfect place for a guys’ night out- think steak and bourbon. Our boy picked a set menu that was essentially my bucket list of my favorite steakhouse fare- shellfish towers, escargot, foie gras, steak tartare, and Cote de bouef. (I think there was also salad and vegetables, but I can’t be sure.)

Just shooting the breeze with my boyhood hero.

The toasts were flying fast and furious- until the steaks arrived. (Mine was a feeble attempt- I couldn’t quite get everything out.) The final toast noted that the night had a secret in store- the group had managed to pull some strings to get me a meet and greet with Dominique before a Hawks game. After dinner, I hopped an Uber with a couple of the guys and we made our way to Philips arena. Upon arrival we met with some Hawks officials who led us down to the bench, where shortly thereafter, Dominique and Grant Hill came over and introduced themselves. We probably spent five minutes with those two chatting, reminiscing, and shooting the breeze. I've chatted with Dominique before, but this time we actually spoke long enough to have a conversation. We compared notes on our children, talked about the Hawks run in for the playoffs, and their relative lack of action before the trade window. He had been told about my situation and seemed sincere in wishing me the best. It was a truly awesome experience- and even more meaningful since my friends (and their wives) so thoughtfully helped bring that full-circle for me. On this trip, Atlanta did not disappoint.

That's a tough starting five right there.

Part of why I had a tough time making my toast during dinner is that I was choking up and feeling a bit emotional. The more pragmatic reason was that I simply lack the words to describe how appreciative I am to count each of them as friend. This group obviously has things in common- notably professional endeavors- but there is an underlying love and friendship in the group that transcends architecture and basketball. One of life’s tragedies is that I wasn’t able to spend as much time with each as them as I would have liked, nor was I able to love each as much as I should. I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet- I believe there is some silliness for us to share yet. However, I am of the belief that it’s never too early to acknowledge the people you love. Boys, you already know it, but I love you.  (Now somebody get that man a gen jiblet!!)

My Bad

I apologize in advance for picking on my liberal friends a little bit. It seems that despite my best efforts, all of the election year blabber is starting to get to me.

The feedback from my post a couple of weeks ago is that it was sad. My mood is always a bit dark immediately following a chemo cycle, and apparently that came through in the post. For as long as I’ve been writing this blog (5+ years) the content has been little more than me jotting down my inner dialogue. In this case, perhaps I shared a bit too much. It was not my intent to make anyone sad – my bad. I try to remind myself that as tough as this situation is for me, it’s arguably tougher for you. I’ve been fortunate that no one really close to me has died (except Baba, but she was in her 90’s)- but I suspect that watching a loved one die is tough. It’s out of your control and painful. When the deed is done, however, I won’t be around to deal with it- you will. One of my goals has been to make things as easy as possible for everyone. That should include not writing sad, woe-is-me posts. The flip side is that I love ya’ll and want to be as honest as I can about my experience as it may help you in some way as you deal with your own lives.

In that post I noted that life is not fair. This is certainly true; fairness is a human construct that doesn’t occur naturally in the “real world”. We usually wheel this phrase out when describing something bad that’s happened. In truth, the statement is value neutral, it applies as much to good fortune as it does to bad. When an otherwise healthy and athletic forty-three year gets a rare form of cancer, that is certainly bad luck. Fortunately, however, that’s not the only luck I’ve had.

At birth, I won the lottery. I was born at a great time in human history, in the greatest country the world has seen to this point. I was born to a married couple that wanted me. While not wealthy by American standards, from a global perspective we were. As with the overwhelming majority of my contemporaries in America, running water, electricity and public infrastructure were readily available. My Alabama public school education, while poor from a national standpoint, was still far superior to what most people on the planet received. From a genetic standpoint I became a handsome, athletic, relatively tall, blue-eyed, male – things that were mostly considered to be physical attributes in our society (although, some of those “attributes” have come under fire recently).

Good luck would peek in on me from time to time throughout the rest of my life. It’s luck that I met my friends over the years. Luck that in was in a specific time and place to meet my wife. Luck that it was relatively easy for us to conceive children. Luck that those children were born healthy (and handsome, and athletic, and tall, and blue-eyed, and male). (Whether that is good luck is a matter of perspective. I suspect that in their lifetimes the libs will make them pay (literally) for those sins. As the good book says, however, we must render unto Caesar what is Caesars.)

While I benefitted from a healthy dose of luck, as Ralph Engelstad, Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Goldwyn, Thomas Jefferson, Charles Kettering, Stephen Leacock, Ron Harper, Michael Jordan once said “the harder I work the luckier I get”. I worked hard in public schools to get accepted to a public university. I used a combination of  hard work (and student loans) to make my way through that- were it not for that hard work I would not have met my friends in New Mexico. By doing well at UNM I was able to make it to another public institution for graduate school. Once again I used a combination of work (and loans)  to make my way through- putting myself in a position to make friends in Auburn. That work then put me in a position to get my first job in Chattanooga. Working hard at that job while making prudent financial choices put me in a position to start my own business. Working hard to make my business a success (in addition to my wife’s hard work at her job) then opened up a variety of other opportunities for the family. If there is something I want my boys to take from this, it’s that hard work plays a bigger part in success than luck. It's also the most important part because it's the only thing you can control. You have no control over the situation into which you were born, and you often have no control over the good and bad breaks life gives you. Despite what others may believe, no one actually gives you anything simply because you are tall or handsome or blue-eyed. I digress..

As for the dark side of luck, I’ll skip the petty stuff and jump right to the matter at hand. For an otherwise healthy and athletic Caucasian male to develop gall bladder cancer is simply bad luck. To begin with, it’s a very rare cancer for anyone. Those who do get it generally live in South America, Eastern Europe, or Central Asia. Women are more than twice as likely to get it as men. It's most commonly found in those who are in their seventies or eighties. It also tends to occur in people who are obese. The cancer wasn’t caused by smoking, bad eating habits, lack of exercise, or any other poor life choice. That this would become my doom is highly unlikely, but here we are- it’s simply bad luck.

This brings us back to the point. There is no making sense of this. There is no order or reason. Life isn’t fair. On the balance of things, I have crafted a wonderful life for myself. Having been aware for some time of just how lucky I am, I’ve appreciated my good fortune at every step, and squeezed every drop of fun out of it. Looking back at all of the great experiences I’ve had, all of the great relationships I’ve developed, and all of the love I’ve experienced, I can honestly say that I’ve made my peace with checking out early. I’ve lived a great life, and while I missed a few opportunities here and there, I’ve done a lot, achieved a lot, and experienced a lot. I’m good with it.

I’ve done a great job of building up this argument and using it to cheer/psyche myself up. As far it pertains to me, I totally believe in this idea. However, the construct abruptly and spectacularly crumbles when I think about having to leave my children behind. There is no silver lining there, nothing good about it- no luck. Life is not fair.

A parting shot- I'm in the process of taking care of "final plans". One of those plans is for my memorial service. I am contemplating having an "open mic" portion of the program to give people an opportunity to share a memory of me- this is largely for my boy's sake. I have two fears about this: 1) that no one will say anything and it will be awkward for everyone, and 2) that some will convey wildly inappropriate stories (you know who you are). There isn't much I can do about 2 (other than to ask you not to be an ass), but I can at least give you a heads up to start thinking about a good (and concise) story that people might like to hear. Have at it.

Pleasure and Perfection

Sorry, I'm a couple of days late- I have a good excuse. The feedback is that last week's post was sad- sorry for that. There is a flip side to that post, and I hope to have it ready for you next week. In the meantime and also following up on last week’s post, I'm delighted to share that I’ve managed to cross the “Holy Grail” of restaurants off my list. This past weekend D and I traveled to California for dinner. The trip was not about the food (well, maybe a little about the food). The journey was more about a philosophy of cooking, of design, and of life. 

A dozen years ago while visiting my mom in Montgomery, I was in her kitchen stealing anything that wasn’t tied down browsing for provisions and looking to add to my cookbook collection. I came across a large and handsome volume entitled The French Laundry Cookbook. A quick glance at the dust cover showed that The French Laundry is a restaurant in Napa Valley run by Chef Thomas Keller. The book was obviously not well used, so I asked mom if I could have it. (Thankfully she said yes, because I had resolved to steal it in any event.)

One of my little quirks is that like to read cookbooks. Recipes fascinate me and I love using my imagination that way. I was delighted to find that there were more than just recipes to be found in this book. Scattered throughout were essays on a variety of subjects that, in sum, express the philosophy of the chef. I was further delighted to find that almost all of these philosophies could be applied to architecture and urban design. These include concepts such as embracing the innate nature of an ingredient, the importance of sourcing local materials, economy of material versus wastefulness, and respecting the sacrifices that are made to enable a final product. In fact, those essays actually helped shape and reinforce my own professional philosophy as much if not more than any class I had in college.

Over the years I have continually played with the cookbook and attempted to master various recipes. I have had mixed results. The obvious challenge is being able to source exotic and expensive ingredients. Another challenge is one of technique. I have skill in the kitchen, but some of the work in the book is next level stuff. In the end, however, I think the book is less about how to make Thomas Keller’s food in your own house than it is about putting forth a philosophy that highlights why food and its preparation are special.

Lowering the flag at sunset in The French Laundry Garden.

In the years since I first stole acquired the book, Chef Keller has become a household name and his restaurant group has expanded. For years, it’s been a goal of mine to get out to Yountville and have dinner at his flagship restaurant. As with many things in life, however, that goal got bounced around by work and home responsibilities, other trips, and my innate skepticism of all things Californian (just kidding…mostly). For my birthday this year, however, my mom jump-started the dream by giving me a gift card for TFL. With a little help from my friends at AMEX concierge, we were able to navigate the formidable task of securing a reservation. (I mention AMEX specifically because they stand in contrast to the poor experience we had with Chase Ultimate Rewards this weekend- ditch them if they're in your wallet.)

While not ready to trade the German sedan just yet,
  this was fun for the weekend.

I’m normally guilty of over-planning our vacations, or at least making sure that every second is dedicated to some worthy experience. In this case, the only thing that mattered to me was dinner, so I made no other plans (other than requesting a convertible rental car*). Consequently, on the day of the dinner we had essentially a full day to kill. A quick glance at the map showed that we were slightly more than an hour from the coast. I’ve never touched the Pacific before so we decided to drive out to Muir Beach and do just that. On the way, we dug a bit deeper and found that Muir Woods and the redwoods were just a few more minutes away. The giant redwoods weren’t on my bucket list (primarily because I don’t have a bucket list), but were quickly added and then crossed off. Muir Beach and the Pacific were nice (nice and cold), but not quite as impressive as the forest. (Of course, “the beach” for me will always be Seagrove- and that is a tough standard to match.) After our day of sight seeing, we had a leisurely drive back in the convertible and got gussied up for dinner.

I've now hit the American tri-fecta:
the Atlantic, Pacific, and the Gulf.
Guess which is my favorite...

The restaurant was a short and pleasant walk away from the hotel. Upon arrival, we made to take the obligatory photo in front of the restaurant sign. Before we could pull the phone out, however, Tyler (the maitre d’) appeared from nowhere, introduced himself (he already knew my name), and offered to take our picture. He then led us to the courtyard for some sparkling (Dom P for D, cider for me) and a canapé (the famed cornet- this time with fluke). That was the beginning of the greatest meal experience ever. I won’t walk you through the menu**; there are only so many superlatives I could use to describe this remarkable food. In any case, the experience, while about food, was not about the food. This was a philosophy of life articulated in fourteen dishes. This was also as much about hospitality as it was food. There seemed to be a genuine interest in us having a great experience. Everyone from start to finish was exceedingly nice- not in the saccharine “customer service” way, but in a real and honest way. This stands in contrast to some of my other fine dining experiences (say, Le Taillevent and Charlie Trotter’s), where the service was cool if not aloof. We southerners take pride in our friendliness and hospitality- the people we met at French Laundry would fit right in here.

When the meal was over, the bill arrived. Not usually one of the highlights of a fine dining experience, but at this point I was willing to open my wallet and welcome them to whatever they wanted. I opened the bill folder to find a hand written note explaining that the meal was compliments of Chef Thomas Keller.*** Apparently, after we made our reservations, a curious staff member came across the blog, and brought it to the Chef’s attention. I protested their generosity, but was told that the decision had come from the top. Who then am I to disagree with Thomas Keller? Tyler then led us on a tour of the kitchen. In the middle of service the chef de cuisine (Tennessean David Breeden) and a number of his colleagues stopped what they were doing and came over to shake hands and have a chat. It was an extraordinary end to a magnificent evening.

If I live to be a hundred, I don’t know that I’ll ever have a more memorable night. It was a most special time for D and I to enjoy together. It was made even more special by the people who worked to ensure that two total strangers had such an experience. I am indeed a lucky man, and thankful to have lived such a charmed life.

*Originally, I thought the idea of driving through Napa Valley in a convertible was bougie and cliché. That actually still holds true, but I must admit that it was an awful lot of fun.

**Ok, I won't walk you through the whole thing, but I have to tell you about one little element. Do to my liver, I can't drink alcohol. For the meal, they had a relatively easy time of pairing wine for D, I presented a much greater challenge. One of their solutions was next level stuff. A flute arrived at the table filled a quarter of the way with grated black winter truffle, it was then filled with Ftiz's root beer. I can't even...I need a moment...

***Is it downright tacky to mention that the bill got comped? Sure. After some deliberation, however, I felt that I had to include it in the story because it reinforces the generosity of spirit that made that night so special. It also goes to show that in addition to being the G.O.A.T American chef, Mr. Keller is also a stand up guy.

The Home Stretch

Well friends, it appears that we’re heading down the home stretch. Last week when I went for treatment I mentioned to the doctor that I haven’t had a big picture discussion about my prognosis since last spring. His kind and measured response was the he was hoping to get me to the summer (I tried to hear through the summer, but lying to myself isn't going to make it so).

This is not news. When the initial prognosis was made last March, the world’s foremost gall bladder cancer doctor told me that folks in my condition usually last about a year. I accepted that news and have used it for planning purposes- I even created the C.Rushing Big C Countdown Clock to help me keep track of that time. Over the past ten months I’ve adjusted my life and my expectations accordingly. I’ve done my best to accept what's coming my way with grace. Despite knowing the situation and living with it for months, it was still tough to hear again.

Despite my best efforts to deal with the situation like a big boy, it almost felt worse to hear the "news" the second time around. Apparently, I’m not immune from that good ol' American, middle-class optimism after all.  Everything we were raised on tells us that the good guys always win, things always turn out for the best, there is always a second chance, and that life is fair. Of course, this is all nonsense. Life is not fair and it owes us nothing. (I must say, however, that despite this bad break, I am, in the grand scheme of humanity, a blessed and fortunate soul.)

There is no telling what the coming days will hold. My current chemo regimen has worked for a couple of months, but cancer being cancer, the tumor will develop resistance and progress. One of the downsides of having a rare cancer is that it doesn’t attract a lot interest from researchers or big pharma- this results in fewer avenues of treatment or new trials. When my current chemo regimen runs out, there may be one more long-shot chemo option (and that's it). Afterwards, nature will run its course.

I’ve now turned my thoughts to wrapping up loose ends. I want to make sure that all of my work endeavors are tidied up to make the transition easy for the next person up. I want to make arrangements for all of the things that happen immediately after I’m gone in order to make things easier for the family. I want to make sure all my friends know I love them. Of course, I don’t know if I’ve got two weeks or two months so planning this out is awkward.

Last spring I noted three things I wanted to make sure I lived to see: Spectre, Star Wars VII, and an Alabama National Championship. I got to see all three. Unfortunately, two were minor disappointments (the movies*), but one was an unmitigated joy (the football). As I managed to make those milestones, I suppose it’s time to make another list. Here then is another list of things that I would like to stick around for:

February
A trip to my "Holy Grail" of restaurants

March 

The announcement of middle school acceptance/rejection for my oldest son

A family spring break trip

May

My oldest son’s birthday


A family vacation

July

Noel Gallagher (favorite musician of all time) in Atlanta and Nashville

My brothers’ birthdays

My birthday (aka Christianmas)

I'm sure I'm missing a few, but that's what I've got off the top of my head. Given my situation, that list is a lot to ask for. It's probably a bridge too far, but only time will tell. In the mean time, I'll keep doing my thing. Until next time, ya'll be good!

*Yes, I thought Star Wars was a disappointment. Sorry, I just can’t jump on that bandwagon. I really, really, wanted to like it as much as everyone else, but it didn’t move my needle.

Let it Snow

Well, that was lame. We were all set to enjoy a snow-filled weekend, but the snow didn’t really commit to the occasion. In fact, our schools closed for a couple of snow days this week when there was actually no snow at all. As fate would have it, I was the only Rushing to experience snow this week as I was off visiting my friends and clients in Iowa.

Iowa is famous for it’s role in the national political process and the amount of effort that the candidates expend there. While I was there Trump and Palin were also there making their announcement. Cruz visited the small town where I work days before I got there and Rubio was to visit days after my departure. Watching TV from the hotel room, I was amazed and amused by the sheer volume of political attack ads. My clients say their phones have been ringing off the hook. I suppose the benefit of living in a state like Tennessee that leans solidly toward one party is not having to deal with that mess.

As most of you know, I hate politics. The tone and tenor of our national discourse is deplorable. There is no level of civility and the overwhelming majority of the arguments are mean-spirited. In the end, both parties serve the same masters- choice is an illusion (as is the “change” we are always promised).

I’m a moderate conservative- a dying breed. Unfortunately, there is no candidate on either side that represents my perspective. Those at the far right end of the spectrum have taken over the Republican party (along with some crazy people). There is little compassion in this group, and even less willingness to consider ideas that fall outside of the far right party line. Most of them would classify me as a RINO (Republican In Name Only) for my tendency to value pragmatic compromise over ideological purity. On the other hand, Democrats will flat out say publicly that I am of the most loathsome class of person on the planet- a self-employed, white, straight, male, conservative, gun owning, Christian from Alabama. Beyond being offend that they are offended by my existence, I’m philosophically opposed to most of their other aims- primarily as it relates to the size and role of government.

What’s a boy to do? Should I vote for a mean, crazy right-winger? Should I vote for a party that blames people like me for all of the problems in the country and that is not shy about promising to take more of my “wealth” because I’m not paying my “fair share”*? That’s a dilly of a pickle. In the end, the question is moot because I won’t likely be around to vote in November anyway. I have serious concerns about the future of the country, but that challenge will be for my boys to deal with. Moving swiftly on, now that I have thoroughly offended you all…

This week I did something that I rarely do- check the stats on this ol’ blog. I was astounded and mortified by what I found. The astounding part is that the average number of page views is now several times over more than what it was when this was strictly about urban design in Chattanooga. I was mortified to see that this is my most viewed post of all time- by a long shot. I cringe at that post for a number of reasons: a) it portrays my whiny side; b) things actually got worse than they were at that point; c) in hindsight it was a missed opportunity.

There are at least a couple of lessons to be learned in this case. First and foremost- always put your best foot forward. When I wrote that post I had no idea that readership would extend well into five figures(!?).  The overwhelming majority of those people didn’t read anything else that I’ve written. That single post is the only version of C.Rushing those people will ever know. I’m gutted that the bitter, whiny version of myself is what so many people were exposed to (at least to the extent that I should care about what others think of me). Now matter how funny, caring, thoughtful, (or modest) I think I am, those folks will never know, because I did not represent myself in that way. Such a shame.

The other lesson to remember is that everything you put online has the potential to be seen by a lot of people. This is something that I know I know, but I guess I have a problem keeping it in the forefront of my mind. Had I known that I was going to have such a big audience I would have written something of value and meaning. Alas, that ship has sailed- a missed opportunity.

I hope ya’ll have a great week. Please don’t slate me because of political rant, I love all of my friends on both the left and right. Thanks so much for your thoughts and prayers. Again, I love hearing from you and apologize for being slow to respond to so many of you. I’ve been terrible but resolve to do better from here on out! Until next week, I love you, take care.

Let's Dance

...and with that win order has been restored to the universe. If the good lord does indeed call me home this year, to be able to go out on a national championship year is a nice touch. I had another great weekend of watching the boys play basketball. The youngest put in an energetic and enthusiastic display against some older kids. The oldest, had another good outing- so good in fact, that the league director has decided to move him to the 13-15 year-old league (he’s ten). We’ll see how that plays out. 

Big news of the week was the passing of David Bowie and Alan Rickman- both English, both aged 69, both of cancer. 69 is way too young, but damn, what I wouldn’t give to make it another 26 years myself (yes, I know I’ve said that before). I won’t front like I was a huge fan of either, but I have a great deal of respect for them both. I wasn’t always keen on Bowie’s music (and he seemed a little weird), but I really admired his ability to influence so many different avenues of art. Rickman, of course, had one of the coolest voices ever. The way he crafted his lines is probably the reason why I found Snape the most interesting character in the Potter movies. (Incidentally, the oldest and I just finished reading the series simultaneously. That was fun. Now we’re on to Asimov’s Foundation series).

I apologize again for not anything more substantive to write about this week. I’m going to try to put together something with a bit more meat on the bones very soon. In the meantime know that things are going pretty well and that I appreciate your thoughts and prayers.

Chemo music: My favorite Bowie song of all time. I only bought one Bowie record, I was eleven years old and it was a 45 single (and I vividly remember buying a yellow 45 RPM spindle at the same time).

Happy Tuesday

Before we get started, I will say that this is a Seinfeld post. In other words, it’s a post about nothing. My mom gets mad if I take too much time off, however, so I figured I needed to write something. Also, this is funny.

The news of the day will be the national championship game. By the time you read this it will be settled, but as of writing the game has yet to be played. I am excited about the game and seeing Alabama play for another ‘ship. Unfortunately, we are spoiled, this being our fourth championship appearance in seven years. I must admit that it’s been more difficult getting up for this one than it was for the first in this run in ’09. My poor children are in for a shock as they get older and realize that playing the NC isn’t something that happens very often. In any event, I hope the Tide played hard and gave a good accounting of themselves last night.

As for me, things are peachy. I’m writing this from the chemo chair as I get my biweekly dose of Irinotecan. The main side effect of this drug is potentially life-threatening diarrhea (Of the things that might get me, dear lord, don’t let it be diarrhea). Although this is the moist common side effect, it hasn’t bothered me just yet. Nausea, vomiting, cramps and fatigue have been the trade-off. As with the Gemzar and Cisplatin, however, I’ve handled things pretty well. That my body has dealt with chemo side effects so well is certainly a blessing, and something I’m very thankful for. Many of the people in the room with me right now aren’t nearly as fortunate.

For now, there is still hair under the hat.
It's just freezing out there!

Speaking of the people in the room- I am by at least a decade the youngest here virtually every visit. I would wager that most of the folks here are at least in their sixties. What I wouldn’t give to live for another twenty years in order to die young in my sixties (as David Bowie did today, God rest him). Unfortunately, that does not appear to be my fate. Fortunately, I can make peace with that.

On the whole, life is good these days. I will do my best to come up with some more entertaining/engaging topics in the coming weeks (if you have any ideas, please let me know). Until then, ya’ll be good.

I've spent my time in the chair today listening to Depeche Mode. With so many good tunes, it's tough to play favorites, but for today let's go with this, this and this.