no shame

+

no conscience

=

no hope

it's come to this

12/03/2015

Here's an email exchange I had with a stranger today:

***

Hello Mr. Cole,

I received a request last week for a copy of an invoice and signed delivery 
ticket.  See the attached and let me know if I can be of further assistance.

Make today great,

Tonya

***

Thank you!

also, who is MR. COLE?????

I'm Steve

thanks again.

:)

***

Sweet,

I never used the term sir nor ma’am until I came here and was forced. I’m 
from the Midwest myself and we definitely do not use those terms (Mr./Mrs.) 
up North unless we are addressing teachers/professors.

Thank you,

Tonya

***

Tonya,

That's funny you say that.  Over the weekend I was watching an old movie,
"No Country for Old Men" and these two guys were talking

First guy is commenting on the alarming direction of our culture, he's 
actually talking about drugs ruining the world:

You know, if you'd have told me 20 years ago I'd see children walking the
streets of our Texas towns with green hair, bones in their noses... I just
flat-out wouldn't have believed you.

Second guy responds:

But I think once you quit hearing "sir" and "ma'am," the rest is soon to foller.

And I had to admit, it's the truth.  I have no problem with what hair color
or jewelry someone chooses, but I believe that once the common courtesy
of respect for strangers is lost, our society has lost something they'll never
get back.

Steve

***

August 2014

Editor's note - 2014 has not been a good year for me; before this post, I only had two blog entries for the year and they were both tributes to lost loved ones.  On the summer night described below, I was overwhelmed with the recent changes in my world and later felt it might be therapeutic to capture my feelings.  And so I decided to 'blog about it.  As usual, it took me some time to get my thoughts into words.  Reading it now, my description almost seems over the top, but the feelings were genuine and undeniable.  I hoped this process would help me make sense of where I'd been and where I was headed.

***

August 2014

Evening

My mother, for her own good, has just been placed in a nursing home in the town where she was born and raised.  Her partner of 60 years, my father, died 11 years ago. Dorothy has just plain kept going, with 3 artificial joints and a frame that hosted 11 babies. At this point her body is so worn out that doctor's orders have her confined to a wheelchair.  To make things worse, she's also lost touch with reality.  Despite all that, she lives on, confused and helpless.  Although she certainly has led a full life (she will be 90 in 2 months), this is heartbreaking.

I've been helping two of my sisters sift through my mom's belongings, assorted memories of a Midwestern child of the Depression.  It's apparent that she hadn't thrown a single thing away since roughly the spring of 1941.  I just left my sisters and I'm driving the 30 miles home, on the back roads, where there's no traffic and it's easier to unwind and reflect on what was.  And also to think about what will be.

At some point for me, memories started to mean more than tangible things, but I collected a couple of trinkets nonetheless.  I have my father's 1951 drivers license. 5-10 & 1/2, 153 pounds, already the father of 6 at the age of 30.  My father as a young man stares back at me through 63 years of time and space, impossibly thin, smiling, youthful, seemingly immortal.  I imagine that just outside the frame, in his right hand, he holds his ever present Winston.  Half smoked, it would send its vapor skyward.  And I wonder, at that moment, what he was thinking.  Had it occurred to him yet at that young age to contemplate his mortality, his legacy, his mark on the world, as I do now?

Picking through my mother's belongings earlier in the day, I read an entry in her diary from December, 1941: "we declared war on Japan".  The small, faded print betrays the significance of the event, both for her life and for the world.  This memory, too, will soon be dust along with everything else associated with my parents.

Any more, I only occasionally get a glimpse of my mother as I remember her, a rock in my life for the last 56 years.

Recently it's occurred to me - after your foundation, your base, is gone, what do you have left?

To make things worse, a sibling has now abandoned me, claiming I have betrayed her. It all started when I offered up an uncomfortable truth:  our mother was no longer safe living alone in her home. It went downhill quickly from there.  I had been a good brother to her and she had certainly been a good sister to me.   What I expected from her was a fair shake, nothing more and nothing less.

Unfortunately, squabbles have flared up between us siblings over the last few years, over my mom's living arrangements, over divvying up her belongings, over selling her car, and on and on and on.  My parents battled through the Great Depression and World War II to raise what amounts to a small tribe.  Along the way they saw us through illness, economic strife and countless other challenges.  For what?  So that we could all quarrel like children as adults?

Is this really happening?

Will there be anything left of my parents but memories?  Will there be anything left of the bonds with my brothers and sisters but memories?    What should I think life is all about, exactly, when I watch as my family comes apart at the seams?

Contemplating my parents' demise, I can't help but consider my own life, which not so long ago seemed to spread endless before me but which now seems to be playing out at triple speed.

My "little" brother, whom I've been close to since childhood, had a heart attack and bypass surgery right after the first of the year.  It was a close call that scared all of us.  My 2nd oldest sister, dear soul that she was, died in the spring.  Gone too soon she was, and she faced a most unpleasant and drawn out ending.  My mother, for all practical purposes, is gone.  Then there's the ex-sister.

It's all starting to pile up.  Rather than desperation, I feel more of a grudging and unhappy acceptance, of things I can't change. Depression, void of light and hope, envelops me.

So on this beautiful late summer evening, I pull off the road and watch the world go by.  While my engine idles and the crickets chirp, I contemplate my significance and I wonder;  If I do have a soul, what will become of it when I expire? And what difference have I made with my life, with regards to anyone, anywhere, at any time?

Really, what will ANYONE say was the meaning of any of our lives when we're all gone?  Would anyone ever pause to consider?

As I survey the landscape, even the blinking lights of the windmills seem to mock me, being all about the ongoing business of the present day world and the future.  And I am all about the past, a past which is proving to be insignificant and irrelevant.  And one which is fading, oh so fast.

'You will have your brothers and sisters in your life.  ALL your life.  They will never leave you.'  That was what my parents taught us, from the time we were children.  And now my estranged sister has taught me a different lesson: Our parents' dogma was bullshit.  Family actually IS disposable, and at the drop of a hat.

As for me and my siblings, the truth is that we've never really grown up, any of us.  We are now "adults", in adult bodies.  We have some accomplishments to our credit and we appear  "grown up".  Deep down though, we are the same people we were as children, in that tiny house on 2nd Ave.  And we are the same people we were as young adults in that big old house on 4th Ave.  The same insecurities, biases, selfishness and egos that made us who we were then STILL define who we are now.

We have spouses and children and grandchildren and jobs, gray hair, no hair, and everything else that goes with being an adult.  And still, we've not been able to escape our pasts as imperfect and immature children, no matter how hard we may have tried. Our flaws and conceits lie dormant just below the surface until stress and crises prompt us to reveal them, shamelessly and in full bloom.  Being human, it would seem, makes us helpless to change that.

So with all this sense of loss and hopelessness, where do I go now? A profound insight would be appropriate here but instead, I'll give you a simple confession:

I got nothin'.

This inescapable and profound sadness just won't go away.

Wearily, I put the Ford in gear and my flesh and my bones proceed to make their way home, at 60 miles an hour.  As for my soul, my essence and every living human being I hold dear in this world?   We all race headlong into oblivion.  At the speed of light.

***

Sylvia Adel 1944 - 2014

On Sunday May 18th I stopped to visit my sister Sylvia.  We had known she was dying for some time.  We spoke for about 15 minutes.  When she laid her head down to sleep, I told her I would leave as I knew she was tired.  As I walked out the door, our last words to each other were "I love you".  She never woke up.

Her husband Del was by her side for the last 27 years, as tireless companion, protector, caregiver, and best friend.  He took care of her like no one else could.  They were truly made for each other and I am so happy she found him.  Del's ticket to heaven was punched years ago.  Sylvia now awaits his arrival.

03/23/2014

Sylvia,

Happy Birthday! It occurs to me that I've never properly thanked you for the positive influence you had on my life.

I fondly recall the days of my youth and you had no small part in that. You were truly like a second mother to me. I won't speak for Dave but I'm sure he feels the same way. You always looked out for us and you always encouraged us (and whatever possessed you, I can only imagine!).

You were always buying us things that we really wanted but were unable to coerce mom into buying for us. I remember countless trips to the store in Walnut for school clothes for both Dave and I, financed by you. 

All I had to do was mention that I needed 20 bucks for something and your already spotless car would (surprise!) need a good wash/wax/vacuuming. And you let me believe that I had provided a needed service and "earned" the money.

Anytime I needed "wheels" you let me borrow yours and you always had a hot setup. I have fond memories of your 68 El Camino, 70 Chevelle, 75 and 77 Cutlasses, 79 Camaro. Always the coolest ride around.

For a brief period as an adolescent, I developed an improbable and inexplicable taste for parsley. Yes, parsley. Rather than chide me for my immature obsession, first chance you got, at a sit down restaurant, you ordered me a "side" of parsley. The waitress was gob smacked but I got my parsley. What sister EVER so indulged her snot nosed little brother? And what snot nosed little brother ever deserved it less?

And over the years as different crises popped up in all our lives, you always were there to help. No one ever had to ask you. You are the most selfless person I know.

And I guess more than anything, I remember your unwavering moral compass, undoubtedly the strongest I've ever seen. You have always been a great role model.

For all the love and attention you showed me, the truth is that I didn't deserve it and I have yet to earn it. But that never stopped you. You have been a great sister to me and for that I shall always be grateful.

For being you, I love you and I always will.

Pete

03-07-2014

Jan asked if I would share a few memories of Pete with you.

First, I have Pete's Top 10 List, compiled by the members of Pete's inner "posse".  You know who you are (and you should probably be ashamed!)

 ----- Top 10 things Pete would say -----

10 - “I said mix it up, not Muck it up!” football reference, obviously, edited for The Harvest Chapel

9 - “Let’s go to Vegas”

8 - “I seldom drink beer, but when I do I prefer to drink a lot of it”  I’m not sure the word seldom belongs here…

7 – “Oh come on, they’re ice cold”

6 - “Want to order a pizza?”

5 - “Sad is the A double S that doesn’t rejoice” use your imagination

4 – “It’s OK, I’ll do everything Jan” this was used for instance when Pete was preparing for a cookout and was already doing 200 things, then Jan asked him to do ANOTHER thing, Pete would answer with “It’s OK, I’ll do everything Jan”  then plod away, pretending to be downtrodden

3 - “What do I know, I’m just a Bricklayer”

2 - “Stick with the fat guy”

And the number ONE thing Pete used to say - “Just one more”

Thanks to the posse for compiling that list.

 ***

We gather here today to give thanks and to celebrate the life of Pete Sinetos.

Pete raised his boys to be 'stand up guys' and was the proud grandpa to their kids.  He taught Phil and Nick the masonry trade.  Nick chose to stay in construction while Phil became a Fireman and a Paramedic.  Pete was very proud of them, that fact came through every time he talked about them. 

Pete found Jan, the love of his life, about 15 years ago.  They adored each other and were in fact, inseparable.  They did everything as a couple and enjoyed every minute of it.  And as a couple, they were a sight to behold.  We are all thankful that they found each other and that they were so happy because they both deserved it.  Those 15 years were a gift, for both of them. 

Pete was sibling and dear friend to his brother Andy and his sisters Beth and Penny.  Seeing the Sinetos clan interact at a party was always a good time in and of itself.

Pete was a faithful son to his dad, Poops and his mom, Ya-Ya.  Poops and Ya-Ya lived with Jan and Pete before Ya-Ya passed away.  Unfortunately Poops is in Florida and couldn't be here today but he joins us via videofeed.

Pete was very close to his step children and their children.  They were brought together through Jan and kept close by what grew into true friendship, admiration and love.  ALL second families would be lucky to get along as well as they did.

Many years ago, I was out of work for a LONG, LONG time.  Pete was kind enough to offer me work as a laborer on a couple of his brick jobs.  For a guy like me who drove a desk every day, it was NOT easy and I'm quite sure I made a mess of it.  Those bricks are SO much heavier than pencils!  There were plenty of other, QUALIFIED individuals that Pete could have employed instead of me.  But Pete helped me out like I was his brother.  He didn't have to, but he did.  He helped a friend in need.  And for that I was always grateful. 

Pete would help ANYONE and he was famous for stopping along the road to assist any stranded motorist. That was the kind of guy he was.   Once he pulled a girl from her car as it burst into flames.  True story.  Another time he and another driver helped a girl in an accident escape via her sunroof. 

He was always quick to help, no matter the circumstance.  Three of Pete's pall bearers are brickies, trained by Pete himself.  Whether you were a relative, a neighbor, a co-worker, even a complete stranger, Pete was one of the best friends you could have.

A few memories I was asked to share with you -

Nick remembered that after singing a song, Pete would invariably ask - "pretty good, right?".  I remember one night we had a karaoke party and Pete fired off a rap song, stunning everyone.  And when he was done, he really was, “pretty good, right?”.  Also, in a group of guys, if an exceptionally attractive female came into view, Pete would signal for everyone to have a look with a simple "HELL-o!"  Guy code.  Same when two of his dogs got a little too friendly with each other.  "HELL-o!"  And he would always make a joke about his own "girth".

When Pete was doing the brickwork on Byron and Ashley's house and staying at the apartment they rented, they thought their house guest was  Partyin' Pete.  But he fell asleep in his chair every night.... at 8 o'clock!  Turned out it was Snorin' Pete.

And Stacy recalled when Pete was served red wine (not beer!) at a rehearsal dinner; he found it to be too warm.  So he "Pete-ified" it by simply adding ice.  And then it was drinkable.  Well, almost.  Pete was always Pete and always found a way to enjoy himself.  And Stacy recalled his laugh which we can all still hear.

When Byron and Ashley got married, Pete and Stacy's husband Mike picked up Jan's father Dick (whom we recently lost) at the airport - in a Mustang convertible, with the top down.  Dick jumped in the back seat and got the ride of his life.  With Pete as the instigator and Mike as the lead foot, they drove way too fast and way too furious for Dick's liking.  And Mike and Pete laughed like madmen.   Pete loved to have a good time and loved to give Dick a hard time.

Pete was a guy who really enjoyed life.  I'm sure he had some bad days, we all do.  But he never had one that I actually saw.  He had an infectious charm.  At all of his cookouts, Sox games, family get-togethers, he always had that 'let's have some fun' approach.  And it all started with the smile. He truly never took a bad picture - we believe he really was a Greek God.  Pete did his best to make sure everyone enjoyed themselves.  He was an excellent cook and the brews were always cold.  Laughter and good times.  And good times and laughter.  And when you got up to head home, he always begged you to stay with the question "One more?".

Pete used to tell the story of a Thanksgiving from his childhood.  He and an accomplice spiked his Ya-Ya's (grandma's) coffee.  And Ya-Ya drank it and proceeded to get “Ga-Ga”.  Pete and his accomplice had a good laugh.  Then Pete's dad Poops figured it out, and he asked them, "All right, what did you DO?",  and that's when the Poops hit the fan, so to speak.  Ya-Ya was unharmed.  And you might as well know, the accomplice was Andy.  Andy and Pete learned a valuable life lesson, but I forget if it was ' don't get caught or deny, deny, deny '.  Maybe the real takeaway from this story is that it showed the trend that Pete would follow for the rest of his life: he would always make sure that people had a good time - whether they intended to or not.

It's difficult to accept that our dear friend is gone.   Grief is the price we pay for love, but no one expected this bill would come due so soon.   Nor could we have imagined the breadth and depth of our sorrow as we sit here today.

And yet, Pete's spirit lives on.  Although he is physically gone, he is as close as right here, in our hearts.  The hearts that will never forget him. The hearts that will never stop loving him.  The hearts that will never stop missing him, until we all meet again.

His spirit is as close as the next White Sox game or your next cookout.  It's as near as the love you show your family and friends or the smiles on the faces of his children and grandchildren. That voice, his voice, still speaks in the ear of those dearest to him and they will hear it until their last day.

As hard as it is to lose him, imagine the void in your life had you never known his million dollar smile, his laugh and the kind soul who would help ANYONE in need.  I ask you what you've probably already asked yourself- but for the love of Pete how would your life be different today?

He taught us by example, to be a good son, a good father, a good partner, a good brother, a good friend, even a Good Samaritan.  And he was so good at it that we probably never realized we were being taught until the day he was taken from us. 

It's now up to all of us to "pass it on".  It's up to us to enjoy each and every day that's given to us, to the fullest, no matter how many or how few we might have, just as Pete did.  It's up to us to help a friend.  It's up to us the pass on all the good deeds and the good spirit that Pete shared with us.

And it's up to us to help those closest to him go forward from here.  No brick wall was ever put up all at once.  And neither will your lives be put back together overnight.  From here it's one day at a time, one brick at a time, one course at a time.  The mistake would be to give up because you're overwhelmed by it all.  But by taking one day and one task at a time, each day will get a little easier, I promise you.

Jan, Poops, Andy, Beth, Penny, Nick, Phil, Byron, and Stacy,   I speak for everyone in this room when I say - we are all as close as a phone call or a text message.  Please lean on us.  We will be glad to help.  We WANT to help, for the love of Pete.

A little bit of Pete lives on in each and every one of us.  And we are all better people for it.

Kole's Karaoke Rules

RULE #1 - NO MIC HOGS!

If you are the greatest singer in the world, we love you.  However, we do NOT want to hear you sing EVERY song.  A mic hog is just that, a hog, and we love bacon but we don't love hogs.  Stop yourself.

RULE #1 (AGAIN) - NO MIC HOGS!

If you are the worst singer in the world, we STILL love you.  However we do NOT want to hear you sing EVERY song.  A mic hog is just that, a hog, and we love pork chops but we don't love hogs.  Stop yourself.

RULE #2 - NO CHOIR PRACTICE!

Notice that there are only 2 mics.  That's because Karaoke is for solo acts, or at most, duets.  While we acknowledge that there is some therapeutic value in the "group sing along", please limit it the last two songs of the evening.  That's when everyone has to leave in five minutes and is so drunk that their Karaoke evening will not be ruined by the traumatic experience that the dreaded "group sing along" inevitably becomes.  IF WE WANTED TO HEAR A CHOIR, WE'D BE AT CHURCH!  Nobody died and nobody's getting married, so WE ARE NOT AT CHURCH!  'nuff said.

RULE #3 - NO HORNING IN!

Here's a clue - if Janey wanted you to sing a song with her, JANEY WOULD HAVE ASKED YOU!  If Janey's name comes up and she steps up to the mic, please don't say "Oh, I LOVE this song!" and proceed to sing along with Janey. And if you ASK Janey if she minds and she says she doesn't, SHE'S LYING!  HULLOOO!  She's just too polite to hurt a clueless person's feelings.  You sing your songs and Janey will sing hers.  Not negotiable.  End of discussion.

RULE #4 - NO SONG THIEVES!

Anyone who does not give up the mic for a song that's not theirs is advised that there's a shallow grave waiting for you.  Your body will NEVER be found and that's so sad for your family.  Because none of them would ever steal a song.  Like you did.


RULE #5 - NO AMERICAN PIE. EVER!

We all LOVE "American Pie".  But we would all HATE to hear you sing it!  It's a long drawn out song and it's miserable for Karaoke.  Keep that in mind. "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" would be another example.  "Bohemian Rhapsody"...  I think you get the idea.

RULE #6 - KEEP IT FRESH!

No one can forget that night back in '98 when you thrilled the audience with your rendition of "Last Kiss" (J. Frank Wilson & the Cavaliers version, NOT Pearl Jam's). Your mother wept, ferchrissakes.  Unfortunately, since that time you have sung "Last Kiss" EVERY FREAKING TIME we have karaoke!  People groan when they hear the first three chords.  It's gotten a little stale.  Please move on with your life and PICK A NEW SONG! (Note that this is an easy trap to fall into.  Yours Truly is as guilty as anyone.  I promise to look for new songs if you will....  Deal!)


Follow all these rules and you will be invited back.  Because we LOVE you!

04-02-2013

I had a C.T. scan last Thursday.  I talked to a nurse in the oncology department today and she told me the scan was good, no evidence of any issues.  Next appointment is in September. 

Hope you are doing well.

S.

INDEPENDENCE DAY 2012

You read that right, today is my Independence Day 2012, just like the 'blog title says.

I had my last treatment today, December 28th, 2012.  Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I am completely done with chemo.

YAY!!!

I realize my 'blog entries have been spotty at best, but I did NOT want to neglect this entry as this is the day I've been looking forward to since I was diagnosed 2 & 1/2 years ago.

My last round of maintenance chemos took up every Friday in December and the infusions and aftermath were uneventful.  I took intense naps, that was about it.  Seems like I have zero other effects at this point, no change in taste, no neuropathy that I can tell.  The thought occurred to me - did I imagine the changes in taste with previous maintenance, or did I just have less and less as time went on? 

Anyway, Nurse Julie took care of me every Friday and did a very nice job.  We had many talks.  She is a runner and has completed a marathon (imagine that!). We compared notes about running long distances and biking, and talked about life in general.  She and her husband have two children, a boy and a girl.  It was fun exchanging stories parent to parent about raising children and the challenges of instilling good values in an ever-changing world. Visiting with her every Friday became like getting together for a chat with a long lost friend.  When I left she said, "You be sure and stop back and see us when you have your visits with Dr. R, but I want to make this very clear - I don't EVER want to see you back in this chair!" pointing to the recliner where I received my infusions.  She is a good nurse and a very nice lady.  I will miss her and all the great people at the clinic.

Looking back at previous 'blog entries I realize how much has happened to me in the last 2 & 1/2 years.  It has been quite a trip.  Some of it seems so long ago.  Life is a journey and now another chapter is closed.  But it has changed me forever, just as it would anyone.  I have been very fortunate.  Many others, including friends of mine, were not so lucky.  That point is not lost on me..  I am so grateful to my doctor and all the great personnel at the clinic.  I told Nurse Julie today that I hope I am done dealing with cancer but if I ever get it again, I know exactly where to go.  And I very much appreciate all the terrific support I got from family and friends.  Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

What things have I learned?  Life is precious and life is short.  Live it to the fullest.  Love is the greatest gift of all.  All the money in the world won't buy it nor will it make up for the lack of it.  Don't let a day go by without letting the people you love know that you love them. Treat your friends and family like the precious gifts they are.  It will all come back to you, times 1000. 

Godspeed.

Farewell and Thank You

I started writing this in February but didn’t finish it until now.  I guess I needed a little distance to get the right perspective.

 ***

In May 2004, I was at the end of my rope.  I had a job that I hated. It was a boiler room inside sales job, with abysmal pay.  The managers were heartless and, worse, humorless.   I was trapped and sinking fast.

2 and 1/2 years earlier the telecom industry had launched me, unceremoniously, after I devoted 20 years of my life to them.  Finding any kind of decent replacement job was proving difficult.  My confidence was shattered.

Somehow through my social network (actual living breathing people, not pictures on a computer screen), my name popped up at a construction supply house, M.A.W.   They were looking for a Credit Manager.  I had about as much business being a Credit Manager as I would being the President of the United States.  My degree (1978 vintage) was electronics.  My background was telecom.  But I figured I had nothing to lose, and besides, I knew Excel (a little bit, anyway).  I went to meet Chuck D.

Chuck shook my hand and seemed to be sizing me up.  We talked a little bit.  We discussed my previous employers, but only briefly.  Chuck mentioned that he was "on the back nine" and that soon he would be handing control over to his sons, Darren and Derek.

At the end of the interview, Chuck said he'd have to talk to his business partners.  He would get back to me. 

10 days later, Chuck called me.  The job was mine, if I wanted it.  But could I start tomorrow?  I could and I did.

7 years and 9 months later, I'm still at M.A.W.

I had a hell of a time at first, but eventually Chuck brought me around to his way.  What I got more than anything from Chuck was this: your family is number 1; your friends are a close second. 

If you gave him a good firm handshake, looked him straight in the eye, and (more important than anything) gave him your word, Chuck would always be there for you, to the bitter end.

Your word is your bond, Chuck used to say.

I have no doubt that if I had called Chuck in the wee hours of the morning he'd be there if I needed help. I know someone who did call him, just like that…. for bail money.  Ever the loyal friend, Chuck showed up, with the cash.

It wasn't all roses.  Business rarely is.   The last 93 months, for me and M.A.W, have included successes and failures.  But I'm still here.  What Chuck got from me (I'd like to think, anyway) was a dedicated worker who was at his desk every day, and knew his way around computers, at least a little bit.  Chuck had the business know how, I knew (or figured out) how to make some of his internal processes run smoother.

Once Chuck got to know me, he hired my sister in law.  Then he let Derek hire my wife. 

Oh well, nobody's perfect, I guess.

A few years ago, Chuck started to back off from the business.  His boys took over.  He started to travel.  Stays in Florida became the norm.  Then, sadly, his health began to decline.  He fell and broke his hip.  A stay in a rehab center followed.  Not one to stay down for long, Chuck breezed through that and was back in the game. 

Then he got deathly ill.  Turned out he needed a liver transplant. 

Chuck was a tough guy, a multi-sport athlete in high school, also a boxer and a Marine.  I didn't know him then, but it was obvious the guy could take a punch.  And, he took a bucket full of them.

He recovered from the liver transplant and became great friends with the doctor who performed the operation.  He went on living and enjoying life.

Sometime after that, I got bad news.  I had cancer.  My loyal friend Chuck called and offered his support, for me, my wife and kids.  I got through my chemotherapy. 

After that, Chuck and I had many talks about life, and what an adventure it was.  But we also both agreed that we had no complaints.  We'd both stared into the abyss and been changed by it.  The fact that we'd both had significant health scares allowed us to bond in a way we never would have otherwise.  And that's the honest truth.

Chuck recovered from his transplant surgery and was back once again.  He welcomed his first grandchild, a baby girl.  He was enjoying his life.  Unfortunately, after a short time, he got more bad news from the doctor.   This time it was cancer.  It had spread and was in his lungs.

Yet again, Chuck refused to throw in the towel.  He fought with everything he had.  When he was told he didn't have long, he faced his fate with dignity and composure.  He never complained.  But at the same time, he committed himself to fighting for every extra day he could get.  He NEVER gave up.

Chuck had a heart attack and then slipped away, on a Saturday morning in February with his sons by his side.  He was 71.

His boys put on what was without a doubt the best send off I've ever seen.  Chuck's funeral was what every funeral should be: friends and relatives fondly remembering their late great friend.  Chuck's friend since childhood gave one of the funniest eulogies I ever heard, here's a sample - "I met Chuck on Tuesday.  On Wednesday, the police were at my house - "Were you with Chuck D. yesterday?  A car was reported stolen....". 

Another story was when Chuck's parents decided to send him off to military school.  They took him to the train station and watched him get on the train.  What they didn't see was that he walked through the train car and exited the other side before it ever left the station.  Hooked up with them later that day, back at home.  Military school didn't sound like a good idea to Chuck.

Then there was the time his father got him a job painting fire hydrants (green).  As Chuck went about his duties, an annoying little dog kept harassing him.  Pretty soon everything but that little dog’s most private parts were that lovely shade of green.  Chuck’s dad got a call and drove to the scene.  Chuck was fired.  And had to walk home, too.

Chuck was one of those larger than life guys.  At the luncheon after the services, old friends went on and on with stories about Chuck, each one funnier than the last.  Chuck had dated Sara Lee in high school.... yeah, that Sara Lee.  Was still friends with her 50+ years later.  After he graduated from high school in '58 he went to Cuba with some friends.  While they were in a casino there, Castro's gang came in and raised some hell.   Chuck rented a bachelor pad with Bobby Douglass who played for the Chicago Bears in the late 60's and early '70s.  Their adventures and misadventures together were legendary.  One time their place was robbed, the Chicago flatfoot who investigated was Dennis Farina (Miami Vice, Get Shorty, Midnight Run, Law and Order, etc.).

From humble beginnings, Chuck went on to start a business, sell it and retire very young to spend time with his sons.  Later he came out of retirement and started yet another business, which he built up for his boys and all the people who wound up working at their two locations.

I guess the most amazing thing to me about Chuck was that he had friends that he went to grade school with that he STILL hung around with, at the age of 71.  Family and friends was what he was all about.

Quite a guy, he was.  He did a lot for me and my family. And a lot of other people, too.

Thank you Chuck, my friend.  I'll miss you. 

Joe

02-19-2012

I just got back from a visitation.

My buddy Joe, our IT consultant at work, died Thursday morning from
brain cancer. He was diagnosed less than two years ago.



Joe fought the good fight. I did get a chance to visit with him after
he was diagnosed, and he also had been to our shop a couple times after
his surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. I didn't think his outlook was
good based on what he had told me and how he looked. I don't know if
Joe knew the likely outcome or not but he always seemed positive when I
spoke to him.

After his initial surgery, I wrote him a letter and told him how much
I enjoyed working with him and how much he had taught me about PCs and
our specific software application. I told him I looked forward to working
with him again soon, even though as I wrote it I didn't know if we ever would
work together again or not. As it turned out, we did work together one last
time. On his last visit to our shop he told me he really appreciated me
writing the letter.

Joe was the kind of guy who did everything by the book. Invariably he
would come to work on my computer and I would have 12 or so windows open.
That used to drive him nuts! He would say "How is your accounting software
supposed to work when you have all those windows open?" And I always said,
"Hey, it's a computer. We paid good money for it, and I work it hard."

Joe was dealt a bad hand. I have no doubt that he did everything his
doctors told him to. The hand he was dealt was a loser.

It reminds me of something Lance Armstrong mentioned in his book - some
of the best people in the world get cancer. They do everything they can
to beat it. They do what their doctors tell them to. They have a positive
attitude. They work their asses off.

Their cancer will kill them anyway.

On the other hand, some very disagreeable people will get cancer. They
will ignore their doctor's best advice. They will do whatever they want.
They will have a negative attitude.

They will survive.

Cancer's not fair.

I am proud to have called Joe my friend, he was a great guy. He was 62.

His obituary is here.

The Greatest Shame of All

The Greatest Shame of All

or

Why I Can't Forgive bobby b

Back when I got married I disc jockeyed my own wedding.  I had tons of albums so
I just chose all the music and made a bunch of cassette tapes.  I rented a
P.A. system and slapped in a tape.   Every forty five minutes I or one of
my buddies would change the tape. 

In addition to the music I had, I bought a bunch of additional albums so I'd have all the
bases covered.  One of the new records  I bought was the debut album of a brilliant
new artist.   I remember looking at the picture on the back of the album.   Whit in a
bathing suit.  B-b-b-breathtaking!

She was so young, so beautiful and so talented.  All of America fell in love with her. 
And then we watched her grow up right before our eyes.  All her successes played out
before us.  All her failures too.  When someone grows up in the public eye
beginning at such a young age it seems like you know them in a way, even though a stranger
really can't. 

And I think somehow something about that person seems to belong to the public.  If you
are a fan, you  celebrate their successes and suffer a little bit when they falter.  At least many
of us do. 

And if you don't believe that then please explain all those magazines at the checkout stands.

So there she was, beloved by the public and on top of the world.  And then she married
him.  In retrospect that seems like it was the beginning of the end for her.

You could say he was a rascal or a playa' or whatever. To me he was just a dog.  And the
proof is in the pudding.  The other day she died, far too young.

To an outsider looking in he turned her on to something that ruined her life.  While maybe
to some extent he could control his substance abuse, she never could control hers. 

Where I come from you take care of the people you love.  He didn't take care of her.  He didn't
look out for her. He ruined her life and moved on to his next victim.  A dog. 

You can say its not fair for me to judge and you're probably right. All  I know is what I
observed from far, far away. Every individual is responsible for themselves in the end.  But
from time to time we all need a little help.  And we all deserve help from people who profess
to love us.   If they don't help I guess they only love themselves.

Maybe God will forgive him.  I can't.

My conscience says I shouldn't pass judgment on someone I don't know.  Go ahead and call
me on it. Ill just tell you "that's MY prerogative" .

01-17-2012

Hey , y'all!

I finished my second round of maintenance chemo last week. One day a week, for about 5 hours, 4 weeks duration.

Uneventful, mostly. Don't notice even much changing of taste any more. A little fatigue seems to be about it.

I will have maintenance again about July, then again January 2013, it looks like now. Then, hopefully I will have "clean scans" and be free to proceed to my next life threatening catastrophe.

I'm SO excited!

I got a couple of inquiries from people who called for me at work and were told I was in chemo. Jon said, "Steve, do you mind if I ask you a question? Are you OK?". I explained that everything was fine, the maintenance was expected and totally tolerable, all that. Then a couple days later, I got another call, from another coworker just like the first. I guess the word "chemotherapy" has such a bad connotation that people always assume the worst when they hear it. I know I always did.

The personnel at the Treatment Center has changed somewhat. The scheduler took time off after having a baby and the receptionist seems to have been replaced. Most of the nurses are the same. I have to admit it was a little off putting to go back to a spot where I felt so "comfortable" for lack of a better word and found the landscape had changed significantly. But it's all good. Life is all about change, hopefully for the better. Making new friends is ALWAYS a good thing.

Rewinding:

At Thanksgiving, we journeyed to Florida to see our old friends from the 'hood. We had a GREAT time, and it was hard to leave even though we were there a week. Austin went with us and he had a great time, too. The weather was outstanding. We went to the beach at Clearwater one day, and went to the neighborhood pools just about every other day. We are very happy for our old buds that they wound up in a place that they love. But we do miss the hell out of them.

At Christmas we had Tessa's housemates and the house mom stop over for a pizza party (Tessa was already home for the holiday). One of the girls has no living relatives, so she doesn't leave the group home at Christmas. She was very excited. One of the other girls' family takes her out only occasionally to eat, which she loves to do, so she was happy to get pizza. Julie bought them all a Christmas gift. It was actually the highlight of our Christmas to be able to share it with these young ladies.

I sure hope that some day when Julie and I are dead and gone that someone thinks to take a little time to make Austin or Tessa feel special at Christmas.

If you were raised Christian, whether you are a a person of faith when you grow up or not, I can't imagine you would ever forget how special Christmas is for a child.

Back to the present:

Tessa is doing great, she has really settled in at her 2nd home. We are very proud of her as she hasn't really missed a beat. We generally get her every other weekend. On Sunday afternoon, we make sure we prominently display her travel bag. Once she sees that, she knows she will be heading back to her other home that evening. A couple of times after she spotted her bag on display, she just went out in the garage and got in the truck... like, 'allright, if the train's leavin, let's roll, I got stuff to do!'. There really hasn't been any drama with her, and we are grateful for that.

I hope you are doing well.

10/17/11

Sorry i haven't blogged lately, hopefully something coming soon.

I'm doing fine! How are you?

eureka

Message:

here doggydoggydoggy cmon you snarling friggin beast!

I got a drink fo' ya!

U bastard!

Harbor freight 8.99.

ilovharborfreight.

7-13-11 road update

Heart attack hill 5 times!~:) sombuddy call a tank ofoxygen! First 5x up that beast in one trip this yr!

update 6-29-11

update 6-29-11

Here's what's been going on with me recently:

06/23/11

I had an appointment with my oncologist. All went well. I lost 4 pounds! I will see the doctor again in 3 months. It was one year ago today that I got the Non Hodgkins Lymphoma diagnosis.

That 12 months went by fast! A lot has changed in my life, that's for sure.

***

06/25/11

Austin went for another tandem ride with me, exact same route as last week. The only thing that was different was that he bitched almost the whole time. Not sure biking is his sport. I think PS3 is really his sport. I'm still working on him.

We went to a baseball game that my great nephew Cade played in for the city championship for his classification. They won which was nice for him and his buddies.

I've decided that I will refer to my great nieces and great nephews as my "greatchildren". They're not grandchildren but they are my great nieces and great nephews, so I'm going with "greatchildren". They call me "gunka" as it is a variation on "uncle", but I guess now they'll have to call me "grunka" as a variation on "great uncle".

God, I'm an idiot!

***

06/26/11

We spent all day Sunday prepping for my upcoming family reunion, which will be at our house. Washing screens and windows, yardwork, blah blah blah.

After all that misery was over, I jumped on my bike and took a nice ride, about 23 miles.



I think I had an epiphany: I do better WITHOUT a speedometer. I felt better, felt like I rode FASTER, and I definitely climbed hills WAY BETTER than I have all year! No lie, I really did climb them like a madman.

Note the lonely speedo socket on the left:



I climbed HEART ATTACK HILL 3x, although 1 of them was from the back side, so I'll only count 2. That was by far my high water mark for the year.

Here's a shot looking down HEART ATTACK HILL:



I think the speedometer was allowing me to concentrate too much on speed or speed variation (like, sheesh, I was just going 20MPH, now the wind's so bad it's got me knocked down to 12MPH, THIS IS KILLING ME!). Given a choice, I think I would just like to see HOW FAR I've gone instead of how fast. I think I psych myself out. The only downside to not having an onboard speedometer is that I have to calculate my mileage later, but that's no biggie.

After my next ride I should be right around 600 miles for the year.

***

In reading back over m'blog, I have to say that it pretty much sucks. The only time that it's potentially interesting is when I'm passionate about something or I'm learning about something, or there's something new and significant going on, e.g. cancer treatment, Tessa moving out, etc. I didn't mean for it to turn into a "then I ate dinner. I watched TV. I think American Idol is GREAT, don't you?... blah blah blah" type of thing, I really didn't.

At some point it kind of turned into a journal or diary. The only reason I started the thing was to record my thoughts, feelings, experiences, etc. in dealing with cancer.

Although the cancer treatment is ongoing, obviously there are long, long, long lulls in between. Not sure what to do with this, I'll be honest with you. Still trying to figure it out.

Sometimes I have a story idea or something happens that plays right into the 'blog (e.g., potential get together with long lost friends from previous employer). But sometimes it definitely IS "I rode my bike. We grilled burgers..." kind of thing, which is NOT interesting at all.

The other thing about the 'blog is something I hadn't thought about.

Late winter / early spring I was SO friggin' bored that I found myself scouring the ON DEMAND menu on the TV. I was watching "Shalom TV" which is centered on Jewish culture (nothing against Jewish people, but since I'm NOT Jewish, what was I doing watching that? My motivation was boredom mixed with a little curiosity, to be honest). Anyway, to cut to the chase, there was an author talking about her books, I think her name was Dani Shapiro. She said that she discovered WHAT she thought about something and WHY she thought WHAT she thought about a particular subject by -writing- about it. In the process of putting the words down on paper or on the computer, she works through all the whys and wherefores, etc.

As I watched her, I realized that the same is true for me.

I may not know why I have a certain belief or feeling, but if I sit down and pour all my thoughts into a keyboard, by the time I finish, I have a pretty thorough understanding of my feelings about a particular subject. What might start out in my head as a formless, nebulous kind of thing will have structure, make sense, follow a logical progression, etc., if I sit down and reason through it and put pen to paper or fingers to keys.

I always feel like whoever reads what I write may not agree with what I think, but if they read what I wrote and really think about it, they should at least have an UNDERSTANDING of my perspective.

And if I can get that person to that place, I've accomplished what I set out to do as a writer. The bonus is that for me, many times, I have a better understanding of myself. Does that make any friggin' sense at all?

The other bonus is that pouring the words into the keyboard can be cathartic. An example would be some of the stuff I wrote about Tessa moving out. After I posted those entries, I felt that I'd been able to get at least some of the grief and frustration off my chest. It didn't change the circumstances but it DID provide a cleansing of sorts, and a release of some pent-up frustration. It was also, hopefully, an accurate expression of my sense of failure and provided an explanation of the dark clouds hanging over me.

In some ways I wonder if writing my 'blog might be like having a friend who's a good listener, when you really need a good listener. I'm not sure who IS listening out there (I do get some feedback from time to time and I REALLY APPRECIATE IT!) but at least I feel like I'm broadcasting my thoughts and emotions out into the universe for whomever may be paying attention. And for some reason, even if it defies logic, it's therapeutic.

***

I have a relative to whom I spoke the other day. I'll paraphrase what he said to me: 'My dad was estranged from me and my family when I was growing up. I didn't have a father figure around. Experiences I had with YOUR DAD taught me what it meant to be a stand-up guy. A lot of how I turned out was because of YOUR DAD.'

Wow, did that ever make me think! My dad has been dead for 8 years. The person who told me that whole story is someone I think very highly of. Nice to know that my dad "passed it forward" so to speak, and now the circle goes on.

Sometimes we don't even realize that the little, seemingly insignificant things that go on in everyday life wind up being -lessons- that young, impressionable, and sometimes VERY emotionally NEEDY people (especially children) pick up on.

I WAS THERE when the entire episode in question played out, and it never occurred to me what was happening until I heard those words from that person the other day.

Someone is ALWAYS paying attention, even if it doesn't come to light until 30 years later. And by that time, we may be long gone.

***

Getting back to my 'blog, I realize a lot of it, especially recently, is BORING! Someone commented on the sheer -number- of pictures of myself. Didn't mean to do that, either, but it seemed like at the time they documented what I was talking about and I always think that the pictures add to the story and help the reader get a more accurate idea of what went on. I'll try to have LESS pictures of me (believe me, I HATE pictures of myself, I only put them in there because I thought they were helpful).

And, if I do include a picture of me, I'll try not to include my face, or at least not ALL of it...



Again,

God, I'm an idiot!

And I'll try to make this at least INTERESTING. Promise.

Thanks for coming along with.

Steve

06-20-2011

06-20-2011 (not posted until 6/22)

Okay, this 'blog is maybe more of a trave'blog. Pretty boring stuff.

You've been warned, here we go.

Tandemonium:

Saturday Austin asked me if I was going for a bike ride. As usual, I said that I was and asked him if he wanted to go. And as is also usual, he declined. Then all of the sudden, he said "OK, I'll go".

He asked if I was going to Silver Springs. I said yes, figuring that would for sure make him back out. He didn't flinch. I guess he's heard me talk about riding for so long that he figured he might just try it to see if he liked it.

I prepped the tandem, strapping in the seat bag for my cell phone, borrowing a bottle cage off another bike. I pumped the tires up to their 100 PSI rating. Then, so we could get up the hills, I removed the standard, useless resin pedals and replaced them with the toe strap type. That, for sure will be the deal breaker, I thought.

Time to go! He put on his biking gloves and some shades, and strapped on the helmet. This dude is all about looking the part. We added a water bottle for him and one for me.

He didn't even squawk about the straps on the pedals (!), just patiently got his feet secured. And we took off.



For the first three miles or so, I could tell that although his feet were securely strapped in, he wasn't pushing. I cajoled him a bit and then he helped with pedaling. Some. We got about 4 miles out and I told him we had some big hills. We could tackle them or we could turn around and go home.

He voted to go home.

We stopped for a water break at the point where we'd turn around. I took some "thumbs up" pictures with the cell phone and sent them to Julie. Austin wanted to talk to her. We called her and he was talking all this trash about riding clear out here and I'm sweating, (dammit), I'm sweating! After he hung up, I dangled the challenge, "OK buddy, we can go on to Silver Springs and climb a couple tough hills or we can turn around and go home..." He shocked me with "Let's go to Silver Springs!".



On we went. When we got to the first hill, I encouraged him to really push on the pedals and he dug in. We crested the hill easily.

We took a nature break at the park and then headed down the hill. He loved the speed. He kept telling me that he was sweating and that I was to be sure to tell Mom. And when we got home we were going to jump in the pool, he informed me.

Then came The Nutcracker. I told him his Aunt Dutchie (on a ride in 2008, picture below) didn't make it up this hill, she had to walk up it (loser!) and we didn't want to endure that shame, for we are manly men.



We started climbing, doing real well, still climbing... then gradually started going slower and slower and slower. Just as we were about at a standstill, I felt his helmet in my back and he let out a huge roar as he helped power us up the hill.

Nice to have your strong 24 year old son pitch in like that!

--Interesting technique, the stoker buries his head in the captain's back... but whatever, it worked.--

We made it to the top and he was really excited about meeting the challenge.

That lasted for a while. Then all I heard was "my butt hurt" and "my leg hurt" "my feet hurt", followed by the most persistent complaint "my hand hurt".

I'll add some bar ends so his hands won't hurt, just in case the mood strikes him again.

I asked him if he wanted to go again, he said "some time" which means a few days or a week later.

All in, it was about 12 miles. I was shocked that he committed, shocked that he followed though, and really pleasantly surprised that the kid (young man) reached down and legged it out.

In the words of Foghorn Leghorn,"that's m'boy!".

We had a great time bonding on that ride. My Father's Day present from Austin had arrived a day early.

Sunday Began Quietly Enough:

My plan for Father's Day weekend had been to pick the best day and rip off a BIG ride. I had planned on at least a Century (100 miles). Then I looked at the weather report. Rain all day Saturday, rain overnight into Sunday, then again all day Sunday. So I had figured I'd just try to work in a couple of decent rides between the raindrops IF I COULD.

That was stupid because the weather report was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Austin and I got our ride in on Saturday afternoon.

We got no rain all day Saturday, no rain overnight Sunday, and the Sunday morning rain never materialized, either.

Sunday I finally headed out late morning, about 10:30 and I figured I'd just play it by ear.

I tried out a new route, out to Shabbona Lake State Park. Not a bad ride, pretty flat mostly, but the roads were really not busy at all (HUGE BONUS!).

Some very cool cemeteries along the way, too.






I was about 19 miles out when I hit a bump and saw a black and red sphere go rocketing in front of my bike and into the weeds. What the... wait a minute, that was my black and red speedometer which was dislodged from its mount by the bump and launched by the rapidly spinning tire... and is gone.

The weeds at the side of the road were about 4 feet tall, full of thistles and god knows what else. After about five minutes of searching I chalked it up to experience. New speedometer is on the shopping list.

I pedaled into and around the park, checking out the lake and the boats, looking to see if my neighbor Tom, who fishes there quite often, was there. No sign of him.

Then I rode into town to hit the local Casey's quick stop for some refreshment.

Over to the elementary school to sit underneath a tree, stuff my face and gulp down some Propel.

Their memorial to the town's namesake, a Mr. Shabbona, was a nice touch.

's up, Chief?




I found a port-o-let for the pause that really refreshes and it was back on the road again.

Storm Clouds Gather:

On the way back, I made a route choice that almost cost me dearly. I shot south past my outbound east-west route so I could take a little bit longer route home. But then I started thinking that the rain clouds were closing in and so I cut off to go east again sooner than I had planned. This would take me down a road I was very familiar with, but one I had never actually biked on before. Recipe for "disastah", as it turned out.

I knew the choice would require me to ride on an extremely busy highway (US34) but only very briefly. I figured I could time my entrance onto the highway to coincide with a window of traffic inactivity so that I would have zero exposure to high speed traffic.

That was what I was worried about, but the traffic on that highway would turn out to be the least of my worries.

I never expected to encounter the DEMON DOG FROM HELL!

At this point I was about 40 miles into my ride but pretty tired as the day was extremely muggy. As I was riding down the road, passing a farmhouse, I noticed TWO BIG dogs on my left, running in their yard. I picked up speed as a precaution and they started barking and gave chase.

I gave my usual yell: "GET YOUR DOG!", (note that this yell varies with the perceived threat - especially ominous situations elicit the addition of colorful and multi-syllabic adjectives). My yell drew the standard response from any humans who might have been at the residence: dead silence.

Followed immediately by intense and prolonged inactivity.

But thanks for all your help.

The Mongrel Horde Attacks:

I'd never encountered a dog that was able to keep up with me on my bike, for very long anyway. I have a pretty fast road bike, and although I'm old, I can spin it pretty good, especially when the adrenaline's pumping. All the dogs eventually wear out, especially in muggy weather like we had Sunday.

One of the dogs barked viciously but kept a safe distance, the proverbial all bark and no bite.

My kind of dog, he was!

The other dog was definitely In It To Win It, barking like a vicious killer and running like a g-damned greyhound. I was stunned to discover that I couldn't lose him. WTF!? This does not compute!

He'd lunge at one of my feet, snapping away, I'd swerve across the road the other way, he'd come around behind and lunge at the other foot and I'd swerve in the opposite direction. Repeat ad nauseum.

Pedaling for ALL I was worth, the thought occurred to me that I would A) go over the handlebars and snap my friggin' neck, B) go over the handlebars and die of head trauma, or C) have a heart attack, crash, and feel my life ebb away face down on the sticky asphalt of County Line road, while the beast merrily shredded the flesh of my lifeless body.

This was followed by a flashback to those cool cemeteries visited earlier on my trip.



Then the DEMON DOG FROM HELL got in front of me and the mother effer ! cut me the eff off ! I shit you not. I had to slam on the binders and then, starting in the wrong-est, tall-est, tall-est gear, light the afterburners best I could to get away again. He did that 3 or 4 times.

Was this a tactic or was it just dumb luck on his part? Sidebar - I do not think the dog was dumb. The jury is still out on the dog's owner, however.

Although the whole thing probably only lasted a couple minutes, it seemed like f-o-r-e-v-e-r. And, more than once, he made me swerve all the way across the road to my left. If a vehicle had come barreling down behind me and pulled out to go around just as I made my crazy swerve, I would have been a red smear on the blacktop.

Happy Friggin' Father's Day!

And, what DO you do? Slow down and crawl along so he calms down? If you do that, he gets a good shot at taking you down. Then what?

Tried to run his legs off or asphyxiate him was what I did. Problem is that the speeds I was hitting, with an 85-100 pound dog as a speed bump, made it very hazardous.

But at the fight or flight decision point, it didn't make much sense to me to hop off the bike and take a swing at the pooch.

Could try to smash his head with the down stroke of my pedal... that could flip me also.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against dogs. Except when they attack me.

Seemed like the only thing to do was spin the pedals as fast as possible and try to wear him out.

This beast should be in the Iditarod.

Had I had a baseball bat, I would have taken my best swing, I promise you. That was BY FAR the worst chased_by_a_dog episode I've ever had. Don't know what would have happened had I crashed, but I was already reviewing in my mind everything I would do to beat that mutt to a bloody pulp before he could chew me up. I won't apologize for the thought. It was the most raw, visceral encounter I've had with an animal in... forever, I guess. And I'm sure you really had to be there to get the full effect. 'twas terrifying, for sure.

Not embarrassed to say it scared the living shit out of me.

After an eternity, he either wore down or grew tired of the chase, I can't say which for sure. But I left him in the dust.

In retrospect, the only thing that saved me was that I kept pedaling as fast as I could. He kept trying to bite a foot and they were just moving too fast. Had he gone for an upper leg or my rear end, the ending might have been much different.

Here, I'll go on my soapbox: If you have a dog and it likes to chase things, you are morally (and legally, for that matter) obligated to see that it doesn't leave your yard. I have no sympathy for the "oh, he wouldn't BITE you" or "he's never chased a bike BEFORE" attitude. The dog is just being a dog, following its natural instincts. If the dog is a chaser, the owner is responsible to see that the dog is secured, especially in the case of a vicious cur.

No excuses.

Imagine a kid on single speed BMX bike taking a leisurely ride out in the country and going past that house.... Somebody call 911!

Reviewing my shopping list... Speedometer... Pepper Spray...

The Storm Passes:

Other than that, the last leg of my ride was uneventful.

I successfully navigated the US34 section with NO TRAFFIC behind me and pedaled the final 10 miles or so without incident.

I pondered what would have happened had Austin and I had that kind of an encounter with a dog on our ride the day previous.

You would not have wanted to be the dog OR his owner, I promise you, if a beast like that got a hold of m'boy.

I wheeled into the garage and hung up my C'dale. I went out back and jumped into the pool, still reeling from the encounter.

52 miles was all I managed to ride, which was disappointing. I had to use google maps to calculate the mileage since I lost my speedo (-meter, not swimming suit) out there.

Hope you had a great weekend.

And never underestimate a strange dog.

You hear me?