Pets? Not In My Tiny World!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Wanted!  For Catnapping, Catnip Smoking & Generally Just Being Too Darned Cute!

My mom is a cat lady.  She has cats, gives to cat causes and sketches felines.  I have been fortunate enough to receive several cat drawings.  In all of the kitty sketches I own, the cats are looking off into the distance, regal, mysterious.  What are these feline brains pondering anyway?  The "big" questions?  Who are we?  Why are we here?  Is that a bird?  Can I catch it?

OK, big kitty questions.

All my mom's cats are creatures of nobility; elegant and inscrutable, serene.  Except one.  This cat belongs on a milk carton. ( "Have You Seen This Cat?")

This looks like it was drawn from a witness description after a crime (A kitty caper?  The Purrfect Crime?  Oh,please!)

My mother framed this "kriminal kitty" (OK,already!  I'll stop!) in a steel frame.  Add some bars and it could be some really sad ASPCA ad!  ("Help these animals!  We'll send you a blanket!").  I grew up with cats and dogs and the occasional end-of-schoolyear Guinea Pig, or hamster.  I usually had a cat or two until 2010.

I'll never have a pet again.

I'm not into reptiles (shudder!) and fish are like art more than pets.  I don't like those hairless cats or exotics like hedgehogs and wolf hybrids.

At the hospital where I was, beautiful, docile, labradors and border collies were brought into the rehab gym for patients to connect with.  These dogs were patient, perfectly behaved and immaculately groomed.  Patients were encouraged to pet the canine therapists .I'm only able to have this level of interaction with animals.

Most people have cats, dogs, something.

Not me.  I would dearly love to have someone furry with big round eyes and a tail.  Until I discover neuroplasticity, I adhere to a strict "no pets" policy.  No kitty litter.  No litter boxes.   I can't take care of myself let alone neglect another creature! Cats and dogs need walking and food and baths.

In "Intolerable Cruelty", Catherine Zeta-Jones rented a poodle (for looks).  I'm not entirely sure how long Ms. Jones' character actually rented the dog for but pet rental wouldn't work - I get too attached!

I have friends who have allergies and know people that have valuable art. Neither group has pets.

No pets means no pet dander.  A concept I've just recently become accustomed to.

Cleaner air, cleaner floors, cleaner machinery.

One less hungry mouth to feed, one less mess that needs cleaning.

I continue to feed feral cats in our town and routinely donate food.

For the present I'll have to restrict my longing for housepets to hugging the pets of others and laughing at "The Kitty Mugshot".

I'm sorry, I mean look at that face!  You know he's guilty of something!

What's New? A Haunted TV! Really! WTH? Happy Halloween!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

You NEVER want this image to appear on a device
If you see this?  Run, don't walk!
It's the Demon's Well from "The Ring"
Asian Water Demons that can come through your TV! 

I was all set to write about spectacular, haunted houses that look so beautiful (and are so reasonably priced) you could conceivably overlook little drawbacks like blood dripping down the walls and torch-bearing, hatchet-wielding ghost mobs  from the 1600's  (blood wipes off and just look at the firelight from the torches through the mullioned glass!),

Specifically, I have recently fallen hopelessly in love with  the custom designed mansion (haunted by the original owner) in "American Horror Story -  Roanoke".

I really like the Roanoke mansion but there are lots of American Spooky Homes that are swanky in film. The Overlook Hotel in "The Shining" and who can forget the ominous Dakota building in "Rosemary's Baby"?

Once again I was pondering the age-old dilemna:  Haunted Houses:  "Stay Away" or "Such a Deal?"
Then this happened:  My TV died.  And it didn't go quietly either.  As a disabled writer, I usually have a television on above and behind my head.  I can have baseball or CNN on and keep an ear on it like a visual radio.

So Wolf Blitzer was droning on and on about "Breaking News" (there's nothing "Breaking" either, the "news" is just broken!) then the TV  sputtered and went dead.   Then it came back on.  Spooky!

I've learned a thing or two from both Poltergeists (old and new - old school is a lot better, BTW.), "The Grudge", "The Ring" and "The Blair Witch Project". Don't play with Oija boards.  Clowns are always evil (another Geico ad; "Everybody knows this!"), and really scary movies come from dark and damp places - Japan and Washington State.

Maybe we like to be frightened by fictional characters in part, because there is so  much real chaos and terror in the world.

Sticking my figurative mental toe in the "Haunted Pond" (Vampires, ghosts, zombies, unseen whatevers) amused me once.   I've changed.  I am still open to the probability of parallel universes, I just don't have  any desire for personal contact.

I think the dad (Craig T. Nelson - "Coach") in the 1982 "Poltergeist" had the right idea - At the end of their "new-house-adventure" his exhausted family escapes the exploding suburb and drag themselves into a motel.  At the end of the film the dad shoves the TV, cart and all outside.

A TV was the portal that swallowed his daughter!  Televisions are more than conduits of meaningless garbage, in cinematic terms, TV's are portals to another plane!

Or, this TV, my old one, was just plumb worn out.  Either way it had to go!  Just to be safe I unplugged it, too.  And removed it.  What can I say?  I'm not a scaredy cat!  I'm just extremely "risk averse".

Four Words:  "Ancient Indian Burial  Ground"  It is universally known - Motivated seller

Speech - Important

  You Have to Hand it to Vanity (Prince?) She knew how to rock a teddy!
What are those other girls wearing anyway?
Vanity is the  only one with a coat, those other two must be freezing!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I was all set to write about the debate (Miss Jackson, if you're nasty) and then .this happened:  I received a voicemail.  One we all dread, my father is in the hospital, in another state, seriously injured, awaiting surgery.

Of all the things I can no longer do, I was the most mystified and least concerned by my inability to speak.  I'm an avid reader and a great listener so being quiet (I mean really quiet) didn't seem so bad at first.  So when I made the choice to shelve speech therapy in order to focus exclusively on physical therapy it sounded logical. What I didn't foresee was the catastrophe factor, present in every situation.

I'm unable to communicate effectively, in real time.  Taking "a  vow of silence"  sounds noble, but when you need information NOW it's not so great!

My PS understands my garbled attempts at speech and often serves as my less-than-thrilled interpreter.  A family emergency is proof  (I didn't really need any) that speaking is really important.  Or, at the very least, more valuable than I thought.

The PS just told me my dad is on the mend!

I can practice speech rehabilitation with my father.

Cowbells, Cancer and the Kings!

     Hello Fellow Travelers!

Sir Paul - He still brings it!

I went to the grand opening of the downtown Golden One  Arena which cost millions to build and will be the new home of the Sacramento Kings. It's already revitalizing the Downtown area.  New businesses are taking hold, I like it because it's shaped like a cookie - round.  We saw McCartney perform in Golden Gate Park a year or so ago and that was an outdoor, casual-but-not-really-casual sort of venue.

The crowd in San Francisco was all ages, all colors.  The concert goers were nattily attired, retro-cool and, well, groovy!  The Golden Gate Park event was a day-into-night program with McCartney scheduled last.  As the sun set the coastal fog slowly settled over the City.  and another kind of fog permeated the air over the Park - I love the smell of weed!  I don't partake myself, never did, but the aroma of burning ganja rocks my world!  I rarely get an occasional whiff anymore, let alone an entire cloud! 

By contrast, the crowd in Sacramento was entirely the opposite:  Older, beer drinking and flip-flop wearing, they filed in early and after one obligatory  encore they filed out precisely 2 hours later. 

There was a complete absence of the delightful essence of reefer.  

The new arena is equipped with cutting edge lighting, good views from every seat

 When I went to rock concerts (back at the dawn of time), people held up their lighters to create ambiance (Hey, Jude) or demand an encore ("Play Freebird"!).  Now the fans hold up their Smart Phones with a picture of a flame.  Times, they are a changin'!

Risk averse though I am, I was going to throw caution to the wind and have a gooey drink/dessert involving salted caramel and possibly buy a mug or a t-shirt for a friend 

Again my smallest hopes were cruelly dashed!  Sacramento is not San Francisco, we get that.  Sacramento is the Capitol of the freaking state!

I may be disabled but I'm a foodie!

IPA's?  Handmade Ales?  No.  Budweiser!  Wine?  In a can.  A can!

Come on, people!  We have the Governor! We have the State Fair!   We can do better than this!  Apparently we cannot.  Small wonder Sacramento gets called a "cowtown".

No yummy, sticky  beverage (waters were $5!) scant pricey merchandise (a lousy T-Shirt was $40), not off to a promising beginning!

Kings' Fans have the dubious reputation of being the loudest in the NBA.  Sacramento has embraced the "cow town" nickname.  Fans rattle bovine alerts at every game.  On a local morning program I saw a segment about the new Golden One Center and the local artist who blacksmithed a giant iron cowbell for the team locker room.

No gourmet food but beau coups cowbell!

The PS loves The Kings and I like cowbells and fire so we are looking forward to the basketball season.

Another particularly polite practice that I've come to greatly appreciate is what I call "The Moses Effect" - In Sacramento pedestrians politely part for a wheelchair like parting the Red Sea.  I really value citizens quietly scattering like pigeons in front of my oncoming conveyance.

Makes me a little less bitter at being eye/booty level.

Just a little.

Before I could don a white robe and wheel around parting the sea of Sacramento humanity my PS recalled a far less Biblical image but one just as visually compelling..  The school-of-fish parting of people reminded my PS of the late,  great, Richard Pryor running down the street after he set himself on fire.   He had a point.  If you're ablaze and booking down your street, people will tend to get out of the way.

The Sacramento phenomenon of  humans scattering in front of wheelchairs like schools of fish in a Bahamas promotion video is polite, helpful and makes my life slightly easier.   The fact that this effect reminds him (and now me) of a comedian who freebased so much cocaine he caught fire is irrelevant.  Whatever, it works.  The people evaporate!

So I'm not Charlton Heston.  I'm alive!  And I have a cowbell!   

Unavoidable, Haunting, The Department of Motor Vehicles - Every American HAS To Have ID! I Went There

The DMV - Unavoidable, Where Souls Go To Die

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I don't drive anymore but I do occasionally fly and to fly you need a valid picture ID.  A California Driver's License.  This document is a laminated card and is routinely required for everything from running your kids' gym clothes to school to signing anything important.  A passport will work but if you live in Northern Cal, you really need your CDL.  I thought I was avoiding this particularly spirit-grinding experience by renewing online.

But then it happened.  I misplaced my CDL. I say "misplaced" because it wasn't lost, I had just moved my CDL and I knew it would reappear.  The problem was that I needed it NOW!   We were flying out of state and I had prepacked every item down to the earring back.  I had gift bags!  Facial Water!  I was organized.  I was as ready for any malfunction as any minimalist/survivalist!  I was prepared for every emergency, any weather changes, hot or cold running disasters or any tourist-in-a-wheelchair contingency but found I couldn't get on a plane without a valid photo ID.  So although I was able to immediately order a replacement online it would only be a piece of paper, to validate my invalid CDL.

To get an actual replacement I had to walk into an actual DMV.

There was a good chance my online replacement would arrive in time but my cynicism since 2011 has made me extremely risk-averse so I gritted my teeth and looked for a small town with a small (hopefully) DMV.  So I went to a small town with a small DMV and it was small and very crowded!

I took a "deli-style" number from the counter and waited.  Not really long, just long enough to plan my next trip to the gym.

Then I looked around.  All the wildly different, colorful, chatty citizens were becoming quieter, less animated.  With each passing moment the multi-language complaining turned to silence.   The "waiters" began to shuffle forward as the numbers slowly changed on the TV screen.  It reminded me too much of the "Waiting Room of the Deceased" in "Beetlejuice".

Running away was not an option.

I'd come this far, I had to see what happened next.

And I wasn't leaving without a TSA-approved, laminated, CDL.

By the time I was called (by number, like ordering sliced turkey breast) I saw the state civil servants and the truth of the DMV - They're Zombies!

"Dawn of the Dead", raggedu clothing (state issued uniforms), too slow to be truly scary, more like mildly annoying (as in, "Oh, you again?" Then smack with a croquet mallet, repeat as needed.) Walkers!

Do they eat brains?  I saw no evidence of bodily harm.  What I did observe was candy bar wrappers and Big Gulps in every cubicle.

Their post-people+police-any shape/style/quality=DMV uniforms don't help.

State employed, nylon uniformed, dead-eyed, soulless, test givers, who are zombified by their environment and spread the zombie germ to all that dare to enter the Department of Motor Vehicles.

These "Walkers" are charged with issuing the single most essential document any American is ever issued.

Did Beyonce ever go to the DMV?

Doubtful.

Did Oprah?

Maybe.

You know George Clooney did, you can picture it.

I can picture you picturing it.

I can see Bruce Springsteen renewing too.

Prince?  I just can't see it.

Anyhoo, cut to got my laminated, legal, license replacement that day, mail/online license came by mail before my flight, order was restored to the "Krippled Kingdom" and I was on that plane (or, as I think of aircraft:  A few hundred people strapped to 45,000 pounds of jet fuel 40,000 feet above the ground).

Crisis averted!  Adventure commenced!

What I learned from the DMV?  Same thing we learned as a nation in Viet Nam.  What did we learn by invading Viet Nam?  Stay out of Viet Nam!

The same thing with the DMV.  Stay out of it.  Whenever you can, for as long as you can.

I don't know if it's the maze-like labyrinth of lines or the bad lighting - the DMV is like the Tokyo house in "The Grudge" - a bad thing happened there,  That feeling will haunt anyone that enters that house!   Well, a DMV is eerily similar.

Use the Internet, a driving school, a surrogate  anything to avoid actually going in person.

If you must go, make an appointment, bring music, water, avoid eye contact with "walkers".  I had a summer civil service job.  I was a "zombie-in-training".  I pushed paper and made zillions of copies for bigger zombies to satisfy even bigger monsters (their bosses).  I know a Civil Service walker when I see one.  Stay sharp, keep your eyes focused on something, bring a book!

As soon as you're finished doing/getting whatever was so important it was worth risking contracting the "Zombie" virus, run, don't walk to your car!  Squealing out of the parking lot is optional, but recommended.

I've only experienced "The DMV/Walking Dead" phenomena in the US.  Maybe dealing with overseas counterparts to US DMVs is an enlightening experience - you know, the opposite.  They drive on the opposite side of the road...

I've Caught Fire and I Can't Get Up!

Green Fire!  As Destructive as Regular Fire but Green

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Lately, my safety awareness has exponentially increased.  I've always been aware of my surroundings, always had an evacuation plan.  Simple stuff, right?  Wrong!  Not so simple to rescue/remove or run for your life when you can't walk!  I've figured out how  to be lighter, faster, stronger.  What I can't work out is how not to cook (or die ) in the event of a fire.

I've dutifully fallen out and followed numerous fire evacuations throughout my life.  If I ever thought of them at all, it was as a slight annoyance.  I mean, who thinks they're really in any danger of being hurt by fire?  Cancer survivors, that's who!

Now, I see everything in terms of it's potential flammability.  Boxes, books, linens could potentially burst into flames.  My PS's answer to my disabled-meets-death fear?  "I'll carefully drop you out the window".

Oh.

So let me understand our revised evacuation plan:  in a life and death fire scenario, you'll toss me out of a window?  Really? Uh, that sounds like a fracture, OW!

Thanks, but no thanks.

I'll come up with my own plan.  I have been through too much to be tossed out of a window.  I can't break another bone.

I freely admit I'm extraordinarily "risk-averse" , wary of every situation, preplanning every move I make.  I've always considered commercial flying to be akin to hitching a ride on top of thousands of gallons of gasoline.  It doesn't matter what "class" I'm in either.  Cruises have always been bacteria rich, claustrophobic, sewage buffets.

I barely tolerate one (flying is sometimes necessary) and I've always entirely disregarded the other (I'd rather set the 2K on fire than be on a cruise).

Lately, my risk assessment has expanded into every space, every decision, every closet.  I see bedding, bath towels and baskets and wonder if they could burn.

Computers render paper unnecessary, VHS tapes are obsolete.but your home is chock-a-block full of flammable material, believe me.  Your kid's closet?  Anyone's backpack?  They're like that cow in Chicago! (Chicken?   Some farm animal!) Combustible!
 
Fire safety is just another check on my new "life list", another catastrophe to avoid.  After brain tumors what's a little fire?  I just need a better escape plan!  Who doesn't?

Carpe Diem! NOW!! GO!! Yes,You!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Star Wars C-3PO,BB8 & R2D2
They have absolutely nothing to do with brain tumors, I just like them!

Along this mysterious path that has been my post-cancer life lo, these many years (longer than The Civil War) I have encountered many obstacles and received many gifts.  The best gift I received was the gift of life.  I practice the "discipline of gratitude" - I interpret it as the following:  I'm grateful just to be on the right side of the dirt, I'm grateful to still be alive!  Everything else is secondary.

I have been working, rehabbing and doggedly pursuing something called "neuroplasticity" - the brain's ability to make new connections through damaged brain tissue.

It occurred to me recently that I've been approaching this recovery thing all wrong.  What if this is as good as it's going  to get?  What if I relearn to walk only to trip over a cliff?  Gritting my teeth and working even harder and depriving myself of every earthly comfort seems like a plan but is it?

I keep stretching and adding to a long list (and getting longer) of foods and beverages I no longer consume because they're bad for me!  And I exercise constantly!   As a result, I'm always really hungry.  Why should I suffer?

Because with every trip to the gym, every gram of sugar I skip, I get a little closer to neuroplasticity.  Every mile I pedal to nowhere on the bike, or walk on the treadmill makes me a little more flexible, a little more nimble, a little steadier, a little leaner.

I keep working out and writing.  I know I'm getting stronger and lighter, I'm no longer motivated by the appearance of new muscles on my body or a small size in my closet.  I'm now motivated to be smaller because it's easier for me to put on clothes.  Weighing as little as I can is a priority now because the PS has to haul me around from time to time.

Every day is filled with new challenges, uneven flooring and cookies I can't eat.

I believe I'll walk again.  Until that happens I'll "seize the day" and take a note from the Travelocity Garden Gnome:  "Go and smell the roses!"

I'll make peace with wheelchairs and be grateful for the behind-level view that a wheelchair affords!

Hey, I'm being life-coached by a plaster yard decoration, I'll take inspiration wherever I can find it.

5 YEARS PEOPLE!  Time is a wasting!

Any ideas are encouraged!

Three More Things That Are Pretty Amusing: Cartoon Sports Agents, Scary Trees and Post Cancer Hair

Hello Fellow Travelers!

This dude (James Woods) from the movie, "Rio"- I had his do yesterday!  Exactly what was he?

Or this one, creepy!

See the scary tree from "The Ring??  That's was My Hair This Morning!

I'd be remiss in describing this odyssey without making mention of my always-changing mane.  It''s yet another example of how I was destined to prevail over brain cancer. And it cracks me up!  I always had a ton of hair.  I was born for the "big hair" 80's.

I was never swarthy though, I never rocked a unibrow, I just had a lot of hair!

I was a Leo and I always identified with the lion's mane.

Radiation took away about 50% of my hair, leaving plenty, more than necessary.  So I cut it short.   Really short.  Then really, really short.  And it still  grows back, wavy, thick, unstoppable.  I was hoping for sort of a futuristic "Vulcan", thing  (you know Spocky, minimal).

Before anyone asks, hairless is not possible.  And I still fall so I need to cover some obvious battle scars.  Also, to go bald, you need to be mostly hairless  and as I've mentioned, I am not folically challenged.

And to "go Telly Savalas", you need a perfectly shaped head!

I received a well-intentioned wig, but I've never used it.  Wigs scare me a little.  Especially if I discover one.  Have you ever discovered a hairpiece?  It's like finding a dead rodent somewhere!  (I get startled whenever I come across it, reminds me of the Japanese Water Ghost in "The Grudge").

So I'm living with (and constantly cutting off) what's left of my hair.

And mostly, it's taken care of itself.  I keep it cut and clean and as I change, it remains the same.  OK, serviceable, no trouble.  In  short, it works.  Or so I thought.

Yesterday I had a mohawk that would impress Guy Fieri's hairstylist and today I had a seaside cypress tree on my head!  WTH?

What will I wake up to tomorrow morning? The Tower of London in hair ? A recreation of "The Battle of Gettysburg" on top of my head?

I am currently able to rearrange  (undo the "do", as it were) these "hairstyles run amok" with a little water and a comb.   It's not cancer, so who cares?  It's not a log on my bonfire o' stress either.

But this morning's cranial crop circles  did make me question their origin;  is it something inside my brain that's fueling these "Edward Scissorhands Hairdon'ts"?  Is this a normal "bed-head" thing? Or is it something more?

Bottom line? Hair is dead.  I'm alive.  I'll get a trim.

I ordered a lemon tree.

What Do Astrocytomas and American Olympic Swimmers Have in Common? The PS!

 

Caught You Looking!  He's so dreamy!  Must be the hair!  Same Azure Blue as his eyes!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

What does a glance at the D-Bag of US Swimming, gold medal winner and all-around moron ("Dude, we were robbed!  At gunpoint!") have to do with spiritual enlightenment and "the discipline of gratitude"?  At first glance it would seem nothing. A closer look reveals they share one thread, a common element; my patient spouse's sometimes bizarre sense of humor.

My PS was  traveling to  the Oakland Hills for business.  But before getting to the picturesque hills he had to drive through downtown Oakland, old school 'hood, before anyone was "Straight Outta Compton", where Denzel was shot  to death in his car.  At a stoplight!  (Well, maybe "Training Day" was supposed to be in Philly or Baltimore ("The Wire") but you get the idea.

After seeing death I'm always preparing for danger.  It doesn't help that my PS is a bit of a wild one.  My cellphone was swiped a few years back, I wrote it off.  My PS used the GPS in my phone, located it and confronted the  dudes who threw the phone at him.

I was impressed but mostly I was scared.  He could have been hurt.   A phone?  It didn't matter.

Material items don't matter..  My PS matters a great deal.

I was therefore extra concerned yesterday when he drove through O-Town.

In "GOT" terms, getting to the Oakland Hills is kind of like Cersei's "Walk of Shame" to the Red Keep; You can see the castle in the distance but you have to go through a gauntlet to get there.

Since brain surgery (Thank you,Hamid!), I've become even more "risk averse".

I am never surprised by anything and I expect catastrophe at any moment, disaster at every turn.

After a very nervous few hours, I received a call from the PS,  He was on his way out of Oakland.

He said he had a flat tire and thought someone was stopping to help and he was robbed.

At gunpoint!

He goes on to tell me he's OK, the police had already been there and he was getting home without his wallet, meanwhile I'm busy looking up Western Union outlets and bank phone numbers.

I notice he sounds pretty smooth.  He sounds really relaxed for someone who just had a firearm pointed at them.

So before I directed  him to the nearest telegram place, it comes to me, I figure it out.  I'm slow but I remember what he thinks is funny.

"You're messing with me, aren't you.  This is one of your sick jokes."

Peals of laughter come through the other end..

"I'm a Gold Medal douche, and I was robbed!   At gunpoint!" he howled!

Hahaha.  Very funny, not.  I was worried.  Really nervous actually.

I am always looking for laughs, almost as much as I'm always looking for quality baked goods.

However, the PS calling me and doing a "Lochte" is just a complete mystery to me.

I just don't get it. I don't think it's funny.   Never did and I never will.

And he's always doing it.   And I'm like Robin Leach,(or Dana Carvey's impression of Leach), "I don't know why."

To quote a medalist who actually was a victim of a hare-brained scheme, Nancy Kerrigan, "Why?"

We get it, if my PS tells me about any sort of impending doom I'll send out the militia.

If it's a false alarm I'll stand down (heck, I'll just be thrilled to stand.  Up, down, whatever)

Is it a "guy" thing?  An O'Reilly thing?  What?

I spend a lot of energy getting "disaster-ready", as Tina Fey once observed on SNL, "Bitch, I can't be on higher alert!"

So if Prince is in a can or your refrigerator is running,do not call me!  It's not funny and I don't care!

I'm talking to you, love of my life!

I believe anything you tell me.  Tricking me is like tripping a dwarf - not difficult.

I'm busy relearning toddler skills, seriously, stop tripping me!

OK, it's a little funny...

PPV Boxing, Legalized Gambling and Neon that can be seen from Space? I'm So There!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

As in almost everywhere I've gone since 2011, last week's trip to Las Vegas was surprisingly interesting.I expected a decent T-shirt and nothing more.  Mostly, I was prepared to be really hot (115) and blinded by neon signage and fake everything.  What I was not expecting was thoroughly enjoying our stay at the Vegas Hard Rock Hotel, but I actually dug it, so you're just going to have to sit there and read about it!

My son channeling his inner Dylan 

Ever hear the expression, "lipstick on a pig"? Or just trying too hard?  The result for pork, people, hotels is always the same - overdone, tacky.  But unlike the newer, family-friendly hotels on the strip, the Hard Rock doesn't try to be all things to all ages.  From the jump, the HRH is decidedly adult.  The cocktail waitresses look like they might punch you and then bring your drink.  I mean they're pretty, but they all look they know what brass knuckles are for.  They look tough!

That place isn't cheesy anymore, it feels gritty!

The rock memorabilia looks oddly appropriate alongside the colorful, noisy, slot machines.

Even the elevators have steel rails engraved with iconic rock/elevator lyrics.

The hallway sconces are  cymbals from drum kits and the 70's Style/very gothic iron chandeliers are   dripping with strings of green crystals.

Another benefit of being disabled? (who am I trying to kid?  There are no benefits.  None.  Nada)  On helicopters you get to sit closest to an exit (door) so theoretically I can fall out faster.  It's a lousy benefit, but it did afford me an excellent view of Lake Mead!   Due to the predicted heat (115) we opted for the sunrise tour.  Best (and easiest) decision I ever made.

I never would have chosen the Hard Rock Hotel but it was the right choice.

It's a little out-of-date, a little rough, and very musical.

The plexiglassed sequined ensembles of Prince, Lady GaGa and Johnny Cash are a little glamorous and just a tad grimy,  Very rock-and-roll!  And very small!  Steven Tyler might have big lips but the rest of him is tiny!  And Prince?  Teeny-tiny!

Gaga's costume was crystal and resembled a chandelier but it looked like it was worn by a human being.

My PS recently acquired a gorgeous, caramel-colored 12 string, and my son is learning to play. I therefore, get to hear a lot of Lennon & McCartney which I really like and a lot of Tom Petty songs that I don't like so much.  While we were in Las Vegas we saw the interactive (no joke-it was) Cirque du Soleil show that loosely follows the Beatles' musical journey.

The show was fantastic and very French (You're rocking out to "Back In The USSR" and with no backstory or context a crying clown suddenly appears.)

We then went to Sedona.

I've probably been to Las Vegas a dozen times and had no use for it.  I always thought it was just a tacky slot machine in the desert, forget the Rat Pack.

Seeing the sun rise in a helicopter, over the Grand Canyon gives me an entirely new view of Nevada.  I needed a new view.  Stevie Ray Vaughan said it best:  "If the hotel is rockin', don't bother knockin, come on in!"
It must be true it's on the front of the hotel in iron letters!

A Tree Grows In Sacramento - A Really Small Tree!

A Red Japanese Maple - I Have The Dwarf Variety
Small with Small Leaves - Much Smaller Than this Monster

Hello Fellow Travelers!

The highlight of my regrowth summer so far came from a little nursery via Amazon.  At the gym I go to, there's a dwarf Japanese Maple growing just outside the window of the treadmill I use.  The pool is visible from the window.  The small, delicate, leaves frame the window from my treadmill creating a perfect azure view that I can focus on as I walk to nowhere.  Or it would have been perfect, azure viewing serenity if a certain chubby, hairy, oily, Speedo-wearing (unfortunate clothing decision) dude had not elected to park his corpulent carcass directly in my visual Nirvana.

Really?!?  I fought brain cancer so I'd get an unobstructed view of this?!?

Seriously?

At home, there is only the tree and the work.

No excuse to complain. (Don't worry, that won't stop me)

Never a spoiled POV.

Thank you, patient spouse, the little maple tree totally works, I love it!

The symmetry and elegant structure of this tree are very inspiring!

Not as inspirational as say, being able to walk would be, but motivating nonetheless!

This dwarf maple I planted is barely more than a shrub but it will grow, hopefully, just as bushy
and red as in this image.  I can't brush a dog but I can care for a shrubbery!

Or I can complain incessantly until someone takes care of it.

I love this "little tree" idea well enough to get another one.  A sequoia or whatever creepy tree was on the edge of that cliff in "The Ring".

I also welcome any excuse to use the word "shrubbery"- (Always loved "The Holy Grail")

Bring on the trees!  The dirt!  As long as they stay outside...

Jewel Toned Explosions - Now We're Talkin'...

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Barrels of "Wildfire" - Game of Thrones' Nitroglycerine

For years now the creators of all things badass have fed us every combination of every action actor walking with fire and/or explosions going on behind them - as if the director is trying hard to remind the audience just how "badass" the particular actor is. Like, "she's walking away from exploding objects so she must be dangerous!  Or a well paid actress.  Either way, boring!

A lot of action driven video involves someone walking very slowly in front of things blowing up.  I've never understood that either - if  there was an explosion behind me I'd run (or wheel) for the border!   North or South!  I guess walking non-nonchalantly in front of bomb-like pyrotechnics is supposed to show the rest of us "nervous-nellies" how cool they are. I just always think these people don't have the good sense usually found in goats!

Whatever the reason, actors routinely walk towards the camera seemingly oblivious to the incendiary mayhem going on behind them. We get it.  They're really cool.  Boring!

What isn't boring?  What is visually eye-catching to this cynic?  A really big green explosion! I mean huge!  Like in the "GOT Season #6 Finale"!  It was Emerald City sized!  And Emerald City colored!  What was so surprising to me was not the explosion itself but the impact that the green color gave to it!  Smoke colored smoke is, well, smoky.  You can't see anything!  An emerald colored, glowing fireball?  You can (and want to) see everything!

I'm loving green.  As Leslie Caron said in  "Gigi", "The best emeralds have the elusive hint of blue."  I would say on this explosive annual American holiday, "Look at all the fireworks, especially the green ones with a hint of blue!"

Or, as John Candy commented once when reviewing an action film, "It blew up real good!"

Red, White & Blue and Green?

It's all beautiful when it's on fire!

Happy Independence Day!

A Hole By Any Other Name...t

Hello Fellow Travelers!

y

My Son''s Guitar and the "Hole" - You Know, It's Where The Sound Comes Out!

One of the "arts" that the PS and I share is an endless appreciation for music.  The PS plays the guitar and I'm appreciative.  Last weekend we went to my in-laws in Chico and after an amazing dinner, the family gathered around a firepit, "Game of Thrones" style, but much fancier.

Around an O'Reilly firepit there is no mud or swords.  There was a river and a bat and there were S'Mores,   Which always works for me!  Anyway, my in-laws built a fragrant fire (I think I detected French oak) and the PS and our son played a set.

A few days ago the PS asked me to "sniff his hole".  He seriously said this!  To ME!

Many hours later, when I stopped laughing (and let's face it, I've never  entirely stopped.  Just thinking about anyone seriously asking that question puts me in hysterics!

I am a woman who respects words.  Most percussion instruments have a "hole" so I did some research into the parts of orchestral instruments and their names.  Turns out every violin, cello and pretty much any stringed instrument has a hollow body and at least one orifice.    Guess what the musically elegant, visually lovely part is called!  Give up?   The round hole is called a "sound hole" !  The carved, beautiful, F-shape is called "the F-hole"!  I kid you not.

I found it oddly disconcerting that the mechanism for distributing and sharing the magic of Beethoven and The Beatles possessed such inelegant nomenclature!

An "F-hole"?  Oh Lordy!  And he wants me to sniff it? (Peals of laughter!  Sorry!  Excuse me, I have to stop for a minute to giggle.  OK,   Better now.)  The word "hole" shouldn't be attached to any artistic endeavor!

I know what a fash-hole, a show-hole and a black hole are.  I even remember where "Derek Jeter's Taco Hole" is (outside Sedona, AZ).  Instruments with a hole?  Didn't know about, blissfully unaware, you might say.

When I realized this "hole" thing probably wasn't some flatulence joke gone horribly wrong  (I don't think toilet humor is remotely funny!) I sniffed the guitars and I was instantly transported to a firepit in Chico!  Or a French chateau!  Maybe I was at a French firepit, it was beautiful!  A bat did a fly-by!

 The guitar bodies smelled like burned French Oak like they use in cabernet barrels in Sonoma!  It was wonderful!

The smoky/oaky scent captured in those guitars was magical and unexpected!

Knowing my in-laws they were probably burning some specially cut oak roots from France because it was fragrant and vaguely reminiscent of Bordeaux but who cares?  Thanks to the "soundholes" I was able, for a wonderful moment anyway, to revisit the fire.

Mendocino In 2016 - A New Spine Tingling Adventure!

Hello Fellow Travelers!
Me and the PS took a little trip to Mendocino/Ft. Bragg.  Inland has been pretty warm

3.5 Ton Fresnel Lens at Point Cabrillo Lighthouse Built in 1909

The Staircase at our hotel- I had to navigate this bad-boy many times!

so being near the ocean sounded like a good idea and let's face it being near the ocean always sounds like a pretty great idea to me anyway.  Mendocino was cool, ocean-swept and lovely.  We stayed at a historic inn with spectacular views and I had fresh shellfish.  Mendocino has a lot of art and hand-blown glass hanging about and, as an added bonus, it was the date of their annual film festival, so there were added flowers and wine around town.

Mendocino was foggy, sunny, sumptuous, and eye candy.  In a word, perfect!  The hotel's back patio looked at the ocean.

This should have been a scenic piece of heaven, right?

It's a little bit different in 2016.

Prior to 2011 the PS and I would explore the coastline, going wherever the winds took us, staying at beach houses that cropped up along the way.

Going anyplace now requires the second by second planning  Seal Team Six used on Bin Laden! 

 Every item I will use has to be planned, pulled, multi purposed and cleaned.

This little "getaway" had less spontaneity than a bank heist!

Constant vertigo makes even the most beautiful winding staircase dangerous and taking a shower lethal.  Restrooms are death traps.

Any mishap can potentially result in some annoying injury now, so I've become very risk-averse.

To be able to successfully ingest bite-sized, pieces of protein-rich seafood I look at menus online and make all my decisions before I go.  Where should we go?  What will I order?  Will I order anything? (The PS says it's "weird" not to eat, so I always order)  Where will we sit?  I now treat dining out like a D-Day plan with food!

Mendocino has woods on one side of the road and spectacular, rugged ocean views on the other side.  Consequently, artists and local art  abound.  There are hundreds of ocean/tree/coastal paintings in every restaurant.  I was surrounded by hand blown, glass sculptures in any restaurant we went to.

  In Ft. Bragg I had fresh scallops which was a perfect choice for me, they were bite-sized, round and had no sauce.  As mess-free as food can come!  And delicious!

Scampering along the shore is not currently in my skill set but I was bound and determined to check out the Pt. Cabrillo  Lighthouse - I read it had a 2+ ton lens.  2 TONS OF BLOWN GLASS!  I had to see it!

This is where the years of running (the  PS)  and working out come in handy - to get to this lighthouse, I had to wheel over a mile to get to it!

I was laughing so much (and it was truly hilarious!), it took me a few minutes to realize that there were cars going past us.  Turns out you can drive the entire way!

Good thing I'm always prepared for an adventure.

What Do American Presidents and Wheelchairs have In Common? Periodically, they both have to be Replaced

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Callalilys

I was going to present a typical image of a basic wheelchair but then selected these callalilys in an Orient & Flume vase because the flowers are elegant and visually pleasing and any wheelchair is neither.

You know by now how  I loathe them! Unfortunately, they  do occasionally need to be replaced.  I refuse to accept their continued presence in my environment as anything more than an annoying nuisance.  I only order the most basic, manual, model available.  If I could order a wheelchair made from Popsicle sticks I'd get one but the "Rickshaw Chair" is not currently available, so I've been pricing these odious conveyances online.  And you know what?  Even the crappy ones are pretty expensive!  My solution to rolling along like a dachshund with no back legs?  Try really hard not to be a wiener dog on wheels!

Wheelchairs are an unfortunate tool required for all manner of illnesses and conditions.   They are also a prime piece of motivational equipment in my rehabilitation.  No "Rascals" or "scooters" or anything with a cupholder/horn/headlight or a motor for me!  The less moving parts the better! Any participation in the selection process indicates an acceptance of an actual need for a wheelchair and I refuse to acquiesce to a piece of medical equipment!

Acceptance still = surrender and I won't give up!  I'll find neuroplasticity!

Though I'm forced to temporarily rely on this wheeled "thing" to get from point "A" to point "B",  nothing dictates I have to be happy about it.

This particular chair incorporates everything that is American and "bad". I don't mean Michael Jackson "Bad" either -  just crapola. The seat is naugahyde or maybe "pleather".

Anyway I stick to the "naug" (eg?) when I move and I sort of peel myself off.

Then there are the wheels, even though I've kept them clean they are gouged and leave marks on floors.

George Costanza's future mother-in-law (Grace Zabriskie) Mrs. Ross ("Seinfeld") said it, "Is it too much to ask that you wipe your wheels?"

It doesn't help that my not-so-cheap-ass-but-it's-falling-apart-chair was manufactured by an unfortunately named company called "Invacare".

"Inva" is part of the word"invalid" which is both a noun (a person who can't walk) and an adjective (used to describe something, usually a document, that is no good or of no use) and neither definition is a positive descriptor of a human being.

I can overlook a lot but  I draw a line when I repeatedly see that "Invacare" label, bolted into the chair.

 Standing around and snarking, biking, walking for hours is my normal, I've never been a "sitter".  I'm more of a "stander".

Then there is the view from a wheelchair and it's tragic!  You have this weird viewpoint where you're eye-level with everyone's rear.  As if that isn't uncomfortable enough you're invalid and apparently you were eaten by a faux leather chair!  And there's a photo to prove it!

If that image doesn't send you screaming to your gym, at least have a cookie for me!

Happy Mother's Day!

My Kind of Dragon- Disney-esque, More Goofy Than Menaacing

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Everybody has one - a mother.  I refer to my own using an assortment of  highly questionable nicknames that have met with  varying degrees of success.  I'm a "Game of Thrones" fan (It's not TV - It's HBO) so I refer to my dear Mom lately as the "MOD" or "Mother of Dragons".

I believe my journey has a bigger purpose than just where it takes me.

Brain cancer is just part of much larger picture.

Next week I have my five-year MRI (brain scan).

Assuming it's clear (Thank you, HA!), I can sail off (or wheel off) into the sunset.

With the completion of the five-year MRI and some bloodwork, the "cancer phase" will be over. I won't be constantly looking over my shoulder for another tumor to appear.  I can look forward to newer and different disasters!

I am as one doctor told us, a "walking medical miracle".

Since I'm lucky enough to still be topside, I feel a huge responsibility to utilize every minute of every day to improve anything or anyone I encounter, myself especially. These "improvements" can be small, but any improvement moves me forward and moving forward is all I'm concerned with.

My mom won't take any credit for my uncanny resilience or any of my survival skills.  It is true that I'm scaling this "post cancer mountain" by myself but I don't think I could do it without the inherent skills she passed onto me.

My ambivalence towards eating, who cares anyway?  Not my mother!  "You can't be too rich or too thin" might have been said by  Coco Chanel but we lived it!  "The world is full of food - you can't eat it all." Some chef said that and it's true.  Eating is a big pain since neurosurgery so until/unless they come up with a capsule that contains the RDR of protein, I'll keep skipping food (except quality baked goods)

I used to enjoy fine (and not so fine) wine.  Never again since brain surgery!  And it used to be a big part of my life!  And I don't miss it at all!  My mother abstains from alcohol.

Best of all my mother encouraged my love of reading and the written word.

I love to read.  I'll read anything.  Sometimes more than once.  And you know what else?  I read really fast!

Since I was little, my mom has been giving me lots of books!  Reading is the key to understanding writing

I have a constant drive to find out what happens next, to see how it turns out.  "It" doesn't have to have a happy ending whatever "it" is, I just need to know how "it" ends.

I'm currently unable to speak but I can type!

Throughout this latest journey my mother has fed me Scooby Snacks and clothed me in gym wear. I can't write longhand.  My mom sent me a laptop.  I know I told you when she sent actual cat fur in a Ziploc bag!  (When she sent the baggie, it made more sense...)

My weird sense of 'funny" definitely originates with my mother - when things are their bleakest point sometimes all you can do is laugh.

Strength, sarcasm and unshakable objectives have gotten me through this "handicapped" phase.  I'm ready to find out what happens next!

Better Living Through Chemistry, or Pain DOES Mean You're Alive!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

My constant spinning comes part and parcel with a certain amount of constant pain.  My head always hurts and my right hand/arm is painful and has been diagnosed with nerve damage or "neuropathy".

 To address the neuropathy issue, my oncologist prescribed Prednisone.

My PS says the pain and "hamburger  hand" sensation in my right arm are not real.  It sure feels like ground meat that's not been refrigerated!

Maybe Prednisone is working because it's all I take, or maybe it's effective because I do so much gym work, who knows?  Or cares?  It's working - that's all I know.

Right now, today, Prednisone is helping me.  I'm looking a lot better.  I feel a lot better.

Does it still hurt?  Oh, yeah!  Is it important?  Is it cancer?  No.  Then I really don't give a hoot!
Pain/schmain!  Pain is a little like hunger - inconsequential.

How does Prednisone work?  I'm glad you asked! Spoiler Alert:  I'm about to get all medical! Prednisone just sort of "fixes" you. Its  magic, like beanstalks or Disney furniture! It's kind of spooky, actually. The effects kick in at lightning speed.  (I hope that explanation wasn't  too dry!  Despite a complete lack of balance I no longer tip over.  My skin is regenerating itself. The muscle groups I've worked on for so long with no noticeable results are now visible and rapidly developing!

Do you know what happens when you finally see improvement?  You want more improvement!

I feel stronger, faster lighter.  I'll bend pain and hunger to my will, not the other way around.

Pain keeps me sharp!  Keeps me focused!  Pain can be managed.

Maybe that doctor/philosopher was right and "Pain does mean you're alive!"

Really?  They let you actually say that?  Unbelievable!

What Do Selma Bouvier And Stevie Nicks Both Share? Stand Back And I'll Tell You!

Selma Bouvier

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Yesterday, my Patient Spouse and I were going to see yet another brain specialist.  I am committed to solving this mystery, to stop the ceaseless spinning.

When I can walk, I'll never sit again.  I plan on standing up forever.  But that's for another rant on some other day.

Today I'm still laughing about something the PS did on the way to the brain doctor yesterday.

Stand Back!  It's Stevie!

Going to the umpteenth "consultation" was another medical mind to probe, one more lead to follow.

 I will keep searching until I find the key to neuroplasticity.  That is, in effect, a damaged brain's ability to create new connections between the brain and your muscles.   In my case, I'm unable to walk, stand or speak.  I'll keep looking for answers.   Accompanying me on this dark journey has always been my PS.  He makes me laugh several times a day.

We were listening to some "classic rock" station and they played Stevie Nicks' anthem-like "Stnnd Back".  He started singing the song in a pitch perfect Selma from "The Simpsons"  I laughed so hard, I blew water out of my nose!

I rarely smile since '11 but I'm always looking for anything funny!  And Selma/Stevie was darn humorous!  The raspy voice of the chain-smoking, DMV working, Homer-hating, Bouvier sister  (she has an identical twin, Patty) was pure hysteria!

I live a life now buried in ridiculous circumstances.  Just yesterday I wheeled over a new brassiere without being aware of it.  Somehow a wheel "ate" the Lycra straps and  my crummy wheelchair seized up like a fishing yacht that gets fishing line caught in the propeller.  Oh, man!  Really!?!

A bra paralyzing my much-despised metal wheels?  Say "it ain't so, Joe!"

Welcome to my world.  Post brain tumor.

Classy with a Kapitol "K"!

No one said juggling chainsaws was "Breakfast at Tiffany's"!

I could have spent hours trying to detangle the wheel but every time I tried it seized up even tighter!

I just had to laugh! It was pretty funny!

Of course, the PS came along and detangled it in about two seconds.

It's another reason I have to be as ready as possible for whatever ridiculous set of circumstances might  come next:  killer bees, zombie robots, wheel tangles, I  don't know for sure what's coming only that something is.

Forrest Gump was right.  Life is like a box of chocolates.

As Homer (Simpson) might say, "Mmmm, chocolate!"

April Means Spring Baseball!

ATT Park-Every Seat is Fantastic!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Yesterday was great for many reasons: It was a warm, sunny, day, I'm still among the living, my PS was in good humor.  But mostly it was such a "wunderkuche" (wondercake) with a maraschino on top because it was the SF Giants' Opening Day at AT&T Park!

What it signifies is that Spring is here!  Kruk  & Kuyp are back!

162 games?  Is that all?  Does that include the playoffs?  That they'll be in, of course!

Big bats and "snot rockets", says classy with a "k"!

AT&T is a fun park with a lot of interesting stuff to see and do - and eat!  The variety of "quality" chocolate items alone is dizzying!  As stadiums go, it's a foodie's dream!

Baseball is the ultimate reinvention story:  At the beginning of a new season, anything is possible, Your team could take it all!  Baseball is also deceptively simple.  The PS always talks (in hushed tones) about "the game within the game" whatever that is.  I'm just in it for the hot chocolate!  And the bobbleheads!  What can I say?  "Simple things for simple minds."

The world is an increasingly scary place.  Opening Day at AT&T reassures baseball fans that the "boys of summer" are forever young and still swinging!  Plus, the food is pretty good...

There's Nothing Like A Cookie-Shaped Polka Dot Purse!

The Kate Spade Round Patent Leather Crossbody - Look, Ma!  No Hands!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Meru

Mt. Meru - Vertical Climb With The Aptly Named "Shark's Fin"

Hello Fellow Travelers!

A few nights ago my Patient Spouse downloaded a film on Netflix that was supposed to be "Inspirational".  "Meru" has everything!  Vertical Mountain Climbing, Vertical Camping, camaraderie, grievous brain injury, death, love, ramen noodles and granite walls, non-stop, vertical, granite walls.  And that's just the first 15 minutes.

"Meru" is the story of three good friends who happened to be world class mountain climbers.  As individuals, they were formidable.  As a team they were unstoppable.  By the time Conrad set up their tent midair, 400 feet up, I was all in.

Did I mention Jon Krackauer?  The dude who wrote "Into Thin Air"?  He's in the movie too.  Meru is reportedly a mountain climber's mountain.  There is nothing to rely upon but yourself and your team.  There are no oxygen tanks, no Sherpa to carry the tanks or anything else.  The mountaineers only can rely on each other and themselves and whatever they can carry on their backs!

These three dudes take that mountain with determination and focus.  It isn't their first try either.  Spoiler Alert:  The climbers reach the summit.  It would have been disappointing if they didn't I suppose ("Aw, s%$#t!  What now?") humorous but disappointing nonetheless!

I'll never climb Meru.  I barely know what country it's in (India) but I'll take inspiration wherever I can find it.  Those mountain climbers are very inspiring.  "I beat cancer?  So?  What have you done lately?"  (Inspirational conversation I have internally)  I don't complain too much about my health (I can't speak) but after "Meru" I don't even think the thought!

Hunger?  Those guys camped midair!

Pain?  Those dudes scaled a huge granite vertical rock and then the "Shark Fin".

See what I mean?  Even my mind is too impressed to complain.

This beautifully shot (Nat Geo) documentary says many things on many levels.  The overwhelming message I took away?  "Buck Up, Little Camper!"

"Meru" inspires this challenged traveler to pedal a few more miles to nowhere and do a few more repetitions than I think I can do.

I can find some kind of inspiration in everything (almost).  On "Meru" I found a mountain of it.  A vertical, granite mountain!

Do You Know What A Hoarder Is? Well I'm The Anti-Hoarder

Glass & Concrete Shack on a Beach with Too Much Stuff -
Not My House But Sort Of My Aesthetic

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I was throwing out yet another stack of papers to be recycled when I was interrupted yet again by my PS.  Is he a hoarder?  Naahh!  I do wonder sometimes, though.  I never really considered it until recently.  Everything I want to pitch, he claims is irreplaceable. I can't throw away enough stuff and my PS is a packrat! Classic! It's really the only thing we argue about.

To be fair, I have a really spare aesthetic.  Sparer since cancer. If you're not eating on it, typing on it,  reading or sleeping on it,  it must go.     Water and stone.  Light and glass.  Fire.  That's it!  Except for a bed, no furniture.  Okay, maybe a table, but only one.  And no chairs.  Stone stools or geods, or chairs that hang on the walls in between meals.  (I saw that once in a movie)  I'm the ultimate minimalist, the antihoarder.

So the PS and I go through this hilarious routine every time I try to throw anything away!  It doesn't matter what it is,  I'll dispose of a piece of advertising paper or a sock with a big hole and it will find it's way back to me along with a lawyer's argument to persuade me why the item I'm discarding all willie-nilly still has some use in it and  should be reclaimed!   Does this ever persuade me?  What do you think?   You're right!  Naahh!  Of Course it doesn't!  HaHa!

When every step is a challenge and all surfaces are potential hazards furniture is cumbersome, decor  meaningless.

I used to prowl antique stores looking for Art Deco/Retro stuff.  Never again.  Small shops make me feel trapped and claustrophobic, like MRIs.

I occasionally am forced to have my brain photographed but no one says I have to ever have to willingly stand around cramped little shops for fun, which I no longer am interested in and, as a cancer survivor, all my priorities have changed anyway.

Some day, when I'm living in my "furniture-free villa-by-the-sea", I'll invite you over for a drink - I'll be the one not talking and you might get impaled on a geod!

Educational and unforgettable!  Yowsa!

"Don't Tell My Heart! My Achy-Breaky Heart!" The Ultimate Mullet - Billy Ray Cyrus (Yes, Miley's dad)

Not even Clooney could rock a mullet!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

People's "Sexiest Man Alive" couldn't wear the 80's hair "don't".  So what chance do mere mortals possess?  None! Zip! Nada!  Male or female!  It doesn't matter!  It's the worst hairstyle since the combover (although the muttonchop sideburn was pretty awful!)

Despite a mercifully brief moment of popularity in the 80's (Bono, Patrick Swayze) the mullet went the way of the dodo bird and the pterodactyl.

What does this long-gone-and-never-lamented hairstyle have to do with this brain tumor "Patient of the Future"?  I'll tell you!

Several weeks ago I underwent brain surgery to remove a round object that had been installed in my cranium.

A well-intentioned hairstylist made a valiant attempt to create a semblance of a hairstyle.  As a result, I ended up with a weird, uneven, cut and a bad headache.

The headache I can deal with, I can ignore pain.

My hair had been happily doing it's own thing until this latest brainectomy (technicalese for shunt removal)  slowed my unusually fast-growing hair to a complete standstill.

I have a "Pepe Le Peuw" silver stripe (that I actually kind of like), but otherwise my hair was one less thing to worry about.

Until now.

I inadvertently graduated from unfortunate haircut to really unfortunate regrowth?  I don't think so!

I'm unable to speak or walk.  I'm pretty sure I'm legally blind..  Now I have a mullet?  That was not what I signed up for.  Oh no.

This is one side effect, I can immediately and definitively correct!

With scissors!  Or shears, or something!  There's a good reason the mullet went the way of acid-washed jeans and brick-sized cell phones.

I may not be able to operate a knife or a pencil (don't even get me started on Sharpies!) but I can fix ridiculous hair.

How?  Simple.  Cut it off!

There, see?  One thing fixed!

One down.  Three million to go...

Love, Still All You Need - Love And Cookies

In the "go big"" column, here is Mariah's latest engagement rock
That dude must love her a lot! Whoa!

Hello, Fellow Travelers!

My 21 year old niece just broke up with her long time beau.  The PS and I are sending a pretty gift for a very pretty girl. She's tall, blond and gorgeous.  She'll move on, with him, with someone else or alone. All  "matters of the heart" are in my rearview (or would be if I could drive!) but I remember the pain of breakups and it's huge!

I've been married for several years.  Valentine's Day means something entirely different since 2011 - it's another occasion for me to show my gratitude to my patient spouse.  My "PS" probably won't bring me flowers (don't want them) or chocolates (really don't want them) but he'll tell me repeatedly how to sit, stand and balance.  I'm unfailingly cheerful and he's routinely glum.   He never stops criticizing me.  I'm happy just to be on the planet!  He does seem determined, however, to keep me alive.

He is my partner in my search for neuroplasticity.

Barbara Streisand used to sing (with Neil Diamond) "You don't bring me flowers anymore."

I haven't received flowers from my husband in awhile but he has gone  to the gym with me, carefully monitors all my dietary intake, and dispenses all my meds.  He opens all my mail and makes my appointments.  The PS gives me Wi Fi!  If that's not love I don't know what is!

Most importantly, he cracks me up every day!  Still!

And laughter and the ability to see the ridiculousness in every situation is a key to keeping your sanity when your entire world is spinning!

My PS is negative but gives me hope that this is just a phase, an unfortunate set of circumstances that we will overcome with science and hard work!

It's grim, repetitive and tiresome.  I love it!

Mariah's rock is pretty awesome though...

"Diamonds Might Be A Girl's Best Friend" but it doesn't matter when you're wearing a wheelchair!

Love is all that matters.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Scary Bears? It Must Be Valentines' Day!

"Vampire Teddy" from Muse video for their song, "Uprising"
Notice the Reptilian Eyes, not usually seen in a Teddy Bear, fangs either

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Now that's a frightening teddy bear!  Later in the same video all the giant, fanged, "teddy's" somehow end up burning in a teddy bonfire while  the tiny band makes their escape in a tiny truck.  Epic!  Last St. Valentine's Day, I warned against a purchase of the much-advertised, highly objectionable, "Hunk O' Burnin' Love" bear for the low-low price of $99 bucks from the Vermont Teddy Bear Co..

At the risk of repeating myself, allow me to repeat myself:  Do not, I repeat, don't, give this huge, uncute, "Lunk of Flaming Poo" to anyone you like let alone someone you supposedly love!

Despite my heartfelt warnings, someone is buying these giant pieces of crap!  This year they're offering them in white!

The  new VD commercial depicts a dude lugging this behemoth to his TV ladylove like a drunken stranger he picked up someplace.

Nobody wants this bear!  And nobody really doesn't want this stupid thing as a gift of love! As Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) said to her editor (Candace Bergen) at Vogue, in "Sex & The City", "I know shoes!"

Well, I may not know much about love or footwear (OK, I know something about shoes, what female does not?) but I do know teddys!

I'd have to say that "Hunk of Burning Crap" doesn't resemble any bear I've ever seen!

Many years ago I collected a series of one kind of mohair, hard-body bears.  I bought them from a single, privately owned teddy bear shop and most still have their original packaging and tags..

I had tiny bears, mid size bears and very large ones.  Some had growlers.  All were German.  (It always gets back to those Germans, doesn't it?)

Those bears were cute, expensive (I paid for them over time) and have only increased in value.

I stopped collecting bears a long time ago and I've since given my Steiffs away, but I've read a lot of teddy bear books and looked at tons of teddys!

The Vermont Teddy Bear Company human-sized "Flaming Bag of Poop" bears?  Not collectible.  Not even a little!

This shriek-every-time-you-see-it monstrosity doesn't say, "I love you!", it screams, "I forgot!"

It also says, "I had several days and at least $100 and I make really poor decisions." and "I don't know you at all, so I ordered this thoughtless "Present O' Poo" for you!  Enjoy!"

Getting rid of this non "token" of love?

Akin to the disposing of a corpse (I would imagine)!  I mean, this thing is not just uncute it's huge!

You'd need a chainsaw!

The typical gifts of flowers and candy aren't old, they're classic.

There are diamonds and chocolates.  Heck, Zales even has "chocolate" diamonds, whatever they are.

Need a lower "price point"?  DQ has a heart-shaped cake for two that looks divine!

A card, a limerick, nothing, nada, zip, zilch, zero are all preferable.

Love can take many forms but none of them involve giving or receiving another pleasureless object that only serves to clutter our planet (and your couch) further.

Love does not equal hoarding!

Fun? Travel? Not Now - I Need to Walk First

Hello Fellow Travelers!

As I figuratively bounce though my day, I check in periodically with some old friends in the West.  Two of them (a male and female) both have summer houses and vacation overseas.

Leavenworth, WA at Christmastime - Magical!
Leavenworth, KS?  Not So Much!

I always thought Leavenworth was a supermax prison in Kansas, but I've learned that there is a quaint Germanish village in Washington with the same name where people (some) vacation!  Who knew?

My best girlfriend is taking her family to Japan!  The closest I'll ever get to "The Land of the Rising Sun" is a pink, Kate Spade, Cherry Blossom purse I found on EBay!

And I liked that primarily because it reminds me of a spring cookie!

What am I, the cancer free, doing?

I'm so glad you asked!

I'll tell you what I'm not doing:

I'm not going overseas and I'm not going to our summer house.

I am writing and working out.  And writing some more.  Then working out again.

I practice standing a lot.  Just standing!  And it's really hard!

And I'm searching, always searching for neuroplasticity.

There is no end to the work I have to do to attain "muscle  memory".  For those of you keeping score at home, "muscle memory" is teaching the muscles themselves through repetition.  Performing the same movement, the same way hundreds or thousands of times.

 The PS monitors everything I consume, and, as a direct consequence, I'm continuing to lose weight.  I'm also hungry all the time!  When I get too hungry, I go to the gym.

Where I lift weights and watch "The Food Network" (I still watch"Cupcake Wars", all the sugar, without any of the calories!  Or mess!)

Between trips to the gym, and biking many miles to nowhere I look at cookie-shaped accessories online.  And, not surprisingly, there are many websites devoted entirely to selling round and circular objects.

There's a lot of hunger out there!  And plenty of people happy to sell you anything to feed that hunger, how "American" is that?

Anyway, as readers already know, I'm only interested in things that work, that move me forward.

I have no interest in anything that doesn't positively impact me in some way, no matter how small the impact might be.

I believe my stubborn refusal to accept cancer/brain tumor contributed to being successful in remaining cancer-free, year after year

I'll keep looking for neuroplasticity, working even harder to walk.  Someday,  I hope to be in some exotic locale sipping something equally exotic (but still Sugar Free) with my friend.  Hope.  That's all I need!

How Cancer has Made Me "Risk Averse"

Hello Fellow Travelers!

This week I had  my usual mountain of moment-by-moment challenges to deal with  (ice in your water:  refreshment or "recipe for disaster"?) and then I saw this "Breaking News" on CNN:  "Blizzard to Demolish Eastern Seaboard"

It was the lead for days and temporarily outtrumped even Trump himself, so of course, I watched.

But you know which channel was truly jazzed by this calamity, enraptured by the prospect of impending doom?  "The Weather Channel"!  They were  absolutely breathless at the prediction of near-certain disaster! And like all great weather calamities, this one got a cute name.  Move over hurricanes Katrina and Betsy, here comes Winter Storm Jonas!  And he's a "Nor'Easter".  With an adorable, child's name!

Why is it that once a disaster is assigned a cutesy name it becomes a little deadlier?

I was so happy something other than politics was in the news I followed the press following the storm!

The upshot?  It was a big mess, but it's over with!  Several people died in "Jonas-related" situations.  Several not several hundred.  You know why the "casualty count" was relatively low?  People actually listened to their elected officials!  This assortment of governors, police chiefs and health officials pleaded to the public.  And the public actually listened.  They stayed off the roads!   The streets were clear so the emergency vehicles could get to actual emergencies.

In the hours and days preceding Jonas' arrival, the governors of several eastern states appeared on television repeatedly to tell citizens to keep off the roads for 36 hours.  By Saturday, the "crisis" was over.  Planes flew again and people began digging out of the snow, crisis averted!

"Stay off the roads?"  Well,"duh!"  Everybody knows that!  No one would need to tell me that, I didn't live through brain cancer just so I could skid on some ice pointlessly going to the Kwikee Mart equivalent!  I'll never need milk that bad!

I value life too much to take a stupid risk like driving in a blizzard.  If I could drive.  Which I cannot.

I've fought too long to stay alive to risk running into the "Reaper"by playing in the snow!

I now have a heightened awareness of how truly dangerous everyday life is.  I evaluate every circumstance by how potentially dangerous it could be.

I've been dizzy longer than the Civil War lasted, I'm not willing to take any physical chances!

See what happens when communities stay inside and don't drive in blizzards with cute names?  Less people get hurt!  

Like I said, "Duh!"