Stop the Carousel, I Wanna Get Off

Today is just one of those beautiful summer days that I want get off the carousel and do some exploring.

I sat on the deck as the sun was coming up, and was overwhelmed with the childhood feelings of summer mornings. I am holding onto that feeling for as long as I can, because I know it will be gone far too soon.

Sometimes you get so caught up in the carousel of every day life and sometimes you happen to realize it. Instead of air conditioning, I want summer breeze blowing across my skin. Instead of sitting at a desk, I want to be carelessly riding my bike wherever I want to be at that moment. I don't want to think about my doctor appointments, rather I want to run through the woods, watching the birds fly by overhead and the sun peek in and out from behind branches.

Yeah, stop the carousel, I wanna step off.

I don't want to watch or read the news. I want childhood ignorance ruled by stats on the back of baseball cards. I want to splash around in a pool, not caring how much water is spilled over the edge. I would love to lie on the grass, and watch the clouds roll lazily by, and not worry about who is going to cut that grass or water the flowers. I want to run down the ice cream man, eagerly searching the menu for a Good Humor Strawberry Shortcake bar instead of hiding from the Postman and the bills he'll bring.

Really, I'm not asking for much - just one day. One amazing childhood summer day.

Needles on my brain...

I am seething right now about Le Tour... The Grand Boucle has sufferred a HUGE blow with Ricardo Ricco returning a positive piss test.

I have stated in the past that I cannot blame cyclists for their past dirty deeds. Eric Zabel, Frankie Andreu, and Bjarne Riis have all admitted to doping in the 90s. Again, I can't blame them. That was the culture of cycling in the 90s.

However, cycling has worked hard to clean up its reputation. The French have bitched that they have not won much of anything in Le Tour in recent years because everyone who has won has doped. But not the French! Blah blah blah...

Team CSC, Discovery Channel (now Astana), Team High Road (now Team Columbia) and Slipstream-Chipotle (now Garmin-Chipotle) have taken a stance on doping within their teams. They have upgraded all testing, and made their practices transparent. And guess who has had most of the success this year overall??

So Dr. Rasmus Damsgaard - the man who has implemented the strict doping controls with CSC and other teams - came out and said that he is concerned about the doping controls in this years' Tour. He feels that they are not stringent enough, and focus mainly on the Spanish riders.

Sure enough, two Spanish riders have already been kicked out of the Tour for doping this year. But the biggest blow was today when young hotshot jackass Ricardo Ricco was popped for doping. His team, Saunier-Duval, was the top team in Tour winnings so far this year.

Guess what? Ricco isn't Spanish... but he's not French, either. He's Italian! BUT... Saunier-Duval is a SPANISH TEAM! Word is that Saunier-Duval didn't even start the race today. They tucked their tails and packed their shit and left France.

I know that I'm rambling. There is so much in my head about this crap that I need to get out. I'll try to summarize:

Cycling is trying to clean up. CSC, Garmin and Columbia are trying to become examples of clean riding. Ironically, none of these teams are French.

Idiots are still trying to beat the system, and the system is enabling them to do it.

But a few got caught, which is good and bad.

It's good because it shows that the hole-laden net of controls CAN work when it wants to.

It's bad because this happens every year, and people are getting good and tired of people cheating.

I understand that there is a ton of pressure to compete on a high level. I understand that people are given the ability to cheat. But what people don't understand - what sportsmen cannot seem to get a grip on (especially when mo' money is involved!) - is that they ARE heroes to kids and others who seek inspiration.

Too bad. If you can't handle it, then get out of the business. It is a necessary evil.

DOPING IS NOT.

Thanks a lot, Ricardo Ricco, for f*cking up another opportunity for a sport that I love to clean up its image. Your cocky-ass, mouth-shooting arrogance just bit you in the ass more than the bite of the needle. If your B sample comes back positive, you will be suspended for two years. You will come back, and I won't care. Hopefully, no one will.

Where's that ego of yours now?

Yeah, I'm not only seething, but a little bitter, too... :)

Life and Death Comes Down to Health

"I am health, I am strength, I am success and I am abundance. That is my nature, and that is what I am."

"I am slim, trim, lean and thin."

These are my affirmations, which I typically recite in the shower each day. I've been saying the first one for a couple of years, and it has essentially been true. The latter one, however, I'm still working on. I figure if I say it enough, I will believe it.

This weekend, I had an experience that had only happened to me twice before. I thought there was something SERIOUSLY wrong with me. I also call this an "Oh f*ck! moment".

One day, while I was going through chemo, I had decided to binge on pizza. Considering that pizza itself is slow to digest, and the chemo I was on caused constipation, I put myself into a world of hurt. That night, while my belly was bloated, my sciatica was triggered, and I began having pain in places I never had pain before.

That was the first time I seriously thought I was going to die.

The next time was this past Halloween. I awoke in the middle of the night with intense pain in my back and right shoulder. Motrin barely touched the pain, and I was afraid that soemthing was going on that I couldn't overcome. I knew it wasn't a heart attack, because that would have been left-side pain...

I tend to have problems with my chest, back and right shoulder as a result of a mountain biking crash 10+ years ago. I separated my shoulder, as well as the cartilage in my back and sternum. And sure enough, I can tell when the weather changes...

In any case, I had slept funny earlier that day, and aggravated my shoulder and back. Time took care of fixing that.

This weekend, I awoke in the middle of the night with intense pain in my hip and leg. I had been having problems with my hip for about a year, but the doc can't seem to find anything wrong. So I tried stretching and massaging the pain away. Eventually, the Motrin kicked in, and I was able to go back to bed.

While I was up, though, the thought popped into my mind that I might have to get my hip replaced. And there was no way that would be possible with me being as overweight as I am. So I was shocked into action, and am now focusing on being better to myself and my body.

I'm not fooling myself. I know it's going to be a long, gradual road, but I have GOT to get healthier.

"I am slim, trim, lean and thin."

VIVE Le TOUR!

For me, July means Le Tour de France.

It also brings forth memories of my cycling guru - Uncle Jack ("UJ").

As a kid, I really enjoyed the attention given to me from my youngest aunts and uncles - Aunt Michelle, Uncle Ron and Uncle Jack. They were the coolest, and they are the model for what I want to be for my nieces and nephews.

I really loved riding my bike, and one day, I was floored when UJ rode his bike over to our house, and he and I rode through the neighborhood. Being a lil one at the time, I felt like we had ridden miles together, yet as I look back from an adult point of view, it was merely a few blocks.

Nonetheless, this is an extremely vivid memory from my childhood.

That day, UJ became my cycling guru.

Time passed, and we drifted in different directions. I stopped riding bikes when I got my license, only starting up again in my late 20's.

As I began riding again, I found my old memories drawing me back to UJ. We started e-mailing, sharing riding stories and a passion for cycling as adults.

Soon, we became semi-regulars in each others' life again.

Once I bought my house, I was located a short distance from UJ and family. They invited me over for dinner, and I invited them over for parties.

UJ's ability to cycle has been affected over the years, so when I signed up for my 2nd major ride - a 32-miler - UJ let me borrow his road bike. Man, the ride was SO much easier with that rather than with my mountain bike!!

Around the same time, Lance Armstrong started winning Le Tour, and UJ and I would call and e-mail each other in excitement -

"Did you see Lance give Ullrich 'the look'?" he asked me.

"No, I need to watch it tonight!"

"Oh, man," UJ would say, "Lance totally f'ed with Jan's head!"

Like little kids, we were.

UJ and his family moved to North Carolina. We would talk about doing the Assault on Mt. Mitchell, knowing full well that we never would.

And somehow, we finally got the chance to watch a few stages of the Tour together. We did the same the following year. And the year after that. It was bliss.

It has been a couple of years since then, yet me and UJ still e-mail back and forth, and I have no doubt that he wishes that I was there watching with him - just as much as I do.

Life goes on, and things change. You can say that cycling isn't a sport and bitch about the Tour being on TV for an entire month, but it's our time together - my cycling guru of 30+ years and mine - whether we see each other or not.

VIVE Le TOUR!

How Full Are You?

I was thinking about summer this morning, while I DROVE into work (stupid rain predictions!). My drive takes me right through the area I was born and raised, so there is always something to trigger early-life emotions, thoughts and memories.

This morning, I found myself thinking about the carefree days of childhood summers. The days lasted forever, and I was very influenced by the way we spent our time back then.

I thought about how we never seem to have the time that we did back then. We don't fully enjoy our days like we did as kids. This has become the lament of adulthood, but it has become something more to me.

Ever since I got sick, I realized that I needed to focus on doing things I wanted - as opposed to doing things that other people expected me to do. I also realized that time is short, and I needed to fill every possible moment in order to get the most out of life.

What I didn't expect was that this way of thinking would consume the life that I wanted to enjoy. I am finding myself trapped in the lament of adulthood... for completely different reasons than most others.

Like with addiction, acknowledging you have a problem is the first step. As a result of this new admission, I like to think that I will allow myself to smell the flowers a little more - to enjoy putzing around for the sake of putzing around and not because things need to get done.

It's quite a life that we have at our fingertips. Are we getting the full reward? Are we filling our cups? Are we making the memories that we want to remember for the rest of our lives?

Legacies

I was blown away last night watching "In the Shadow of the Moon" on the Discovery Channel.

Hearing the stories of going to the moon by the men who actually did it was a real eye opener. Yes, it was also a bit dramatic, but hey, it was good TV.

I have so much respect for those guys, and wish that today's kids had someone to look up to like that.

What will our legacy be?

I often wonder... and worry.

Time to get inspired!

The Day Winding Down

For me, the most magical part of the day is when afternoon/evening/twilight/night intermix. The neighborhood seems to settle down into its TV hypnosis, the birds chirp their goodnight's, and the roar of the nearby freeway turns into a dull hum.

When I was in college, I used to believe that pure nighttime was the best part of the day. I used to sit outside with my tape player/CD player and listen to music while getting sh*tfaced.

The same thing happens now as did then, although with a whole lot less drunken stupor. I find myself thinking, relaxing, breathing deeply and slowly. I think about how I feel within my surroundings - nature and my body.

I think about how much I enjoy being alive in the here and now. And I often find myself wishing that I could be sitting in a Buddhist temple, or similar sacred place.

What I feel at those times is what I feel every time I read Hermann Hesse's book "Siddhartha". It is quiet, yet powerful being, and I can recognize how fortunate I am to be able to experience that feeling.

Harnessing that feeling is what many religious people spend their lives working towards.

For now, I am just happy to step into that museum and browse the works. I can stay as long as I like, leave, and return again whenever I want.

I like that.

Age, Wisdom and Entitlement

At the risk of sounding like an old man, I need to get this off my chest.

Kids today are full of sh*t, and I feel like I want to punch every one of them.

What gives them the right of entitlement? If you give respect, you get respect, and every one of them punka$$ kids MUST EARN MY respect.

Why am I so riled? Check out this link.

Thoughts on the Four dime Two...

Now that I think about it, I never imagined I would reach the age of 42. I never thought I'd be dead by this point, either. I guess I just never thought about it.

Birthdays are highly significant to me for a few reasons:

• The first is because my mom always made birthdays special. So each birthday I have, I recall fond childhood memories of birthday celebrations. It makes me feel truly special each birthday - still.
• My dad died at 48. Ever since he died, I wanted to outlive him. I don't know why, but it's become something of a compulsion.
• I recognize what a gift it is to wake up every morning. Lately, I feel like I've forgotten this fact, but life is so damn crazy, we are never truly guaranteed a tomorrow.

As a result, I am honored and grateful to celebrate my 42nd birthday today. After today, I will never have a 42nd birthday - it is a once in a lifetime experience...

Must be a glass half-full day. ;)

They Weren't The Best

Remember when we rode the bus to work?
We'd laugh at jokes that no one else understood
And make up lives for the other passengers.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we'd walk downtown?
We'd throw pennies into the fountain,
Knowing some homeless person would dig them out.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we volunteered for Greenpeace?
We'd run around the park
Tripping on LSD, swearing that everyone we saw was Jesus.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we'd run out of gas in the middle of the night?
We'd walk through alleys and construction sites
That even rats wouldn't scurry through.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we'd go to the drive-in?
We'd sit on the hood of the car,
Throwing popcorn at each other.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we'd sit on the window sill of your apartment
Drinking bottles of strawberry wine on
Those sweet summer nights after we made love?
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when you asked me about the best times of my life?
I'd say they would have to be the times in between
When we weren't doing anything in particular
We just were. Together.

Those were good times. They were the best.

Father's Day

I figured I'd be better off getting this out rather than keeping it in.

This past weekend was Father's Day. Since my dad died 17 years ago, and since I don't have kids of my own, I don't really think about Father's Day as such...

For some reason, though, I found myself thinking about my dad more than usual. Nothing really mind-blowing or anything, but he was often in my thoughts.

The other night, while watching "Breaking Away", I noticed a smell of stale cigarettes, and asked Sheryl if she smelled it. She didn't. No biggie, except it sort of smelled like my dad. I said "Hi Dad! Happy Father's Day!" Within ten minutes, the smell was gone.

Last night, I was laying in bed, looking out the window. Because of the seasonal late sunsets, the sky was still light. I was reminded of summers as a kid, and how much I loved the warm, extended twilights. Again, I found myself thinking of my dad, and the beautiful August night (August 9, 1976 - to be exact) he let me stay up late to watch John Candelaria of the Pittsburgh Pirates throw a no-hitter against the Los Angeles Dodgers. I remember knowing - whether it was dad who had told me or not - the significance of the feat... knowing that I might never see another one in my lifetime.

(Oddly enough, in 1993, I was at the Astros game when Darryl Kile threw a no-hitter against the New York Mets)

I hope that whatever my dad is doing now, he is truly enjoying himself. I hope he knows that I appreciate him more and more as I get older.

And I appreciate those memories more and more as well...

Digging A Hole

Yeesh... I had one of those mornings where I dug a hole early, and no matter what I said or did, the hole got deeper and deeper.

I wonder how positive people can stay positive all the time... I am definitely a "glass half-full" person, but so far this morning, I haven't been able to shake the doldrums.

Needless to say, I lost the a**hole game on my way into work. :)

Thank goodness I've got the rest of the day to atone for my sins of the morning...

Cheap Thrills

I sat in silence for a few moments, last night, after watching the film "Breaking Away".

Being summertime, being a cyclist, and having been 19, I reflected on the themes of the movie.

In 1979, when the movie was released, the US was in the midst of a recession. Gas and oil prices were sky high, and we had drama with hostages in the Middle East.

Sound familiar?

"Breaking Away" touches on some of those ideas, but it was always the cycling that got me.

I always thought it was cool how Dave idolized the Italian cyclists... he constantly played Italian music and learned Italian phrases. He is no different than any of us, who buys Air Jordan shoes to be like Mike, buys Nike wear to be like Tiger Woods or Lance Armstrong. We all want to be part of something great.

Through a turn of events, Dave and his pals (played by a young Dennis Quaid, Jackie Earle Haley and Daniel Stern) end up riding in the Little 500 - an actual cycling event that takes place at Indiana University.

Dave is a freaking monster in this race, and I always admired him despite well documented production flaws that only freaks notice (for the record, I noticed one at the end of the race that wasn't covered in the link above. Ask me about it, I'll tell ya!).

At the end of the movie, you realize that the movie takes place within those edgy, uncomfortable moments of change. Things are as they are supposed to be when the credits start to roll.

It's a feel good story, and as I sat in silence, I was proud of my cycling "career", and the things that I accomplished on two wheels. I realized that my bikes and love of cycling carved out an environment in which the story of my own life played out.

Whether we know it or not, we all carve out environments in which to exist. We are lucky when our environments cross paths with those who become influential in our lives.

Yes, a simple movie (with flaws) can affect such comforting thoughts.

Who wants popcorn?

I wanna write a song
A song with guts and teeth
I wanna write a song
A song that gives relief
I wanna write a song
A song to sing and play
I wanna write a song
A song to sing all day
I wanna write a song
With some drama and soul
I wanna write a song
That will make us whole
I wanna write a song
To get me a lot of fame
I wanna write a song
That gives me someone to blame

The soul of a man and his goals and dreams
Needs to feed on the creative muse
Visions of wonder mark the path
Of the trail he needs to use

Blessings of grandeur and adoration flow
Driving the focus of success
Swallowing life’s water of lessons
Similar dreams to be best

I wanna write a script
Of life and its’ glory
I wanna write a book
Or some kind of story
I wanna write a tune
To hum when I die
I wanna write a song

When We Left Earth

When Sheryl and I went to Florida this winter, we spent a day at Kennedy Space Center. It was the second time I had been there, but no less of a rush. They've got quite a visitor's package, and plenty to see.

One of the highlights was going inside the recreation of mission control during the launch of an apollo mission. They took all of the desk consoles, etc., from the original missions and put them in working order to simulate the inner workings of a lift-off. You could smell the 60s in this room, and the event gave us goosebumps.

Yesterday, we watched "When We Left Earth - The NASA Missions". And sure enough, there was footage from the original mission control. It was stunning.

It all takes me back to my childhood, when space was so exciting. My memories of watching the apollo missions on TV stirs butterflies in my stomach. I recall going outside and watching as spacelab orbited overhead. I remember learning about the moon and stars. It was all so new and so fresh.

These days, the only things that seems to change is technology. Everyone is excited about GPS systems, the iPhone, blah, blah, blah. There doesn't seem to be a feat that really stimulates our imaginations anymore.

Maybe I'm jaded. Maybe I'm bored. I just wish there was something out there that we could really wrap our emotions around.

Fortunately, we still have shows like "When We Left the Earth", and we have complexes like Kennedy Space Center and Johnson Space Center in Houston. Hopefully these things will continue to stir up dreams, and spawn a technological future that will grip us by the throat with excitement.

Sing it, Rod!

Rod Stewart and Tina Turner both sang the song "Every Picture Tells a Story" (Or, as I sometimes prefer to call it, "Every picture of a jelly donut"). And the quote is true enough.

What is also true is that every bike ride has a story. This is one of the things I love about cycling. I love the stories, I love the culture, I love the community.

Each leg of my commutes to work this week had a story... whether it was standing completely still while trying to climb "Mt. Madison Heights", and realizing that I may end up falling down the hill because I had no forward momentum... or if it was the fact that during the course of the day, there had been some repaving done on the sidewalk, which forced me to ride (as quickly as possible!) on a VERY busy highway that only had one of two lanes open!

Very often, we travel through life way too fast. Cycling to work forces you to slow down. After all, you are only getting where you need to go as fast as your chicken legs take you. I love that.

I also love that I can postpone buying gas for a few days. The funny thing is that I get a lot of looks on the road from car drivers. The looks used to be the "get the hell out of my way, fatass!" variety. Now they've softened. They are more like the "Damn, I'm so jealous!" look.

Seeing as that I'm a story-person anyway, commuting to work on my bike seems to be a perfect match. Maybe on the weekends, I'll find myself wanting to go to work, rather than wanting to get out on the bike...

HA HAH!!... I may be crazy, but I ain't stoopid!

The A**hole Game / Hypermiling

Each morning, I play a game called “The A**hole Game”. It consists of me driving to work, and trying not to call anyone an a**hole, f*cker, dipsh*t, dumba**, or similar name. If I can make it to work without calling anyone an a**hole, f*cker, dipsh*t, dumba**, or similar name, then I win. Otherwise, I lose.

When I first started playing the game, I lost all the time. However, in the last few months, I have definitely won more than lost.

That is, before hypermiling became popular. “Hypermiling” is a method of increasing gas mileage by changing the way you drive. In many cases, it includes driving 5 miles under the speed limit, and avoiding sudden stops and starts.

Ever since hypermiling has gained fans, I have found that I lose The A**hole Game an awful lot. Getting stuck behind a hypermiler in the left hand lane of a two-lane road is frustrating enough, but now there’s often a hypermiler in the right hand lane, too! Grrrrr!

So I’ve figured out how I am going to get back at BOTH the greedy oil companies AND the hypermilers…

I’m gonna commute to work by bike.

By riding through neighborhoods, I will only have to follow these hypermiling freaks until we get to the next main road. Very often, that is a half mile or less.

And when I speed away from the stop signs, I will burn calories and not gas.

But I might be in danger of getting healthy, so I’ll have to watch that.

For what it’s worth, I think hypermiling is a good idea. I’d do it, too, but I have no patience for it. I just want to get to where I’m going, and be done with it.

I’m sure that by cycling to work, I’ll still lose The A**hole Game… but I think I can get over that. After all, pretty much every a**hole that causes me to lose the game will likely see me in my cycling lycra – and want to scratch their eyes out!

Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout - sweet, sweet revenge, baby!

The Post-Cancer Effects of Stanley

In June 2002, I was beginning my 2nd cycle of ABVD to treat Hodgkin's Disease. The Detroit Red Wings just won their 3rd Stanley Cup in six years, and there was going to be a parade in downtown Detroit to celebrate.

I was scheduled for treatment on Friday. The parade was scheduled for Monday, and I was excited about the possibility of going with some friends of mine.

As routine, I had my blood drawn, and as a result, I found out that my platelet count was low. This meant that if I started bleeding, there was a good possibility that my blood would not clot. The doctor decided not to treat me that day, and give my platelets a chance to recover over the weekend. We would try again on Monday.

Although I was not excited about receiving my treatment in the first place, I was crushed that I would have to wait. Not to mention, it would ruin my chances of going to the Stanley Cup parade. I seriously considered moving my treatment to another day - but the seriousness of my treatments quickly set me straight.

I was sitting in an infusion chair with horrifying chemicals running into my veins as I watched the parade on TV with glazed eyes. This was the agony and the ecstasy, heaven and hell.

A few days later, my friend Pat - who had Red Wings season tickets - told me that he had tickets to a fan appreciation ceremony at the Joe Louis Arena, and the tickets were mine if I wanted them.

Although I had missed the parade, Pat had given me an amazing opportunity to celebrate in the Red Wings victory.

I went with my mom, and it was a very memorable experience. Each player and coach took a moment to talk to the fans from the stage, and to thank them for their support. There was a point when someone onstage talked about great new players coming up and winning more cups. The crowd went nuts, yelling "Zet-ter-berg! Zet-ter-berg!"

At that time, all we knew about Henrik Zetterberg was that he was a Swedish phenom. We had all heard about him, and expected great things from him. Little did we know that six years later, he would be receiving the Conn Smythe trophy as the Stanley Cup playoffs MVP...

Last night, Sheryl and I watched as the Wings won the Stanley Cup for the first since 2002. As we watched each player skate with the cup, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. Echoes of "Zet-ter-berg! Zet-ter-berg!" rang in my mind while I relived cancer treatments and Red Wings victories.

This morning, we heard that there will be a parade tomorrow in downtown Detroit. We won't go. Sheryl has a commitment to her patients, and I have mild claustrophobia.

I am considering leaving work early, though, and visiting Sheryl at work - to watch the parade on TV in the infusion room with cancer survivors currently receiving treatment. We can talk about the Red Wings and treatment - them with glazed eyes, and me with teary ones...

Dreaming is Free

Every day is a dream
Fantastic occurances dabble within daily drivel
One minute I'm drowning in quicksand
The next minute I'm flying -
Soaring on top of clouds with the wind in my face and a smile on my lips.

I go into the Post Office for a stamp and walk out with a stuffed animal
Someone hands me a note.

I stop, put down the armadillo (which waddles off in search of more beer), unfold the note and read:
"Hope your day is filled with miracles, baby! I love you!"
It is written in my wife's penmanship.

I run across the street to buy her some flowers
Not seeing the car barreling down on me until the last possible moment.
I leap as high as I can, landing on the cable wires above me.

As I tightrope my way to the flower shop, glass imbedded in the bottom of my shoe
Picks up cable channels and runs them through the fillings in my mouth.
I listen to "Happy Days" reruns, laughing.

By the time I get to the flour shop, I am told they have no more pancakes.
I'm devastated, yet still famished.
The woman behind the counter gives me her watch.
It's got a picture of Mickey Mouse dressed in a McDonald's uniform
Just below Mickey, it says "Time to Eat!"

I walk outside and see a recently dropped ice cream cone lying on the sidewalk.
I pick it up.
As I move it towards my lips, I can smell the vanilla.
I realize quickly that I must get home to see my wife, and throw down the ice cream, which bursts into shards of glass like a fluorescent lightbulb.

Hardly noticing, I find a bike cop. He's listening to his iPod while jumping cracks in the concrete.
Suddenly, I'm intrigued:
"What are you listening to?" I ask.
"The Police," he says.
Odd.
The cop lets me buy his bike for 15 cents and a Bazooka Joe comic.

The bike speedily clack clacks home with a Barry Sanders rookie football card flicking in the spokes.
And I'm home with my angel.
She tucks her wings into her nurse scrubs and kisses me.
I close my eyes, focusing on the tenderness of her lips.

When I slowly open my eyes,
I see her looking back at me.
"Did you have a good nap?" she asks.
"I did," I reply.
"Have any good dreams?"
I grab her hand and pull her towards me.
"Every day," I say. "Every day is a dream."

Where There's Smoke...

The other night, Sheryl and I were trying to finish up some nagging projects so we could get on with enjoying our summer.

Maybe it was because we were multi-tasking and not paying close attention, or maybe it was a simple fluke, but we had an incident happen that could have killed us - and we hardly noticed.

Sheryl was on the phone with the carpet installers (ugh... these guys are a serious thorn in my side!), and I turned on the barbecue. I had it on high so it would be easier to scrub the grill prior to using it. When it got nice and toasty, I scrubbed the grill - no big deal.

However, something went very wrong. Flames started licking up over the top of the grill, and grey smoke began to rumble out. And then - WOOOSH! - the flames got higher and the smoke turned black. It began to stink like plastic burning, too.

Keep in mind that out barbecue is located in the corner of our WOOD deck, next to the WOOD fence that we had just installed and sealed.

I ran inside and began filling my water jug, wanting to put out the fire. I suddenly realized that our garden hose was out on the deck, and made a beeline back outside.

By this time, because of the smoke, I was half expecting the fire department to show up - or Indians!

I turned on the garden hose and doused that fire for a good 10 minutes, making sure it was out, and that everything had cooled down.

As it turned out, there was no barbecue damage. Apparently, it had just been a grease fire.

We cleaned the barbecue guts and replaced them, having a laugh about how scary it was - albeit briefly.

I think it's important, however, to remember how something so silly, so benign, could have cost us everything.

I am grateful to have learned that lesson without loss of life or property.

So let that be a lesson to all you amateur grillers out there - clean yer grills!