The Christmas Ball

For the past 15 or so years, I’ve had a ball at Christmas time. Oh sure, I’ve had a great time, but I’ve also had an actual ball...a golf ball to be exact.

You see, my brother and I went golfing some 20 years ago and both spotted someone’s lost ball in the tall grass. If you’ve never golfed before, please understand that finding a lost golf ball is as precious as shooting a good score, especially when you’re two young and broke guys like we were. Being the brothers we are, we both laid claim to the ball, but rather than fight like, well, brothers, we decided to play the hole for it. The best score for that hole won the ball. I still think he cheated.

Sometime over 15 years ago, my brother and I were still young and broke, but we still made sure to exchange gifts at Christmas time. We lived hundreds of miles apart, so we made sure the packages were small and cheap to ship. I received a small, tootsie roll-like package from Jeff that year. It turned out to be a paper towel roll with the golf ball inside. (I guess he felt guilty about cheating). Not to be outdone, I decided to return the favor the next year and, well, returned the ball. This continued for a couple of years…both of us jokingly knowing what was contained within the tootsie roll-like package. One year, I changed the rules.

I read an article about a couple of guys (maybe brothers as well) that exchanged a pair of jeans each year. The jeans were torn and ratty, but the “gift” was in the challenge of how to package the jeans in the most creative way. Inspired by that article, I started our current tradition when I found a 3-D puzzle that required several complex moves to be able to dismantle the puzzle. I took it apart, placed the ball within and reassembled the puzzle while throwing away the instructions. This was the first official “Crazy Golf Ball” exchange, back in 1994.

Jeff responded the following year in an equally creative manner…with a candle shaped golf-ball that contained the ball itself deep within the wax. I decided to honor the spirit of the wrapping by burning the candle until the ball was exposed. Unfortunately, this left a nasty smell in the house and a lasting scar on the ball itself. But this wouldn’t be the first scar.

Over the years, the ball has been packaged in many ways. I have packaged the ball in a snow-globe (luckily the water stayed in); a Christmas ornament that I had my sis-in-law hide on their tree; within an apparent used diaper (the “poop” was melted chocolate and oatmeal); wrapped in twine and masking tape (I was running out of ideas); and super-glued within a block of Legos. In response, Jeff has sent the ball to me wrapped in a large ball of yarn (in honor of my cats); embedded in a commemorative brick; within a decorative holiday “kissing ball;” cooked inside a large Hershey’s kiss; and last year, I received the ball in large ball of hard candy.

This year, I asked a favor of a local machining shop to help me encase the ball in a steel container. Unfortunately, they got a little overzealous with the welding and the ball is quite charred now. I’m not sure if this will mark the end of our tradition, or whether the charred and cracked appearance of the ball will just add to the character. Either way, I’m sure I’ll continue to have a ball at Christmas.

Happy Holidays...yeah, I said it!

Happy Holidays!

Yes, I said “Happy Holidays”…so go ahead and boycott me. Accuse me of being too politically correct, question my Christian faith and deny me the Wal-Mart happy face sticker because I said, “Happy Holidays” rather than “Merry Christmas.” But hear me out first…

When I grew up in the suburbs of West Virginia, we celebrated Christmas. The only Jewish people I knew of were comedians and entertainers on TV and the only black folk (now called African Americans) I knew were the two that went to my school. It was just the way things were back then. There was rarely even a passing mention of Hanukkah, and I’m not even sure if Kwanzaa was a holiday yet. All we celebrated back then was Christmas…and we celebrated it like most of the rest of the country. We had our Christmas tree…we hung our Christmas lights…we attended our parties…and we watched our TV specials. Of course we watched the classic animated shows, like Rudolph, Frosty and “Here Comes Santa Claus.” However, I recall other Christmas specials hosted by various celebrities. Who do you think of when you think of old Christmas specials? Bob Hope? Bing Crosby? Perry Como? Andy Williams? And can you guess one of the songs that Andy Williams was famous for singing? You got it…”Happy Holidays!”

When I grew up, the phrase “Happy Holidays” was a heartfelt greeting of the season. If one had to decipher the meaning, I’d say one was wishing happiness throughout the holiday season. The question then arises, what IS the holiday season? If you ask the retail world, and I have to agree, the holiday season starts on Thanksgiving and ends on New Year’s Day. Saying (or singing) “happy holidays” is merely a way of wishing folks well throughout this time frame. It’s not a politically correct cop-out to include those who celebrate Hanukkah or Kwanzaa. Those who are offended by a store posting “Happy Holidays” versus “Merry Christmas” are just as overly sensitive as those who insist upon using “Happy Holidays” for political correctness. Both parties need to just lighten up and not get so bogged down with this simple phrase.

There…I’ve had my say. And for the record, I usually wish those I encounter “Merry Christmas,” but I really don’t see the problem with wishing everyone “Happy Holidays” as well. So again, Happy Holidays!

Advise for the Stupid

It’s been over two weeks since I wrote my last blog. It’s not so much that nothing is going on in my life worth discussing, but that too much is going on to allow time to discuss. Plus, I’m not one to air my personal grievances to the issues public…I have friends and family with whom to vent and I don’t need the world to know the details of my problems. However, when life at work and home are as busy as it is for me right now, it’s pretty easy to get into a complaining (okay, bitchy) mood. With that in mind, I’ll use this time and take this opportunity to voice some…well…I guess one could say, advise to the stupid. These are little ditties that I see time to time that make me wonder why, just why, do some people have the right to do whatever they are doing. Here are a few such observations and words of advice…please feel free to voice your own:

• If one is driving on a side road and approaching a main road WITH a traffic signal, why must this person feel obligated to force themselves into the main road’s heavy traffic with a right turn on red? On one road I take to work, which happens to be the "main road" in my example, other drivers are constantly forcing themselves into bumper-to-bumper traffic with the thought that WE should yield to THEM to allow them to turn right on red. Well…THEY have a traffic signal that allows them to turn on green WITHOUT cutting off someone. I just don’t understand this mentality…especially when the traffic on the main road is so busy.
  
• To the person on the main road that let’s such a person turn in front of them…why? If the side road had no traffic signal, I would applaud the courteous nature of the main road driver. But when the intersection has a traffic light, then let them wait their turn!
  
• When it’s foggy outside, or when it’s raining, turn on your lights! We know you can see us just fine…and that your headlights don’t help you see us any better. But we can’t see you. And the reason you can see us is that we are smart enough to have our lights on. Take the hint…turn on your lights!
  
• Stop smoking. It looks stupid, makes your breath smell bad, makes your teeth yellow, and kills you. If you insist on smoking, chew on a turd…it’s just as effective and attractive. The days of smoking making you look cool are long gone. Keep up the smoking and you’ll be long gone, too. (Note, there are some people that I love who smoke…I love them, I just don’t love their smoking).
  
• Halloween is a day for kids to have fun…to dress up in funny or scary costumes and to go door to door and ask for candy. It’s also a day that the parents of such kids can actually meet their neighbors (gasp). For 99% of us, it’s NOT a day of Satanic worship or paganism. It’s a day of fun. Period. Let people have their fun. (Okay, so this gripe is a little dated, but I had to say it)
  
• Take your shopping carts to the shopping cart coral or back to the store. Leaving the cart in the parking lot just gets in other’s way. If the only parking spot left on the lot was blocked by a cart, would you not complain? Then do your part and return your cart when done.
  
• People who speed over 10 MPH over the speed limit are dangerous. People who drive 5 MPH UNDER the speed limit (especially on the highway) are MORE dangerous. Keep pace…but reasonably so.
  
• Let the small kids in the front when watching a parade. It’s for their pleasure and you can see over them.
  
• Don’t drink and drive. Okay, I didn’t make up that phrase…and I’ve been guilty of having just one beer and then hitting the road. But if you have kids in the car, or waiting at home for you, is it worth it?
  
• Whether or not you wear a team jersey while watching the big game on television WILL make a difference to the outcome of that game. Hey, I didn’t say that all my views were unbiased or made complete sense.

That’s all I can think of for now. As I said, feel free to add your own or comment on mine. And let’s hope I’m in a better mood for my next postings.

Happy Alloween

Happy Halloween! I felt compelled to write something about the holiday because, as many of you know, it’s also my birthday. This will be my 44th birthday, and I guess my 45th Halloween. Yikes! Anyhow, as I started to compose words in my head, I started to think back to Halloweens (and birthdays) passed. There were plenty of good ones…I actually recall my 5th birthday fairly vividly; my memories of my 11th are pretty fond; some celebrations during my young adulthood were pretty wild; and watching my own kids discover the holiday continues to be more special each year. However, there was one birthday and Halloween (I like to call the combination, Alloween), that stands above the rest, and I’m sure those involved never even realized it.

In 1977, I was turning 15 years old. It was an exciting year ahead for me in that this was the year that I was entering high school. I’d be tackling all the wonders and confusion associated with this time of my life and perhaps earning my learner’s permit to drive a car. Yes indeed, life was exciting. And I’m pretty sure my folks knew it was a time of transition and discovery, because for my 15th birthday, they let me spend the weekend with my brother at West Virginia University, most likely so I could get a taste of college life.

I recall traveling to Morgantown with my brother’s future brother-in-law Bobby. He was a couple years younger than me (I think) but was a pretty unruly character. I really can’t recall with whom I traveled. I’d like to think it was my brother, but I really can’t remember. I seem to recall being driven by someone else and dropped off. All I remember is that I wasn’t real impressed with Bobby, but I was able to get along well enough for the trip. I also remember that he had a really neat handheld electronic football game that I thought was the neatest thing ever. I eventually got one for Christmas that year, and I think I might still have it around somewhere. I know that I saw one at Toys R Us last Christmas, and it was labeled as a "Classic Toy". Hmph. But I digress.

My brother’s apartment was in the heart of an area called Sunnyside. Nowadays, this area is fixed up pretty nicely with only a few run-down old houses serving as apartments for the college upperclassmen. However, back in the 70’s, the entire area was a dump. In years prior, Jeff lived in an apartment on the lower level of a house…meaning one had to enter from the back yard, duck under a hole in the foundation, and enter through a door into a 6 ½ foot tall series of pieced together rooms. If rats didn’t live there, it was because they probably feared the cockroaches. A sign outside the foundation entrance deemed it "The Cave." Luckily, in 1977, my brother had moved to the first floor of the same house, meaning he was able to enter through a traditional front door and not be too concerned with other creatures living beneath (probably sophomores). Being a 15 year-old kid, I would probably have found the Cave to be an adventure, but looking back, I’m glad I spent the nights on the first floor.

This was the trip which I first met my future sister-in-law Debbie. My first impression was one of cautiousness because she was someone new in my brother’s life. But eventually, her personality and demeanor won me over. Debbie continues to be a great gal today. It was hard to believe at the time that Bobby was her brother. Jeff and I spent some time up at her dorm room on that Friday, although I’m not really sure what all was going on that day. I was just in awe of being in Morgantown by myself…well, at least without parental supervision. There are two things I recall about spending time in Debbie’s dorm room. First, I was also in awe of one of Debbie’s friends named Sonya…a gal that I eventually escorted down the aisle during Jeff and Debbie’s wedding. I think my fascination had to do with her being about the same height as me, as well as being dressed in a rather provocative cat costume for the holiday. Secondly, I remember Debbie mentioning that a couple of girls living down the hall were lesbians. Such things were never discussed in our house. My brother and I were the only kids with no sister…so we learned most things from friends or literature. Although I had read about lesbians in my dad’s Playboy magazines, I still wasn’t sure what it was all about. I just remember thinking, "Cool…there’s lesbians down the hall" without really knowing what I was thinking. Of course, I’d probably say the same thing today.

I don’t remember much about that Friday evening except maybe eating out at one of the local sub shops and such. I slept in my brother’s tiny bedroom. In fact, I believe it was a converted walk-in closet of sorts, because it was really, really small. What I do remember was a stack of Playboys under the bed, so I was pretty much in heaven for a 15 year-old kid. But, despite the thrill of arousing literature, it was the next day and evening that I remember most.

My brother was a manager, a.k.a., go-fer, for the WVU football team. On that Saturday, West Virginia had a home game against Villanova that I believe WVU lost. What I remember most about that game is that I sat on the field. It was so exciting to be sitting there so close to the players and band. I’d seen many WVU football games from the stands before, but this was by far the closest I’d ever been to the action. I couldn’t see what my brother was doing, but I knew he was among the football team and doing a job that was pretty important. That was probably the first time I remember being proud of Jeff. Not that I didn’t admire him earlier in life, but this time, he was doing something really cool.

That evening, Jeff and Debbie decided to whisk us away from the Halloween shenanigans of Sunnyside’s row of bars and drunks and we headed to the movies. The movie we saw was "Carrie", which at the time was a new release. It’s now considered a horror classic. Hmph…I’m starting to see a trend and indication of my advancing age here. Anyhow, I’m sure "Carrie" was not a movie my folks would have wanted me to see. If you recall, the opening scene shows a girl’s locker room…lot’s of naked high school girls. As Carrie is showering, she starts her first period, which I guess was a lot later in age than most of her classmates had started. She was terrified and of course met the wrath and teasing of her friends and teachers. As for me, I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. Again, no sisters and no information from the folks…and frankly, my friends just didn’t talk about girls’ periods. I finally figured it out and Debbie actually explained it a little to me. I was embarrassed, yet somewhat glad that Debbie said something and didn’t tease me. I think this was the moment when she won me over. On the other hand, the movie scared the crap out of all of us, including Debbie. I was thinking she had to be pretty wimpy to be so scared…but when I saw Jeff offer his protective arm and calm her down, I knew the two would be married down the road. This made me happy as well.

We returned to the apartment among the sounds of loud music and howling college students. I believe Bobby disappeared somewhere into the crowd and Jeff or Debbie had to search for him. Other than that, I don’t remember much else about the evening. The next morning, however, Jeff and I awoke fairly early so that we could head back home. Mid-way through the morning, we both realized we could have slept another hour in that the clocks were moved back to convert from daylight savings back to standard time. Prior to then, I never really knew when the clocks changed or which way they change. But since that day, I always think of my trip to Morgantown when I change the clocks.

One additional comment. I have been blessed with a pretty good childhood and, thus far, a pretty good adulthood. I always got some pretty decent presents for my birthday…and usually got extra candy from neighbors for Trick or Treat because it was my birthday. But I’m not sure I can recall any birthday present I received beyond a year ago. Well, all except one. Jeff gave me an autographed football for my 15th birthday. It contained the autograph of every member of the 1977 WVU Football team. That team finished 5-6 and didn’t have any accolades as a team, although there were a few individual names that stood out. And perhaps, at the moment I received the gift, I treasured a name or two written on the ball. But now, I can honestly say the most precious on there is my brother’s. Thanks Jeff…for the only birthday present I’ve ever kept for nearly 30 years now. And thanks for a great weekend!

Happy Alloween every body!

My Dad the Author

My dad wrote a book. It’s difficult to say those words in the appropriate way. Obviously, I’m very excited and want to share my pride with the world – "Hey everyone, my dad wrote a book!" At the same time, I think back over my life and not once did I ever think he’d be wearing a name tag stating "Keith Estep…Author" while signing his name to his own work at a book fair. With that thought, my expression is more like, "MY dad wrote a book?"

Dad was always very creative. I recall him always drawing something. Many times, it was work-related. He was a draftsman for Monsanto Chemical Company for most of his working life…and he often worked on his drawings at his large wooden drafting table in the basement. But he could also be found in the same place working on a more artistic ink drawing and an occasional charcoal drawing or acrylic painting. I know I’m biased, but when it came to ink drawings of old buildings and covered bridges (a phase that lasted through the 1970’s), he was incredible. He even sold his prints at a couple of local arts and crafts fairs…along with an assortment of other crafts and macramé created by my brother and his high school buddy…in a booth called "Jedz Place". (JEDZ stood for Jeff Estep and David Z. (I can’t remember his last name)…my brother and his best friend). Dad, of course, made the sign…with a supplement sign stating "featuring Covered Bridges of West Virginia, by Keith Estep." In addition, his kitchen (and mine) still features some ink drawings of fruit, vegetables and sunflowers. It wouldn’t have surprised me if some day, Dad MIGHT have a book…but a coffee table book of his drawings. So with this in mind, my thought becomes, "My dad WROTE a book?"

I won’t go into the character of my dad. For that…well…read the book. You’ll discover what makes him tick. You’ll discover events of his life that made him the man he is today, and events that even I never knew until he put them on paper. To understand my dad and to understand myself a little, I’m glad that my dad wrote a book.

His book is titled "Growing Up in Nitro." Nitro is a small town in West Virginia that was literally born overnight during World War 1 around an emerging ammunitions plant. He grew up there after the WW1 boom had gone bust and the town was trying to find its way. To quote the blurb, it’s a book about "basketball, bad guys, and carnivals; circuses, dating, and town characters; games, friends, and sibling rivalries; good guys, grade school, and gym class; high school, hunting, and junior high; medicine shows, mischief and puberty; religion, romance, and school nurses; football, teachers, and tent meetings; the Depression, the War, and fishing." Another promotional blurb states, "if you grew up in the 40’s and 50’s, this story will bring back memories. If you are younger, this story tells how Mom and Dad grew up. You might be surprised!" You know what? I was very surprised…and entertained…and touched…and proud. I’m tempted to make and wear a tee-shirt that states, "My dad wrote a book."

Dad began writing his book not long after my mom passed away in January 2005. He told me once that he was writing a journal of sorts in an effort to keep memories of Mom alive. He loved her like no one could ever imagine loving someone else. You’ll discover that when you read the book. I was fortunate to witness it my entire life. Anyhow, he began to put his heart into the writings and he solicited the help of my brother and his wife to type up his words. After about a year, he had a compilation of stories that were separated by topics; junior high school, fishing, religion, high school, dating, and a wide assortment of additional topics. He included some drawings to depict each chapter, and included some old photos of his parents, brothers, sister and Mom. He also had a list of every person mentioned in the book and what page. I found the latter item to be pretty cool, because I was able to see names in one list that I had heard of over the years…and then instantly refer to such a story. He made multiple copies and sent them to all his existing family and some additional friends. The response was more than he expected…everyone wanted another copy to share with others. Word had spread that my dad wrote a book.

Sometime in late 2005 or early 2006, Dad took a writing course ("just for something to do" as he told me at the time) given by Geoff Fuller, an accomplished local author. Based on what he learned, Dad realized he could write a better story. So, he did. Mr. Fuller, for some reason, took Dad under his wing and helped him greatly. He provided contacts for editing and typing and pretty much guided Dad through the entire publishing process. Eventually, my dad commissioned Geoff for the final steps, knowing that Mr. Fuller could provide a faster path through his experience than Dad ever could as a new comer. It wasn’t much longer that a cover was designed and all the details were in place for the final printing. On October 16, 2006, dad received over 500 copies of his book. My dad had finally written a real book.

My brother and I surprised my dad at the West Virginia Book Festival last week on Oct 21. Jeff lives in northern Ohio and I live in North Carolina, so our arrival was certainly a surprise and well received. We both had separately planned to make the trip, which is a testimony to the pride we both have for Dad and the need to share this moment with him. It was fun to watch him speak with a couple of patrons as he signed a copy of his book. He only sold six books on that Saturday…but he already had received orders for 90 prior to the show. Considering his book actually printed only four days before the show, I’d say he’s had really good early success. He shared the booth at the fair with Geoff and his wife, Karin Fuller, a columnist for the Charleston Gazette (and I recommend checking out her blog at http://www.thegazz.com/guide/blogs/karinfuller ). Karin’s daughter was also selling her own book at the fair, and she’s only 9 years old. (See Karin’s blog for more info). It was a sight to see two authors signing their first book in the same booth…one being 9 years old and one being 72. That little girl wrote a heck of a book, but my dad also wrote a book.

After that first day of the fair, Dad took my brother and me out to dinner. It was the first time that just the three of us had been together without our extended families since Mom passed away. While we ate our home-style dinners, we commented that Dad still had his nametag on his shirt. He took it off in an embarrassing way as most people would do and we had a good chuckle over it. Most of the discussion was about the whole surreal experience of Dad being an author, and some of his experiences leading up to that day. At that time, some passing acquaintance of Dad’s passed by and said hello. They walked on and we joked that "gee, didn’t they realize he wrote a book?" Suddenly, that person turned around and said, "Oh…by the way, I heard you wrote a book." Jeff and I had to stifle our laughter but Dad just smiled, stood up, and talked all about it. Yep, my dad sure did write a book.

I left West Virginia early on Sunday so that I could get back to my own family. I had a six-hour drive ahead of me, Dad had another half day at the fair ahead of him and Jeff was going to head back to Ohio. While passing through my hometown, I stopped by my mom’s gravesite. I was a bit more emotional than I thought I would be as I laid some yellow carnations on the ground, but then again it’s only been less than two years since her passing. I told her how much her grandkids were growing, told her how much we all missed her, and then turned around to leave. But before I walked away, I faced her once more. "Mom, you would be so proud of Dad, I know I am. My dad wrote a book."

Not just Breast Cancer Awareness...but ALL Cancer Awareness - Original post 10/11/06

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Everywhere you look, you'll see pink ribbons. Even M&M's are pink and white this month. It's a noble cause. But I have to say that it's almost a tad unfair. (Oh geesh, stop throwing things at me...let me finish). We should ALL be aware of breast cancer...it's a tragic disease. But my friends...there are other cancers out there besides the pink-ribboned variety...and we need to be just as aware of those.

In January of 2005, I lost my mother to Lung Cancer. It was just as tragic to her family and friends as breast cancer could have been. Unfortunately, lung cancer has a bad stigma...in that so many believe that it's a self-inflicted disease due to smoking. To some extent, it's true. My mom smoked alot. My dad smoked (and still sneaks a puff). My brother and his wife had been long-time smokers until she became very very ill. I have no idea why I didn't become a smoker...but if second-hand smoke has a negative affect...I'm a victim of it, too. But I digress. Due to the high number of smokers among the elite crownd of lung cancer victims, many people point a finger of "see, I told you so" rather than don their ribbons (In case you wondered...pearl is the appropriate ribbon color). It's a shame really...because the disease is just as tragic...and probably more often fatal. My mom lived a year after diagnosis...and it wasn't a pretty year.

My brother was diagnosed with skin cancer "melanoma" the year before my mom got sick. This is yet another "told you so" cancer that gets little sympathy. "You shoulda used sun block" is often the battle cry instead of donning the, in this case I believe, black ribbons. Well, the last time I saw my pastey white brother have a tan was back in the late 70's when a bottle of baby-oil laced with iodine was the "sun oil" of choice. Sun block was for wimps...it's the way society was. Luckily, much like smoking, people are beginning to understand the adverse affects leading to cancer. But also like lung cancer, skin cancer just isn't treated as reverently as breast cancer. By the way, his cancer was successfully removed. But an interesting thing about this form of cancer is that it's passed on...not by generation, but via siblings (true fact). I used to be a lifeguard that prided myself on my baby oil tans. I'm going to see the dermatologist in two weeks for my 6-month examine. I'm a high risk patient...and I'm not taking it lightly.

Last year at this time, I was going through a cancer scare myself. Prostate cancer (light blue ribbon for those of you keeping score). During a routine digital exam (yep...bend over and smile), the doc felt a rather large lump. A week later, the urologist felt the same thing...and he ordered a biopsy. A graphic description alert here...but a prostate biopsy can be best described as having a series of fishhooks attacked to a broomstick and shoved up your ass until there's a snag...and then pull hard. Yep...I was drugged some, but had to remain awake...and the pain was very real. I'm sure my finger prints are still imbedded onto the edge of that exam table. Unfortunately, the first biopsy only resulted in more questions and "questionable" tissue. As a result, a second one was ordered 3 months later for twice the number of samples. For those of you that don't know...the prostate is in the area where urine passes nearby...as does ejaculate. After having my prostate turned to swiss cheese, you can imagine the various ways blood showed itself over the next few weeks. And no, I'm not telling you this to gross you out or shock you...well..not too much...but to let you understand that even the threat of cancer causes pain. Not only for the victim, but for the family. I'm happy to say that I was found to be cancer free. I'm also here to say that the urologist said the "questionable tissue" found indicates I can probably expect a positive occurrence of cancer by the time I'm 50. That's only 6 years away.

My point is, cancer touches nearly everyone...and whether it's a relatively easily cured skin cancer, or a fatal nastiness like lung cancer...or just the suggestion that cancer MIGHT be within you...no one wants to hear the "C" word. So we have to be aware. Support smoking cessation instead of pointing the finger and saying "I told you so." Apply SPF 40 on your skin and be proud of those pastey white, yet healthy thighs. And eat right...exercise...and all those things we're supposed to do. (By the way...no one knows what causes prostate cancer...no one. And 80% of all men will get it...and nearly 100% will get it if they live to age 80. However, most die of something else before they do from PC).

Be aware of breast cancer...but be aware of all cancers. And feel free to wear a ribbon. Any color will do...

Orange Skies and the "Stinky Cloud" - Original post 10/6/06

First of all..thanks to all my friends and family and others that have contacted me to make sure my family and I are all right. We are....

About 10:00PM last night (10/5), a chemical storage facility in Apex caught fire and exploded. There were explosions on and off through the night. I live about 5 miles from the site...and heard the boomers. Yikes!

Eventually, about 17,000 people were evacuated because of the cloud of contaminated smoke. No one knew (and still doesn't know) what chemicals were stored in the facility...all they knew was "at least chlorine." I worked as a pool manager WAY back when and we dealt with chlorine gas...and had to wear gas masks as a percaution. One of my colleagues had to be hospitalized because he didn't follow the proper instructions...so I know what chlorine gas can do. So this "cloud" was serious shit.

My good friend Rod called around 12:30 to offer us to stay at his house. I hadn't talked to Rod in MONTHS...and it was very generous of him to think of me and my family. I owe Rod and his family dinner...just for the offer. At 2:00, one of my more alarmist neighbors rang our doorbell to make sure we knew of the situation. I had JUST started to dose off to sleep...but I wasn't angered by his warning...it was nice to have a neighbor be concerned about others. He and his family "fled north". I counted two other families that evacuated later on...one being my newer next door neighbors from India. I wonder if they remember the Bopal disaster way back when? (Side note...if you remember, Union Carbide in Bopal, India had a massive chemical leak. The only other place in the world where that chemical was processed was my home town growing up....so chemical "scares" are nothing new to me.) My other next door neighbor and I discussed our individual strategy in his driveway at 2:30AM...in our pajamas...lol. Quite a sight I'm sure.

My family decided to stay put (and so did my neighbor). And no, I don't think it was foolish to do so. Much like a predicted path of a hurricane, the evac zone was a very generous and wide area "just to be safe." My house was 1/2 mile from the evacuation area....but I felt that even on the border of the area, we'd be safe. Turns out to have been a good decision since the "shelter" (which was only a 1/2 mile futher from the evac zone) was severely lacking in cots on which to have my kids sleep. And I probably put too much trust in the local officials to notify us if we had to be evacuated...but that was my choice. Still...I only got about 2 hours sleep...to the sounds of emergency vehicle sirens and an occasional exploding barrel of toxic goo.

This morning, we monitored the activty on television. My daughter is a virtual bloodhound, so we asked her to smell for the "stinky cloud." She only smelled something stinky near the bathroom...lol. Anyhow, there was no further need to worry. And at 8:30, the rain came...most likely dissipating the "cloud" from the sky. Getting to work was a pain, due to closed off roads....but not impassible. I made it by 10:00...and have been addressing questions from co-workers as well as friends and family ever since...lol. Maybe I should have stayed home. But seriously...thanks again for all the inquiries and concern.

So in closing...anyone wanna buy a house? Guaranteed colorful sunrises and a unque "essense" in the air.

Catch ya later...

Gotta feel for the children - Original Post 9/30/06

I took my daughter to see an allergist the other day. She's allergic to peanuts, and we suspected she might be allergic to other allergens, so we thought it best to get examined by the best. We took her to an allergist at Duke University.

We didn't know the location of the clinic and such...but we soon realized that the "clinic" was actually the Duke Children's hospital. Now, when one walks into this facility, you see the colors of the rainbow surrounding you...you see toys and puzzles in the waiting areas...you see a place for kids. Then it hits you....you're in a hospital. A children's hospital.

We ventured to the 4th floor to check in to the allergy area. This is apparently the same desk as is used to check in cancer patients. Kids with cancer. Our wait wasn't long...the nurse was fantastic to my daughter...AND my son who tagged along. The intern entertained the kids as he examined her and asked us questions. And the doctor...the big kahoona...the main allergist there...answered our questions and attended to the kids with the most heartfelt sincereity and concern. My daughter was examined painlessly (I know..I had them "test" the back of my hand to see what the pain was like...there was none)...and they confirmed she's allergic to peanuts, but nothing else. We then ventured to the lab to have blood drawn. Again, incredible staff members. We distracted my daughter to the point she never felt the needle and said the blood drawing tickled. Amazing. My kids were laughing...they were fascinated. They were inside a hospital. There was a child being pulled on a wagon outside the lab, because she was too sick to walk.

A hospital is no place for a kid. But there are kids that need hospitals. And this hospital...as hospitals go...was incredible. Luckily, my kids don't "need" the hospital...they are well and only needed the facilities for an appointment. Other kids need the hospital. One of my good friends has a special needs child...and that makes her that much more special. (I know you're reading this).

Every fall...or maybe it's spring...a local radio station (Mix 101.5) has a radio-thon for the Duke Children's Hospital. I've given money before...just because I had it to give. I'm strapped now...and have very little to give away. But I dare you to walk into a children's hospital....no matter how colorful and how many toys you see around...and it will hit you. It will hit you hard. This is no place for kids...but for those kids that need it, this is the perfect place. You can damn well bet I'll be giving this year. For my healthy kids. For my friend's kid. For the kid in the wagon. But mostly, for the toys and colors that bring smiles and hope to those kids. And if you are hesitant to give to such a charity...just walk in the doors. Don't visit a doctor...don't even visit a sick kid. But just look around. You'll understand. You'll give.