Amendment to Chigachgook note

In my last paragraph I mentioned that I expanded my vocabulary in my pre Confirmation preparations by making liberal use of the magazine "wrack" in the barber shop, and the word that has stuck with me the longest is is " centerfold". Immediatedly remove from your minds any notion that we would have received such trash in our mail. Had my mother or Sister Fabiola caught the slightest whiff of that stench I wouldn't have been left with a knuckle to drag on the ground.

From Eric: Chingachgook returns to his childhood haunts

As a small boy, growing up in Indian Territory in western Montana created a fascination with all things First American. James Fenimore Cooper’s story “The Last of The Mohicans” captured my imagination. Chingachgook, was the Last Delaware Mohican to survive after the evil Huron warrior Magua unsheathed his knife into the breast of Uncas, Chingachgook’s only son. He was brave, noble, uncorrupted, and a likely participant in the Algonquin Confederation which held in principal that personal benefit in harmony with national gain rested upon the precept of unified agreement and a natural distrust for despotic government. I had to have a Mohawk. My chance came when my mother ordered me down to the barbershop for a spring shearing in anticipation of Confirmation pictures. I ordered one and the barber said he had to check with the War Department first, which was a very unfair testimonial to my mother’s true station in Missoula. “No go, kid. Your mother is on the way down to tear my shop apart.” Drats, foiled.

Deep in the residual child we all harbor I yearned for the companionship of my hero, Chingachgook. When I learned that I had cancer my spirit guide came forward and said we will run this gauntlet together. My Mohawk was reality and I was ready with Chingachgook at my back for brain surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy, and months and years of uncertainty.

Fortunately, my Neurosurgeon, Donald Ross, used “chingachgook” as his computer password in college and he enjoys a special place in my heart.

I am now a week out from surgery and slowly regaining some physical confidence but no sleep or exercise for 10 days has left me depleted. I am starting a two month round of MD visits, radiation, chemotherapy. My fashion consultant mentioned that this would entail public appearances and that I wouldn’t be taken seriously, or worse might raise concern for ths wellbeing of this man’s family. Since we are heading to San Francisco for a brain cancer consultation I was taken aback by this assertion and wondered if I had lost touch with the people. I had imagined that walking into a bar in SF with a nice blue Mohawk and enough studs in my head to alarm TSA and look like a snow tire might bring a round of drinks. The Neurosurgeon said no alcohol, other members of the family mentioned that I was a sartorial dyslexic and should get help, so tonight in the spirit of the Algonquin Confederation I have returned my spirit guide to his secret place to be called forth again in desperate times.

Sorry if this grosses people out. Flyfishing enthusiasts are always looking for new products from which to tie flies. I have blue hair to donate. If any fly using this product imperils our beloved steelhead runs because of its success then it must be withdrawn. Any financial gain from sale or reproduction should be donated to The Kids Connection for the purpose of teaching them the art and science of fishing, but from which they will learn hope and patience. May I suggest the name Chingachgook for the fly?

My education at the barber shop in Missoula didn’t end with Chingachgook and his hair do. The Carnegie Library was next store and visited proudly and frequently for sources of new excitement. The Library didn’t provide all information needed for a young lad approaching his confirmation and since I was attending the local Catholic Madras my access to a wide array of important biological information came from the post office, and the word that still sticks in my mind most vividly is “centerfold”.

One week down, 1560 weeks to go!

We had a pretty good weekend. Dad was up and active both days, probably doing too much, but YOU try to tell an Overland man to take it easy...

He is experiencing some side effects from the steroids he has to take to prevent brain swelling (most notably insomnia) but is otherwise feeling well.

Yesterday Dad was able to hop into the water feature and tend to his lilies. The sunfish took a liking to his knobby knees and did some nibbling. In the evening we enjoyed the delicious bounty of Grandpa's garden with fresh vine-ripened heirloom tomatoes, petit pan squash and corn on the cob.

Since learning of Dad's diagnosis and spending time with him leading up to and following his surgery,

the moon seems fuller,
the wildflowers more vibrant,
the music more poignant,
the conversation more lively,
the food more sumptuous.

Although we wouldn't wish this on anyone, the hidden gift is the ability to look around and see the utter beauty in the world.

Another day, another Renee Flemming CD...

Dad continues on his journey of rest and recuperation. He swings back and forth between feeling OK and feeling crummy, but his general trajectory is good.

One request we have is to keep the phone calls to a minimum. Email and posting on this blog is a great way to get a message to Dad, but he generally doesn't know how he'll feel from one moment to the next. Plus, after 40 years of night call, he gets a fight-or-flight reaction every time the phone rings, thinking there's an emergency and he is needed to save the day. While I'm sure Mom appreciates Dad's attempts to establish an airway, it's probably best that he not be woken up when he gets a few precious moments of rest.

If you feel like you want to do something nice for Dad, think today about some way to appreciate the world and make your immediate environment better. Smell a flower, gaze upon a songbird, give thanks to mother nature for another sunset, listen -- really listen -- to a beautiful piece of music.

Thanks again to everyone for all of your love.

What's blue and white and awesome all over?

Eric is stronger every day.

Last night we drove to the top of Hillcrest and went for a 30 minute walk. We were treated with a gorgeous sunset and delightful breeze.

Again, thanks for all of the kindness that is being extended to my dad and our family.

Better Every Day...

Day 2 on the home front, and Dad is getting better by the moment. He's making it up and down the stairs unassisted and was able to eat his normal breakfast today. He's currently listening to classical guitar music and relaxing (if that's possible) with the newspaper.

We are so grateful for the cards, emails, pies, cookies, meals and blueberries!

Eric is home!

Eric came home today (7/25). He is currently resting and trying to shake off the last remnants of post-operative nausea. The surgery went according to plan, and the talented Dr. Don Ross was able to remove the major bulk of the tumor from the right temporal lobe.

Eric probably won't be ready to receive visitors for the next day or two, but your positive thoughts and well-wishing is making a truly positive impact.

After a trip to San Francisco in early August to consult with the brain tumor experts, radiation and chemo will begin in mid August.