Scott

The Grudge Race

I took my Radio Controlled car, a Losi Short Course Buggy, when I visited my brother at the coast. He has a Traxxas four wheel drive R/C gas truck. I love the big fat tires on it.

At the beach, I was quickly putting parking lot dirt and debris in the air with the wheels of my little car while my brother was working at getting his gas motor started. When he got it running, we had a lot of fun speeding and skidding out on the sand.

I challenged him to a straight line race from way over here to way over there. It was a clean start, neck and neck as I slowly began pulling ahead, but by the ¾ mark, he caught and passed me. I could feel it in my battery, I should have recharged between the parking lot and the beach.

I suggested a rematch, but he would savor his win for a year. When I got home, I ordered another battery, one with extra punch. Next year I would be ready….. And there would be no burning up half the pack before the race!

With my next annual visit, the grudge race was on. I had a fully charged C100 battery, and I resisted (most of) the temptation to speed up and down the sand until after my impending victory.

My brother had his truck making smoke in his garage before we headed out, and shortly it was running again at the beach. Soon we were back on our imaginary starting line and he yelled Go!

With the kindness and humility of a loving big-brother, I won’t go on about how badly I beat him. We’ll just say that it was my turn to savor the win.

*Before long, I packed some sand against a baseball bat sized piece of driftwood for a jump.*

The race was over and I still had a couple battery packs to burn up, and that wide open sand was enticing. We were Cat & Mouse chasing, drifting, fishtailing, and purely enjoying radio controlled fun.

My brother had to restart his truck several times, and ended up replacing three glow plugs that day. Finally, it would not start, so I invited him to drive my SCB while I took pictures of it flying off the jump.

He liked it enough to consider going electric. I can’t wait for the race next year!

This month I had my follow up appointment with my heart doctor’s associate. Going in, my question and reason for seeing the doctor was, “Why do I get so easily out of breath?” Does it have to do with the cancers, the treatments, or am I just getting old and out of shape?

The diagnosis and official answer: My stress test showed the possibility of a minor abnormality, but before further investigation, they suggest I lose weight, exercise more (get into better shape), and come back in three months for more tests.

I also had my three month appointment with my oncologist. She used my favorite medical term (concerning the protein they test for because it’s a real good indicator of what the cancer is doing), “undetectable.”

I can live with that.

Four Minute Rodeo

“Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent into retirement, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and your Medicare application is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins.”

That’s kind of how it feels lately, like the calm before the storm. Or maybe it’s more like the proverbial “elephant in the room.” The presents of the impending retirement elephant is acknowledged, but is still a big unknown. It seems to be headed this way with the speed (and options) of a jetliner on final approach.

I went in for the EKG and treadmill stress test as the heart doctor requested. They shave your chest for that! Well, they shave stripes on your chest. The treadmill is a four minute rodeo, with the Arena Director and Flagman standing close by.

My legs were getting heavy and my arms were getting longer (hanging on), but I made it to the horn. I haven’t been back to the heart doctor, but his office called soon after the tests and seemed urgent about setting me up with a prescription. I looked it up online, to sum up its benefits: “It is also used to treat or prevent heart attack.”

My little brother turned 60 last month. I made some pictures to help celebrate the milestone.

My Next Job?

The kitchen was the first room we remodeled when we moved into this big old house over 40 years ago. My wife, Diane, recently had a great idea, “Let’s do it again.”

Our kitchen when we first moved into this house (1974)

I suggested that if we wait, wood grain Formica laminated cabinets and green Formica counter tops and full back-splashes will be in style again – and we will have the genuine article. But, we decided we will remodel anyway.

We enjoyed our excitement and the anticipation of a new project. We began listing great kitchen ideas. If I do almost everything myself, the money we have budgeted will stretch quite a ways.

I can do the project, when I worked in my dad’s cabinet shop we remodeled kitchens and bathrooms.

It wasn’t long, though, before I realized that I don’t have time to remodel a kitchen. I work full time, every evening is short, and every weekend is full.

Every weekend has unfinished carry over from the previous (a life blessed is a life busy!). I don’t want to pay someone to do it, and I don’t have time to do it now, but…….

I’m reminded by the daily delivery of junk mail that I’m “nearing my normal retirement age.” It will arrive about a year from now and at the rate my clock is ticking, it will be here in no time.

I’m tempted to consider working past retirement age, but cancer may be the deciding factor in that decision.

If we could wait until I retire, I would have nothing but time. The new kitchen could be my new job. But, waiting does have a risk.

If the cancer makes a move before I retire, I won’t be much good at remodeling kitchens for a while; but if it comes back and kills me, Diane should get enough insurance money to pay someone to make a new kitchen.

In March, my three month Multiple Myeloma cancer tests said no change, and I can live with that. At my 6 month visit with my Pulmonologist (my sleep apnea doctor) I mentioned how easily I get out of breath.

I asked if it could be a result of the Chemo treatments, or the radiation treatments, or the cancer, or the fact that I went to high school with Moses?

He recommended I see a heart doctor because of “my age and my condition.” I did, and he listened quite intently with a stethoscope and said he could hear a leaky valve.

He asked if I’ve had radiation treatments. It appears the cause of my shortness of breath could be heart related, could be radiation related, or, I could just be out of shape. He scheduled more tests.

I love to see how our kids love their kids

Although our grandkids live far away, their parents generously include us in their lives through emails, pictures, videos, video chats, cards, finger paintings, and more.

We get to peek into their activities and watch them grow. We get to celebrate achievements. I love to see the ways our kids love their kids.

I wondered out loud recently to my wife – if our kids, while enjoying a developmental milestone with their kids, ever realize that what they are feeling is the exact feeling we enjoyed again and again as we watched them grow from babies to children.

“Will they realize through their kids, how much we loved and enjoyed them as our kids?” She answered, “No, why would they? Did you think about your parents when we were new parents?”

I grew up in a family that never said – never heard – never felt, “I love you.” I guess I should never say never. That day in 1962 when mom surrendered the five of us and transferred our custody to the Juvenile Detention Hall in Vancouver, Washington, she was crying when she said, “I love you,” and walked out the door.

I’d heard of love, is this it? That was the beginning of another chapter in this life adventure. In a week, we were in a foster home, and in a couple more weeks we were in another where three of us served about a year.

I would later brag that before graduating from high school, I lived in 27 houses including JDH and those two foster homes. That might be material for another blog.

I answered my wife, “Yes,” as a new parent in self training, “I actually thought about my parents once or twice.”

I so loved our babies, I held, hugged and kissed, and told them so every day. It felt very natural to me, and caring for them became my highest priority. I would do anything to protect them.

The times I thought about my parents, I wondered why they didn’t feel the same about me. I thanked them in my mind for showing me what not to do.