Le Monde de Fromage de Kate

My family has been globe-hopping (state-hopping at the very least) like stir crazy rabbits. While I was in D.C. and Maryland and briefly in Virginia my Father jetted off to London. By the time we went to call him on Father’s Day he was in Houston.

In the meantime, Ashley and Paisley went to Utah so they could go to California with Ashley’s friend. And THEN, after delaying my departure date to June 20th, I tried to go home.

I missed my flight on the 20th. I’m not ready to discuss that yet.

I booked a flight for the next day, I was already packed, and Julianne and I even managed an extra trip to Trader Joes! Triple Huzzah for THAT!!! Because I’d switched airlines I could pack a box with my spoils (QUINOA, et al) and check it. Julianne dropped me off at the airport with at least two hours to spare. The sky cap agent actually let one of my over-weight suitcases slide through without the penalty charge (he got an extra tip despite the fact that he seemed to think that I was his “Sweetheart”).

I passed through security without a hitch. This is when I tempted fate. I went shopping. I bought some festive amusing crabs (stuffed toys, of course). Then I went to The Body Shop. They were having a sale – a BIG sale. The purchase of several items, including a container of body butter and a bottle of shower wash (with PINEAPPLE in it), sent the World into some sort of Karmic tailspin.

First, my flight was delayed. It was also overbooked. I volunteered to take the incentive and give up my seat, but they wouldn’t take me because they couldn’t accommodate my connecting flight (hah). So we were delayed a little more while, “In just a few minutes we’ll have a flight crew [taken straight off a red-eye from Bora Bora?] from their other flight.” Blah blah. Finally, we planed (well, you DE-plane, yes?).

That’s when the pouring rain started (I tell you – BROUGHT ON BY RECKLESS SHOPPING). The pilot announced a weather delay. It was a lovely change of scene from the gate to sitting on the tarmac. I got on the phone with the airline right then and found out what would happen if I and several of my fellow passengers missed our connecting flight (as we had a twenty minute window or something to that effect). I was told that if they did not “hold the flight for us” we would be put up for the night, as there were no alternative flights.

When we landed in St. Louis, I kid you not, there wasn’t a gate available for the plane. I called to see if the connecting flight had, indeed, taken off. It was an hour gone. So I got on the phone with an agent again, and as I “deplaned” I started to arrange my alternate flight and put on my “you WILL [nicely] give me equitable treatment” demeanor.

As I walked through the airport she told me that evidently they were already trying to route me to Phoenix. I asked if there were connecting flights to Salt Lake City there. Nope. Bonus sightseeing? Anyhoooo, by the time I reached the desk agent, I knew that they were to issue me an “interrupted trip” voucher of some sort and that they should find my luggage (ugh – hadn’t REALLY wanted to see if again until Salt Lake) and I was to ask for a manager to get a hotel room voucher, etc. Someone attempted ONCE to say that they do not comp rooms for a weather delay and I had my index finger in the air in my forceful “talk to the [nice] finger” stance and explained that it was NOT just a weather delay and that I’d volunteered to get off the flight and before I got into the rest of the gory details that’s when they started to fetch things for me. So and so was going to fetch my luggage so it didn’t go to Phoenix or Bora Bora and someone else was running up to the something to get the signature for the voucher and was bringing it to me, etc. The agent next to mine started to look very concerned. Evidently, she’d just sent someone away from the same flight with NOTHING. So they paged him and somehow found a few others from our flight.

They handed my new partner-in-crime and I hotel vouchers and meal vouchers and explained where our luggage would be and that we were to call on the “red phone” (ooooh!) to get a shuttle. Now THAT’S what I’m talking about. I’ve never been to St. Louis. I got a scenic tour of the airport and the Double Tree Inn (not bad).

My new friend, Herr Schauble (don’t bring up the painful umlaut excision that his family suffered some years ago), was extremely gallant and helpful with my ridiculous amount of luggage (helping me protect my precious Quinoa). Turns out he’ll work for beer. I thought it was a good deal.

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My lovely friend, Heather the Vet Tech Extraordinaire, is trying to place some rescue felines.

I am of the opinion that VERY few people on this Earth can resist the charms of Kittens and/or Puppies. Those who do not fall prey to the wiles of Kitty and/or Puppy Cutiosity (that is the scientific term – DON’T QUESTION ME) are simply deranged. And I don’t mean in the vaguely amusing way that I am (and if I’ve opened a can of worms there, so be it). Ask anyone in advertising. If they cannot sell it with a Puppy or a Kitten or a Puppy AND a Kitten or a Puppy and a Kitten AND an engaging baby, then it’s something that needs so be sold with “hot cars” and unrealistically beautiful people in various stages of undress. But even then puppies and kitties probably wouldn’t hurt…

Here’s what Heather had to say about these particular Kitten Children:

Hey all. I need help placing these cute CUTE kittens (Kitt-ons). They are the sweetest little babies, and I vouch for their health and temperaments. If you know of anyone who might be interested, or have a bulletin board at your place of employ where you could post this, I’d appreciate any help at all. Don’t tell babies Brad and Malkovich, but Tortuga the Mama Cat is my favorite. She doesn’t have Full Kitten Cuteness on her side, but she is the GREATEST.

Thanks kids. Also- if there is a good family who can’t afford the very, very small adoption fee, it’s negotiable. I’m just trying to cover some of my costs for getting all their shots and surgeries done.

And just in case you thought you could resist the draw of the precious wee felines, here are photographs:
The pictures of endearing wee kitties do not at this moment want to load. Damn. Just take my word for it, they are SOOOOOOOOO enchanting, adorable, winsome and engaging. And rife with cutiosity. You can see the pictures on Heather’s site…

If you are not in the Utah area (particularly the Utah Valley area), or you have your quota of Kitten Children or you are irreversibly deranged, please consider downloading and posting this announcement [which will not upload at the moment either…use your imagination?] at your place of business or make it into a fashionable t-shirt or plaster it on some phone poles or something.

Believe it or not, I DO have some vague mental lineup concerning what I’d like to write on my blog. But this trumps, for the moment, everything I had in mind.

According to a widely-circulated, International, peer-reviewed journal*, I AM A COUGAR.

In the scientific journal article, for which they used a VERY limited sample, I think, and a rather vacuous title – “Cougars on the Prowl in Hollywood” – three of the four couples included a woman in her VERY EARLY THIRTIES. And they were pointing out age differences of four or five years as though they were comparing the Precambrian Eon versus the Mesozoic Era .

Don’t mistake me, I have the greatest affection and admiration for many a “Cougar.” So don’t get perturbed, Terry; you’re the best! It’s just that I thought you had to be at least FORTY to be a “cougar.”

I was looking forward (in a few short years, I grant you) to the initiation ceremony. There’s got to be some sort of rite of passage, yes? Doesn’t someone award you the “Golden Claw” and an expensive jar of eye cream? COME ON!

Grettir was expressing frustration about his recent experiences as he goes back to take some University classes as a parent and “non-traditional student.” Just so you know, Mr. Asmundarson, unfortunately you become a “non-traditional” student when you hit twenty-five. Therefore, I was a non-traditional student the entire time after I deigned to declare a major (or two).

As for the fact that you are number eight in a Google image search for the term “Middle-aged,” anyone who sees that picture will suddenly gain a WHOLE NEW PERSPECTIVE about being “middle-aged.” In fact, the aforementioned widely-circulated, International, peer-reviewed journal* would be proud to publish that picture in their “Guy Without His Shirt” section (subtitled “This month’s half-naked hunk”). Okay, they MIGHT blank out the kidney parts…

Sheesh – you go out of town for a month and a half or so and the world goes to HELL.

*So it’s Cosmo. And it isn’t even MINE. Moreover, Ashley was perfectly justified in purchasing it as trashy fodder for beach reading. It’s not like you want to get sand or salt water all over a nice copy of War and Peace or Finnegans Wake.

I’m at BWI (Baltimore Washington Airport? – or perhaps Big Wet Insect? OR Bestial Wild Indecency???), and I’m NOT going to pay their absurd fee to go online for only an hour, so this is a delayed gratification post. For someone, anyway…

In truth, it is the HAPPY GREETINGS FOR MANY OCCASIONS THAT I’VE MISSED entry.

Let’s start with a rousing hurrah in honour of Father’s Day. A very Happy Father’s Day to all y’all fathers out there, grandfathers, great-grandfathers, uncles with fatherly feelings and Catholic priests.

Oh -and my most heart-felt Father’s Day greetings to any man with enough confidence in his own sexuality to have fatherly feelings for his Kitten Children or Puppy Children. Indeed, what an ADMIRABLE quality.

And then there’s the June Birthday BONANZA:

On June, 2nd, Leif turned a ripe six-years-old.

Evidently There was a Snorkeling Party in The Bahamas.
I was not invited.

Anders Celebrated Leif’s Birthday With a Pizza Tribute (?)
Promptly thereafter he tried to climb the fence and escape (no lie)

Also, Leif recently graduated from Saint Magurerite’s Kindergarten:

Heartbreaker…

I thought I should take the time to let you know that Janet misspells the name of HER OWN SON’S SCHOOL. I just wanted to share my concern about the issue.

Anyhoo, I do not think it is fair that they have better caps and gowns than any I’ve ever seen at any college graduation ANYWHERE (even amongst the professors on the stand with the amusing hats from all the posh Ivy League schools). And in a familial vein, Leif aspires to someday (an appropriate billion or so years from now) to be a father. He also aspires to sing like John Mayer.

June 7th was Grettir’s Birthday. And, of course, he’s a stellar father, too. That makes two, two, TWO greetings in one for Grettir!

On June 9th, Ashley AND my Mother had birthdays. Ashley didn’t have one of those age landmark birthdays (though every time she has a birthday it serves to remind me that I’m a skosh more than ten years her senior – THANKS SMASH), but my Mom turned a very noteworthy sixty-years-old. Naturally we made certain that she received sixty gift-wrapped packages from Maryland (with ten Birthday cards with six greetings each…). Evidently when she opened the second big mailing box (of three) she understood exactly what was happening and said, “OH NO!” Oh yes. That’s precisely the reaction we wanted.

And now, somewhat in the mode of an Oscar® Acceptance Speech, I shall thank the Academy say HAPPY GREETINGS TO ANYONE I MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN! You’re still the best. And it was an honour just to be nominated.

I’ve barely talked at all about LIVESTRONG® Day; perhaps I’m finding it a little daunting. It was a humbling yet inspiring experience. Of approximately 200 delegates I was one of only a handful who had not personally survived cancer. And many of the survivors were oncologists and cancer survivors or the heads of advocacy organizations and cancer survivors – you get the picture.

It was also a whirlwind. Since I missed my morning flight on May 14th the only flight I could get left at 11:50 p.m. and had a stopover in Atlanta. I arrived at the hotel just as the training had started. Lance (I can call him that now – once you’re part of the “team” it’s your privilege*) spoke at the training – rushing in to talk and then straight out as he was between meetings and TV interviews the entire time he was in D.C. I did get several cell phone videos of him, one in which he mistakes one of the delegates for Bill Cosby. That was most funny, as you’ll hear if I ever post the video because I cackle right into the speaker the entire time (NOTE TO KATE: When taking videos, remember that you’re RIGHT NEXT TO THE LIL’ SPEAKER). It was a whirlwind for everyone from there.

There was a reception that night at ESPN Sports, most of which I missed, because I’d read my email, which included Kari’s obituary. I went to tell some other delegates that I’d like to know the way to the reception, in case I decided to come later, but that I wasn’t going to go with them. I had scarcely walked out of my room and to the elevators, when another delegate looked at my face and asked me what was wrong. I broke down, of course, and she sent her husband and son, who were visiting downstairs, and she sat with me on a couch to console me. To console ME. This incredible woman is a breast cancer survivor (diagnosed two weeks apart from her sister). I expressed to her that sometimes I felt so horrible because I just felt like everyone was sick and dying all about me; I sometimes feel like a bizarre epicenter of illness and death (even though intellectually I know that’s ridiculous). And then I conveyed how guilty that made me feel; I was never the dying one. This woman, with short, short-cropped hair, probably indicating that she’d had a round of chemo not all that long ago, said that sometimes she thought it was harder to be on the outside. Bless her.

Bless them all, actually. Everyone was like that; ready to show you what to do and how to get there. And when I did go to the reception for a moment, a delegate from Idaho with whom I’d spoken on and off that day came up to me. I know I looked lost and a little dazed. She, too, asked what was wrong and hugged me as the tears fell again. Then this incredible woman – she and her husband are both cancer survivors – said the same words, “Sometimes I think it’s harder to be on the outside.”

LIVESTRONG® Day Delegates, May 16, 2007

Needless to say, I felt unworthy in the face of these amazing survivors, yet not a single person made me feel like I shouldn’t be there or that I didn’t have something to offer. We were all there for one purpose, and they cared more about how hard we could work than which person had survived more cancer recurrences.

The next day we were to take the requests of the Lance Armstrong Foundation to the legislators for our specific states. A delegate from Virginia rescued me as I was running to the Metro and put me in the cab with him and insisted on paying the fare because “he worked with another group for whom he could write if off.” And as he had extra time, he took me not only into the building for the members of the House, but to the very office where my first meeting was to be. Kermit, the other delegate from Utah guided me everywhere else all day (as he’s been on the circuit speaking with the legislators for other advocacy groups with which he works). He’s a prostate cancer survivor, and in the second or third email I ever exchanged with him provided amazing research links. Hope for my Father. Hope that I didn’t think existed.

The meetings were productive (I hope – I’ll talk more about that later). There was an unfortunate situation that I noticed too late to fix it; I had NO antiperspirant/deodorant with me (there was a noble effort of to make my suitcases light enough as I was almost out the door – Shirleen and my Mom generously helped me and gracefully ignored the rather ungenerous, hysterical comments I made while they assisted me. Don’t worry, they’ve already obtained my most sincere apologies and they are getting presents, too). It seems that the antiperspirant/deodorant did not survive the cut (and I did not notice in time to do anything about it). At least my luggage was not over the weight limit.

I suppose I mention this in case you ever run into a Utah legislator who remembers LIVESTRONG® Day 2007 and happens to recall the distinguished older gentleman who said just enough and the younger delegate who smelled…funny…and had difficulty shutting her trap.

All day I thought about and talked about those I loved for whom I wanted freedom from cancer to be a reality as well as those who had lost their battles with this disease – this insidious killer that takes the lives of 560,000 people a year. The worst part is that about a third of those deaths could be prevented with equitable healthcare and early screening. I only had to remember that fact and I wouldn’t have traded places with anyone in the world so that I could be part of the effort to change those statistics.

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Sunday afternoon we received a call that my Uncle Ron would die that day. His final diagnosis included extremely advanced liver cancer, lung cancer and esophageal cancer. Concerning the rest, either his family thought that was plenty to share with us, or the possibility of the pain associated with continued examinations made them unwarranted. As for his prognosis, if you know anything about end-of-life care, you know the sorts of things that lead a physician to tell you that the patient will die that day. If you don’t know, it’s best left as I would describe it – unimaginable. Nevertheless, Uncle Ron lingered on until Monday night.

Evidently, the week before he died he felt relatively well and was in good enough shape to attend the funeral of a friend and enjoy the company of his family the day before he entered the hospital. That night, before his hospital admission in the morning, he spoke for the very last time. “I Love You,” he said to my Aunt Joan.
A. Ronald Henderson
May 7, 1934 – June 4, 2007

Uncle Ron was a professional photographer for many, many years. His obituary says:

Ron’s life passion and hobby was photography, and [he] had the unique pleasure of doing what he loved. As owner of Ashton Henderson Photography, he took great pleasure in capturing the beauty of nature and creating lasting memories with his portrait work.

And, I guess, in the true spirit of always being the photographer, there was no picture with his obituary (also online for the time being here) and I haven’t any with me.

But he took countless photographs all those years – a legacy of images. Here are a very, very few examples:

Above is my parents’ very favourite picture that Uncle Ron took on the day of their wedding, September 10, 1965. So they took the original and hung it on the wall (without glass). The resultant sun damage, stains and scratches are very pronounced. When Uncle Ron learned that we wanted to use enlargements of their wedding pictures for my Parents’ Fortieth Wedding Anniversary and that the best-loved image was damaged, he found the original negative and made a new print (from which I made a SCAN for them to hang). Unfortunately, I have yet to manage a good scan of this picture; I will try again:


Mom & Dad, September 10, 1965

I cropped the black and white photo above from one of the portraits Uncle Ron took at Mom and Dad’s reception for their Anniversary invitation. He took a great assortment of coloured and black and white images on that occasion.

Uncle Ron also took all our family portraits. For some odd reason this is the only one I have on my computer at the moment:

My Family, Circa 1979

Uncle Ron, naturally, cannot be held accountable for any wardrobe or coiffure choices. Nor can is he responsible for any vaguely cockeyed looks; it’s a small miracle to take a picture in which my eyes AND my father’s are open.

I will miss you, Uncle Ron. I look back fondly on the trips the families used to take – staying at The Homestead, going to Yellowstone or The Tetons or to Bozeman. I love the memory of that blue Sears jumpsuit you used to wear and the gallant protection you afforded us from that gander which landed you “in the drink.” When I see all the pictures you took, the weddings, funerals, the family gatherings – all the rites of passage it seems – I shall always think of you.

For quite a long time, when someone was dying or had died, a particular song has come to my mind – a lovely piece called “Mark’s Song” by Eastmountainsouth.

Here are the lyrics, especially for Glen, for Kari, for Grandma Wanda’s Charley, and for Uncle Ron:

may your soul be blessed
may your body rest
on the mountain where you were born
may your spirit soar
where there’s joy ever more
may you find your way in peace

and there’s no more harm
in your Savior’s arms
see you fly away in the sky
did you hear the call of angels one and all
may you find your way in peace

may you know you’re loved
may you shine above
on the mountain where you were born
may your spirit soar
there’s no pain anymore
may you find your way in peace

and there’s no more harm
in your Savior’s arms
see you fly away in the sky
did you hear the call of angels one and all

may you find your way in peace
may you find your way in peace
may you find your way in peace

May you find your way in peace, Uncle Ron. And may you find peace, Aunt Joan, Kevin and your family, Janell and your family, and my Grandma L., as well as those members of Uncle Ron’s family I do not know.

I’ve been dreadfully remiss in posting. Yes, indeed.

I’m realizing that if I did a search on my site for that very phrase (“remiss in posting”) I’d probably get 563 hits. (Many thanks of gratitude to the Department of Redundancy Department for that statistic.)

It’s just that I’ve been so busy at Chez David & Julianne – doing VERY scientific slumber tests on their guest bed, generously eating all the home cooked healthy food proffered to me – you get the idea. It’s awfully hard work, as you can imagine.

Also, since I left my (BRAND NEW!!!!) camera at Senator Hatch’s office on LIVESTRONG® Day (Wednesday, May 16, 2007!) and have yet to have a chance to fetch it, David has been at my beck and command taking photos for me. I’ve developed a very streamlined system for this: I cry out, “Photographer – PHOTOGRAPHER – Please take a pictures of that cannon ball (or that jail or Peek-a-Boo Radley sitting by the gnomes or Peek-a-Boo Radley in the officers barracks or Peek-a-Boo Radley with the park ranger).” Okay – that’s not entirely true: Sometimes I do not say “please.”

I obviously need and intend to write all about LIVESTRONG® Day, as well as Chez David & Julianne (though I have to be VERY circumspect regarding that subject, as – remember – DAVID MAY HAVE TO KILL ME if I misspeak).

I should also write about Washington, D.C., Maryland (especially Baltimore, Catonsville – “Music City, Maryland,” and Ellicott City). I’ll get to it.

For now I’ll just provide one preview image of LIVESTRONG® Day:

Kermit & Kate, Utah Delegates, LIVESTRONG® Day 2007
Photo and Crane by Fred

In concurrence with my standard “KATE DETESTS AND ABHORS PICTURES OF HERSELF” protocol, I am not going to tell you which individual is me. I will, however, give you one hint: I am not African-American.

Thank you for proving that you were properly attired on LIVESTRONG® Day (more on that later).

Proof of LIVESTRONG®

I’ve decided that now’s not the time to explain how clever and attractive my little brothers really are.

But most importantly, Charles, always remember, especially on this, your natal day:
SO’S YOUR FACE!!!

My dear friend, Gayle (Kari’s sister), said it best, “Anyway, to know her is to love her…” I cannot imagine a single person who could disagree with that statement.

On May 15, 2007, after a long but uplifting day of cancer advocacy training in Washington, D.C., for LIVESTRONG Day® (which was Wednesday, May 16, 2007), I read my email. There was a message from Gayle. It said, in part, “I just wanted to let you know that my fantastic and awesome sister, Kari, has finished her fight with cancer. I will miss her so very much.” Indeed, everyone will miss her.

Kari Kay Terry Mason

March 27, 1968 – May 14, 2007

I thought about Kari and her family a lot on LIVESTRONG® Day. And it couldn’t have brought the “mission” of our efforts into sharper focus. I was part of an advocacy group from all over the country fighting for all stages in the battle through and against cancer: Education, screening and treatment FOR EVERYBODY WHO NEEDS IT, as well as survivorship care, and, if the battle reaches an untimely conclusion, end-of-life care.

Thank you so much, Kari, for being such an inspiration in life and even beyond. Your legacy will continue to motivate and encourage people with your radiant and extraordinary spirit.

If you’d like to read more, please refer to the following:

• Kari’s obituary in The Deseret News
• Kari’s obituary from The Daily Herald.
• Kari’s obituary on Senicare.com.
• Please visit The Kari Mason Fund website:
  

  Kari was a unique individual with a sparkling personality and a selflessness that somehow intensified as her pain increased and her physical condition deteriorated.

  In lieu of flowers, Kari’s family would appreciate donations through this site to help pay medical expenses and support the future needs of her miracle daughter, Ellie.

• When you visit The Kari Mason Fund, please follow the link from “Her story” to a wonderful article about Kari and her family, “Live Like You Were Dying,” featured in Wasatch Woman.

UPDATE, 9/13/2009: It seems that the links to the Kari Mason Fund are not functioning. I’ll check with her family and see if this charity exists any longer.

The link to “Live Like You Were Dying is also non-functioning.”

UPDATE, 11/17/2009: The Kari Mason Fund no longer exists.

The aforementioned article, “Live Like You Were Dying,” is no longer online. I have, however, requested and received a hard copy from the Wasatch Woman that I will scan and post as soon as possible, as well as a follow-up article about her family from July/August 2008 that they graciously sent as well.

A few months ago I purchased these shorts from the Lance Armstrong Foundation Store:

I show them to you now, because they expose far more of my “legs” than ANYONE will see in public. And probably not even in private; they are my SECRET shorts. One may ask why I purchased them. Well, they were on sale.

Before the peanut gallery starts yapping about how just because it’s on sale it is still not FREE. Yes, yes, I KNOW. Blah, blah, BLAH. I had my reasons.

First of all, I only like to wear all natural fibers (cotton, silk, viscose made of renewable bamboo…) OR magically technological, wicking, UV-blocking, bug-repellent fabric that gives one the ability to fly. True, I’ve not found any garb with that last quality, but I certainly have a great admiration for the others. The shorts pictured above are made of super-duper wicking fabric. Huzzah! I’ll omit any mention of the way I sweat when I’m sleeping that makes such qualities vastly desirable. Except that one.

However, there was something that did bother me just a little when I donned the things (and it was not an audience – I’d assiduously avoided that). Last night it came to me in a flash of not-so-pleasant nostalgia.

Take off the logos, turn the black into an obnoxious shade of blue (a wretched version somewhere between royal blue and ultramarine), turn the fabric into double-knit polyester and you have AN EXACT REPLICA OF MY JUNIOR HIGH PHYSICAL EDUCATION SHORTS. Okay, make them SMALLER, too.

Oh, the memories that brings back. The humiliation of group showers, the minuscule “towels,” the bright yellow double-knit polyester top that went with the shorts, the LONG yellow socks (we had to purchase the whole ensemble at a local sporting goods store according to “school colours” – at least I didn’t have to suffer the humiliation of going shopping with my Mother for my first “cup” – HAH, David and Charles), the “fun runs” (something they probably wouldn’t put hardened criminals through during prison yard time), and the fact that throughout the two years of my junior high career we did little “survey” classes of about three billion different sports – yes, I’ve played field hockey – and I was consistently mediocre at EVERY SINGLE ACTIVITY. Oh wow – we even bowled, did gymnastics (on that one I dipped down from mediocre into harrowing), and a veritable smörgåsbord of physical “recreation” entailing the hitting or throwing of some variety of ball. WAIT – I was an at least slightly better than mediocre swimmer (I’d had lessons).

I’m lost in a fog of reminiscence at this point that I cannot honestly describe as anywhere near enjoyable. In fact, it’s vaguely evocative of sulfur. I suppose that means that junior high was created by SATAN. And I’m only being slightly facetious.

I realize that after junior high (free of the ghastly fetters of the devil?) I played a little volleyball, basketball and softball and maybe improved a TAD, but if I were now to attempt any of the aforementioned activities I would – how shall I say it? – stink up the house. Every time I go bowling, for instance, though please cut me some slack in that I go very rarely, I get worse and worse. I’m downright DANGEROUS now, come to think of it. You have NO IDEA how relieved I am that Emma did not suffer any permanent brain damage from a particularly memorable bowling outing during with I laid her out FLAT with my back-swing. I’m not going to explain the whole thing now or I’ll weep (again). Just know that now, eight or so years later, in spite of my little “faux pas,” she’s exceedingly brilliant. Maybe I knocked something into place.

Well, I’m going to set aside the lasting traumas of my pre-teen years. And my teen years. And some years after that. Let me just inform you that the proceeds from EVERYTHING you buy from the Lance Armstrong Foundation Store directly benefit the Lance Armstrong Foundation (and they are having a BIG sale at the moment). That is one of the reasons I have such a wide array of LIVESTRONG® paraphernalia, including the item I’ve pictured here, to be known henceforth as “my junior high LIVESTRONG® shorts.”