Da Goddess

Note: For those of you who follow me with any regularity, you know I don’t swear much in posts (well, not these days anyway). However, after reading this, I’m sure you’ll understand why certain words made a frequent appearance. Just sayin’.

I reached my breaking point today. After the week I’ve had, it wouldn’t have really taken much anyway, but it would seem that, indeed, someone decided to test my patience and found me lacking. Boy, was I lacking. I think I made a male nurse cry. I don’t know. I pretty much didn’t care. I was ready to cut someone if they fucked with me. With words. They were my weapon of choice.

It all began on Monday. I’d called for a refill on my Ambien on Friday last week. Friiiiiiiiiiiiiiday. Friday. I should have been able to pick it up from the pharmacy Monday after P.T. When I got to the pharmacy I was told the doctor’s office had until the end of the day to respond. If they didn’t hear back, they’d call the office again first thing in the morning on Tuesday. TUESDAY. Did they? Nope. Did they call on Wednesday? Apparently not. When I called the pharmacy yesterday morning, after lo these many days without sleep, I figured they’d have something. Nope. I told them that was unacceptable since they’d said they’d stay on top of it and hadn’t. So, when I showed up at the pharmacy counter in the afternoon, they pretty much shouldn’t have been surprised when I burst into tears because they STILL DIDN’T HAVE MY PRESCRIPTION. Yet, they were.

I walked out of there with my meds. Yep. I sure as shit did. I made it a point to let those I’d dealt with know that them dropping the ball wasn’t appreciated.

Today? I got to the doctor’s office a little early. My dad drove me down there and he said he’d sit in the car and wait. That should have been my first clue something would go wrong. I stood at the counter waiting to check in and nothing… I waited and waited and waited. (Hmm, this explains why I also had trouble getting through to the office by phone on Monday, it would seem.) Finally, the gal came out to the desk and after five minutes of hemming and hawing, she tells me the P.A. is at least 45 minutes behind schedule.

AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“I wish I’d known this before I got here. I could have been dropping my camera off for repair instead of sitting around.”

…

“Wait…are you fucking kidding me? Am I being Punk’d? Cuz at my last appointment I waited two hours to be seen.”

…

“I want to talk to someone. Now. Get the nurse out here. I have to have some answers.”

…

I finally spied the nurse and called him over. I told him this was unacceptable…that there was no way in the world that TWICE I should be kept waiting and waiting and waiting. What about my father? Couldn’t they have called to let me know they were running behind? Seems like that would have been the smart — and considerate — thing to do.

I’m pretty sure there was steam coming from my ears. I’m pretty sure my blood pressure was sky high. And I’m pretty damn sure that they won’t hesitate to call me prior to my next appointment (yeah, I have to have another fucking appointment in two fucking weeks because I really should have seen the fucking doctor and not the fucking P.A…. just as I had fucking expected! And this is yet another issue that pissed me the fuck off!) and let me know they’re running late because I’m pretty damn sure they REALLY won’t like me if I’m made to wait for hours again.

Perhaps part of the reason I felt so evil and angry was the lack of sleep during the week. But you know, that’s not the whole reason. No. See, here’s the thing: I’ve worked in medical offices and I know it’s possible to pick up the phone to call patients and let them know the doctor is running late. I used to do it all the time. Regardless of how shorthanded the office may be, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. In other words, you let your patients know what’s going on before they get there so they can plan accordingly. If the patient is a diabetic, they can get lunch or adjust their testing and medication schedule. If a patient is in pain, they can plan meds around the visit. They could run errands prior to getting there and still make it home in time to pick up their kids. See where I’m going with this? It’s a simply courtesy that lets you know the doctor and the staff realize your time is just as valuable as theirs is.

Getting the runaround all week from the pharmacy and the doctor’s office (when I’d called them) had set me on edge. The fact that I’d received a postcard on Monday telling me “We tried to contact you to let you know your appointment has been rescheduled and you will be seeing the P.A. instead of the doctor” made me mad. I knew I needed to see the doctor because it was supposed to be our final regular appointment. It also made me mad because I knew damn well they hadn’t “tried to contact” me. (Sorry, that polite bullshit doesn’t fly with me.) And when I called on Monday, I couldn’t get through the first three times. I got some recording telling me all the lines were in use and to try again later. Then I got hung up on twice. Then I got put on hold for 35 minutes only to be told that they weren’t sure if I needed to see the doctor or not, but they’d have someone call me back. That never happened. Every other phone call to the office that week went unreturned. My attorney, with whom I’d spoken on Tuesday, also believed that I’d need to see the doctor for the final visit. Now I have to go back again?

This alternately seething/weeping person I was all week is not the person I want to be, nor the person I enjoy being. I did everything I could to calm myself. The shit just kept piling on me though and I couldn’t take it any longer. At some point, I stopped apologizing for being angry because I’d been treated poorly. I understand that things happen and appointments run long and doctors run behind. But it happened twice in a row. And this week there were too many balls dropped.

So today, I became a bitch. And I kind of didn’t care.

Thank God for my dad because he calmed my ass down once I got into the car. Then he took me to the camera shop so I could get my camera in for repair. Oh, and here’s the fun part: it’ll be 4-6 weeks before I get the camera back. No clue as to what’s wrong, how much it’ll cost…other than the $30 it cost me to get it sent to the service center. As I told my friend on the phone this evening, I could walk the camera up to Irvine (where the service center is) and back in less time than that.

Anyhow, if you need me, I’ll be in the corner.

Update: there was a stabbing down near my doctor’s office today. I wasn’t me. I promise. I used my words, baby.

Just kickin’ weakly.

Little Dude was out of school for three days last week and spent the weekend lyin’ low. He’s mostly recovered and back to being weird.

Me? Same thing. I had to send the boy off to his dad’s so I could sleep a bit, which I did…a lot.

I’m still feeling kind of off, but I’m on the upswing.

I’m off to bed. Again. Blech.

Each Monday, we’d love to have you join us here and at Toy. We feature a visual prompt that will hopefully stir you to remember something — something grand or something simple and plain — write what you feel. Just let yourself go and rememebr when.

Please link up with Mr. Linky below or at Fractured Toy so we can come visit you!

PacificPinballExpo2009-24, originally uploaded by ElectrikCandyland.

That was my goal. I was going to be a pinball wizard.

My Pappy (my dad’s dad) had just remarried a woman (Eleanor) who happened to have a pinball machine in her basement. Now, I’d already figured out everything I’d needed to know about slot machines since my dad brought one of those home a while back and pinball was definitely more interactive and challenging. I was ready!

Like everything else in my life, I spent a lot of hours at that pinball table. I learned how to work the flippers with my little hands, how much I could nudge the machine with my body and avoid a “tilt”, and I thrilled each and every time I bested my last score. I was obsessed. I even read the book “Tilt”, which was later made into a movie of the same name starring Brooke Shields. If there was a song, TV show, book, movie, or anything related to pinball, I was on it!

As I got older and Atari games came out (they had a pinball game y’all!), I played those, played other video games (and was pretty good), and basically became almost equally obsessed with air hockey, I never got over my fascination and love for pinball. The clangs and clicks and bells and lights were enchanting. Every game different, but fundamentally the same. I played every pinball machine I saw.

The newer machines aren’t nearly as much fun as the earlier ones. The new have computerized boards and artificial sounds, beeps and boops that just don’t quite make the experience nearly as fun as older pinball was. Still, I played. I just didn’t like it as much.

Would you believe I spent the last few hours of a romantic getaway to the picturesque Poconos playing pinball and air hockey? Obviously, my darling understood my love for him was greater than that of anything else and he played along with me. He seemed to enjoy the games as much as I did, even when I won.

These days, I walk into a room and spy a pinball machine and my heart races a little. Okay, a lot. I’m immediately taken back to a time when I was a little girl standing in front of my first table, eager to play. I approach the game, run my hand across the glass top, whisper a few sweet nothings, and then go find some quarters.

I guess part of me will never outgrow some of the games and amusements from childhood. And you know what? I’m okay with that.

And don’t forget to go check out ElectrikCandyland‘s great photography.

I think I’m almost willing to concede that this vertigo thing may possibly be something more than compressed nerves in my neck. I still think that’s part of it though. However…

Sleepless night. Dizziness no matter what. Slight congestion. Exploding eyeballs. I think I may have even been hallucinating or something. I’d close my eyes and I’d see crazy cartoon characters and lettering. It was like having a wonky monitor with everything squished to one side and distorted. (Didn’t there used to be a cartoon series called Tummy Monsters or something? I was seeing stuff like that…or like Lenore…)

Fun times.

LD is without fever, but he has a nasty cough and he’s really pale.

I’m pretty certain we’ll both survive, it just doesn’t feel like it at the moment.

We now return you to your regular program.

…my head is spinning. Really.

I’ve had this thing going on for a couple days and don’t like it. If I lay down on my right side, the room spins. When I sit up, the room spins. When I stand up, I look like one of those people who have been playing the “spin around the bat” game. Just standing upright and not falling over is my main goal.

Now, apparently washing my hair is also something that brings excitement to my life. Tilting my head back to rinse results in all sorts of swirly floopy fun.

I’m thinking this is related to my neck and my rash. I know…it sounds like a stretch, but it makes sense if you think about what I used to go through when my neck was seriously messed up (and I’ve been having issues lately). I used to get weird “rashes” on my arm right where this one is, my arm(s) would hurt/tingle, I’d have odd headaches, and then I’d start with the dizziness. Let’s see…uh, yeah. All present. Fun times.

This is all really “awesome” because LD is home from school today. His temp was over 100 this morning. After dosing him with Tylenol, he’s been down in the normal range, but the temp won’t stay there. It never does when he gets like this. I finally got him to eat something an hour ago. Soup. Toast. Getting him to drink is an entirely different battle. I don’t get it. I ply him with juice, Gatorade, soda, water, ANYTHING. But he doesn’t want to drink. It’s so much fun to remind him to drink. He gives me this look…parents know what I mean.

The highlights of our morning thus far have included:

• Legos
• The History Channel’s show about Indiana Jones and the awesomeness of archeology
• The History Channel’s two hour show on the Knights Templar
• Chicken noodle soup
• More Legos

Yep. That’s it. We’re all about the excitement today. Wooo hooo….cough cough…dizzy swirly…okay, gotta go sit down.

I’m no longer “anything” in TTLB ecosystem. I have fallen off to the point where a search query results in nothing.

That’s kind of cool. It’s liking coming up with zero results on Google.

Or maybe the system has a glitch to work out. I dunno. It’s not important.

The point is: I’m not on the list. In some circles, I’ve been dubbed inconsequential. And I like it!

I do remember a time when it did matter to me, though. A time when I was amongst other names on the elite’s blogrolls. Not even stretching the truth a wee tiny on this one…I knew people and the blogosphere was smaller then.

A lot has changed since those days. Except…here’s the thing: a lot has also stayed the same. There are people on my blogroll who have been there since day one. Even someone who’s since died is still on my blogroll (just as his phone number is still listed on my cell phone) because he’s a part of it all. Plenty of names have fallen off the list and we no longer have anything in common. Or there were “issues”. Or they disappeared. Or blogrolling exploded. We lost touch. It’s okay. Time marches on.

What amazes me most is the fact that almost weekly I’ll run into someone from my past blogging glory and find I’m delighted over it. I quietly add them back to my list…or not. Just like I quietly add someone new…or not. I have more adding to do. If you saw my bookmarks, you’d understand.

But here’s the thing: I don’t want a blogroll a mile long anymore. I don’t want to have someone feel bad if their name isn’t there. Or if it is and I don’t comment regularly, they may feel bad.

Which comes back to me not showing up on TTLB’s ecosystem search. I used to care about these things. I don’t now. I have awesome readers here. Even if you don’t comment often (FOR SHAME! hehehe), you do come read and I get email. I need to vent, or I need advice, and you’re there for me. You need something, you email or call, and I can be there for you…that’s what matters.

I love that my world has expanded and contracted in such a beautiful way. Like some multi-colored Spirograph creation. It’s the density in the center that matters most. As lovely and airy as the outer rings are, the heart is where it counts. And those of you in that realm…you know who you are…you know you are loved…and that’s what really and truly means something.

Oh, me not being a part of a circle, ring, group, etc…inconsequential.

I got me some good peeps. If they call me inconsequential, I may have to rethink my life.

Little Dude seems to have succumbed to the sinus crud. He’s definitely not happy. He just did this a few weeks ago. I have a feeling this is going to be a very nasty sinus/cold season for us.

Blech.

And rain…we’re waiting for the deluge, because according to the news, it’s gonna be nasty. I’ll believe it when I see it.

I started this rash thing (inner aspect of my upper right arm) a couple days ago. Didn’t itch too much. At first. Now? It’s all I can think about. I may need to excise it from my body. Ooh, I could make my arms skinny again! But it’d probably be too gross to do at home. Not to mention the fact that I have none of the supplies and that I may be ambidextrous to some extent, but not with sewing/suturing.

Let’s see…what else? Hair. Mine. My son hates it — “Mom, didn’t I say your hair was your identifier?” My pirate friend hates it — “What did I tell you about cutting those long gorgeous golden locks, wench?!” My mom loves my haircut. I told her I thought it was too short and she said, “no no no no…it looks cute!” Okay then. She wins. I’m actually coming around to it as well. I knew I would. If I could get highlights done properly, I’d LOVE it. Eh, low on the list.

Spent a couple hours at my mom’s yesterday and we had some interesting conversations. We rambled. It was good. She tried to get me hooked on a crazy puzzle and I resisted. Mostly. A little. Somewhat. Okay, I tried the damn thing and couldn’t figure it out. Happy now? It’s a number puzzle. Not sudoku. I love those things and I’ll do ’em. But this thing was…it wasn’t good. I didn’t like it and I couldn’t figure it out. Therefore, I dislike it. Lots. However, I did learn through the course of this debacle that her special pencil sharpener she uses for her artwork died. I took the whole thing apart, cleaned it thoroughly, replaced the batteries, and then put it back together. Errreerrrrerrererrererrrrrrr….nothing. So, as an early Christmas gift, she’s getting a new one. It’s the least I can do.

Also, we discovered we both love watching Food Network’s Challenge because it’s totally fun. Crazy cakes? Check. Crazier creations? Check. The occasionally INSANE contestants? Oh yeah. Then we started talking about Ultimate Cakeoff on TLC. Thankfully, Bronwen Weber, Courtney Clark, Jason Ellis, and Norman Davis are talented and delightful, and none of them are the crazy that puts out flaming monstrosities that scare judges, children, and local fire marshalls. We love our good bakers and decorators. I have a few other names to add, but she wasn’t in the mood to try that game yesterday.

I also went looking for the plastic robot puzzle keychain* that I know is lurking somewhere around her house. She pointed me in various directions to help me find it. The elusive item remains unfound. For now. I’ll try again on Thursday. Oh, and I’m taking over the old P&S camera to get a photo of something special. (Working with limited tools means I won’t turn it into an all day shoot.)

Lots of stuff to get done this week. Have to get rid of a lot of the extra stuff cluttering up the place and I’m hoping to borrow my bro-in-law or sister’s truck or station wagon to get it moved out of here.

* a couple sites I’ve found and hold clues as to what I’m seeking and I finally found ITEM!

It’s on eBay. But really? Twenty bucks? I’m going to keep digging around until I exhaust every corner of both parents’ homes. If not, eBay here I come! (I desperately want more than one…one to hold onto and tuck away into a display case — okay TWO for the display — and one or two for my keyring.)

I’m such a pitbull sometimes. I don’t give up on this stuff, do I? Now if only I could find my motorcycle girl action figure that was only about 6″ tall…

If you haven’t read Yon’s latest, please do. I’ve had a lump in my throat since I first started digging in and more than once, the tears flowed. I’m such a sucker for veterans, but the special respect the Dutch hold for our WWII vets is simply astounding.

The post is long, with lots of wonderful photographs. It’s worth your time, though. Really, really worth your time.

Each Monday, we’d love to have you join us here and at Toy. We feature a visual prompt that will hopefully stir you to remember something — something grand or something simple and plain — write what you feel. Just let yourself go and rememebr when.

Please link up with Mr. Linky below or at Fractured Toy so we can come visit you!

Music. It’s been a part of my life since Day One. My grandfather played music for us all the time. Live music. He could play just about any instrument. And he did. But at home, I recall our little Fisher Price Music Box record player with the five plastic records and songs like “Hickory Dickory Dock” and “Edelweiss”. We also had a regular record player and I’m pretty sure I drove my sister crazy with my endless playing of “Waltzing Matilda”. Of course, that all changed when she got me hooked on Bobby Sherman, the Partridge Family, and the Monkees. Yeah, I listened to all that. I sang along, daydreamed about meeting my music idols, and kept the music playing as often as possible.

Still, despite the records and all, I’d keep going back to the time spent with my grandfather. There was something about the interaction, sitting side-by-side at the organ and being taught middle C, how to play “Alley Cat” (when to chime in with “meow”), and then having little concerts for my grandmother after a lesson. Records didn’t and couldn’t compare to that, but in a way, they served as an extension of the musical education my grandfather gave us kids.

Like any kid, however, I grew up to develop some diverse musical interests. My older sister (once she hit her teens) introduced me to Tommy Bolin, Journey, Led Zeppelin, Foghat, Fleetwood Mac, et al. (At one point, she took me to see Pablo Cruise at the fair.) Then there was my own exploration into rock and I’m sure my parents rolled their eyes as I placed Blondie’s Parallel Lines on my Christmas list, but they bought it for me anyway. Back then, I’d also walk down to 7-Eleven and buy lyrics magazines (they had those!) along with my teen mags and the occasional 45.

Because I had a big sister, I oftentimes found I was ahead of the curve musically. And I definitely wasn’t afraid to branch out. I’d listen to the local college radio station or watch Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert and soak up everything I could. I discovered Frank Zappa, Cheap Trick, the Ramones, John Cougar (back when he went by that name and I became a fan of his version of “I Need A Lover” instead of Pat Benatar’s) and a million other bands that my friends had never heard of.

I’d go to dances down at local swim and tennis club (that’s SoCal for “rec center”) and request songs from bands the DJs didn’t know. Same thing with mainstream local radio stations (there were nights when I couldn’t get the college station because of where we lived). I’d call, I’d ask, I’d beg and plead and the DJs had nary a clue. Eventually they caught up. As did my friends. I stayed somewhat ahead of the curve until just after high school, when I got too busy to pay attention. (Notice how I virtually ignored any dabbling I might have done with disco beyond anything that appeared on Parallel Lines? Yeah, I did that on purpose.)

At some point, work (and money) became more important than music. Oh, it was there in the background. I was still buying albums and tapes like crazy, with Cheap Trick and Jimmy Buffett (an unlikely pairing, but whatever) leading the race more often than not. Concerts weren’t a priority unless I went with a boyfriend (to see Buffett, the Who [their first Final World Tour], John Cougar [Sky Show], Simon & Garfunkel [1983…and I was so sick with a fever of 103 that I remember very little of the show] and more than I can recall thanks to faulty wiring in my brain). It wasn’t until I got tickets to see Fleetwood Mac and took my sister (yes, my big sister!) to the concert, that I once again felt that surge, that thrill of live music run through me the way it should. First, it was the fact that I took my sister. Second, it was because I took my sister. But there it was. I had started that concert thing again and I went every chance I got.

At some point, I saw Bob Seger twice in one week. Once in San Diego, once in Los Angeles. Rod Stewart…I could have seen him every night of the week and been happy. The thrill of live music was in me and I couldn’t not go.

I also went to a few concerts down at the old Bacchanal (it’s now a computer store). The best of all shows was Mick Fleetwood (swooooooooon!) with Pete Bardens. The worst: Tanya Tucker. Don’t ask.

It makes me a little crazy to think of how much music there’s always been in my life and how much I have missed out on because of work, finances, kids, or just plain occasional disinterest. But there it is.

Now, music is often at the center of what I’m doing to the point where I’m so busy doing things, that I miss out on the actual performance. That’s sort of what happens when you’re helping out behind the scenes. Still, I work to find a way to get my fix and I’m very fortunate to have friends who make that possible (you know enough people in bands and there ya go).

For me, the real reward with music is being able share it with others. I love to bring music of all types into my children’s and friends’ lives. Even my mom and dad and I (I was going to say “play musical CDs”…as in “musical chairs”, but that’s silly) occasionally share music. It’s nice to have a broad enough love of music where that can happen. That’s what I want for my kids. They don’t have to like everything I like, just as I certainly didn’t go for everything my dad played (Herb Alpert’s Whipped Cream & Other Delights and anything Chuck Mangione, anyone?). But it did give me a foundation, as did my grandfather’s big band, ragtime, dixieland music did from which to grow, and somewhere I could return for comfort and familiarity. I want my kids to have that, too.

Boy, when I get down to it, I can ramble, can’t I? And this certainly isn’t as eloquent as I’d like it to be. Whatever. It was absolute free association that drew me through it beginning to…well, right about here.

So what about you? When you think of records, what comes to mind? Play along on your blog and Remember When. Hit up Mr. Linky to add your story so we can remember along with you.

Gotta watch the whole thing. Really. It’s less than four minutes of your time and it’s so worth it.

Going through my last several shoots (prior to the camera going caput), I’ve been trying to pull shots I know the bands will like. I’ll be sending images to them and trying to get them displayed on the blues society site as well. Also trying to get myself pumped up for a birthday party for a singer this weekend.

Anyhow… First up is Hugh Gaskins & the G-String Daddies.

A lot of the performers gathering for this party are people I know. Some, however, I’ve only exchanged emails with for the most part. Then there will be a couple of rather noted performers and that would be fun. Especially if I could find a camera to use. Better believe I’m going to be looking for gear to borrow! I want to be able to give the hostess a CD of the images afterward so she can remember how much fun her birthday celebration was.

I know. Me showing up somewhere without a camera shouldn’t be a big deal, but that’s who I am. I’m the photographer. People expect it. In fact, last Saturday, I got in my friend’s car to head out to our big competition finals and she looked at me as if I were crazy. “Where’s the camera? Aren’t you going to shoot today?” And then I told her what happened. “Girl, we gotta get you a camera. That’s your job! That’s you.” Yes, yes it is.

We’ll see what happens. I also have Train Song Festival on Saturday with LD. I love wandering around down at the park and listening to the stories and music. It’s the perfect time of year for this. But it also feels weird to be going sans camera. As will next weekend when I have another blues event with rare performances and big blues artists in town.

I’ll figure it all out. I always do.

In the meantime, I have lots of photos to sort through and lucky you…you get to see them!

Spluuuuuurrrrrrrrge.

C’mon. Say it with me.

Splurge. Spluurrrrrrrge. SPPPPPPLLLLLLLLUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGE.

It’s a word that is both magificently awesome and really horribly wrong.

It sounds weird. Sounds almost dirty. And it is a dirty word if you have no money with which to splurge. On the other hand, when you do have the money for it, it becomes FABULOUS!

Splurge. Ooohhh. I shudder just saying it. Because, you know why? I splurged yesterday. I went over to Fantastic Sam’s and spent $20 on a haircut. Crazy! I know, huh? Wild girl on the loose! (Loose girl gone wild?) Whatever. Yeah. I hadn’t had a haircut since just before Christmas last year when my mom took me. My hair was long. Crazy, unmanageable long. I was getting frustrated with it. So I went nuts and splurged on the haircut. The very nice woman cut a little too much off and tried to go all precision cut on me. First, eh…it’ll grow back. Second, my hair is not precision cut quality hair. I have hidden wave there and it messes up every single “precision” cut anyone has ever tried. Oh well, the hair will grow back. (Note to the Guy: it’s not as short as it was in my 10yr reunion photos — I can still pull it back with a barrett.)

If I can work out a loaner camera this weekend, I’ll get someone to take a shot so you can see how it looks. I’m kind of liking it. We’ll see, though. We shall see.

And that, my friends, is my major splurge for the next year. SPLUUUUUURRRRRRRRRGGGGGE.

Interesting word.

Do you realize what you’ve done? Do you?

$13,205.00 was raised for this year. A recession year, too. Our goal was $10,000 and you beat it by a mile. Now, you have us scratching our heads on how to make next year better, how to raise a minimum of $15,000 for the Susan G. Komen For The Cure. We’re aiming high because YOU’VE set the standard and shown us that of which you are made.

If we can pull this off during a recession, what can we do next year when we’re all a little more prosperous? And we will be. I have a list of goals for myself between now and next year that will include a percentage of my business earnings to be donated to Boobie-Thon. And if my friends want me to take beautiful photos of their breasts so they can contribute in that manner, you better believe I’ll do it. I’m starting in August on that one!

Thank you so much for donating, for giving hope to those whose lives have been touched by breast cancer. You are amazing individuals. You are heroes.

God bless you! Thank you!

Don’t forget to keep on giving through Komen or BCA or ACS just because it’s a disease that never rests, never relents, never quietly goes away. It must be fought head on 24/7. Do your monthly breast self-exams. Teach your daughters how to do them. Teach your friends. Men, help your wives and girlfriends with their exams, and don’t forget to check yourselves, too, because you run a risk of developing breast cancer, too. It’s not as high a risk as women run, but it’s there nevertheless. So check!

And keep checking.

We’ll be back next year and we hope to have many more healthy, happy participants along for the ride.

P.S. For anyone who would like to still get a great deal on my photographs offered during this fundraiser, the continued limited selection and short run selection will be available throughout the Valour-IT fundraiser that’s coming up shortly. $50 each or any 3 for $125, logo-free, digital downloads, lab directions, etc. All yours, baby! And for a good cause. And for good measure, 10% of single image downloads goes to the charity of your choice, while 25% of the 3-fer deal will go to the charity of your choosing. How’s that for a deal?