Flesh and blood it turns to dustScatters in the windLove is all that matters in the end—Robert Earl Keen

Only two hermits remain. The ninth hermit has been joined by a tenth. They live on a small ranch in Central Texas with The Dogs of Hermits’ Rest. He does not hang out in bars anywhere near as much as when he was trying to be Li Po.
Other than family and music and song writing, his interests include writing. He has authored many technical tomes, several short stories, and a novel. He does have a day job or two, and he re-publishes some of his writings for those here.
For more information, see the complete profile.
Flesh and blood it turns to dustScatters in the windLove is all that matters in the end—Robert Earl Keen
The test results came back with good news. Dad’s cancer had grown, but it was only on the surface. Given that this is a very aggressive form of cancer, the doctor said its limited growth was a very good sign that the treatments are working. He went on to say that he thinks we can beat it if we increase the testaments to every week (which is what he originally said he wanted to do but never scheduled them more often that every two to three weeks).
What doesn’t kill you:
- Makes you stronger
- Makes you wish it had
This set of questions derives from a comparison Howard Thurman made of humans to jack pines, a tree species that usually requires a forest fire to free its seeds from cones. From the destruction, a new stand of trees arises phoenix-like. So here we go.
I am still breathing—not that I was in great danger of not doing so. I was down part of last week with a cold that kept changing its symptom profile, but basically moved between my throat and sinuses. But no pneumonia this year!!
Suna was a darling this weekend and took great care of me. I propped myself up on the couch in the media room, and she kept the household running and nursed me back to health.
So today I am back at work wrapping up a project that went fairly well, if not perfectly. I have other reasons to be slightly optimistic about the future, even if much of what I touched last week underwent a mystical transmogrification into steaming piles of fecal matter—a cosmic situation with which I am not totally unfamiliar. I think I see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I am a little worried about that chugging sound.
So that is what I am grateful for this week: progress in spite of setbacks, kindness and love in the face of human frailties and mistakes.
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,The dear respose for limbs with travel tir’d;But then begins a journey in my headTo work my mind, when body’s work’s expired—William Shakespeare
Enjoyed watching EW at work all day—assertive, decisive, glowing with enthusiasm. Dinner and then the first