Facing the knife

OK, I have more stitches in me than a cheap Sears suit. I know the routine. I have done a mask full of ether to get me under and the more modern shot with the count back system. (Never made it past 97 I think.)

The being said, I have nothing to offer my favoritest, yes faroritest, non daughter in the world. (No she isn't my daughter but she may as well be.)

She had a tumor removed from her brain. It was the size of a grapefruit. Think about that for a second. Hold a grapefruit in your hands and think about checking it into your head and having someone whack it out and nothing bad happening. Amazing.

But, she is amazing. Got more fire in her than an exploding Colorado fir during a forest fire. She's creative, and funny, and pure hell for the first half of the morning. Animals follow her around like there is a second coming of Noah's Ark and she isthe one handing out the tickets to the first class section. She scuba dives and takes on the gritty challenges of the day like a Jew walking across Gaza. She is a a pretty good writer but doesn't much. That is a loss.

And she grows tumors. Again. Not as big, mind you, but again.

There is a growing hush starting in my mind as the day approaches when the latest little lump will come out. I am worried and I wish I was there.

But I am not and worse, I have to be in school all week while this goes on.

I should be there, really. But then again, she just has to take a look at all of the hounds around her and know the old dog is there, too.

Cowboy up, babe. Let the sun rise in your soul.