March 1, 2015 (Sun) – What Color is my Dress?

DressBy now, everyone has seen the dress picture that has gone viral. Almost as hot as the ice bucket challenge but without the staying power. It’s obviously white and gold. “Yeah, right,” some of you black-and-bluers are saying. But the true color is not all that important.

You’ll notice that I titled this blog using the possessive determiner “my.” Possessive determiner? I hCraig in dressad to grammar-Google that for the benefit of, well, you know who you are. My close friends from work or Camp Ronald McDonald will suspect I’m actually talking about some of my excursions into the less-than-macho skirt world. Yes, the evidence is clear. But these all have really good explanations. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

But once again, I am really delving into more of a metaphor instead of any estrogen leanings. As it relates to my journey, I can’t say that a full box of Crayolas would come into play. Instead, a better descriptor would be a range from white to black, with fifty shades of gray in
White-black stripbetween. Boy, I bet those soft-porn Googlers will be surprised when my blog pops up as they search that movie/book title.

So white would be BC (before cancer) and black would be, well, I really would find my name in the obits. I’ve been up and down that scale but staying mostly in the first, leftmost half. As my scans come back clean, I drift left. But news of progression, or blood clots, or other challenges, slides it back to Rush Limbaugh territory. And since I’m a Democrat, I prefer keeping it in blue state territory. At the moment, I’d say I’m an independent around midpoint with some recent scans, as you know, coming back with some new fuzzies apparently. I’ll know more when I have my next set on March 20th.

The white-black scale is more of a how-I’m-doing-physically one. But there is another scale of equal importance (in my opinion). That would be the yellow-blue scale describing my current frame of mind. Heading off to Hawaii after clean scans would put me in Pollyanna yellow Yellow-Blue stripterritory. News of other cancer blogger deaths slides me right into funkdom. And that is where I am at today. Just this past week, we lost two cancer bloggers with a third probably soon to follow. One of them only 9 months after diagnosis. After having my head pulled out of the sand with my last scan results, this was a 2×4 broadside that has funked me out. Still trying to stay ahead of the wave, and so far managing. But news that it has swallowed up a couple blogger brethren and is currently holding one down brings the whole mortality issue right in front of my face where I can no longer ignore it. Scary stuff. It’s pushing me right on that funk meter but you all have done a great job at not letting me venture too far in that direction. Keep it up.

Once again, I will be reprising my role as a marathoner at the upcoming Breath of Hope Walk on Sunday, April 19th. OK, maybe a 5K slow Team Craig Logo - final (Small)walker. This walk is to support Moores Cancer Center where I am currently receiving my treatment as part of the AZD9291 (A-Team) drug trial. Last year we had by far the largest team in number of walkers. This year my goal is 100 of you out there wearing red Team Craig – Get Fuzzy shirts. I know we can do it. Will you join me? We also had the 2nd highest donation level. Not bad for a first-year team, eh? I hope all of you that were able to join me last year will consider digging out your red shirts to help support Moores and me. I will be getting more red shirts so not finding, or having tossed, yours is no excuse. For the newbies, please consider an early morning Sunday stroll. But even if you can’t be there in person, I’d like our team to come out on top in the fundraising category as well. Click here to join the walk or make a donation. Click Register and follow the prompts. You can make a donation on that same page without registering to walk. Be sure you are showing Team Craig – Get Fuzzy in your selection. Thanks for everyone’s support.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

February 13, 2015 (Fri) – Lucky Friday the 13th

friday-the-13th-title-screenshotWe all have our superstitions, right? Mine are more on the order of OCD gotta-do’s. Being sure all of the bathroom cabinets are closed when I leave. When I read the paper (yes, we are still papyrus reading dinosaurs), I always read it front to back, never out of sequence. Making sure my checkbook (yes, I still have one of those too) is balanced to the penny. OK, I actually gave up on that several years ago but I used to spend an hour looking for the 26¢ I was off. But today we are not here to discuss my bookkeeping quirks.

So when did Friday the 13th turn lucky? After all, it was 17 years ago today that I had my spinal fusion surgery, and it just so happened to be on Friday the 13th as well. Totally lost my voice for ten weeks after they nicked one of my vocal cords. Lucky? I’m thinking not.

two-yearBut as you know, today is my two-year anniversary from the date I was given my initial lung cancer diagnosis. As you also know, I try and avoid statistics, but I do know the odds were against me even being here to type this blog two years later. So, the fact that I’m still around to 2-digit finger poke is lucky indeed. But luck mixed with a whole bunch of other stuff.thank-you

So today I give thanks where thanks are due:

Medical Staff (onc, lung-onc, radio-doc, GP etc.)
Yes, I’ve had an occasional issue here and there with a misdiagnosis or forgotten drug interaction. But over all I have had excellentstaff2 treatment. Over at Moores Cancer Center, all the staff in the infusion center know me and my oddball sense of humor. We all joke about the likelihood of getting stabbed more than once to draw blood. OK, I’m sorta joking. And my urine specimen is my special “gift” that I provide to whoever drew the short straw and had to deal with me. All of the staff who have assisted in my numerous CT scans, MRI’s, xrays, bloodletting excursions, radiation treatments, EKG’s, echocardiograms, Zometa infusions, and yes, even my lung-suck thoracentesisessessesses (thoracentesi?), have been very pleasant, and in many cases, downright friendly. Well, maybe that first knuckle-noogie echo-tech is not on this list. But how many docs do you know will high-five you on a good scan result?

Even though I won’t give it its own paragraph, I also want to thank my wife’s insurance company. We are very fortunate to have a wonderful plan through my wife’s job as a teacher. After two years, I’d venture to guess that my medical bills would have approached the $1/2 mil threshold. All in all, I doubt seriously if I’ve been out of pocket $1000. Definitely feel lucky in that regard.

Even if I was diagnosed only 5 years earlier, I’d be singing a different tune. If I was even alive to sing. Even if you wanted me to sing. Which you don’t. Biotech advances, especially genomics research, have grown exponentially and are bringing new drugs and treatment options to bear quickly. Two years ago I had never heard of EGFR or T790, but those two acronyms or abbreviations, along with the designer drugs associated with each, Tarceva and AZD9291, have played an extremely important role in my survivorship to this day. Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring but I raise a toast to the pharma companies out there working on the next new thing. After last week’s news, I encourage you to work even a little faster…

Fellow Bloggers, Tweeters and Support SitesBlog word.
I met some of you through your own blog or through websites that deal specifically with the type of cancer I have. Unless you’ve been there, doing that, it’s hard to relate exactly to what is going on in my life and my not-always-there mind. Having other survivors to chat with that are going through what I have, or have already gone through a particular treatment, is a blessing. Nobody likes surprises and I’ve been able to avoid most of them with your help. Of course there is still a lot of unpredictability in my life, but at least I know, for the most part, what my options are because there is a village out there lending advice and support.

That would be you. You have no idea how much your support, good wishes, prayers, bottles of Rombauer, Facebook and blog comments and get well cards have meant to me.  I have only been able to maintain a semblance of sanity and keep a semi-positive outlook because of you all and my family. I may not respond to each comment on my blog, but trust me on this, I read every single one. And I’ve even shed a tear over a few that really hit home to me at the time.

Of course my family is my rock. They have had to ride this roller coaster right along beside me, and try and not scream during the scary twists and turns through tunnels etc. None of us bought a ticket for this journey but there they are, in lock-step with me every day, ensuring that I keep placing that next step right in line with the last one. Business as usual? It would absolutely not be possible without them.

So Friday the 13th is lucky? Damn straight, even with last week’s less-than-stellar scan results. I am still here, I feel great, you all say I look great, I have an incredible support network to tap into, and I still have a few bottles of Rombauer left. Lucky indeed.

Rombauer toastOK, don’t forget, if you are available this evening (Friday the 13th) at 7pm PST, join us on the Cancerversary page and drop in comments, pictures holding wine glasses, anything you want. I’ll be on the site from about 7-8pm or so responding to comments, pictures, or even any questions you might have. Never could figure out how to do a really techie virtual celebration so we will have to use this somewhat lame-o method. But hey, the bottom line is I get to celebrate. And here Kim and I are getting ready. I’m modeling the “Life is Good” sweatshirt she bought me. You can click on the picture for a better look. Check out the wine glasses as well.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

February 9, 2015 (Mon) – Life’s a Beach

beachIt’s certainly not difficult to find beaches here in San Diego. From my house, sand is only 20 minutes away. The operative word here is sand. In many cases, life described as a “beach” is a good thing. It certainly is when describing our annual visits to Hawaii. Not so much when your T-shot lands in the granular stuff on the golf course. 3 times in a row. Like this past weekend.

But I am alluding to a more metaphorical use of beach. Or sand.

Since last July when I began the A-team (AZD9291) treatments, I saw huge benefits right out of the chute. Other than the brief detouClicking heelsr with blood clots, I have felt very healthy and recently have rejoined my softball team in an active role. Yes, I had a questionable brain MRI pop up, but since then it has remained stable and I had/have no reason to believe that will change. So my wife and I have been in, what she calls, La-La-Land. Definitely business as usual, virtually as normal as can be. This is where the beach, or sand, comes into play.

Head-in-sand-1-600x398Today I had my head very abruptly yanked from where I had firmly placed it into the sand. Although my recent brain MRI came back unchanged, and stable (now for the past 5 months), the CT scan did not play so nicey-nicey. To quote: “Enlarging bilateral pulmonary nodules, measuring up to 12 mm in diameter, suspicious for malignancy.” Glad I did not get these results before this past birthday weekend where my wife and I enjoyed two days of golf with my brother and his wife. This news would definitely have had a dampening effect on the weekend. My daughter put it in perspective, however. She mentioned the old joke: “What do you call a doctor that got ‘C’s’ in biology? …Doctor.” So she says I ended up with a B- since I had an A on the MRI and a D on the CT scan. Heck, it’s a pass/fail course anyway so all I have to do is pass, right?

My lung-onc was not overly concerned, yet, and for now these results pose no risk of getting me kicked out of the trial. For now. So the next scan in 6 weeks will be very interesting, and majorly scanxiety inducing. And this next set of scans would be about 5 days before we leave for Hawaii. Hmmm.

Per my lung-onc, when I asked her if there were any magic designer drugs following on the heals of AZD9291, she said no. There might be a new EGFR specific drug trial in 3-4 months, but she didn’t have a lot of info and indicated it could be fairly dangerous. So it is another wait and see game, a game I’m not overly enthused about playing.

Rombauer magnumOK, that was the update. But this week it’s all about celebration. Friday, as you know, will be my two-year anniversary fromRombauer Magnum signature my initial diagnosis. Alluded to above, my wife and I started the celebration early with a 2-day trip to a local golf course resort with my brother and his wife. And for my birthday, my brother bought a magnum of Rombauer chardonnay directly from the winery and convinced the owner of the winery (Mr. Rombauer doncha know) to sign it and ship it down for the celebration. How cool was that?

If you care to tag along on Friday, at 7pm PST, for the virtual party, I will be monitoring this celebration site.

Feel free join us if you can, post pictures in celebration or just make comments. I will be monitoring that site and responding accordingly. I’ll be sending out one more short blog on Friday morning as a reminder. If not, anything you want to add before then would be great.

See you then.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

February 3, 2015 (Tues) – You’ll Never Believe What Happens Next…

How many of you are absolutely sick of this lead-in teaser, or some similar variation, that has totally infiltrated Facebook? And how many of you often click anyway? How can you not, right? Some of them are just too good to pass up, whether it is some cutesy dog video or an impossible science experiment. Plus I often look to see who has posted it to determine if I respect their judgement in posting.

100But what does this have to do with this, my 100th blog posting, you ask? Well, this phrase could have been said to me on the day of my diagnosis almost two years ago. No, I had no idea what I, and my family and friends, were in for. So if I could go back in time and prep myself for this journey, kinda like one of the Terminator movies, here is what I would tell me. Minus the “I’ll be Baack” Arnold impressions.supermanescapefromkripton5066

  1. Be ready for the roller coaster ride of your life. Magic Mountain (a Six Flags amusement park) has nothing on this journey. OK, the Superman Escape from Krypton ride might come close.
  2. Plan on becoming a pincushion extraordinaire. Getting poked, re-poked, and poked again will become second nature. And third, and fourth. Good thing your body replenishes your blood. Otherwise I would have turned into a prune long ago.
  3. grow some ballsDon’t assume your docs know everything. Whether it is your onc-doc, lung-onc-doc, pulmon-doc, or a radio-doc, they cannot stay on top of everything. Be your own advocate and grow some big ones. Do not hesitate to call your doc out if you disagree with a treatment plan. You gotta stand up. Nobody knows you better than you. In more than one instance I was prescribed treatments that would have conflicted with other treatments I was undergoing. If I hadn’t said something, well, let’s not go there.mutations
  4. Insist on having them test for mutations in your tumor(s). I had no idea what that meant. When my pulmon-doc called to give me the bad news about my diagnosis, I failed to understand how important the news was that I was EGFR positive. And later on my T790 positive test.
  5. Stay ahead of the curve. This means immediately bringing Google to its knees with your research. Find some good lung cancer survivor groups in a place like and chat away. You will learn a ton in a short period of time. Just avoid statistics. I know that will be impossible at first but they are always several years out of date and are essentially meaningless. With the exponential growth in genomic testing and specialized treatments, nobody can predict where you will be in one, two or even ten years from now.
  6. going publicGo public immediately. Or as soon as you have recovered from the initial beat down. The more people know what is going on with you, the sooner the positive thoughts and prayers can help you with your mental outlook. And I’m a firm believer in a positive frame of mind helping the physical healing process. Getting the word out quickly will also help prevent those awkward moments where you run into someone at the store and they ask how you are doing. Do they know you have cancer or are they just being polite? Yes, you will get some off-the-wall treatment recommendations from some well meaning friends, but you will also get articles and links to publications about upcoming treatment options you did not know about. Just be bold.Blog word.
  7. Start a blog. It’s a great way to get out what is going on with you and keeping family and friends informed. They are anxious to know what’s happening but feel like they’d be bugging you by calling. And you’ll never know when someone else gets some side benefits of your personal experience in their own journey.
  8. caregiverBe sure your caregivers get some attention. I have not been very good at that aspect. They are often having just as tough of a time as you, maybe even more so since they do not feel they can let down their guard. If you go into a momentary hole, it’s easily forgiven. If they do, they feel like they are letting you down.sideeffects
  9. Be ready for side effects up the wazoo. Or maybe out the wazoo. Oops, TMI. Sorry. Yes, it’s mostly all small stuff in the ultimate scheme of things, at least in my case to date, but stay in touch with others that have gone through that treatment to get an idea of what you are in for.
  10. Be wary of leg pain/swelling. I was never told, or at least I did not remember, that lung cancer patients have a much higher risk of developing deep vein thrombosis (DVT’s) in their legs. These blood clots can then break off and travel north into your lung and cause some very serious issues. Had I been aware (or remembered) this was a possibility, I might have gotten in sooner when I began experiencing leg pain and might have avoided the pulmonary embolisms (PE’s) I suffered as a result. Be always listening to your body.
  11. Don’t cut back on normal activities if you can avoid it. I found the more I maintained my regular day-to-day activities, the more I was able to handle what got thrown at me.
  12. NewLifeOldLifeGet ready for a new normal. And a normal that gets redefined continuously throughout your journey. It is what it is. Do not look back or try and zip directly to “go” and collect $200. Day at a time as you all know.

OK, that’s a quick dozen of things I wish I had known earlier on. Some of which I jumped on right away such as going public and starting a blog. But other stuff I learned as I went. And that’s a bit tougher road to travel.

As you know, I am approaching my two-year anniversary of my diagnosis. I will be celebrating on lucky Friday the 13th. In honor of that 2-year-anniversary-flyer-1024x1007momentous occasion, I am throwing a virtual party and would like all of you to join me. And your friends. And your friends’ friends. Really all it means that you are “attending” my party by electronic proxy. Some of you have already signed up via my earlier Facebook post. So click here to join the fun. Click on “going” and then invite all of your friends. All it means is that you are supporting me at my two-year mark. Nothing to do other than that. You don’t have to be anywhere at a set time or anything. I’d love to see this number get up to 500 but it will take a lot of inviting/sharing to make that happen.

But I am going to offer an additional option for those of you that are looking for perhaps an even deeper involvement. I will be on that web Rombauer glasspage at 7pm (PST) on Friday the 13th monitoring and responding to any comments. I think it would also be very cool to post pictures of you toasting to the celebration. I will start it off with my own picture that morning. Whatdaya think? Here is a picture of a glass (one of two) that some good friends gave me. They made a special trip to the Rombauer winery to pick these up. How cool is that?twitter

I just started my own Twitter account. I could use some lessons from those of you that have been tweeting a while. But if you want quicker updates on where I stand, you can follow me @Getfuzzies. 

Last but not least, I go in this Thursday morning for my six-week double-your-trouble twin scans (brain MRI and CT scan). If you follow me on Twitter, I may have the results out by Friday, even tho I am taking the day off. My wife and I are joining my brother and his wife at Rancho Bernardo Inn. So probably the most I would be able to get out would be less than 140 characters anyway. Probably similar to what my golf score will be. Hopefully I’ll be getting a nice birthday present.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

January 19, 2015 (Mon) – A Musical Guide to My Lung Cancer Journey

Beer BottlesConsidering this is my 99th blog post since beginning this crazy journey, I was tempted to use a different song to lead off with. However, I don’t think any well-known artists ever hit the top 20 with 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. How many of us used this song to pass the time while driving long distances before there were books on tape or even 8-track tapes? Or just to drive someone crazy? Guilty.

But as always, I digress before even getting started.writersblock

You haven’t heard from me in several weeks. Lots of excu, er, valid reasons for that. But the bottom line is, I had writer’s block. You already knew of the latest scan results with a new set not due until the second week in February. And no new side effects of my A-team drug, and I know how much you look forward to hearing about those. So no news = good news. But not necessarily = creative blog material. So I began thinking about how certain song titles could directly match up with various aspects of my journey. So here’s your ticket to ride

Almost two years ago, life as we knew it changed forever. I was like a candle in the wind. But with a little help from my friends (and family), I realized music-note 1that you’ll never walk alone. While my situation is always on my mind, I’ve got a lot of living to do. Of course, if I could put time in a bottle, I’d love to go back and for once in my life, change the course of my journey. But do you want to know a secret? I’m walking away a winner after everything I’ve learned in the past 23 months. But I’m definitely not walking away. Had to make the song title fit, ya know.

Yesterday I was oblivious to the possibility of ending up with lung cancer. Today I’m a believer. And much more knowledgeable. More than I want sometimes. It has occasionally been a hard day’s night. I wanted someone, anyone, to tell me why I was “selected” for this challenge. I was a nowhere man. But after being a day tripper for a short period of time, and fretting for eight days a week, I came to accept my new “normal” and let it be. Wow, that was almost an exclusively Beatles 2

But almost two years later, I’m surviving, thriving and stayin’ alive. In my life, I’ve never seen such support. You raise me up, stand by me and come rain or come shine, you are always there. And that makes me happy. You’ve never let me consider quittin’ time. That’s just the way you are. And by “you,” I mean all of you: family, friends, blog commenters and just those that read my blog but stay in the background. When I’m 64, a little more than two years from now, I know we’ll be having a celebration with my fourth survivor year approaching.

As of right now, all I can say is how sweet it is. What a wonderful life. But that’s the way you make me feel. Lots of challenges coming up but all you need is love to break past them. And I’ve got gobs of that from you all. Plus I haven’t got time for the pain. We’re gonna beat it. We just have to walk this way.

Don’t stop believing.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

December 26, 2014 (Fri) – What, Me Worry?

Alfred E NewmanWell, yeah. The past week or so has been a tough lead-up to my tests this morning. I have to admit I was more than a little concerned about what the findings might be. A lot of this stems from how crummy I’ve been feeling from my stupid cold/sinus infection. The symptoms mimicked those I had at the very start of my  journey two years ago. So my head was playing games with me. The other concern was about that amorphous non-specific area of my cerebellum that has been apparent the past two scans. So yeah, definitely some major scanxiety this time around.

I had no hopes that the results would be so quickly obtained. But this afternoon I went in for my monthly onc-doc appointment, and reminded the doc that I had the tests this morning. He said “well, let’s see if the Rockyresults are posted yet” as he logged onto his computer. The next thing I saw were his arms raised a-la-Rocky as he read the CT results. Yes, there is still some “stuff” in and around my lungs but there was no progression from the last scan 6 weeks ago. Or from the one 6 weeks before that. Once again, words like stable, unchanged, and unremarkable jumped off the screen. OK, that was extremely good news, but what about the MRI which has previously displayed that undefined something?

His arms remained in the air as he read that report next. The little 5-6mm brain fuzzy/dead fuzzy is still there but not having grown in the Thumbs uppast 3 months. More phrases like “there is no abnormal…” and “stable” might have well been in 20 point font as they again jumped off the monitor. However, I did note the phase that contained “mucosal thickening” and wondered about that mucus thing again. Hmmm.

But overall wonderful news and I amTsunami good to go for another 6 weeks. This A-team stuff (AZD9291) is my current hero. Keep staying ahead of the wave – that is the plan.

To break the tension last weekend while we were reading the morning paper, my wife says “well, I have some good news for you.” Little mopy me says, “what?”

“You’re not in today’s obituaries.”

OK, that helped put things back into perspective. Gotta love her. And I do.

Starting the year off right. I thank all of you once again for your positive comments, thoughts and prayers. May be celebrating with some Rombauer tomorrow night. OK, OK. No maybe about it.

Business as usual. Day at a time.

December 22, 2014 (Mon) – I’m Just a Wuss

WussOK, I admit it. In many ways I do fit the definition to the left. OK, I know some of you will be saying, “but Craig, you’re being too hard on yourself.”

Not necessarily. Hear me out.

So we’ll start off with a simple example. My wife and I no longer give each other Christmas presents. We determined long ago that we already have everything we want or need. No, I realize that is not so unusual. And typically we will have some major household expense, whether it be a $75K kitchen remodel or a dozen bottles of Rombauer (yeah right) that we then consider as our gifts to one another. OK, so far so good. But here is where it gets a bit wussy. I do not buChristmas-Stocking-Clip-Art-2y any Christmas presents anymore. My wife covers all the bases, including my boss and our kids. Now you have to admit, that’s a bit selfish, if not quite reaching the wuss level. But here’s the kicker: the only thing I buy is my wife’s stocking stuffers. And since I put forward such a D- effort, she has had to resort to buying some of her own stocking stuff and giving it to me to add to her stocking. Now I feel downright wussy.

But this is a cancer blog – not a blog of Christmas fail.

So how can someone, who’s had to deal with some of the medical issues I have this past year, be considered a wuss? Well, this past week I came down with a nasty sinus infection and terrible sore throat. It is actually the first time I have been “sick” in many years. I’m not used to it. And it knocked me flat. But at least I knew that is all it was.

SickyYet, it really made me wonder about how I might react to medical challenges down the road. I’ve been complimented on my positive attitude and ability to persevere. Hah. This past week I had none of the above working for me. Yeah, I felt like crap but the true sign of strength is to be able to remain positive under trying circumstances. I couldn’t muster up a whole lot of plus symbols to orbit my psyche this past week. And this was just a friggin’ bad cold. So thus a wuss. We will see how things go if/when the rubber hits the road. Let’s hope I don’t need to test that theory for a long time.

Off on another tangent: I was just reading the label of one of my Lovely-nox syringes after jabbing myself for probably thpige 250th time in 4 months. Funny it took me this long to notice. I was taken aback when I read that Lovenox is “derived from porcine intestinal mucosa.” So I’ve been injecting myself with pig mucous? Uh….how do I get that out of my brain now?

Not sure if this fits in the wuss category, a crazy category, or just-gotta-be-kidding-me category. But for elf 2008the 7th or 8th year straight, I borrowed an elf (although it looks a bit more like a jester to me) costume courtesy of the local Old Globe Theater (thank you Maureen) and wore it to my Rotary holiday party. It would be one thing if our club had 20 people in it. But it has 500 members comprised of the movers and shakers in town including ex-mayors, city council members and heads of many companies in town. Not sure how I fit in, especially with an outfit like this. But they haven’t kicked me out yet and I think they have even come to expect me making a fool (literally) of myself every year. Plus the seniors they invite every year get a kick out of it. Heck, at this stage nothing can embarrass me.

fingers crossed 2Finally, a medical update. This Friday, the day after Christmas, I go in for my every-six-week brain MRI and upper body CT scan. Should have the results sometime early next week. Stay tuned and keep your fingers crossed.

That’s it from the home front. Overall, other than this obnoxious cold, I still feel great. And I plan on keeping it that way.

And I could not avoid dropping in a great shot of our family. This is from my daughter’s wedding back in May.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Family Four Xmas

Business as usual. Day at a time.