So one May Day in elementary school (a long, long time ago) my classmates and I spent the day with our teacher making May baskets for our moms. We cut and pasted, and decorated, and drew, and colored. We filled them with candy, and pictures, and flowers. They were third-grade masterpieces.
I had dinner with a friend last night who likely has a secret mantle full of trophies for all kinds of competitions he has won for being the worlds biggest worrier. I mean really. Worry about work, about family, about world peace, about the weather, about the economy, about Iraq, about Iran, about the Yellowstone super-volcano, about icy roads, about a sore throat, about terrorism, about germs, about Obama, about Bush, about a hair in his food, about how his meat is cooked, about health care reform, about…
I wish I had played a little less football in the yard with my friends in fifth grade, and taken piano lessons instead. Now, of course there's no way anyone could have convinced me of that in 1978. (In fact, my inner child is on the floor right now rolling around in laughter!) But, today I find myself with virtually no musical talent. I don't even subject the bottle of shampoo to my singing. I wish I had stuck with those piano lessons. Oddly enough, all of my front-yard football didn't land me a position in the NFL either. I wish I knew then, what I know now.
From all accounts, Heisman Trophy winning Texas Longhorn, New Orleans Saint, on again, off again Miami Dolphin running back Ricky Williams had a tough childhood. There have been allegations of abuse among other things. His tough childhood has transformed into an unpredictable adulthood. As I was watching his bio last night on ESPN, I was really inspired by something he said.
I have been spending the last few days with my parents in Minneapolis. When I was growing up, my dad used to corner me (and likely my brother & sister too) and force me to have meaningful discussions. Meaning of life kind of stuff. Of course all we wanted to do was escape, and sink back in to an episode of Tom & Jerry, or a game of football in the yard with friends.
I did a little flying this week, and I can only come to one conclusion; the airlines don't want us to check our bags. I can't imagine why, but there must be some top-secret reason that only airline industry insiders understand. There must be smart people behind big airline company desks that have decided it's in their best interest for you and me to carry it all on.
One of the little perks of my medical journey the past seven years has been colonoscopies. Lots of them. (Please try to contain your jealousy!) As the bumper sticker on my truck says, "What's up your butt? Get screened early & find out." It's important stuff. If you take something away from today it should be that there's no substitute for early cancer detection.
