Two events, neither of which are related in any way in terms of magnitude and scope, nevertheless illustrate just how precious life is and the importance of appreciating each day for what it is and living it to the fullest.

—

Our rabbit Ginger had started getting really picky about her food over the past week, and yesterday morning started acting goofy when food was put in front of her. We were a little concerned about this, because she was always on a “see food diet” - whenever she saw food she ate it, and with great vigor and passion. We took her to the vet, and after a barrage of tests she was diagnosed with sepsis, a bacterial infection that, once it gets in the bloodstream of rabbits, is usually fatal. It’s not uncommon, but it is unusual in that its origin is difficult to identify. At any rate, sometime during last night she passed away.

—

Later yesterday morning I got a call from one of my co-workers to say she couldn’t make the conference call we were just getting ready to attend because earlier in the morning her neighbor came running over to tell her that her husband, who was only 56, had suddenly stopped breathing. Because my co-worker had a nursing background she ran over and attempted to give him CPR, to no avil. He passed away before he reached the hospital.

—

We got Ginger as part of a pair of rabbits originally named Louise and Clark from a local rabbit rescue a year ago June. We thought they were dumb names, so Louise was renamed Ginger because of the rich ginger-colored fur around her eyes and between her ears. She always had one ear up and one ear down, and unlike our other rabbits, her fur had a coarse consistency about it that’s unique to her breed, which was (from what we hear) a cross between lop and Dutch.

She was a funny rabbit. I wouldn’t call her affectionate, but she was very attentive and fun to watch, especially when there was food around. She was a big girl with big hind feet who tolerated being petted, but didn’t really get into it like most of our other rabbits do. Rather, she sort of kept to herself and enjoyed tearing Yellow Pages books apart and rearranging the shreddings into a bunny bed where she’d veg out in her cage area during the day.

Although we only had her for a little over 14 months, she was nevertheless a part of the family. This is the fourth straight year we’ve lost one of our rabbits, and I guess when you have as many as we’ve had, it’s to be expected, but you never get used to it. Me, I’m getting tired of losing rabbits - it’s hard on the emotions. The problem now is what to do about poor Geronimo, who is used to having a partner and is now feeling a little disoriented and a bit lonely. He and Ginger weren’t exactly a bonded pair - I think they were put together by necessity at the rescue and learned over time to tolerate each other. Still, losing your constant companion has to be tough, so we’re gonna have to think carefully about where we go with this. We’ll find him someone to hang with.

Rest in peace, Ginger. You now belong to the ages, and we will miss you.

—

Pool temp: 86 degrees

A little over a week to go before my surgery - a perfect time to attempt the second leg on our “treasure hunt” for the ultimate in autographs for my “Endless Summer” movie poster. For those of you late to the game, a brief summary:

A couple of months ago, I was talking to my friend John at the Huntington Beach International Surfing Museum in - you guessed it! - Huntington Beach, California, who had a movie poster for Bruce Brown’s iconic 1966 surf film, “The Endless Summer”, signed by Bruce Brown himself and one of the two primary surfers featured in the film, Robert August. I asked John about the other surfer featured in the film, Mike Hynson, and John told me that Hynson didn’t sign posters for free, but he knew of people who would track him down at his surf shop in La Jolla where they’d pay him to autograph their posters - something he highly recommended, as he had a unique signature that would make any trip there worth it.

Which got me to thinking: if I could ever get Hynson’s autograph, why stop there? Why not really make the poster unique and get the three active members of The Sandals, the band that provided much of the film’s music, including the film’s memorable, wistful theme song - guitarists John Blakeley, and Walter Georis, and keyboardist Gaston Georis - to sign it as well? That would make a great poster and collector’s item even more unique and special. But how to do it? This would require no small amount of audacity, creativity, and, yes, dinero, but I figured, why not?

It didn’t take long to track down Mike Hynson, and meeting him and getting his autograph a few weeks ago at a surfing/skateboarding convention in San Diego made for a truly unforgettable weekend.

Next was to track down the whereabouts of the members of The Sandals, and I discovered that the two Georis brothers live up in Carmel Valley, California, where Walter runs Georis Winery and both he and Gaston own a restaurant called Casanova. John Blakeley seems a little more difficult to track down, but I’m hoping that if we can ever connect with the Georises, perhaps they’ll provide us with a means to contact Blakeley.

So, this weekend we’re off to Carmel Valley. A late Friday afternoon flight into San Jose and three nights at the Country Garden Inn in Carmel Valley. Saturday will be our official “Treasure Hunt Day”, with plans to take in a wine tasting at the Georis Winery on Saturday and dinner reservations at Casanova on Saturday night. Sunday we’ll play the tourist thing and do the 18-mile drive around the beautiful Monterey Peninsula with a stop at Pebble Beach (hey Goodboys, guess where next year’s prizes will come from!) and a redwoods forest, then Monday make the trip back in time for my medical reality show starting next Tuesday.

I’ve written introductory letters to both Georis brothers letting them know we’re coming and our hope that we can meet them personally during our visit. I haven’t heard back from them as of yet, but we’re going nevertheless. Our “Hynson experience” turned out far better than we ever could have imagined, we’re hoping our “Georis experience” turns out the same. But it’s a crapshoot, that’s for sure (which is why, I guess, they call treasure hunts “hunts” to begin with!).

BTW, here are The Sandals performing “The Endless Summer” theme, with Bruce Brown dropping in for a visit towards the end. From the looks of it, the video appears to have been filmed at none other than the Georis winery. Was it? I’ll let you know and hope to tell y’all about it after this coming weekend. Updates as they come in.

—

BTW, I’m told The Sandals will also have some new music featured in the upcoming documentary film “Shaped”, celebrating the movers and shapers behind the early ’60s California surf culture. Something to keep on the lookout for….

—

Pool temp: 89 degrees

As promised in this post, here are some pics I took from that amazing set of thunderstorms that rolled through here on Saturday.

After the first storm came through - a combination dust and thunder storm - things got really still and incredibly muggy. All I was doing was skimming the pool to get all the debris from the first storm out and I was drenched with sweat after just a few minutes. Very rare for Arizona, but very ominous as well. I started to hear thunder off to our north and east, which was kinda strange since our weather was coming from the southwest. Nevertheless, I went out front and took this shot of some pretty cool clouds…

I went back in and checked Accuweather.com to find out there were reports of dime-sized hail in east Mesa (to our north and east). Severe thunderstorm warnings were up all around us, so I went back out front, and saw these angry-looking clouds to our northeast:

Thunder was starting to boom all around us, even to our southwest, and you just had that feeling that something big was going to come through. Just moments after this picture was taken, the usual monsoon regimen started - the wind came up out of nowhere, followed by a few big fat drops, then a dozen big fat drops, then the deluge. I could actually hear the rain and wind coming towards us, so I dashed back inside and came out through the back door to find a hurricane blasting us:

(BTW, that’s a “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere” sign from Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville Key West store hanging on the palm tree - pretty cool, huh?) The rain was (as you can see) falling in sheets, and we were getting sustained winds of 40 MPH with gusts probably to 60. The gusts came in waves, and I was standing by the back door getting drenched and holding one of the phony palm trees so it wouldn’t fall over and spill the rocks that held it down all over the patio like it did the other day. All of a sudden there was a big flash right above us followed immediately by a crack of thunder that sounded ten feet above my head, and then a huge blast of wind smashed through the back yard:

Between the sound of the rain, the palm branches swirling, and the wind chimes going crazy I thought I heard a loud crack but couldn’t place it (as it turned out it was a large Palo Verde tree over on the next block coming down). For a moment, I thought we’d lose one of our palm trees…

…And then, just as quickly as it had come it was gone. Like, within two minutes of the picture above being taken we went from absolute chaos to an exhausted, calm muggy dripping. No wind, just the occasional flash of lightning and dull rumble of thunder and the sound of fat drops of water dripping off the roofs. We later found out that storm caused nickel-sized hail just a few miles north of us and big pile-up on the I-10 interstate.

I let go of the palm tree, grabbed my glass of Chianti soaked in rainwater, and went back inside and out to check out the situation out front. Streams of water were cascading down the street towards the storm drains. I couldn’t believe it - no one was out, no one seemed to care about the fantastic display and the power of God’s creation we were just treated to. To the northeast, a rainbow you could see both ends of and a second one hinted at above it; unfortunately, I had no panoramic camera to show the entire arc.

By this time, sunset was upon us, and the entire street was bathed in an incredible salmon color. Our neighbor across the street came out to tell me the storm had ripped one of her large screens off a window. Above us to the west, the sky was a clear, almost phosphorescent blue; to the southeast, clouds in every pastel color imaginable, including some funky clouds in a weird sea-green I had never seen before (center of picture below, directly above our next-door neighbor’s house), all lit up in the setting sun. It was gorgeous:

Just another day in the Arizona monsoon season.

—

Pool temp: 86 degrees

It’s a little before 11 PM tonight and the house is still. Like in, really still. Tracey’s asleep on the couch, the rabbits have been fed and attended to, and are in their normal busy nighttime regimens (eating hay, chewing grass mats, vegging out, etc.), and I’m here nursing a cold Sammy Octoberfest and enjoying the fall-like weather that came upon us so unexpectedly after a a violent day weather-wise.

I’ll have some photos on my Monday post, but today we had a series of thunderstorms that really lived up to the Arizona monsoon season hype. What changes weather-wise throughout the day! It started out hot and relatively dry, then the humidity started to build, followed by cloud formations to the southwest. At 4:30 PM we had a dust storm blow in, followed by some heavy rain and, upon leaving, the heaviest humidity I think I’ve ever experienced here in Arizona. I mean, just being out for ten minutes and every bit of clothing on my body was drenched. Very unusual for around here.

When the clouds started building to the southwest, you just knew someone was going to get blasted. Severe thunderstorm warnings were everywhere. As it turned out we didn’t take a direct hit, but it was heavy enough to blow screens off of our next-door neighbor’s windows and down a good-sized Palo Verdes tree the next block over.

As the storm rumbled off to the northeast there were reports of nickel-sized hail, chaos, and extensive tree damage. For us, it was an unforgettable dusk complete with every pastel color imaginable, including a double rainbow and sea-green clouds immersed in lightning I’ve never seen before. The storm sucked every ounce of humidty out of the atmosphere, to the point where tonight I took a gorgeous swim in 89-degree water with the air temp at 84 going down to 78 and lightning still filling the skies to the northeast.

It was a beautiful breezy night for a walk, so, beer in hand, I took a walk over to the next block where a chipper was making fast work of the downed Palo Verde. The air was full of that beautiful and uniquely musky scent of Texas sage in the air you get after any kind of rain, and I thanked God for being able to walk barefoot and in shorts around a quiet neighborhood with lightning flashing in the distance and a cool breeze blowing across my face. As a New Englander, I hate Arizona, but there’s a part of me that has come to love and accept it for what it is as well. Tonight’s sunset and moonlight swim I hope I’ll never forget.

It was hard tonight stopping by the local pizza joint. Not just at the sight of the owner’s son (who I call “Mr. Visa”), or Brooke, one of my favorite waitresses (whose boyfriend recently broke off their engagement), but knowing that I can’t say when the next time I’ll be stopping by there for take-out, or what condition I’ll be in when I do. After all, next Friday Tracey and I will be off to Carmel, California to continue our “treasure hunt” (more on that later); the following Friday I doubt I’ll be in any frame of mind to yak-yak with my fellow bar flies and the hired help given that I’ll be just two days removed from my prostate removal surgery.

It’s all so closing in. The days are getting shorter (tonight I had to put on my lights for the first time bringing take-out back), and this whole surgery thing is really screwing up my brain and peace of mind. Fortunately, today was the first day I was able to buy Sam Adams Octoberfest - my favorite beer in all the world (this year complete with a new label featuring trees with orange trees that almost made me want to cry at the thought of missing autumn in New England) at the local Fry’s. But you take what comfort you can get.

My internal time clock tells me I should be thinking about Fall, but that’s nothing but fallishnessness around here. Even though the pool lost another degree today (it’s now down to 87), it’s still damned hot outside and there’s really no indication that Fall is on the way. Were I living back in New England, my musical tastes would have already started gravitating towards Fall-like music like Pink Floyd, Gordon Lightfoot, and Enya; instead, here in AZ, the late afternoon sun boring a hole in my forehead, I just threw some Gary Usher and the Super Stocks on the computer, since, the sun and heat and all, it might as well be June. But that’s OK, it is what it is, and one can do a hell of a lot worse!

…So the word on the street is that our main man in Afghanistan, General Patraeus, likes Enya. That’s OK by me, her CD “A Day Without Rain” remains one of my all-time favorite CDs; you just have to be in the proper mood and locale for it. And living in Arizona does NOT promote the right mood and locale. As a New Englander there’s a part of me that right now aches to be back home. As a cancer sufferer, there’s a part of me that knows there’s some serious work to be done, in a very short amount of time.

Our friend Jana will laugh at my admitting to liking Enya - I guarantee she’s one of her favorites. But like I’ve always said, I’m a sensitive guy - hell, I’m “Mr. Sensitive”! Don’t believe me? Here are two faves from “A Day Without Rain” - “Wild Child” and “Flora’s Secret” - that I consider amongst her best and amongst my all-time favorites. Enjoy!

A final word about Enya: I love the poetry in her songs. Consider the lyrics for “Flora’s Secret”:

Lovers in the long grass
Look above them
Only they can see
Where the clouds are going
Only to discover
Dust and sunlight
Ever make the sky so blue

Afternoon is hazy
River flowing
All around the sounds
Moving closer to them
Telling them the story
Told by Flora
Dreams they never knew

Silver willows
Tears from Persia
Those who come
From a far-off island
Winter Chanterelle lies
under cover
Glory-of-the-sun in blue

Some they know as passion
Some as freedom
Some they know as love
And the way it leaves them
Summer snowflake
For a season
When the sky above is blue
When the sky above is blue

Lying in the long grass
Close beside her
Giving her the name
Of the one the moon loves
This will be the day she
Will remember
When she knew his heart
Was…

Loving in the long grass
Close beside her
Whispering of love
And the way it leaves them
Lying in the long grass
In the sunlight
They believe it’s true love…

And from all around them
Flora’s secret
Telling them of love
And the way it breathes
And…

Looking up from eyes of
Amaranthine
They can see the sky
Is blue
Knowing that their love
Is true
dreams they never knew
And the sky above is blue

Like I say, I’m a sensitive guy.

—

Pool temp: 87 degrees

The clouds had been building all afternoon to the south and to the east, and the Accuweather.com radar showed some big storms building in both directions and heading towards the west. There was a severe thunderstorm warning up for parts of the valley, including us here in Gilbert, and I could hear the wind chimes on the patio and see the lemon tree outside the bunny room window being pushed around, but the sun was still shining brightly. This warranted an investigation.

I poured myself a cold glass of Pinot Grigio and was just getting ready to head out the back door when all of a sudden there was a loud Whoosh!. The back doors (which obviously hadn’t been closed tightly) were flung open, and one of the phony palm trees held down by a bucket of stones followed through the open doors, it’s top end coming to rest inside the dining area, the stones poured out beneath it. I picked the palm tree back up and set it back in its place, and that’s when I noticed two branches from our palm trees by the pool bent down to the ground. That was quite a blow.

I walked out to the little patio area by the gas grill, pulled up a wicker chair, and sat down. It was incredibly hot and oppressive, and I could practically feel the wine warming in my hand. I couldn’t put the glass down because every surface was broiling hot, even though I was sitting in the shade of the house. The wind was really gusty, but the sun was shining brightly and there was blue sky all above me. Just as I noticed the black clouds lowering beyond my neighbor’s house to the east, I heard the first low rumble of thunder off to the northeast…

[Ed. note: is there a finer sound than the sound of thunder on a hot, late summer afternoon? Maybe, perhaps, the sound of surf on the beach, but in my mind they're pretty damned close.]

…followed shortly thereafter by a louder and sharper rolling rumble. I couldn’t see anything because of the lemon and lime trees, so this warranted some investigating. I grabbed my Blackberry, then headed back inside and out the front door. Sure enough, we had some action coming towards us:

The wall of rain (showing white above the tree on the left) really wasn’t moving towards us - it was actually sliding east, but there had to have been quite a bit of dust in the air because it starting raining mud. Yuck. Fortunately, that didn’t last too long, but just after this photo was taken the wind really picked up again - not just gusts, but heavy sustained winds. The photo below doesn’t do justice to how hard the wind was blowing at the time, but I was having a difficult time keeping my balance (it was later reported that a roof was blown off of someone’s house several miles away up in Mesa). What was truly amazing was that, while all this is happening, the sun was still out full, creating a beautiful contrast with the colors of the trees and the sky:

Shortly after this picture was taken, it finally started to rain, this time in earnest. It came like a wave - a few drops, a dozen drops, then the deluge, and you could feel the temperature and the humidity drop as it came through. So there I am, getting soaked in the driveway, rejoicing like some crazed Indian (oops, er, native American) at how fresh and clean it all felt. The wind then started to subside, and then the rain, so I went back inside and then out the back door where you could see the rain falling like glistening sheets against the setting sun:

Pretty, huh? A minute later it was all over, save for a few remaining rumbles to the north and west. The pool was covered in all kinds of tree and plant debris, and our smallest palm, the one that has always struggled next to its larger and healthier neighbors, lost a critical branch that may not portend well for its future. I checked the temperature - it had dropped from 112 to 97 in just fifteen minutes - and checked my glass - it was in need of a refill - and began the arduous task of skimming the pool.

The pool was still a season-high 95 degrees when I took a dip around 10 PM, but between the wind, the humidity being sucked out of the atmosphere, the rain, and the night, 24 hours later it had dropped four degrees to 91 degrees - that’s quite a big drop in just a day. My swim tonight was in conditions almost - almost - like early “Arizona winter” - while it was still warm, there was no heat, and the patio beneath my feet was absent its typical heat as well. What a welcome change!

That’s not to say we’re done with summer by any means - we’re still going to be in the low 100s for the rest of the week - and you can bet there’s still some sizzling days to come. But for one afternoon this year’s monsoon season provided a wonderful experience where I could forget about, at least for a brief time, all my cares amidst the unmatched beauty and awesome unpredictability of God’s creation on display. Fantastic.

—

Pool temp: 91 degrees

Girding my loins for what the National Weather Service is promising to be the hottest day of the year here in the Valley of the Sun. Temps around 110, oppressive humidity, heat indices around 115 or higher. And I thought today was miserable, it only hit 107. I’ll tell you this: the pool sure noticed it, it jumped to 95 today.

—

Welcome to the machine: A great Pink Floyd tune, one I couldn’t help thinking of Monday during my 30-minute stay in the MRI exam tube in preparation for my prostate surgery just two weeks from tomorrow. The MRI itself wasn’t that bad, it was the endorectal coil I had inserted into my cabooseskie throughout that made the experience less akin to the half-hour, “inside a tanning booth” experience the helpful and friendly tech tried to assure me beforehand.

Fortunately, being able to contemplate and recite some of the Psalms I’ve become familiar with from my years of prayers really helped. Oh sure, they try to relax you with music they pump through earphones, but to be honest, if they ain’t got surf, they can play whatever the hell they want, I’ll just focus on the Psalms, thank you. Besides, being aurally assaulted by that crap they call “smooth jazz” from Kenny G and his ilk was almost as bad as the procedure itself.

I’ll say this: today’s experience made me realize just how real this whole cancer thing now is. This is where the rubber hits the road, for sure. Up until now, September 8 seemed so far in the future, something to deal with when the time comes. Well, the time has come. Laying on my back while the MRI machine did its buzzing, grunts, wails, shakes, and rattles brought to mind that wonderful scene in Monty Python’s “Life Of Brian” where Judith interrupts a meeting of the People’s Front of Judea to announce Brian is being taken off to be crucified: “It’s happening, Reg! Something’s actually happening, Reg! Can’t you understand?”

Yep. Something’s really happening. And like my very good friend and fellow Goodboy Ben “The Funny Guy” Andrusaitis is wont to say as he stares down a slippery downhill 6-foot putt for par: “I’m ascared”.

No matter. When you have cancer it’s really just you and the treatment, no matter what form(s) that might take. And I’ve never felt so alone as during my prostate biopsy back in May and today’s MRI. But perhaps there are some things in life you just have to go through alone.

—

Pool temp: 95 degrees

Not one of ours, but pretty cute nevertheless! Courtesy of Imageshack

Man, it’s hot. I mean, convection oven hot. Blast furnace hot.

I know, I know, that’s life in Arizona - as the saying goes, you don’t live in Arizona for the summers. You expect it, this time of year, the blazing heat, the shimmering blue skies burning above, the monsoon season when it’s not just the heat, it’s the humidity. You plan for it every April when you call the A/C guy to come out and inspect your system. I get it.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t tire of it. Last night, in that special place between waking and sleeping, when your brain starts thinking all crazy sorts of things, I was thinking of January in New England, the winter coats and boots, the bundling up just to go outside to get the car started, the bleak landscape of snow, bare trees, and unforgiving clear skies, the chill factor, the crunching of boots on the sidewalk, the breath coming from your mouth, the redness of your ears and cheeks after being outside. Pushing a grocery cart through a half-plowed parking lot of slush and ice out to get to your car.

And for that moment, I was in heaven.

I was never one who hated the winters as much as some. And, to be brutally honest, winter in New England is great for a day or two, but you tire of it easily. Were I living in New England this January, all I’d be thinking about is cool nights on the patio by the tiki bar under the pineapple lights in shirt sleeves, nursing a Pinot Grigio, and gazing out at the green grass and flowering bougainvillea in my back yard.

But there remains something precious about the cold and the winter. So, thinking about that moment between my being awake and sleeping, here’s a gorgeous Carl Wilson vocal from the Beach Boys’ 1979 “L.A. Light Album” to cool you off. Enjoy!

—

Pool temp: 92 degrees

The countdown is on: three weeks from today I’ll be having my cancer-touched prostate removed via a procedure called a Radical Laparoscopic Prostatectomy. Already I’m starting to freak out a bit - after all, I’ve never had surgery or been under anesthetic before. But that’s not all - you start receiving calls and mail that you normally wouldn’t dream of seeing. I’m talking letters - letters from my urologist’s secretary laying out all the appointments I have between now and then, a letter from the surgical assistant introducing himself and the role he will play in all this (I never knew there were such a thing), letters from my insurance company, a letter from my primary care physician, and a letter from the MRI place reminding me of my appointment with them. Almost makes you long for credit card bills.

It promises to be a fun-packed three weeks, I’ll tell you. Today was my consult with my primary care guy, who approved my final blood work and did the required chest X-ray (don’t know why that was needed, and I sure wasn’t going to ask why). Next Monday is the MRI of my prostate - another invasion of my backside, which, I’m assured, will be nothing like the insanity of the prostate biopsy procedure I had a few months back. Right. Nevertheless, it’s yet another another self-administered enema prior to foreign invasion. This is supposedly required so my urologist has a clear picture of where the robot is supposed to cut and snip during the surgery.

I’m all for that.

Two weeks from today is the final consult with my urologist, where, I don’t know, we’ll discuss the weather and how the Sox are doing, I suppose. Then a week later, on September 8, it’s gettin’ the job done day. After that, who knows?

I’ve heard all kinds of stories from people who have known others who have had this kind of surgery. Some have tolerated it better than others, some not so much. Me, all I really want to do is attend to my prayers, enjoy what’s left of the monsoon season, maybe try to get a couple more signatures on my “The Endless Summer” poster. But it’s hard to do all these things with any kind of verve and gusto with this thing looming. Y’all may not want to be a part of it, but I’ll be blogging on it - the good, the bad, and the ugly. At least you don’t have to worry about pictures or gross graphic descriptions. I won’t submit you to that.

And please don’t think I’m feeling sorry for myself, because I’m not. For one thing, it’s not unusual - my primary care guy was telling me today his neighbor is having the same operation (unlike me, the poor bugger had a PSA of only 1.0, but he was found to have a cancerous nodule found after a suspicious physical exam). Second of all, I know there are those far, far worse off than me. Want a reality check? It just so happens this week is the annual WEEI Radio/Jimmy Fund Radiothon to raise money for the wonderful work the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston does for children and young adults battling far worse and life-threatening cancers than I have. Those are the ones who have it real tough.

If you frequent and enjoy this blog, would you consider donating on behalf of The Great White Shank? You’d have my most profound appreciation and thanks.

Anyways, it just shows just how fast things can change. Saturday, I’m hob-nobbbing with legends of the California surf culture and toasting margaritas on the shores of the Pacific; Tuesday, I’m sitting in a johnny having my primary care physician guy poking and prodding me for surgery prep. But that’s life and why it’s important, I guess, to just go with the flow - live the good times to the fullest, tolerate the not-so-good.

—

Pool temp: 92 degrees