Returning To The Scene Of The Crime

The place was Honeymoon Island State park, Florida. The year was 1992. The actual date seems to escape me at the moment, but it matters not. The statutes of limitations have long been expired. It was, as they say, a crime of passion. It was where I offered my proposal of marriage to my fair maiden. We were wed a year later. A union that would last almost twenty six years, until succumbing to blatant infidelity. Another crime of passion. One that, in my mind, robbed our quarter century relationship of all validity and value.
    I had never returned to that particular park. not even once. As much as I enjoy the beach and state parks, that one just never came back up. Especially after the divorce. After that, there was no way in hell I could see my self ever going back there. Plenty of other spots to visit. But there is something about actively avoiding a thing that keeps it at the forefront of your thoughts. And there is the fact that Honeymoon Island is where you have to go to catch a ferry to Caladesi Island. A place I did want to see. It was obvious that enough time had passed that I needed to return to the scene of the crime. Which is what I did a couple of weeks ago.
    All and all, it was a worthwhile trip. Arriving at the entrance Honeymoon Island, I presented my annual park pass to a surly woman who was obviously in a bad mood, and seemed to question the validity of my pass. Once I got passed there, I made my way to the ferry launch, purchased my ticket, and was quickly on my way to Caladesi Island. You are only allotted four hours on the Island, and once there, I decided to take a hiking trail prior to exploring the beaches. The trails were somewhat flooded due to the recent passing of tropical storm Elsa, and the mosquitos were horrendous. Of course I had forgotten my bug spray. Even so, the trail was peaceful (in a biting and swatting sort of way), and offered some history at an old homestead ruins site. It turns out, that Honeymoon Island and Caladesi Island were at one time a single Island until a hurricane removed a swath in the middle in 1921. The original name of the place was "Hog Island". Interesting. After the hurricane, they became north and south Hog Island, respectively. They were renamed Honeymoon Island and Caladesi Island later when they became a destination and a park. Which makes sense. Who would want to visit a place called "Hog Island"?
    After enjoying the hike and donating a pint of blood or so to the local skeeter population, I made my way to the beaches on the Island. The beaches on Caladesi (South Hog Island) are awesome. Smooth white sand, easy surf and clear water. A real gem and a welcome relief after a steamy summer hike. After an hour or so, it was time to make my way back to the ferry to go back to Honeymoon Island. Storms were already building and rain was imminent. 
Once back on Honeymoon Island, I made my way to the beach there, and set up a chair to just chill and reflect. It was pretty much as I remember. In reality, it is sort of a shit beach. Lots of rocks of all sizes. Overall it pales to the beach I had just came from. By this time there were thunderstorms building on all sides, and rhythmic booms of thunder in the distance. Even so, I was glad that I was there. The memories started coming back. I recognized the area where I popped the question. We had a picnic and I had brought a bottle of wine. We filled the empty bottle with sand and shells as a memento. We kept that bottle all through our marriage. It wasn't until after the divorce was final that I threw it out.
    Then there is that rock jetty. There was a man fishing on that jetty when we were there. The sole witness to the crime. I remember shouting to him that we were going to get married. I guess that I expected some sort of animated response from him like what would happen in the movies. I recall he just looked annoyed that I interrupted his fishing time. Hell, perhaps he knew what the eventual outcome would be or something. Sort of funny thinking about it now.
   Dang! That was a close one!! the storms are close in now and lightning is flashing all around. The distant silhouette of downtown Tampa is totally engulfed in a storm. The winds have shifted and the temperature has dropped significantly due to another storm from the east. Just me and a few stragglers scouring the rocks for intact shells remain on the beach. No one left in the water. I should probably call it a day. As I pack up my chair and take one last look back, It is just a beach. And not a very good one. No bad juju. No emotional attachment. No resentment. No sadness. Just a beach.

Will I return again? I can't really say. Maybe. Caladesi would be cool to visit again.
Any regrets? Just one. I wish I hadn't thrown out that old wine bottle full of sand. I wish instead that I had brought it and poured the sand back. God knows, this beach can use all the sand it can get. That would have been fitting. I'll get over it easy enough though. But there is one thing I will do "out of respect for the history of the area". I will from this point forward refer to this place by it's original name.-
"Hog Island"
It deserves that much.
Case Closed.

    

Doubling Down

 

    My last oncologist appointment back in May went extremely well (see "High Fives").  So much so, I went with four month intervals on check ups. Of course, I had an ace in the hole - I was due a routine check up with my general physician in July which normally involves a full blood panel and an extra PSA test that I could hedge the bet with - so to speak.
    Over the past few months, I have been really ramping up my work towards a healthy life style and trying to take full advantage of being off the Lupron treatments. There are no words to explain what it feels like to watch and feel my body return to normal as my testosterone continues to return. Strength, vitality, mental clarity, and armpit hair. Yes, pit hair. Something that had disappeared along with chest hair, leg hair and even back hair at the expense of hormone therapy. You may think that I make too much of something like that, but it is just a visual indicator of the completeness that I am beginning to feel and enjoy.
    As I said, I have been mostly adhering to a healthy diet consisting of ample vegetables and greens, minimal red meat products relying mainly on fish and fowl - and tofu. Whole grain bread and brown rice, minimal processed carbs and sugars. I have also minimized my alcohol consumption - relying mainly on nonalcoholic beers when I desire a malty beverage.
    On the exercise front, I run a couple of times a week, continue to walk most days at lunch, and also increased my strength training - both at home with a Bowflex and dumbbells, and also at a local gym.
I am also trying to be outside as much as I can to get ample sunlight. Either by doing yard work, or going to the beach or camping/hiking.
    So, today was my July GP appointment. All of my efforts payed out in some ways, as there was a significant drop in my cholesterol - so much so that I am now going to half my statin dose and see how it goes. Unfortunately, the hand I was dealt wasn't a full house. It seems that my PSA has gone from completely undetectable to barely detectable. It is a very small number (0.06 ng/ml), but it has possibly reared it's ugly head once again. The fact that it returned is no real surprise, I was just hoping it took more time. I have already consulted with my Oncologists' office. They did not seem too concerned and mentioned the accuracy difference between a screening test and diagnostic test. That they would run a diagnostic on my September 16th visit and see where my levels are at that time. Seems reasonable to me. Almost two months.
So now what? After all that effort, there is a strong possibility that my cancer is returning. So do I through caution to the wind and fold on my attempts at a healthy approach. Well, I will admit that the thought briefly crossed my mind. Resigning myself to just get back on the Lupron and let the chips fall where they may. But at the end of the day, I still feel better than I have in years. And just where would my cancer be right now had I not been proactive with my health?
The way I see it,  I have just shy of two months before the next time my hand is called. It is time to really refine and fine tune my game and wear my best poker face. I  might be playing against a stacked deck and long shot odds, but I'll be damned if I will flinch. The moment I  back off, the house wins the pot.
So you thinking I'm folding my hand any time soon? Fuck you, cancer. I ain't folding shit. I'm doubling down on your ass.
Peace out.

Puppy Dog Tales.

      

Labradors are fun loving super friendly get along with everything doggos, right? Usually, yes. But that is not the case with Basil, my 89 pound brown lab. I got him from a friend in 2016 when he was 2 years old. She had rescued him as a puppy from what turned out to be a very unscrupulous breeder. She had began training him as a service dog, but the scars from his puppy days proved to be too deep. Word was that he was used as a "bait dog". A dog that is tied up and used as a target of attack to teach other dogs how to fight. Whether or not that is the case, he proved to not interact well with other dogs. He will not initiate any aggression with other dogs, but he does not tolerate other dogs entering his personal space. Which is why my friend had to find another home for him. Otherwise, he is a beautiful and well behaved man's best friend. I take him for rides, and he loves to play with one of his ball toys, and takes one everywhere he goes. He is leash trained very well, so the main problem when I take him on walks is other dogs and their owners who insist that it would be cute  if their little micro dog come up and play with Basil - almost totally disregarding mine or Basil's body language that he doesn't want to play. After a few years, I think I finally got the point across to most of my neighbors. Basil does not want to play with your little fluff poodle.
    Then the other day, I noticed something more. We started our morning walk - and came by the neighbor and his dog. I said my normal greetings, Basil gave the other dog a wide birth, and picked up his pace, reeling out the retractable leash to it's full extent. We got to the corner about to turn, as the neighbor met up with another walker and dog. those two dogs immediately started playing together and chasing each other. Basil stopped in his tracks, dropped his ball and began to quietly whimper as he watched them frolic. The look in his eye..standing at a distance, tail wagging with a slight delay of shyness. I recognized it instantly. He wanted to play with the others but didn't know quite how.
    I recognized his look because I have lived the look most of my life. I remember so many times as a kid, I would watch watch other kids at the school playground, or at the beach, or wherever. Everyone seemed like they were having fun. I would watch from a distance, somewhere between hoping that I would get invited to join and scared that I actually would get invited. If they did invite me, then what? It looked so natural to so many, but I had no idea how to interact in group settings. I remember actually practicing things to say in advance (something I do to this day). Fortunately - or not -  I rarely got included, so it didn't matter much. Not that I was being actively excluded or bullied or anything of the sort. Hell, they probably though I was being snobbish or aloof.
    Throughout most aspects of my life, I have in large part kept to myself. This is not to say that I have not formed some strong friendships with some beautifully amazing people, I just never really developed the art of socializing. Not that I haven't wanted to from time to time, it just never came to pass. I have attended countless cycling or running events that involve hundreds and sometimes thousands of people. But once the event starts, I inevitably wind up riding or running by myself. I usually have a blast, but I manage to make a mass event a solo trek. When I moved into town, I had visions of having parties and entertaining in my new house. That of course never materialized. I have had four or five  friends over throughout the years I have lived there. Even then, I manage to work myself up, stressing over "getting it right" - whatever that means. It is funny - because of the fact that I am a part time performing musician, a lot of people thing that I am naturally outgoing. Truth is, when the music stops, I get quiet as well.
An introvert? That is a popular term of late. Maybe. I don't know. Loner? OK. sure. If you say so. I am not a fan of one word labels - few things resolve that easy. I am sure that there is some official name or clinical diagnosis if you look hard enough. Most assuredly there is some sort of treatment or medication to make me better -  at my own expense - so I can be more conforming to social expectations or whatever
No thanks. I'll pass on all of that.
    At the end of the day, not much has changed from those early days on the playground. Except for one thing. These days, I am good with it. After fifty six years, I am at peace with whatever brings me peace. I have some amazing friends that accept me for me. When my life intersects others in a limited fashion - it is fine. But I have no interest in forcing anything anymore. I am good with me.
And Basil, you are the good boy!! Now, lets go throw the ball, buddy!