Realized recently that I had only posted once since Stan's cancer diagnosis. My life has taken on a life of it's own since then--can't begin to write everything that's happened since then, but suffice it to say that it's been a roller coaster. We're currently trying to get his body into condition to have surgery to remove the upper lobe of his left lung. Should know next week. It certainly has caused us not to do some of the things we had hoped to do this spring and summer.

Even though we never got to see Kelli, Mark and family as much as we would have liked after they moved to Sandpoint 4 years ago, we were really sorry to have them move to Boulder in June. She came up last week to be with us when Stan had surgery, but surgery had to be canceled. She was also able to go to the chemo doc w/us when she suggested that we try to get Stan strong enough to have the surgery in a couple weeks. Thank God for airplanes.

It's amazing to think that it hasn't been all that long ago that people would not have heard of their loved ones being sick (or even dead) until long after it had happened. Wow, have communication capabilities changed over the last 100 or so years. (But miscommunication still occurs way too often.)

While getting ready to write a post tonight, I re-read my earlier entries and must make a correction or 2. I don't know if I mentioned the type of cancer that took Stan's mother, Lola, but it was lung cancer, not breast cancer as I'd always thought. Also, his dad, Cliff, was a painter and sign maker. A large sign fell on his head causing a brain concussion; he was hospitalized and developed pneumonia which was the official cause of death.

When Blair was about 3 or 4, our cat caught a mouse and as cats will do, was playing with it for quite awhile before killing it. I made the kids all sit on chairs so they wouldn't startle the cat causing her to release the mouse, letting it get away and hide behind a piece of furniture, there to die and stink. After the cat, can't remember her name, finally killed the mouse, I told Vic to get the mouse outside. He passed the job to Timm, who in turn passed to Mark, who gave the job to Bruce and, following suit, Bruce told Blair to take the mouse outside. Blair picked up the cat, said "Cat, pick up you mouse," which she did and Blair carried the mouse-carrying cat outside. None of the rest of us had even considered that possibility.

Timm got a little mixed-breed dog, about the size of a cocker spaniel, but with longer hair and a long tail. He named the dog PR, short for Paul Revere. I don't know whether they were studying the Revolutionary War in school at the time or if he'd heard Paul Revere and the Raiders. Anyway, there were many times that I was correcting Blair and called him PR and vice versa. It's a wonder Blair doesn't have an identity problem. One day PR just disappeared and we never did find him--he really was a nice little dog. We had him when we lived in the little 2-bedroom house across the street from Maplewood School.

Another thing that happened when we were there is that Mark's bicycle was stolen. That was when kids sorta had "rites of passage" and he, like his brothers, got a bike when he was 6. That was another thing that we never expected to see again either, but it did eventually come home. I wrote a letter to the editor of the paper in which I said that even though we didn't have much money, my boys didn't have to steal things from other kids. A few days later a very contrite young teenager showed up at the door with Mark's bike. His parents had read the letter and figured they knew where he got the bike he had torn apart for whatever reason. Anyway, it took him a few days to get it back together and returned.aAlso, a man named Stan (sorry, can't remember his last name, but he was Stan of "Stan's Shapes of Clay") also read the letter and brought Mark a bike--before the stolen one had been returned.

Once shortly after Stan and I were married, we had stopped at the Hi Ho Grocery Store ((later became Fred Meyer and rebuilt the whole store) after work, when I heard my name announced over the loudspeaker. I happened to be standing very close to the info center so it didn't take me long to get there and answer the phone she handed to me, while saying she had expected a much younger person because the voice on the other end had asked that she page for Cindy Sexton to please come home for dinner. Don't know who was more surprised, Timm or me, when I said hello. He had absolutely no idea that I was there and was just making a prank phone call. Don't know how many times he called our friend, Corrine Wagaman, with a prank or 2.

Speaking of Corrine, we lived in an L-shaped house, about a block from Wagamans on an unpaved, unlighted road when Mark was 3. Many times if either she or I was going to the store in the evening we would call to see if the other one needed anything. One night she called to say she was going to the store and asked me if she should bring Mark home at the same time. After joking that I'd like him back in about 18 years, I told her that he was already asleep in his bed. She was getting angry by the time I realized she wasn't teasing. It was about 9 o'clock, so when I went and checked his bed, sure enough he wasn't there--he'd just decided to go visiting. thank God he stayed on the road because there was a swamp between their house and ours on the Wagaman side of the street. Because the bedrooms were in the long side of the L and the family room in the short end, he had been able to sneak out the front door without me hearing him leave.

One time when we lived in that house I was in charge of the women of the church (Methodist) making over 100 small loaves of nut breads. We bought the flour, sugar, etc., in large quantities so I divided it up for ladies to pick up at our house. I told one woman that our house was really easy to find as you just had to drive straight up Meridian, take a right on 118th St, go a few blocks and we were on the left side of the street. She replied something to the effect that of course it was easy for me, I lived there. I'm not sure, but I don't hink she was the brightest bulb in the chandelier.

Well, it's getting late enough that the lights in my "personal chandelier" are getting dimmer so I'm going to say goodnight until whenever I decide to post again.