10 – X, Not my shirt size

10 – X, No not my shirt size. After all, I am a svelte studdly little over 200 lb hunk of a man.  No, the 10X is a reference to the center bullseye.  The X count is the tie breaker, the number of more centered 10 ring scores.

Now, what the hell does this mean?  Three years ago when I was sick and weak, I reflected on things I hadn’t done or should have done. AKA the bucket list.

One of those items was competitive shooting. Back in my Marine Corp days I was a pretty good shooter.  I actually won several Marine Corps Reserve championships, both as an individual or a team shooter.  But then the unit I transferred to didn’t field a team so I stopped shooting.

Fast forward to two years ago, I was on the mend and I decided to start shooting again.  WOW! I was appalled at how bad my pistol shooting had fallen to. The first match I shot I was definitely in the marksman class, two levels below where I used to be. 

As I continued shooting more matches, the scores came up and with the first reclassification came around I was back in the Expert class.  Currently I am shooting scores right on the Master class cut off point.

Last month I shot the Texas state outdoor matches and did pretty darn good won two of the 16 individual matches and placed 2nd or 3rd in another 9.

This week I head to Ohio to shoot the national pistol championship matches, how good I do is going to be a factor of how well I can stay on target.  If the competition doesn’t get me rattled I think I can finish in the top 10%.  I will be shooting in the expert  class  but I have, and know, I can shoot Master class scores.

The question is, will I?  1199 miles 17 hours is the goggled maps prediction. I head out tomorrow about noon and hope to be there Sunday by noon. Regardless, I will have shot the National Pistol Championship matches and that’s a check mark. so the matches end a Sunday the 12th, I guess I will fess up to how I did after that.

dum vita est spes est

Roll Over, Play Dead, Good Dog,

Sometimes, most of the time, not.  Ziggy the wonder dawg got under foot last night. Literally, and of course I did my best impression of a swan dive, a dying swan.

Note to self, concrete patios are harder than the grass. Second note to self, glasses are not good shock absorbers.

Ziggy was unharmed, she even came over to check on me.  Luckily for me nothing broken so I guess it’s all OK.

dum vita est spes est

Warm wash, cool iron, NOT!!!

Did you ever notice the disturbing trend to idiot proof our society? I mean like really, who is going to use a lawn mower to trim the tops of hedges.  And I used to think normal sane people knew not to use electrical apparatus in the bath.

Now with clothing they might be on to something. I mean it!  Took me 40 years of doing laundry to figure out that washing everything in super hot water wasn’t the best of ideas.  Of course my son got a lot of new shirts.

I don’t quite understand the concept of a cool iron, near as I can tell mine has three settings, off, burn the hell out your bare skin, and instance scorch marks or melted cloth. Maybe a cool iron is one that looks good.  Of course if I was to say, “that iron looks good in your hands baby”, I might get said iron upside my head.

Any, the gist of the comment is that I looked at my key fob, that lil doohickey I use to unlock, lock, and start my truck with. And guess what?, unlike my fine Hawaiian shirts, there are no laundry instructions.

That’s right, nowhere does it caution on the proper means to wash one.  Turns out I did, just in the regular laundry load.  Of course when I took it out of the washer I knew better than to dry it. I remember what that can do to shirts, promotes wrinkles and such, and I didn’t want a wrinkled key fob.

Now fast forward to about 1AM.  I hear the truck locking itself, you know, two short beeps. And seeing as how I’m all snuggled up in bed, seems strange.  Wow there it goes again, maybe something/someone is robbing me, but at least they are locking up after themselves.

Shoot fire, I don’t even grab one of the many bang sticks or hand held hole punching devices at arm’s length. I just get up in my BVDs and wander out to the driveway to see what’s going on.

Beep Beep! Lock and unlock, only now I’m standing in the beams of the headlights in me BVDs. Guess I‘ll head back in the house.

Must have hurt’s it’s feelings, the  “ they’re breaking in to me!!!”. alarm commences to go off.  And seeing how my neighbor lady’s bedroom is right there about 10 feet away, I quickly realize I need to do something, like take the damn thing apart and take out the battery.

And just in case other neighbors haven’t been sufficiently warned, Ziggy the wonder dwag commences to run to and fro barking up a storm raising the alarm.

I went back in, locked the door and turned off the lights.

dum vita est spes est  

I hate charley

I do, I hate charley. That insidious bastard keeps popping up, My brother is now preparing for his battle. He is better prepared and just as anxious to kick charleys ass to the curb.

At least he saw what I had to do and that's helping a bit.  The battle is a personal thing that is not fought alone, but with the support and encouragement of friends, family and care givers.

As he will soon find out, Dr appointments are like seeds in a fertile field, they are going to sprout up everywhere.

But he is not going to be fighting this without a tremendous amount of support, I owe him big time for the support he gave me in my battle and now I get to pay it back.

After much consideration, he has decided the best way to chronical his trail and tribulations is with a blog. 

Visit it as it gets underway

 http://pvadamsupdates.blogspot.com/

charley has once again messed up, bro Paul is a former Marine and I do believe he is going to enjoy this fight, The ass kicking can begin.

Until this battle is won, I am putting my catch phrase on hold,

 Laissez les bon temps roulez will be back until then it's 

dum vita est spes est    

The good times, but three years and three months ago I woke up to the fact there was trouble in River City.

So many ways it could have gone, good thing my head was screwed on straight. I could have given up but I chose to fight.

Whit the help of my friends, prayers from a lot of people, and skill and dedication of the doctors, nurses, and helpers at Texas Oncology, we fought back and kicked charleys ass.

Towards the end, it was rough. And the recovery wasn't very pleasant either. But as I said, all the support I got from family, friends, and sometimes, complete strangers, I made it.

For a while, I was going back in every two months and then I graduated to once every three months. two years of that and we moved to a six-month schedule.  Once a year we do a PET scan and so far those have come back clean.

Today was the regularly scheduled visit to the radiation oncologist. and I got the following news:

With the type of cancer I had, being cancer free at two years, there was a 95% chance it wouldn't return. Being cancer-free at three years, it is considered to be cured.  The doctor used that word, CURED.

Not throwing the bucket list out, I got things to do, places to go, and people to meet.  I have a compassion for others fighting the battle, I want them to know they are not alone in their battle, myself and other survivors stand with you.


I hate charley and charley hates Hawaiian shirts.

Laissez les bon temps roulez 

I hate charley

I hate charley

I’ve been pretty lucky. My battle against that bastard has gone in my favor.  You can’t let your guard down. He is a sadistic bastard that is always lurking in the shadows ready to attack.

Since my trails, my hunting buddy fought the prostate cancer and his bride battled breast cancer. They join me as survivors.  We aren’t cured, we are cancer free but we remain vigilant.

A co-workers wife fights a new round, her ‘s came back and has attacked the brain. We support her with words and deeds and prayers but she is fighting a mighty battle.

Tomorrow I see the oncologist for my three year checkup and get the results of the last               PET scan.  Wish me luck.

Laissez les bons temps rouler

P51 Mustang!

Yep. That what is was, a P51 Mustang, or maybe a F86, ore maybe the new B-58 Hustler.

It was Christmas eve, the magical night before. 

The older kids went to midnight mass with mom, we stayed home and if we were lucky we got to open one present, a little one, to help stave off the hunger.

Shake the present, enough noise and you knew it was a model airplane, take a couple of hours to assemble and then it would be night time and Christmas was just hours away.

Christmas is for the kids, my kids, now my grandkids, but that magical moment just before, I miss it. . .

Merry Christmas all

Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler

Crap, I hate Technology 

Using science and electronics to screw up my life, stuff I can do without any help.

I am fighting off a cold, Started up Sunday morning with a runny nose, progressed to a sore throat with a dry cough by Monday noon. Left work early to self-medicate. 

So last night it’s off to bed early with a dose of Alka-Seltzer and NyQuil. Ah, the sleep with no dreams. 

Alarm goes off at 4:45 and I just lay there, So hard to get up for work. Almost nobody in the office. I lay there till 5:45 and it’s like, Crap I m going to be late if I don’t get a move on.

So I hit the head, quick shower and get dress. Running late, grab my phone and wonder why the backup alarms hadn’t gone off. 

Maybe it’s dead, power it up and nope not dead, just 4:05 in the morning.

Damn electronic alarm clock by the bed got set to Pacific Time zone.

I hate Technology, at least I won’t be late for work.

Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler

Whoa, whoa, Mr Telephone. . . .

Three years!  World was turned upside down. Three years to the day tomorrow, Dr Evans had the results of the needle biopsy.

Cancer, the big C, the death sentence, the life changing event;  I was pragmatic about it, I mean what the hell what could I do.  I could fight Damnit!

I figured the Docs had my back I just needed to get on board with the program. Dr Evans referred me over to Texas Oncology where I teamed up with the good doctors Dr Derrick Nguyen,(Chemo),  and Dr. Ilahi,(Radiation).  These two set about to save my sorry carcass in spite of my self..

It’s been three years, My new radiation oncologist, Dr Lee informed me last week that by being in remission, symptom free for three years I have a 99% chance of not having Charlie return.

I think about the journey, and am humbled by those that stood by me and supported me in the fight.  Some may not have realized what they did, but I recognized support when I got it. The kind word, the fact you cared, it helped me fight the battles.

I was blessed with some true friends whose support was instrumental n helping me get through it, Ron, Brandon, Laynette, Josh, April, Marvin, Ron, Ben, Ms Dee next door and countless others. I survived and you helped heal me.

This Christmas is one not shadowed by fear and doubt, but one of thankfulness.  I have been given the greatest gift of all, health and good friends.

Merry Christmas to all, thanks again for all the support you provided and remember I now stand ready to fight the bastard charlie, wherever, and in whoever he appears.

Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler

Grass Be Gone In Action

I told you I was going to tell you about the guinea pigs, and I am.

Four legged, hyper active, furry little lawn mowers.  And you thought they were children’s pets.

These things can eat their weight in all things green or if necessary anything they can get their teeth around.

Friend of mine bought a half dozen or so to see if they could control the grass in some of his aviaries.  He raises some high dollar exotic birds. Exotic not erotic, get you brain out of the gutter.

Anyway, the grass lets snakes hide from the birds and then that snake can sneak in to the nest and steal eggs, or worst case,snack on some young fledglings.

But I digress, anyway he bought a few and threw them in one of the pens. Wow talk about efficient they cleaned that grass up. All of it, roots included. We talking West Texas dry dirt, bare, grass begone in action.

So it was a choice between feed them or move them to another cage. Move em, just watch so that they don’t destroy the savanna in the next location.

One thing about Guinea pigs, they dumb, you can catch em easy. So Gary grabs up the twenty three pigs and transfers them to site number two.

Now I never said you were dumb, the guinea pigs are dumb, and yes the 6 or so are now twenty plus, and in only a few weeks.

These things are worse than rabbits. Looks like their little lives involve eating everything in sight, making little pellets and making more guinea pigs.

Gary now has over a hundred, well over a hundred.  Did you know a round bale of hay that would last a cow over a month disappears in less time under the attack of a 100 plus guinea pigs.

But they are good to eat, national dish of Peru,  I kid you not, a lot like preparing a rabbit, smoke ‘em, deep fry ‘em, BBQ, it’s all good.

Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler

Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler

And roll they have.  My apologies to all those that followed the blog,  I got better, am still getting better, and the need to vent passed.

But it’s not all fun and games, struggles against chemo brain(or is it old age?) and the fact my priorities changed.

Was amazed to find it’s been two years. But what a ride.  My weight has made an astounding comeback, I’m up to 210-215, dang it, those 34x30 jeans are getting dadgum tight.

In the past two years charlie has attacked the wife of a good friend, my mom, a brother and the mom of faithful minion Ron.  Three out of four held their own, but my mom’s was found way too late to do any good.

So now I’m back at work looking to get retired so as I can live the good life.  I took up the sport of competitive marksmanship again, that was one of my bucket list items I decided to do while sick. Made the great expedition to Colorado to fish and plan to do it again this year.

And I am going to try to keep blogging, after all, what would you do with the free time between facebook games?

Next post I'll tell you all about the guinea pigs