lost and found

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I lost my last post, so I know how some of you feel. I'm sure it was the best piece of writing since Hamlet, but my electronic, eclectic editor disagreed and said, "You need to revise, so I deleted it" So revise/rewrite it is. I should start with personal revision, as we are doing yet another chemo change, new meds and new schedule, last week's scans showed other chemo was letting the cancer grow, and that is not ok...we begin new schdule this thur/fri. yee-ha can't wait. kind of. So here's to looking back at what we write, what we do, how we treat each other then and there and there and then. First rule in publishing and life: save, save, save. When you do somethig right, save it, on your hard drive, in your heart.
Tuesday early, cat and I have our fire sparking and crackling in the black wood stove that keeps all of us safely warmed against nature's nigthly chilling dip. This morning, the glass patio door was opened about 6" and the room temp was headed south. "Who had left it open? inside job? prowler at the pane? or a hint to me that soon I exit this warm loving home and by necessity go to darkness and mystery?" I looked outside and saw no prints to follow, no broken limbs to track, no pathway to comfort my directionless feet. Just the door, open, inviitng cool night to flow into our toasty domcile, cruel night inviting mystery. I closed it quickly, no desire to track any mystery. Quickly, I build a hot fire, shoving log after log into the box. The fire helps. No mystery there, just a close watching to maintain its giving warmth and well prepared stacks of chopped woods- kindiling spruce, juniper, pine and oak. It is like the spirit fire inside me, with a seemingly endless supply of friends and family and beauty to keep me glowing, stoked by sincere caring lovers. Both fires comfort me. The outside fire feeds me; my skin, thin over bone, chilled, wrinkled and gooose bumped, gathers the heat and clasps it to bone and thin muscle. The same fire that heats our house, will later today warm our daylight conversations and keep them relaxed and cozy. The fire inside will warm me when pain chills my spirt, when worry fogs my insight, when fear of darknesses mystery shakes my belly and spine. This fire inside clasps me to memory and details of childhood days in bright carefree play with my large family, laughing at dad's funny faces; yelping and sprawling down grey wooden stairs to the beach fronting a serene, blue green tidal pool; pushing and shoving each other to get a toy, a pair of shoes, some attention. The fire inside grabs me by the shoulders of memory and turns me back to motorcyles, collge concerts, Sierra backpacking, unexplored canyons and unreliable cars, when fresh pizza, cold beer and dancing all night defined my world and left no time to worry of search for mystery. As a husband and father the fire inside blazed into a firestorm of pure love and an absolute need to protect our brilliant glowing children full of mystery and endless questions I could, and often did, answer four different ways. "Why is the sky blue, Dad?" "Crayons and giant markers," I'd say, or "it's an overhead ocean, and that's why it rains sometimes because the ocean has little tiny holes in in called stars, and the water leaks out and creates the lakes and oceans we like to fish in." Can you believe it? Wes? Mandy? Peggy? Can anyone believe me? I believe the fire inside answers these mysteries, resolves the quesions for me - who, why, what of mystery, beyond the open door, in the trackless night, through jungled dreams and the pathless future. I want to keep both fires blazing. Thanks to all who keep me supplied with fuel for both. Love, laughter, marcus