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I let the morning kind’a slip around me. It was 9:00 before I made it to my chair on the porch with my first cup of coffee and my book. That’s one obsession that I haven’t told you about. Saying I love to read is not quite accurate. I have to read. I am currently working my way through the obscenely long list of Alan Dean Foster. Don’t recognize his name? Don’t feel bad. Most people don’t. Foster mainly writes Sci-Fi and along with his own work, has done the novelization of many movies that you would recognize. Like Aliens and Dinatopia and The Chronicles of Riddick. Foster gets the scripts at the same time the director does. He makes a book, the director makes a movie. IMHO, Foster does a better job. His Transformer novelization is due out soon.

He even did the first Star Wars book: Star Wars -From the tales of Luke Skywalker. George Lucas put his name to it, but years later admitted that Foster actually ghost wrote it.  I finally found a copy with Lucas’ name on the cover last week at a used bookstore for $2.50. First edition. When I explained it to the owner, she inhaled sharply as she took my little piddles for it! Haha. I don’t know if it’s worth more than that, but it was fun to see the wonder on her face.

My favorite Fosters are the Commonwealth Novels with Pip and Flinx. If you like Sci-Fi, find For the Love of Mother Not and you too will be hooked. I have read over 35 Foster books and have that many more to go. I have this bad habit of reading every thing an author wrote before moving on. It drives my husband crazy when I have to order some obscure piece written in 1976 off the internet because I can’t get it anywhere in town. I love Sci-Fi, I think, because it is about TOMORROW. Tomorrow, tomorrow. See my obsession with tomorrow goes beyond today. I could have worse hang-ups. I sneak my books in the house like an addict hiding his stash. My husband and I both pretend that he doesn’t notice.

Books have always been my escape from reality. Whatever works.
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The park is packed this weekend. I am far from the Tribes now that we have moved to the middle of the park. Now I get to view the “Generals.” The typical General arrives in a coach that cost more than the average American’s home. Tagging along behind this 45′ motorized mansion is a matching car. Matching down to the sweeping graphics that jump off the coach to land across the dingy in tow. His monthly payment for his land yacht and dingy is more than what we paid for our motorhome.

The General’s troop of two (his wife and the dog) stands off to the side while he argues with the camp staff over the placement of his ship. In the last two and a half months, I have watched J park hundreds of motorhomes, 5th wheels, trailers, campers and tents; some in spots no one could believe would fit. He is a master at spatial manipulation as well as manipulation of the Generals. J has the patience of Job. He never shows his frustration with those who don’t trust his judgment. J could park a forty foot 5th wheel in his sleep. And sometimes I think he must be asleep when I hear his four wheeler cruising past at midnight and beyond. I sometimes just sit here on my porch and giggle at him.

“It’ll fit. Bring her back. That’s it. No your gonna’ miss the tree. Don’t worry about your pop-outs. There is an opening between the poles. There you go. Doin’ great. Lookin’ good. Perfect. There ya go.”

If it was my job I would say, “Listen you idiot! Do what I tell ya or go on down the road! Your rig is not that special and you don’t need to pop out beyond twenty freaking feet anyway! My motorhome is eight feet wide and I have three dern kids in there besides my husband and me. And further more, get here before four in the morning next time and you might get a better spot!”

It’s not my job. Haha

I’m just happy to be here watching it all from my porch.

I could be doing the laundry. I don’t have to do the laundry anymore. Since my surgery (you know where he went in looking for a splinter and pulled out a sarcoma instead. Kind of like “Little Jack Horner” he stuck in his thumb and pulled out a plum…) anyway, since my surgery I haven’t had to do the laundry. I guess membership Does have it’s privileges after all.

“If you get cancer in your butt cheek, you don’t have to do the laundry.”

Hey, it’s a rule.

I think I’ll go for a walk while I still can.

I need to make some money to pay for the stack of bills already piling up. I have to. I am going to sell t-shirts and tote bags. I don’t know how much that will help, but my poor husband is stressing over money while swearing to do everything possible to get me healed. He’s scared. He doesn’t want me to know it, but he is. He has to keep working, but he wants to be with me. He has already missed days driving me back and forth to appointments and the real treatment hasn’t even begun. If I have to stay in Portland, it will cost $1,300 for a month of daycare for the three kids. If I have to stay in the hospital for a while… This wasn’t in “the plan” for the summer. It’s just not a good time for this.
There isn’t a “good time” to have cancer.

I have to make some money. Maybe some hats and coffee mugs too? I have the design ready now to upload to cafe press. Anyone can have a free store, design their own artwork and Cafe Press will take care of everything.

I have to pay for gas and food and a place to park the motorhome. And babysitters. And Cancer treatments. And surgeries and tests. And laser light shows with dripping cocktails.

Why don’t we have insurance? Well, that’s my fault too. For the last six, almost seven years I have been struggling with one health issue after another. I am now “un-insurable”. With the cancer, now I will never find an insurance company to cover me. My husband is self-employed. This is a problem many in the construction field face.

Maybe tomorrow’s tomorrow will find a cure not only for cancer, but for insurance as well.

Anything’s possible tomorrow.