It's Time

Well, this is it.

It is my solemn prayer that at this time, 24 hours from now, all my belongings will be safely onboard Lee's truck... preferably without getting soaked by the ever present rains that have drenched North Texas since -- well, January, or so it seems.

Since I'm already praying, let me add I also hope that, 48 hours from now, the aforesaid truck and belongings are in Albuquerque, waiting to be unloaded Sunday morning. And yeah, I'll also throw in a quick "Hail Mary" for all the crap to be off the truck by this time Sunday, in my new apartment, awaiting unpacking and sorting.

The next 72 hours are gonna be a lotta fun.

With all that's been going on this week, I've had little time to pause, and lament the fact my time as a Dallas resident is about to come to an end. There have been brief respites -- last weekend's trip to Austin comes to mind -- but I've honestly been too busy with work and packing to think about anything other than logistics of the impending uprooting. I haven't even taken one last drive through Addison Airport... and I'm not sure I'll have the chance to, at this rate.

The Dallas I moved to three years ago, isn't the same Dallas it is today. I'm no longer at AG, and Chickie's no longer at the Crow. No one hacks at the old job, anyway.

I'll miss my friends here. They're not the same as my friends back in ABQ.

I miss that somewhat wide-eyed optimism and uncertainty that lurked over my first few months out here. I don't think I settled into life as a Dallasite until three or four months after I got here.
I love this city. Warts and all -- and Dallas as many -- the metroplex moves at a perfect pace for me. Everything happens at 1.5 times the speed it does in Albuquerque; even traffic jams seem to go quicker here, at least to me.

I'll miss toll roads, and HOV lanes. Weird, I know.

I'll miss the feeling I got driving home from the inevitably late flights into DFW, returning from AOPA, Sun 'N Fun, or Oshkosh... moving at a quick clip down the GBT (George Bush Turnpike) at around 12:30 am, looking at the sleeping city and feeling like I was... home. Which is odd, because most wouldn't think of Dallas as the kind of place that instills that sense of familiarity.

I'll miss my Krogers down the road, and my dry cleaners right next door.

I'll miss skating trips, and Starbucks runs.

I'll miss my own private sanctuary, down the road just a bit further, called Addison Airport.

I'll miss the museums I didn't have a chance to visit, or visit enough. Ditto the Nasher Sculpture Garden, and the aquarium.

I'll miss the nighttime view of the downtown skyline, illuminated in all its glory.

I'll miss Dallas.

Rooms With A View

Sitting here at the viewing area of the Sunport, waiting to catch my flight back to Dallas... the last time I'll fly in that direction to go "home," at least for the foreseeable future. Sigh...

It's been a good trip, albeit a very quick one. I signed the lease on my apartment Sunday, and I was happy to see that it has a pretty decent view of the mountains over the building across from it. Definitely good enough to see the Sandias turn into watermelons for a few fleeting moments each evening.

With less than two weeks now to go before I head back for good, I have to admit I'm getting excited. It's a nervous energy -- equal parts "God, I want to get that over with" and "I know I'm gonna have fun unpacking and getting stuff set up."

This weekend comes a trip with Shoe, Lee and Dustin down to Austin (yep, returning there just over a month since I visited with Monk) to celebrate something of a "Rob's Last Stand in Texas." I'm not going to say there's gonna be a lot of drinking, but the hotel is within stumbling distance of Sixth Street, so that tells you something. I just can't wait to visit The Elephant Room again... looking forward to some smooth jazz.

Oh, and no flying this week... I'm going to be busy covering all the news from the 2007 Paris Air Show, and the weather looks iffy tomorrow anyway. I have one last chance next week to fit the cc's in... it may happen, it may not. Kinda leaning towards wrapping up everything in New Mexico at this point.

Well, gotta go stand in line for an hour to get a good seat when the cattle call is released... that is, after I watch a C-17 take off. And I've seen two Eclipse 500s do touch-and-goes in the past 45 minutes, too.

Signs...

If Wishes Were Horses

Eep... the move is becoming increasingly real. I leave tomorrow for a quick trip back to New Mexico, the last one before I become an official resident of the state. That will happen Sunday -- Happy Father's Day, Dad! -- when I sign the leasing agreement on my new apartment. I'm debating whether to go ahead and buy a few needed things after that... a couple new bookcases, a futon, and possibly a new TV... or wait until I move in for real.

On that front, I continue to (increasingly half-heartedly) pack away my life's possessions away, in anticipation of the actual move. I've enlisted the help of my friends Shoe and Monk to assist in packing the truck; both very graciously agreed to help, though under some protest -- as both don't want to see me leave.

God, I'm going to miss them... as I'll miss Lee, who has offered to drive me and my possessions back to New Mexico ("take it all to Laredo instead," Shoe quipped during a final get-together at the Crow on Friday). And his wife Diana, who cooked a final "Italian-style" meal Sunday in celebration of the last episode of "The Sopranos" (the spaghetti was excellent; the episode blew.)

"You're gonna miss us come football season," Diana said, good-naturedly rubbing salt in my wounds. "You're gonna miss watching the game, and you're going to miss my cooking." I already do, Diana!

I've taken to calling the move back to New Mexico a "pragmatic" move. It's a conscious decision I made, after a stark examination of the situation at hand. That's not to say I don't want to move back to New Mexico, per se; as the time grows nearer, I'm looking forward to the change of scenery (including the fact that, unlike this part of Texas, New Mexico HAS scenery) and the fact I'll be closer to my folks. There's also the flying thing, of course.

I'm not sure whether I would say I'd rather stay in Dallas; there's as much point to that as saying "I'd rather have never gotten TC." No use wishing; you play the cards you're dealt, and take it from there. The cards are telling me to return home, at least for a little while, and plot my next move.

Thankfully, I'm in a position to be able to do that.

I'm buoyed by the fact that in the past three years, friendships that started in Albuquerque continued to grow and develop. I've especially grown closer to Monk and his wife, Quinn. It's funny to think how much our friendship has evolved and grown from the time we celebrated New Year's Eve 2004 with a fondue dinner, followed by a disjointed trip to the seediest bar in Albuquerque's Northeast Heights; to the time I piggybacked my meager possessions on the back of their moving van for the trip out to Dallas; and today. That journey has seen several jovial dinners, innumerable skating missions and awesome conversation always... and I don't plan for that to change. I'm already planning my trip back to Dallas for New Year's 2008.

I'll have more ruminations later, I'm sure. For now, back to work, and back to packing.

Phew...

Confirming the suspicions of pretty much Everyone Else But Me... Monday's checkup presented no new problems, no additional complications.

Furthermore, Dr. B also gave me some much-needed reassurance on the lymph nodes that popped up on the last CT scans. First of all, both of those scans were done by a new radiologist -- "who I don't like," the good doctor has told me before -- and who seems to be firmly in the "cover my ass" category: he or she notes EVERYTHING. Including "non-pathological" lymph nodes, that do not appear to be cancer-related, and that haven't grown at all in four months.

"Everyone has lymph nodes. See this?" Dr. B asked me, pointing to his neck. "This a node I've had for years. It's no big deal."

After a handshake from Dr. B, and hugs from the nurses, they sent me on my way. My next checkup will be in Albuquerque, in August. The two-month clock has been reset. I can now officially start to look forward to getting the move out of the way, and Arlington and Oshkosh, too.

Cashing The Karma Check, Hoping The Account Isn't Overdrawn

I live my life in two-month increments -- the amount of time between cancer check-ups. If that sounds bad, consider that it used to be one-month time periods, until this past April when Dr. B put me on a two-month observation plan. The next checkup is coming up June 4th.

The weeks leading up to a clinic visit always slow down. I get little accomplished; I put my life on hold, awaiting word on whether I may continue it or not. After my last checkup -- with the pronouncement that two lymph nodes have shown up on my last two CT scans, although "they're probably nothing to worry about" -- I attacked my life with vigor. I went down to Lakeland, spent time in a helo and a new Cirrus, and looked forward to coming back to Dallas and wrapping up my sport pilot training... knowing I wouldn't have to face potentially bad news for another two months.

Then the plane went down for a week, waiting for a new aileron... and while it was only a week, the down time deflated my sails on the training front. I've flown the SportStar once since then -- 10 times around the pattern at Grand Prairie, to remind myself that, yes, I still know how to fly the plane -- and I planned to do some cross-country flying before heading back to Albuquerque to find a place to live. But I wound up cancelling those flights... because I admit, my heart just isn't in it right now.

What good is accomplishing the cross-countries -- and even taking the written test and passing my checkride -- if June 4 is going to hold bad news? And if that appointment goes well... what about the August CT scan, which will update us on those lymph nodes? Nodes don't just get bigger; they react to something.

There is also a part of me -- that started small, but has grown louder with each passing day -- that feels I used up all my good luck last year, when a similar inflammation proved to be nothing serious -- a determination made following an incredibly painful and evasive lung biopsy. God, please, I don't want to go through that again... but did I use up all my karma last year?

Yeah, I'll admit, right now I'm feeling sorry for myself. This is the other side of living with cancer, one I don't like showing the world at large. But it's a very real part of living with this disease. 

Since the good news last year, I've felt lucky, blessed, and incredibly grateful. I've also felt like I've been wearing a target on my back, waiting for The Next Time something pops up.

How could I have gone undiagnosed for seven weeks following the first signs of "something wrong" in December 2005... and incredibly, have had this voraciously fast-growing cancer confine itself to just that part of my body? That is not logical; it should have popped up somewhere else, as it does for most TC patients.

I can't shake the feeling I'm facing the day of reckoning... if not now, then someday. I hope I'm prepared if that time comes... I suspect I would be, at least, as I've already gone through it twice...

Though at this moment I'd trade almost anything for a cosmic guarantee that I'll never, ever have to face that demon again. No, on second thought... anything.

Choose Your Own Adventure

The move begins. Following a nine-hour drive back from NM Sunday (my 11th time overall making that trip, and second in the Mazda) I rested a bit, and then got started on the task of packing up the past three years of my life. Although I'm not actually leaving until June 30, I figured any head start I get will be appreciated come this time NEXT month, when I hopefully won't have much more to do than throw some last minute items into a box or two. (That approach worked well for the move out to Dallas in July 2004, when I had some boxes packed by the end of April.)

So already, there are no pictures on the walls, no CDs or books in the bookcase, and paper plates and plastic cups in the cupboards. I've thrown out a lot of the sentimental detritus I've hauled with me over the past several years, and donated a bunch of old clothes to Goodwill.

As usually happens when one delves into the remnants of their past, I've also stumbled across some past mementos... inside a box marked "Do Not Open - Storage" that has languished toward the back of several closets over the years. Like a fool, I opened it... and rummaged through its contents.

I came across a creased and torn piece of pink paper, with various typed numbers on it... along with the handwritten "$1988.47." It's the "pink" -- the pay stub -- for a white 1997 Corvette I sold during my time as a salesman at a Chevy dealership in Albuquerque. The first new C5 sold in the entire state, by the way. March 7, 1997.

That moment is as much a "nexus" point in my life, as my first flight on a small plane was over five years later. On the morning of March 7 -- a Friday, and the official rollout date for the new, significantly improved C5 Corvette -- I had walked through the doors of that dealership with every intention of not working that weekend. My struggling career of selling cars was barely two months old, I only had about 20 cars out for that time, and I was already fairly sick of it. I had planned to quit at the end of that day... after giving it one more halfhearted try.

I still remember standing at the receptionists window, talking with another salesman and the aged phone operator, when a sales call came in. "It's another Corvette call," she told Jonas and me. "Who wants it?"

I'm pretty sure both of us rolled our eyes. We'd been getting calls all morning, all of them lookie-loos asking if they could test drive what was apparently the only 6-speed manual 'Vette in all of Albuquerque. "I'll take it," I sighed. I figured I could at least note the call as a phone "up," and keep the sales managers off my back that much longer.

That decision netted me close to $2,000. The call was from a prominent local attorney, who told me he'd be in to look at the car "after I finish up an interview with CNN." Sure, I replied, no problem. "And hey, say "hi" to Wolf Blitzer for me, would you please?" I added, albeit after I hung up the phone.

Turns out, though, he WAS talking to CNN... about a misquoted price for his company's stock that had gone out on the OTC that morning. About an hour later, he called me back... asking if his wife could come by and look at the car. Sure, again, no problem.

I didn't "sell" the Vette, per se. The car sold itself, by merit of its singular manual-transmission status in ABQ. My sales manager --who I'd later follow to a Ford store in Fresno -- conned another $4,000 above sticker price out of him. I just demo'd the car, did the paperwork, and reaped the rewards.

That was the day I decided to stick with car sales a little while longer, too... and I was fairly successful at it, hitting the pavement with renewed vigor, after seeing what was possible. I never made $2,000 on a car again, although I did make over $1,000 on a few used cars, and at least $500 apiece on a pair of Vettes. (I also still remember the car I sold AFTER the Vette, a green Cavalier two-door, to a single mom who desperately needed to get rid of her aging 80s-vintage Corolla. "We'll get this done quick," I told her. "I've already made my money this month." We sold it for just above invoice, and I made a $100 mini on it.)

That decision, in turn, kept me at the dealership long enough for me to meet the woman with whom I'd later move to Fresno, who started work at the dealership later that summer. It also set the chain of events in motion, that led me to where I am now.

I looked upon that pink slip of paper with a mix of pride and despair. I have no regrets about my life today... but I do occasionally lament the twisted, rocky road I took to get here. Still, it's easier to wrap your mind around past events, than contemplating what the future may hold.

I repacked the pink slip in the box, and sealed it tight... destined for the back of yet another closet.

The Land Of... Providence?

It's been a nice trip back to New Mexico, surprisingly free of drama and undue angst on the home-finding front. Speaking of which, I have: I found an apartment Monday afternoon, right after I got into town (nothing like slamming down a 680-mile road trip -- less than 24 hours AFTER a marathon skating trip to Austin, a story captured quite eloquently heated discussions and all, here -- AND then searching for a place to live, all on less than four hours of sleep.) It was the second place I looked, though the first I found on the Internet -- CORE Vistas At Seven Bar Loop.

Yes, that's the name of the complex. CORE Vistas, and yes the CORE is supposed to be capitalized. Sounds like a) a mental institution, b) a low-income jobs program, or c) a residential development within walking distance of Three Mile Island. I can't decide which.
In either case, it's a third-story, 911 square foot, two-bedroom (and, unnecessarily, two-bath) apartment with a mountain view (albeit a narrow one, over another apartment building) and washer/dryer hookups, in a gated community, at a decent price. And it took me less than a half-hour to find it. Can't complain. And no, the flowers don't come with the apartment.

As the apartment hunting was eerily simple, that has given me time to get around and see some friends, and reacquaint myself with Albuquerque. I also had the chance Wednesday morning to drive out to Double Eagle II airport, to take a look at the SportStar the FBO out there just purchased. After all... that will be the plane I'll be renting once I'm out here.

Imagine my surprise when I approached the hangar, and saw N819EV with its cowling off -- awaiting its own modified fuel pump, as per the Rotax SB. It was a shock... as this is the same plane I flew last month, down in Kerrville (shown below on the ground at ERV). I have 1.1 hours in my logbook in this same plane, the trip up to Gillespie County Airport and back with Barry Pruitt, Evektor America's technical guy.

That would have been cool enough. Add the fact 819EV has a full glass cockpit, AND autopilot, AND a Garmin 396 with XM Weather and radio... and I think I'm going to have great fun tooling around New Mexico skies in this plane. I'm already plotting my cross country trip to Tucumcari in my mind.

First, though, I have to plot my dual cross country, scheduled for next week in Grand Prairie. This flight has been delayed a few times... but it's on now. I have a renewed sense of commitment to getting my license.

It's really weird how that particular plane ended up in New Mexico...