...On 35

"Too many of my life experiences seem to relate to Counting Crows songs... "All My Friends" is the perfect anthem for a single guy approaching his 30s."


When I wrote those words on January 11, 2005, they seemed appropriate for the disconnect and ennui I was feeling at that time, on the cusp of a new year in an unfamiliar but exciting land. I was both hopeful and wary of what lay ahead.


My uneasiness was largely unjustified. Despite the loss of my grandfather and the first signs of a worrying health issue, 2005 ended as one of the best years of my life. And now, over five years later... I realize I didn't know the half of it then. I'm now two hours in to my 35th year, and I have no idea what the future holds.


All I know is the present is nothing like what I'd planned, and the future doesn't feel quite as exciting as I used to believe it to be.

Thought I might get a rocket ride

When I was a child, but it was a lie

That I told myself when I needed something good

At 17 had a better dream, but now I'm 33 and it isn't me

But I'd think of something better if I could



Even more so now than in the past, my life is largely my work. Thanks to a tough economy and -- well, frankly, lousy timing -- my current job is far removed from my passion for aviation. That's both a blessing and a curse, and my perception of the situation varies day-to-day. I'm hardly alone there, of course, but it still comes as a sometimes-harsh realization when I remember what I used to do for a living.


And yet... I take tremendous satisfaction in knowing that I'm doing something good for the company I work for, the same company that introduced me to flying in the first place. The symmetry of my situation often brings a smile to my face, and I feel I've now proven a few things to a few people I didn't really impress my first time around.


Is that why I came back here? I don't know. Is this what I want to be doing five years from now? I don't know that, either. The possibility doesn't frighten me, as much as the fact at the moment I don't see any other options. That's what I fear the most. I'd better be happy where I'm at, because it's literally all I've got.

All my friends and lovers leave me behind
And I'm still looking for the girl
One way or another
I'm just hoping to find a way
To put my feet out in the world

As for "the girl"... well, my most recent relationship ended three years ago. I can't believe it's been that long, really. There isn't another one even remotely on the horizon... and frankly, given the choice between a girlfriend and an airplane, I'd probably take a Cessna.


I'm rather content being single, though I admit it does sting a little. Most of my friends are married, and even more have kids. Even an ex I absolutely, positively thought would never married -- I mean, never -- is not only happily married, but she also a son and a stepson. 


She's also now my "friend" on Facebook. Life is weird.

Caught some grief from a falling leaf

As she tumbled down to the dirty ground

said I should have put her back there if I could

Well everyone needs a better day

And I'm tryin' to find me a better way

To get from the things I do... to the things I should

In experience and sensibility, I feel more 25 than 35. There's a lingering immaturity in a lot of what I do and say, that I know I shouldn't still have. I also perceive myself as a younger man, immediately subservient to others in a group... even when I've been proclaimed the "leader." I think I do manage to correct that perception, and I know I'm capable of rallying others -- I've done it before, and enjoy the challenge -- but it still troubles me my first instinct is, "wait, really... are you sure you want me for this?"

And though I've always leaned to the right on most political issues, over the past year I've found myself becoming a fervent, almost militant conservative. Maybe not a Tea-Partier per se, but definitely a believer in small government, and forcing everyone to fend for themselves over relying on federal assistance. 

That's not so unique in this day and age... but what I find odd, and disquieting, is that some of my all-time heroes were passionate liberals. Robert Kennedy. MLK. At the top of that list is all-time favorite songwriter, Harry Chapin... who himself idolized Pete Seeger, and who donated all his earnings to fight world hunger. When did my attitude shift to "let the hungry feed themselves, we've all got our own problems to worry about?"

All my friends and lovers leave me alone

To try to have a little fun

One way or another

I just wish I had known

To go out walking in the sun

To find out if you were the one

I'm a pilot who hasn't flown in almost two years. I'm a dreamer who can't really remember the last dream I had. I'm a writer who seldom posts on my blog, and can't remember the last letter I wrote to my grandmother. (I'll bet she remembers, though, because it's so damnably rare.) 

I've let friendships evaporate because keeping them up was too much trouble, too taxing, too emotionally trying.

All you want is a beauty queen

Not a superstar... but everybody's dream machine
All you want is a place to lay your head
You go to sleep dreamin' how you would
Be a different kind if you thought you could
But you come awake the way you are instead

More than ever at 35 I realize the disconnect between how I perceive myself, and how others perceive me. I'm a fat guy with a thin self-image... until I look in the mirror and see with my own eyes how much I've let myself go over the past two years, and witness how much my girth has worn the fabric on the side of the driver's seat in the 6.

All my friends and lovers

They shine like the sun

Well I just turn and walk away

One way or another

I'm not comin' undone

I'm just waiting for the day

And, on 35, I find myself asking... when will the day get here? Or have I already let it pass by?

The Karma Kar

Big news! An abbreviated version of this blog post ran on the popular automotive site "The Truth About Cars" on October 23, 2010. Not so big news! A poster to that forum correctly pointed out Mazda never offered a six-speed manual with the V6 engine - it was a five-speed I almost bought. Those who know me well know how much that relatively minor oversight bugs the heck out of me... RF


I fully intended to buy a new car on August 26, 2006. A loaded Mazda 6S Grand Touring with the 6-speed manual, Dark Cherry Red over beige leather, with in-dash CD changer and moonroof. I justified the extravagance as a reward to myself for getting through the last seven months following a health scare. Diagnosed with testicular cancer that January, I had been extremely fortunate in the time since the initial surgery. Monthly observation scans had shown no additional tumors, which meant no radiation or chemo.


The deal wasn't done that Saturday, though. The dealer's numbers were still a bit too high for my tastes, so I left that day in my Grand Am. I wasn't too worried, as I expected the dealer to come around in a day or two. The plan changed two days later, during the monthly consult with my oncologist.


I was still a nervous patient, and I sweated each CT, X-ray, blood test, and follow-up. Dr. Bhogaraju was extremely understanding of that fear, and it was his custom to greet me with the reassuring statement "you're OK." He didn't say it that day.


Instead, my latest CT had revealed an 8 mm growth on my left lung, and inflamed lymph nodes nearby. "We need to run some more tests," said Dr. B. "It's rare for TC to spread to the lungs, but it's possible. I'm recommending a PET scan, which will show us how 'hot' the inflammations are. We'll take it from there."


In the middle of all this was that red Mazda. Sure enough, the dealer did call that afternoon to say essentially, "you win." But now I was in no condition at all to buy a new car. In a daze, I told the salesman it looked like my cancer had come back, and I was not willing to sign my life away to anything for another five years.


Days without action turned into weeks, as my insurance company was reluctant to approve the expensive PET scan. I was a nervous wreck. A second CT was approved, and it showed the lung nodule had grown to 10 mm. My oncologist pushed for a surgical biopsy, and starting talking about the possibility of going on chemotherapy.


"But this could still be nothing," he told me more than once. The one positive was, my blood work showed no tumor markers... but that wasn't a guarantee it wasn't cancer. I didn't believe him. I felt I had already used up my positive karma for the year.


I come from an extremely close family. My mother planned to come to Dallas to stay with me during the surgery, and for however long after. This posed a problem; she couldn't drive my 5-speed Pontiac, and I certainly didn't want her renting a car for what could be a months-long stay. There was probably a better, cheaper solution to that quandary, but my addled mind couldn't grasp it... so, in mid-September I called the Mazda dealership again and asked about an automatic-equipped 6.


As it happened, there were several loaded models available with automatics. The dealer was even willing to 'split the difference' for the additional cost of the auto. Fear about my medical situation, however, instilled a newfound frugality. I told my salesman I wanted only a base V6 with an automatic. No sunroof, cloth seats.


I drove off the dealership the evening of September 16 with a Pebble Ash Metallic 6S, and a sense of resignation. I looked back sadly at my still-pristine Grand Am as I left. It had been the first car I'd purchased with the exact equipment I wanted -- the only Navy Blue 5-speed SE1 to be found in the entire DFW metroplex -- versus the compromise I now owned.

But the funny thing is... this story isn't really about that.


*****


My new license plates arrived at the dealership on September 28. The dealer still owed me the delivery prep car wash -- it had been too late for the detail area to clean the car when I bought it -- so I made an afternoon of it. By that time, Blue Cross had finally approved the PET scan, for the first week in October. I was existing in a dream-like state, detached from my surroundings.


As I waited on the showroom floor for my car to come out of the service lane, one of the sales managers walked up to me. "Hey, got a second?"


We chatted a bit about the new showroom fixtures being installed at the dealership, as per Mazda dictate ("I think it's all just a way for Mazda to sell furniture," he quipped.) After a moment, he lowered his voice.


"Just so you know... I went through what you're now going through about 10 years ago," he said. It took me a second to understand what he was talking about. "TC. I had it, and had my last round of chemo right before my 35th birthday."


He told me about his experience. How he discovered he had it, and how it affected him. He told me about the "fucking asshole" urologist who had told him "he had good news and bad news"... where the good news was it was treatable. And he answered my questions... all of which were much more personal than the typical "car salesman/customer" relationship normally allows. 


He told me about his experience being on chemo... the hair loss ("I looked like Grasshopper from the Kung Fu movies"), the sickness, the smell. "And here it is 10 years later -- I got testicular cancer before it was 'cool' -- and I'm doing fine. It's never come back."


I was dazed. He didn't have to say anything; it's not a story a lot of men feel comfortable sharing with a stranger. Instead he chose to share his story, because he felt it would help me. And it did. I drove off the dealership lot that day more confident -- more heartened -- than I had felt since August 28.


Describing the experience to my friends and family later, I could only think of one phrase to capture that feeling. Though I am not particularly religious -- that was especially true at that time -- I felt that God spoke in that moment.


All because I bought a car... three weeks later than I'd planned to.


*****


By divine intervention or just sheer luck, from that day onward... things started looking up. The PET was encouraging; the lung nodule had not increased further in size, and two of the three lymph nodes had actually shrunk. A surgical biopsy October 11 confirmed it wasn't cancer; this was all due to a comparatively minor respiratory infection. Antifungals cleared it up.


It wasn't cancer. "I told you it was probably nothing," Dr. B said, grinning, at my next consultation. "By the way, did you ever get that car?"


My 'Karma Kar' just turned 40,000 miles last week, eight days shy of four years under my care. I don't plan on getting rid of it any time soon. And, so far, I'm still cancer-free today.


As you might be able to tell, I'm reluctant to say that's purely a coincidence.

Nobody

Take off your shoes, Take off yourself
Take off your rented mental health
Take off your raincoat, settle down
Take off your nightmare and your frown
There is a place for you to go
To see another ringer in a rock show
Take my pretense for a time
Cause I want to say to you...


I will pull no punches. This Christmas is going to hurt.
To cite the obvious, things are tough all over. There's not one person I know who isn't feeling at least the slightest pinch in the wallet and their livelihoods, thanks to the economic malaise gripping the country. Many of those same people -- I won't mention names, other than to say I'm one of them -- also feel their lives have gone askew, the paths to their goals no longer as straight as they once were. Or even going in the same direction.
The holiday -- Holy Day -- season isn't the time to focus on what you don't have, of course. Or, so the optimists of the world tell us. No, this is the time to be glad for what you do have. Family. Health. A roof over your head, and bread on your table.
Sometimes, that is very hard to do.


If you're not here to hear me scream
Am I silent like a dream?
Where all the dragons are my friends
Each night we meet our bitter ends
Do I need you to make me real?
Like Wheeler spinning his own wheel
Quantum strings within my brain
Popping sanities insane
And I'm nobody... without you.


This Christmas, I am blessed with a wonderful family. Blessed doesn't begin to cover it. My parents are two of my very best friends. When I was younger, I gravitated towards my Mom; when I got older, I started to understand everything I had in common with my Dad. There are very few decisions I've made, where I haven't been able to immediately see whose outlook on life influenced me more. The three of us have seen a lot, have been through hell and back and back into hell again.
For all our failings, the strengths that have been forged in those fires are what I try to focus on every day.


Not everybody has a brain
Not everybody's going sane
Not everybody wishes well
Not everybody's heaven's hell
Sometimes there's someone to blame
A place for shame
Sometimes good's better than bad
Sometimes good's better than bad
Sometimes good's better than bad
Sometimes you're better than me


I am also blessed to have some wonderful friends -- a precious few lifelong friends who are like family, as well many as wonderful people I've gotten to know through the years... at various jobs, among the aviation community, and in my current occupation. I am incredibly lucky for all these people, the love I have been shown and have given, and the experiences we've shared.


Heaven fell on herself tonight
As the devil met me in the wishing well
And in that moment I found myself knowing
That in the end it's just about you and me
Nothing smaller or larger
Though dragons are good for the soul
Nothing can be better than baring yourself for another
Open for ridicule, scrutiny, and indulgence
Therein lies the balls, and the mind, and the heart
As fear is truly the Mindkiller
When nothing is left, everything is gained
You see... I wish I was a poet
But I know as we go round and round
Though endings are never ever happy
It's the happy moments along the way
That make it OK...


When you put it like that... the occasional bumps in the road (and even deep chasms) are worth it. Merry Christmas, everybody... and may 2010 be a damn sight better for us all, while keeping the good of 2009 in our hearts.


Lyrics from "Nobody," by John Ondrasik. You may watch the video here.

Learning How To Swim

No, this is not me. 

I never learned to swim. I took lessons at the Missouri Valley, Iowa pool when I was 6 or 7, and grew just proficient enough (on a boogie board) to earn a Snap-Tite model kit of a 1979 Mazda RX-7 from my proud mother, courtesy of the local pharmacy's toy department. It was molded in color, in an odd shade of greenish-gold (not unlike the 6's "Pebble Ash Metallic" hue.) With each awkward paddle, I knew I was one step closer to that kit.

That was the extent of my formal swim training. My parents -- mostly Mom -- talked about the need for me to learn how to swim, but practical considerations always got in the way. Nineteen years later, the pool at Pacific Grove apartments in Clovis, CA offered one of the few shared happy memories for me and my soon-to-be-ex at the time, who taught me a little more about how to paddle around the pool. Near the end of it all, at least I could roughly equal the aquatic prowess of her six-year-old son. 

By that time, I was unafraid of wading into the deep end... probably because I was already so in over my head, I didn't fear drowning. 

I haven't been in a pool since; bobbing in Lake Grapevine over Labor Day 2004 -- just after moving to Dallas -- is the last time I can remember being in the water, apart from wading ankle-deep into the Pacific in Oregon, the Gulf of Mexico in Galveston and the Atlantic in St. Augustine, FL. 

I've been thinking of swimming lately... more accurately, I've been thinking of drowning. I don't think that's ominous, or even metaphorical. The feeling isn't one of fear; just of being overwhelmed. I miss writing... not for a living, though, at least not right now. 

Many have asked me about my reasons for leaving my last job; I won't expound on them here, except to say my decision wasn't nearly as personal or pointed as others have suggested (or seem hell-bent to think.) In the end, it really came down to sheer economics... and, more than a little burnout too. But that's in the past, and that's where it will stay.

I admit, though, there have been times I've missed writing. (I hesitate to call what I did "reporting" -- features aside, the nuts-and-bolts of the daily gig involved gathering news items from a number of outlets, and regurgitating key facts aimed to an aviation audience. I refer to it then and now as "news aggregation," with a dash of personal flair incorporated whenever possible.) 

When I left my former job, I reassured myself the combination of a relatively-structured, 40-hours-per-week office schedule with weekends off would allow me time to sit at my computer, and organize the many story ideas floating around in my head into words on the pixilated page. That was two months and 11 days ago... so far, nada. Hell, I haven't even posted anything meaningful on the blog I spend $4.50 a month to maintain! 

I fear I've forgotten how to "write," the way I used to. And, as a result, I feel like I'm "drowning" in ideas... good ideas I think... that I can't for the life of me put into printed prose. 

I know I'll "get it" eventually; at least I hope so. For the moment, I'll allow myself some comfort in these words, given to me by a wonderful friend and the first person I shared these concerns with. She "gets me" the way few do... and if this doesn't say it all, nothing does:

"I just got done reading your blog, and I've got to say, I LOVED it. Don't tell me you can't write comedy again. You've just got to have one of those "breaking out of the gates" moments again - and that will take one simple thing. Actually being able to write for yourself, about a subject of your choosing. It's going to take some time to retrain your brain that sitting down at a computer is a fun release... So don't be discouraged if that wit and that fast-paced writing isn't coming to you yet. Hell, you can't even walk in your door without thinking you have to check the computer! It's going to be a little while longer before you can re-train your brain to think, "Hey, that's a fun toy for which I should express myself." 

Point taken. So, for now... I think I'll try paddling towards earning that toy once again. And we'll see what happens.

Anyway, About That Dream Job...

So, what's happened in your life in the past six months? A lot has happened in mine, some things better than others but overall most all of it a positive move. Most recently, I've left the world of aviation reporting at Aero-News to return to the cubicle life, at a "desk job" here in Albuquerque. The lure of benefits and better pay proved more powerful in the end than airshows and demo flights... especially in this economy.

A side benefit of this process -- procedure? -- is that I hope to have time to do some personal writing again. For the past several months, I put what creative reserves I had into ANN... and it will be nice to do some creating for my own edification again.

More to come!

Cross-Controlled

I'm flying an airplane... not sure what type, it doesn't really matter. All I know is that I must land soon, and there's an airport straight ahead... though it's far from my position, just barely visible. Complicating matters is a fierce wind blowing -- stronger than I've ever flown in -- that's pushing me off course, forcing me to crab steeply into the wind to maintain my progress towards the runway.

As my airplane approaches the airport, I know I need to compensate for the wind. I bank the plane's wing into the wind -- it's blowing from the right, which for some reason I know is west in my dream, so I'm on a southerly heading -- and I use opposite (left) rudder to keep the plane's nose centered towards the runway.

This is a sideslip; all fixed wing pilots must know how to perform them before they solo, and most do it by instinct with enough practice landing in crosswinds.

I finally perfected slips during my time in the Gobosh earlier this year. I also became fairly comfortable with forward slips -- which use the same technique as a sideslip but less opposite rudder, to present a larger surface area against the wind. This serves to steepen the descent... a useful tactic when you're high on final, or need to clear a treeline and then land near the end of a short runway.

I'm on the correct glide path; no forward slip needed. I'm not sure whether that's relevant, just as I don't know why I know I'm landing to the south. I'm also keeping an eye on my airspeed; I know I need to stay flying fast enough to avoid an aerodynamic stall.

When flying in a slip, the airplane is cross-controlled. In normal (coordinated) flight, you bank into a turn with aileron input, and use the rudder to swing the plane's nose in the direction you're turning. When you're cross-controlled, though, you're applying opposite inputs -- left aileron, right rudder. You're essentially telling the airplane to fly in two different ways... a very useful skill, as long as you know what you're doing and you're flying at the proper airspeed.

Things are going fine on my imaginary approach... until I'm about a half-mile from the runway. I sense my "plane" starting to slow down. I apply more throttle, but I no longer have an engine; suddenly, I'm in a sailplane.

I fight the urge to raise the nose, which would only serve to lower my airspeed further and accelerate the stall I know is inevitable. Instead, I lower the nose to keep my speed up... but it seems like my plane is now flying in molasses, and the speed continues to plummet faster than I can compensate.

I feel the stall come on before I hear the warning horn. My plane falls out from under me... and since I still have control inputs for the slip in, the plane stalls in an uncoordinated, cross-controlled state. The wing whips over in a wide arc, flipping my plane over and sending me to my doom in a hopeless spiral.

Most everyone who reads this knows about the opportunity I recently passed up. They also know why I turned it down... and why I know that deep down I made the right decision. Or, "the wrong decision for the right reasons," as one of my close friends put it.

I'm not lamenting my decision. I am still trying to come to terms with it. For the past few weeks, I managed to do this by staying busy... keeping my speed up, as it were. Lots of things to do, preparations to make, no time to pause and consider What Might Have Been. This carried me through my recent trip to Orlando.

I've been home for a week now... and I've slowed down. For now, I'm keeping my speed in the white arc, safe from stalling... but I can sense the spiral coming on if I slow down much further.
Funny thing is... I've hardly given any thought to my cancer check-up next week.

Hummingbird Action Response Team, Go!

I awaken with a start. 5:45 am. I look bleary-eyed at my clock radio, which turned on at 5:30 am. The low tones of a morning news program on KKOB are coming from the speakers.

Did the radio wake me up, I wonder? No, it never does that... that duty is reserved for my cell phone alarm, which is set for an hour later. I lay quietly for the next few minutes, but though I feel tired, I know that I won't be able to fall back to sleep right away. Might as well get up.


I stumble out into the living room, and absentmindedly walk to the kitchen and the coffee maker. No, I decide, no coffee yet. You're cruising on four hours sleep -- you shouldn't have stayed up watching "The Daily Show's" take on McCain's convention speech -- and you'll probably want to go back to sleep within the hour.


It's a little stuffy in the apartment, so I open the door to the balcony... and that's when I see it. My hummingbird feeder is in two pieces... the glass bottle still hanging from its cap under the overhang, but the lightweight plastic base and its "flower" petals are lying on the deck, framed by a pool of sugar water.


What the..? I recover the broken pieces and unscrew the bottle from the hanger. The plastic attachment to the base is still screwed onto the bottom of the bottle; I try to fit the base back over its retainer ring, but it's loose and I know it would just fall again if I tried to jimmy it on there.


I must have heard it fall, I think. That's what woke me up. It was still in one piece last night... and besides, the pool of sugar water at my feet hadn't had time to completely evaporate, or even soak into the concrete.


One of the three black chin hummingbirds that frequent my feeder buzzes above the tree just off my balcony, looking at me as I hold its food source dumbly. "OK, what did you do?" I ask it. The bird remains nonplussed, hovering over the tree, probably wondering the same thing of me.


I carry the feeder remnants inside, and soon it becomes clear I won't be able to fix it. I refilled the feeder just yesterday, and had included my normal routine of soaking the pieces in hot water to clean them before refilling it. It appears the water may have been too hot; the base seems to have expanded just a hair bigger than the solid retainer ring. Nothing short of glue will fix it, and that would probably be only a short-term solution at best.


I look at the clock again. 5:55 am. I think of the hummingbird staring at me. Other people in my complex must have feeders, too... and, you know, there are also real flowers around. It's not like the little buggers would starve without my feeder for the day.


Then again, I sigh, there's a 24-hour Wal-Mart within a mile of the apartment, and it has a garden department.


So I throw on a t-shirt and jean shorts, toss my Gobosh cap over my messed-up hair, and have the presence of mind to recover my wallet before I stumble (lots of stumbling this morning) out the door and down the stairs to the car.

Mine is one of only a handful of cars on the road -- Albuquerque is still a sleepy town at 6 am on a weekend, unlike Dallas -- and it's a short trip to the Wal-Mart parking lot. Only a few other customers are inside the mammoth store; of course the only open exit door is the one on the opposite side from the garden department.


Will they even have feeders? It's not the season for them. Fortunately, there are two feeders identical to my old one on the shelf, looking like afterthoughts next to the winter stock of finch houses. I grab one and head back for the registers.


I go to the only "20 Items Or Less" checkout open. The woman ahead of me has a full shopping cart. To occupy my time, I conduct a quick mental count. 37 items. This irks me.


Then again, if you'd been more careful in cleaning the feeder, you wouldn't have to BE here at 6:10 am on a Saturday morning, Rob...


The checker gives me an odd look as I hand her my sole item to purchase. "Mine broke this morning," I explain.


She raises her eyebrow. "You know the hummingbirds are leaving in another month or so, right?" she asks.


That thought had occurred to me, too. "Yeah, I know... but what would they eat for that month?" I ask, allowing a slight trace of my you're an idiot tone into my voice, though I maintain my smile.


I admit; I feel protective of "my" little hummingbirds. Borderline paternal. I have no other pets... well, Abby of course, but she's my parents' dog and doesn't live with me. I adore the little buggers. They each have their own personalities, and even though they're wild creatures they also show little fear of me. One of the females, in particular, makes it a point of buzzing over to me every time I'm sitting outside on the balcony working, and hovers just out of reach... but she stays there for seconds at a time, watching.

This is why I'm in a Wal-Mart at 6:15 am to buy an $8 feeder. I sense the checker is someone who would never understand that; then again, few in Albuquerque probably know about hummingbird migratory patterns, so who knows. I give her the benefit of the doubt.

After pausing to consider a run to Starbucks -- no, Rob, you have coffee at home --

I fill the new feeder, and tug on the base to make sure it's secure. Outside I flip the assembly over, and screw the new feeder into the top of the old one, still hanging from the overhang.

It's all worth it less than 20 seconds after I close the door, when I see "my" female black chin buzz over and start drinking. The lone male soon joins her, and within another five seconds the second, smaller female. All three spend about 30 seconds at the feeder; they were apparently hungry.


I chuckle as I change out of my clothes and stumble (one last time) back into my bed. Sure enough, I'm tired now, and I know I'll be able to fall asleep soon.


But before that happens, a thought occurs to me. Between your closed bedroom door, the radio and the low whir of the ceiling fan... Rob, there's no way you could have heard that feeder fall.