Good for another six months...

This story begins more than two years ago as I'm driving down Route 93 returning from a conference in New Hampshire.

My cell phone rang and it was my doctor wanting to review the results from my annual physical.

She rattled off a number of tests that she was very pleased with. She also mentioned one test, whose initials I didn't recognize, as concerning.

Dr C. said my PSA number was a smidge high and tasked me with seeing a urologist during the next three months for follow up. She instructed me to call her office in the next few days to get names and phone numbers for doctors she was recommending. I agreed to do so.

Perhaps because of  my total lack of concern or questions, she then added "you know, sweetie, [she says that when she has uncomfortable news] I'm not saying you have cancer."

WHOA!

I could have driven off the road, except I was passing TD Garden and the Bruins were playing that night.

Then I did have questions and vowed to call her office the next day for those names and phone numbers.

PSA is an acronym for Prostate Specific Antigen, something she had been tracking for years. My results were just over 4 and considered suspicious.

I scheduled an appointment with one of  Dr. C's recommended urologists within 10 days of her call. Over the next two months, I had an ultrasound of my prostate, which actually isn't as bad as it sounds, and a biopsy, which resulted in my being hospitalized for a week when I developed a blood infection.

[I should have listened to my "sainted" mother-in-law, who advised me not to have a biopsy after she saw a program on PBS that counseled against it. Lesson learned.]

The testing identified some irregular cells. But thankfully, they weren't cancerous.

We've been doing follow up on a regular basis including an MRI, instead of a biopsy. While my PSA number continues to inch up, I'm still in the clear. I saw the urologist just a few days ago and my next appointment is in June 2019 for another ultrasound.

While the PSA number does not confirm cancer, it can indicate that something's up. Prostrate cancer in men is common as we get older. It can also be easily addressed. I have been surprised by the number of friends and acquaintances, who have successfully and quietly dealt with it. No big deal.

I'm not going to get all preachy here. I just want to encourage those of you reading this -- especially those who are over 50 -- to be sure you're tested.

Gulf War hero General Norman Schwarkopf, who was successfully treated in 1993, said that prostate cancer can be a "temporary inconvenience," when discovered early.

Which is a heck of a lot better than the alternative.

Patience

There's no debating the fact that things are little testy these days.

The old adage that you don't talk about politics or religion in social situations has never been more true. You can also add sports and the weather to that list.

No more just being sure to avoid your Uncle Harry or cousin Sue at the family cookout because you don't want "to get them going." You can pretty much extend that caution to everybody at the party.

We just don't understand anymore where people's hot buttons are. The reasons why we find ourselves in this situation can be a debate unto itself.

I personally look at technology and the inability of many to use it responsibility.

Twitter has allowed those, who not that long ago would walk away muttering in disagreement after a conversation, to now broadcast their frustrations for all to read.

It's given bullies -- never the bravest people in the world -- the opportunity to attack or shame others without having to deal with the consequences.

The media is at fault, too.  The obsession with being first and not necessarily right has led to misinformation and needless controversy. Let's face it, hardly anyone reads the corrected story, so the error takes on a life of its own as truth.

Fr. James Martin, SJ is a noted author and journalist. He's been making headlines recently because of his writings about how the Catholic Church should do more to reach out to the LBGT community. As a result, he's also experienced his share of social media attacks from alleged "Christians" because of his position.

Many of us are familiar with the Serenity Prayer. Fr. Martin has penned a version that is useful for our times.

The New Serenity Prayer

By: Fr. James Martin, SJ

God, grant me the serenity to accept the people I cannot change, which is pretty much everyone, since I'm clearly not you, God.

At least not the last time I checked.

And while you're at it, God, please give me the courage to change what I need about myself, which is frankly a lot, since, once again, I'm not you, which means I'm not perfect.

It's better for me to focus on changing myself than to worry about changing other people, who, as you'll no doubt remember me saying, I can't change anyway.

Finally, give me the wisdom to shut up whenever I think I'm clearly smarter than everyone else in the room, that no one knows what they're talking about except me, or that I alone should have all the answers.

Basically, God, grant me the wisdom to remember that I'm not you.

Amen.

Keep it in mind the next time Uncle Harry wants to talk about climate change.

Football in Heaven

It's officially underway. Football season when perfectly sane people lose their minds every weekend over the fate of their favorite team.

The final result isn't the end of the world, but for many fans you would think so. 

Around here, we're lucky to have the Patriots, a more than successful team that is beloved in New England, but not so much elsewhere. They remind me of the Oakland Raiders, which was the team you loved to hate when I was growing up.

The younger fans among us don't remember the carnival years that preceded the Pats successful run. Our friend, Jerry Thornton has written a best seller about that era which I highly recommend. It's called From Darkness to Dynasty and is available on Amazon and elsewhere. His new book continues the story and is called Five Rings.

As I've gotten older, I've become a bigger fan of college football. It started with the Boston College Eagles. My younger brothers attended BC and my kid brother became a huge BC sports nut.  He and my Dad had season's tickets to football, basketball and hockey, even after Eric graduated. 

We started attending football games with them and soon had season tickets ourselves. The highlights were the years Matt Ryan quarterbacked the team. In 2007, BC was ranked as high as Number 2 in the country and in December  played in the ACC Championship Game in Jacksonville against Virgina Tech. (BC lost 30 - 16.) 

My Dad was in remission from bladder cancer and joined Eric and me on the trip. I wish I had a better copy of the picture of the two of us. It was taken at Jacksonville Beach and is the last photo of just me and my Dad. He passed away the following August.

As he was facing his final days, he wondered aloud if there was "football in heaven."  We assured him that there was.

Dad and Doug Flutie
April  2008

But what would it be like? Do they have their own heavenly leagues? Just think about some of the players and coaches, who could be involved. Talk about fantasy teams!

Or do Heaven's residents gather around a celestial wide screen TV on Sunday afternoons and watch the NFL on CBS?

Are they already aware of the final score or does the One who knows all keep it a secret?

No matter. I'm convinced that somehow my Dad has managed over the last decade to follow the success of  his favorite teams.

If not, I'm sure my Mom - who enjoyed attending a game as much as anyone -  has brought him up-to-date.

As Luke Scott, who played baseball for the Orioles, Astros and Rays, put it: "I believe God created sports for a good reason. It's recreation. It's something that we enjoy. It teaches us a lot as well...I believe God is a sports fan."

Amen to that.

Keep Tahoe Blue

One of our favorite vacation spots is Lake Tahoe. We "discovered" it several years ago when I was working for a company that had an office in Reno.

Tahoe borders California and Nevada. The line of demarcation is more or less the casinos.

We stay on the California side at a hotel with a beach right on the Lake. The water is cold, but refreshing, as the cliche goes.

It's also clear as the Caribbean. Hence, the rallying cry to "Keep Tahoe Blue."  (www.keeptahoeblue.org)

When were there earlier this month, the Sierra Nevada Mountains were obscured sometimes by smoke from the devastating wildfires.

But the scenery is so spectacular that even an amateur photographer like me can look like a pro.

Tourists

A few Friday nights ago we were invited to a colleague's home for the first cook out of the season. (At least for us.)

Hamburgers and hot dogs are a real treat in late June and early July. But, by August an invitation to "stop by and we'll throw some burgers on the grille" doesn't generate quite the same anticipation.

Almost everyone in the group that night was somehow connected to the real estate business, either as a long time and successful practitioner or a family member.

As the fireflies appeared, the conversation turned philosophical.

Sandy footprints

There were many threads, but one that I found myself in the midst of was how, as real estate agents, we're supposed to promote to our clients the virtues of living on Cape Cod. The weather; the beaches; the sunrises and sunsets; the restaurants; the history, the summer theatre.

But, like a lot of people who work full time and live on Cape, we're so busy with the day-to-day that we ourselves don't enjoy living here as much as we should. How can we effectively talk about the quality of life on the Cape, the conversation went, if we don't partake of it?

With the exception of restaurants. If you want a review of a particular spot, ask a realtor.  Chances are we've eaten there. Or know a colleague who just did.

I include myself in the "we" very loosely. I've had my real estate license a relatively short time compared to the folks who were sitting around the table that night. I'm working for my wife this summer, but in September will be returning full time to the college classroom and back to primarily weekend open houses and managing our social media/marketing efforts.

But I do know from Mari's 19 years in the business that the job follows you. When our daughter was young, we tried stay-cations. Why drive a few hundred miles and rent a place when you live 10 minutes from a beach that thousands flock to on their vacations? But when an issue would come up at the office, the temptation to run in for "just a few minutes" was sometimes too strong.

I've been commuting off Cape for 24 years to jobs near and far. Mostly far. I spent many years working for utility companies as their media contact. Outages would demand my attention no matter the hour or the day or whether I was on vacation or not.

We finally abandoned stay-cations and began going on cruises.

Over the years, many of my colleagues would assume that my day-to-day life was pretty much like their vacations and seemed genuinely disappointed to learn that my weekend schedule was pretty much the same as theirs...errands, church, taking my daughter and now my granddaughter to practices, etc., etc. The beach, for example, was very rarely at the top of my to do list.

I did succeed for a year or so going to the beach with Mariana on Saturday mornings after a stop at Dunkin' Donuts. But now that she's older, beach time has been replaced with cheerleading practice. We still stop at Dunks, though. Some habits you can't quit.

That conversation a few Fridays ago ended with some vague commitments about getting the group together in the coming weeks for supper on the beach and sunset watching.

A Cape Cod sunset

But it got me thinking about the thrill I used to feel coming on Cape to vacation with my parents and later with my own family. The salt air; the ice cream shops;  the dewy sunrises and often breath taking sunsets.

It made me long to be just a tourist again.

Elly and Barbara

Back in April, I was watching news coverage of the passing of former First Lady Barbara Bush when my six year old granddaughter came downstairs.

She was curious about Mrs. Bush when her photo came on the screen.

After explaining who she was, Mariana said "Oh, she looks just like Nana."

Elly Sennott

I told my Mother about Mariana's comment the next time I saw her. She smiled and said that back when the Bushes were in office, people did say that she looked like the First Lady, because of her perfectly coiffed white hair and penchant for wearing pearls. Mom added that folks also said that my Dad sort of looked like the President, because of his thinning brown hair and the gold wire rim glasses that they both wore.

Mrs. Bush -- who was often quoted after she died as saying: "at the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, not winning one more verdict or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a friend, a children, or a parent" -- clearly left this life on her own terms declining further treatment and speaking to friends on the phone the night before she passed.

I've been thinking of Mrs. Bush as I try to process the passing of my Mother, who died last week at the age of 90. She was a devoted wife, mother, grandmother and great grandmother, who placed family first. Mom seemed to be the happiest at a family event, whether a holiday or random gathering.

She had been in failing health for the last few months. Less interested in talking on the phone. Sleeping more. Losing her appetite. Needing additional medication.

Barbara Bush

But in the end -- like Mrs. Bush -- I believe she decided that it was her time. A staunch Irish Catholic, she asked to see a priest. Her best friend of 50 plus years visited the same day. Less than 48 hours later, she left us.

I'm sure she was pleased and proud that her four great grandchildren -- the oldest is 10 -- were at her wake and brought up the gifts at her funeral Mass.

She's now reunited with my Dad at the National Cemetery in Bourne after being apart for almost 10 years. While she misses all of us, I'm sure she's very happy to see him again.

Now the tough part comes. Who am I going to brag to about Mari's latest real estate success; Meg's most recent promotion, and the funny thing Mariana just said? No matter how old a boy is, sometimes he just needs to talk to his Mother. Who cares enough now to listen?

It's all part of growing up, I know. I was lucky to have my Mother for as long as I did.

At the gathering following the committal service, a friend joked with me that as the oldest of three sons, I was now the "patriarch" of the family.

I'm not ready for that.

Old Blue Eyes

For those of us who grew up musically in the late 60s and 70s, Frank Sinatra was the bane of our existence.

Now that we’re older, it’s funny how many of us have become fans of Old Blue Eyes and have a favorite song or two from his massive recording catalog.

I’ve been thinking lately about the opening lyrics to one of my favorites, “September Song.”

"Oh, it’s a long, long while from May to December.
But the days grow short when you reach September"

I guess that turning 65 – as I will later this month – is equivalent to September. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I’m certainly glad to be bringing the curtain down on 64. Health issues – none of which turned out to be serious – and professional disappointment, courtesy of returning from vacation to find that I had been reorganized out of a job that I was successful in and hoped to stay at for the next few years, were among the low lights of the last 12 months.

On the plus side, I’m grateful to the colleges where I teach for giving me the opportunity to live a life long dream and return to education as a professor. I’m still learning the real estate business and excited about what I might be able to accomplish during summer break.

Nonetheless, I’m struggling a bit with turning 65 and the impressions I had when I was younger about what it would be like.

My grandfathers were 65 and I thought they were really old. I’m a grandfather now and hope that Mariana doesn’t see me the same way. When I look in the mirror, I see someone who’s 42. I still listen to cool music and haven’t joined the Republican Party, either.

But, I don’t hear as well as I used to; my hands shake on occasion, and the line of pills that I need to take every morning is getting longer.

And I definitely can't wrap my head around the fact that I started Medicare on April 1.

But, overall I’m lucky and for that I’m very grateful.

So the question is how do I live my September through December?

I won’t spend it crossing days off the calendar based on some perceived family time clock. I didn’t know it at the time, but my Dad spent his 65^th year concerned about his fate, since his Father passed away suddenly at that age. Sadly, my only memory of Grampa Harry is his telling me to be a good boy and go get my Mother as he was being stricken.

One of the many traits I inherited from my Dad is that retirement is not part of my DNA. So, I know that I’ll continue to work as long as I can. Dad was still a full time employee at MIT when he passed at 78. (Mom is 90.) Fortunately, I’ve transitioned to two careers where age discrimination is not an issue.

I was never a David Cassidy fan and certainly would not consider him one of the great minds of our time, or any other. But his final words, as reported by his daughter, are ones I’m going to keep in mind:

"So much wasted time."

In the years ahead, I hope to never end a day thinking about time misspent. Opportunities lost. Moments that should have been lived better. I’m going to look for the joy in life, not things to get angry or upset about.

As Old Blue Eyes crooned, these days are “precious.”