No clever titles today.

"Kids-

I am sorry to have to tell you that cousin Lucy was diagnosed with a form of lymphatic cancer known as Hodgkins disease this past week. After suffering from a fever and cough for over a week, a chest x ray was done and it revealed a golf ball sized tumor near the lung which was biopsied and discovered to be cancer.

At age 13, this is a very great surprise to everyone, and except for the symptoms described above, Lucy feels fine. Unfortunately, she will have to endure a difficult period of chemo-therapy which will consist of 8 days of chemo and two weeks off for four cycles for a period of three months. This is likely to make her quite miserable, cause her to loose her hair and suffer more than anyone should have to at 13. However, the good news is that her chances of full recovery are very very good and, while it will be very difficult for her, she will be likely to have a full recovery.

Aunt Lynne says Lucy has a very positive attitude and is feeling that this is an outrage (pure Lucy!!). I am glad she has the support of a great family and I just wanted you to be aware of the situation. Eventually, you might want to come up with some goofy gift to send her (or a great book) as a "hang in there" get well gift. Keep your eyes out--but, I think just sit tight for now until the treatments commence. I'll keep you posted on the situation.

Meanwhile, please consider your own health. We can't appreciate how precious good health is until the prospect of losing it looms.

Love, love, love--

MA"

I remember when Lucy didn't exist. She is loud and reambunctious and exhaustingly excited about life.

I don't know what I want to say. I wish I had something poignant. I wish I had an idea of what I can give her. Maybe the best gift is simply to go on being audacious and stupid so that Lucy has something to laugh at. Maybe I'll transmute it from something ugly and frightening to something ugly and ridiculous.

Or maybe I'll just sit here in shock for a while, turning to better men than I for perspective. And yes, Liebling, I think we both know that I meant to refer to myself indirectly as a man. After all, the Monty wants so much to be one of the boys; boys don't cry and don't beat their breasts.

if we take what we can see --

the engines driving us mad,

lovers finally hating;

this fish in the market

staring upward into our minds;

flowers rotting, flies web-caught;

riots, roars of caged lions,

clowns in love with dollar bills,

nation moving people like pawns;

daylight thieves with beautiful

nighttime wives and wines;

the crowded jails,

the commonplace unemployed,

dying grass, 2-bit fires;

men old enough to love the grave.

These things, and others, in context

show life swinging on a rotten axis.

But they've left us a bit of music

and a spiked show in the corner,

a jigger of scotch, a blue necktie,

a small volume of poems by Rimbaud,

a horse running as if the devil were

twisting his tail

over bluegrass and screaming, and then,

love again,

like a streetcar turning the corner

on time,

the city waiting,

the wine and the flowers,

the water walking across the lake

the summer and winter and summer and summer

and winter again.

Charles Bukowski
from mockingbird wish me luck