I'm sitting in the front yard catching some rays on a glorious deep, blue, sunny sky day.
I prefer my cancer tanned.
I think it just looks better and Sarah Elliott and I always enjoy it when the people at the Mayo Clinic admirably say to us, "Nice tan."
Come to think of it, we haven't seen a lot of people with tans at Mayo.
Perhaps that's why I never see anyone wearing flip-flops in the Chemo shot waiting room except for us.
Anyway, I'm sitting there, high on life, when a car passes, slows, stops, backs up, parks and a friend I haven't seen in a year climbs out and sits beside me for a visit.
"You look good," he starts.
I roll my eyes.
"But man I gotta tell you something!"
"Oh yeah?"
"I don't know what it is about you and cancer but your hair is even thicker and longer than last time I saw you."
It's hard not to feel good when you hear things like this regardless of how you really feel.
"Awe, thanks Marty!"
He leaves and I continue basking in the holy glow of sunbeams baptizing me, humming an old song from when I was a kid.
Oh say can you see my eyes
if you can
well, then, my hairs too short
