Good morning and welcome to Monday. This isn’t just any Monday—it’s the beginning of The Masters. Cue the music of chirping birds, the slow pans of azaleas in full bloom, and the seven-foot bronze statue of Arnold Palmer.
Exactly a year ago today, we were walking the hallowed grounds of Augusta National for a Monday practice round. I know, I know—it was just a practice round. But saying that out loud feels like calling a diamond “just a rock.
Sunday Reflections Good morning, friends. It’s Sunday again, and I find myself sitting in my usual spot by the fireplace (my church), with a swirl of emotions—some heavy, some light, all very real.
Cindy mentioned the idea of turning this blog into a book. It caught me off guard, in a good way. A book? I’ve poured my raw thoughts into 226 entries since August, trying to make sense of this shitty diagnosis (credit to my sister Lis for that wording).
Good morning!
Yesterday’s “Gender 2” license plate survey took an unexpected turn. On the surface, it looked like responses were evenly split—but there’s a catch. SurveyMonkey only shows 14 out of the 25 responses unless I upgrade to a $300/year plan. For a one-time plate poll? Hard pass. Sorry folks, no big reveal today. The mystery lives on, still I’ll post partial results. See attached photo.
That whole plate survey got me thinking—maybe I can help Illinois with their budget woes by throwing a little cash at the vanity plate fund.
Good morning and welcome to the weekend!
First, a big thank you to everyone who caught my mistake about The Masters weekend. For weeks, I had it locked in my head that it was this weekend, and never once did I think to double-check. Classic move. The good news? My weekend just opened up. The bad news? I no longer have a valid excuse to put off doing the last of family taxes (including my own).
Good morning family, friends, and curious readers.
I have to smile and shake my head at some of the comments I get from friends who are reading this blog. The latest one made me wonder, “Where did Andy go? Who’s ghostwriting this thing?” Here’s part of a comment I got yesterday:
“I just think it’s funny how you can take a mundane task like dealing with Comcast, leave a cliffhanger, and somehow make us all desperate to know the ending.
Good morning, everyone!
These days are flying by. I swear I was just here five minutes ago saying hi. Where do they all go?
Yesterday was a marathon—taxes in Huntley in the morning, a pulmonary appointment in Evanston at 2:00, with a pit stop in Crystal Lake to pick up Cindy. I think my ALS appointments are secretly being scheduled far from home so I’ll tire of driving—each one is at least an hour away.
Good morning, another Tuesday of taxes.
April Fools’ and the Comcast Circus
April Fools’ Day is here, and while the temptation to pull a tax-themed prank on the seniors is strong, I decide against it. Humor is good, but scaring people about the IRS feels like a bad idea. I’ll have to come up with something a little lighter.
Over the weekend, a neighbor stumbled upon a hidden Comcast utility box in our HOA common area.
Good morning, and welcome to Monday—the last day of March.
I spend a lot of time staring at the calendar, counting the days since my diagnosis and looking ahead to the future. I’m trying to plan for what ALS will take from me so we can be as prepared as possible. The bathroom remodel and stair access are behind us (almost, anyway), so now we move on to the next set of challenges.
Good morning!!
Yesterday was a full one (not that it takes much for me these days)—keeping up with the kids while Brandon, our trusty carpenter, spent the day installing the new handrails on the staircase.
Back in late October, after our first ALS clinic visit, we did a video tour of our home with Peggy, the care coordinator from ALS United—our angel for all things ALS. During the tour, we had to go upstairs.
Good morning, all.
Wow! Yesterday was a beautiful day in Crystal Lake. It’s nice to get these little teasers of summer—it reminds us that if we don’t get our act together now, summer will show up unannounced, and we’ll be left scrambling.
I’ve got plenty of loose ends to tie up. The whole e-bike situation, for example, is giving me a headache. I feel like I’m fishing for an answer but keep I keep coming up empty, instead of making a clear decision.
Good morning to my friends, family, and others joining today.
More tax stories, boneheaded decisions (by me), and a couple of beers.
The long days of preparing taxes feel like a marathon. I must get up and down from my chair at least 20 times a day, whether to greet clients or (figuratively) run to the printer for tax documents. I’m sure the mental aspect of it contributes to the fatigue as well.
Good morning, everyone.
It’s another weekday that begins with a “T,” so it must be a tax day. Somehow, I think you’re as tired of this day as I am. I’ve certainly talked about it too much. It’s been a great year, and I’m so happy to be doing tax preparation, but I feel guilty telling people I’ll see them next year when I know that’s not true. Sure, it’s only a white lie, but it’s still a lie.
Good morning! Boy oh boy, this tax stuff is wearing me out. Every evening, I get home, collapse onto the couch, and stay there like I’ve just run a marathon—except my only exercise has been dodging cranky clients all day. We’re down to four sessions left, and this is the point where people start getting, let’s say, testy. We’ve been booked out for weeks, yet some folks waltz in like VIPs, demanding we squeeze them in.
Good morning, friends and family!
Life keeps moving forward, and I’m doing my best to keep pace. I’ve been buried in tax paperwork longer than I probably should be, but at least I know the finish line is near. Looking back at last year, it was the month of May before I even picked up my first book of 2024. Reading has been my escape—an adventure that can take me anywhere in the world.
Good morning! A new week begins, and with it, more progress—and setbacks—on the never-ending bathroom project. The towel bars are finally installed, so I can at least hang a towel like a civilized person. But the stair railing? Too short. We needed 16 feet and got 14. I thought maybe we could make it work, but the carpenter insists on doing it right. I appreciate his concern for safety, but if we don’t get something installed soon, my early-morning, half-asleep descent might turn into an unplanned trip to the floor.
Good morning, all!
As I typed the number of days since my diagnosis—222—it reminded me of the TV show Room 222 from the late ‘60s into the ‘70s. It was a comedy-drama set at Walt Whitman, a fictitious high school, in Los Angeles and tackled many of the same issues we still face today—racial integration, the early LGBTQ movement, women’s rights, politics, war, and other controversial topics.
I was in sixth grade when the show debuted, on my way to seventh grade at Jack Benny Junior High.
Good morning, and welcome to the weekend!
Friday Recap: A Busy Day That Wore Me Out
Physical Therapy (PT) I have a new PT—Diane. Maggie, who is eight months pregnant, had to pass me over to another therapist just in case she delivers early. Maggie is all smiles, all positivity, and wants her clients to enjoy therapy. Makes sense—you want people to actually follow instructions between sessions.
Diane, on the other hand, is direct and to the point.
Good morning!! ☀️
Yesterday’s post sparked some responses, so I wanted to add a few more details to complete the Chile earthquake story.
After the longest three minutes of terror in my life, everyone stayed outside, bracing for the aftershocks. I connected with two of my coworkers, but the third was nowhere to be seen. We waited over an hour, and he never came out. Not knowing if there was any internal damage to the hotel, we feared the worst—that one of the floors had collapsed and he was pancake trapped or worse.
Good morning, everyone!
Just over 15 years ago, on January 10, 2010, a devastating 7.0 earthquake struck Haiti, lasting a mere 30 seconds but causing unimaginable destruction. I still remember watching the footage—entire buildings collapsing, people trapped between layers of concrete like a collapsed stack of pancakes. By the time the final count was in, around 250,000 lives had been lost. It was terrifying to see the rescue teams working against the clock and the relentless aftershocks, desperately trying to pull survivors from the rubble.