April 1, 2007
Still quite weak. Tried to go out and feed the chickens and I felt like I had run the New York Marathon.

Brad and Betty Radina came out for lunch today. Or, I should say, they brought me lunch. Most food I've eaten since the heart attack. I've lost about 25 pounds, but I wouldn't recommend the method I used to accomplish it.

Just got off the phone with Dan Harshberger. We're wrestling with the next cover. He asked me if I should be doing this so early and wouldn't Kathy be upset? I told him in the hospital, everyone called Kathy "The Rock." She slept on the chair next to my bed every night and when anyone came in to do anything she wanted to know why. As they are fond of saying in Falujah, she had my back.

Dan reminded me I'm a lucky guy having Kathy and I agreed, but also given all the help I got at the Elks, and from the paramedics, doctors and friends. One of the most valuable allies in all of this has been Jim Kornberg, who writes "Frontier Doc" for True West. He lives in Colorado and Kathy has been on the phone with him daily going over meds, pulmonary experts in Phoenix he recommends. Believe me, I do feel blessed.

One of the blessings of being housebound is being able to read a whole bunch of magazines I haven't had time to even look at. Here's Jack Handey on, "How I Want To Be Remembered:"

"We are gathered here, way far in the future, for the funeral of Jack Handey, the world's oldest man. He died suddenly in bed, according to his wife, Miss France.

"He passed away after a long, courageous battle with honky-tonkin' and alley catin'.

"Even though Jack was incredibly old, he was amazingly healthy right up to the end. He attributed this to performing his funny cowboy dance for friends, relatives, and people waiting for buses."

And this brings us to my Wipeout Meets The Gator at the Elks Club on Saturday afternoon, March 22. I instinctively knew I should just play my part of Wipeout (we had two other excellent drummers, Larry Archer and Ken Kingman). All I had to do was
lay down that para diddle for six beats and hand off. But no, I had to start playing on the wall, the floor and then, tragically, I went into the Gator (see Jack Handy dance above). I overextended my abilities by about 20 years. But thankfully, even if I had checked out that day I probably wouldn't have had this as part of my obituary:

"Children loved him, but not in the way his teen-age neice claimed."
—Jack Handey, in The New Yorker