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Here I am. Eleven of twelve sessions nearly complete. I say "nearly" because they aren't truly done until the poisons are washed from my body. That doesn't happen on day three, when the nasty pump comes off. It happens over the remainder of day three and completely through day four...usually a Thursday. My Rotary-mates find it difficult to understand how I fail to attend our Thursday luncheons. People at work think Thursday is an odd day to take off, as they prefer Mondays and Fridays. All I know is that I want them over. Only one more bad Thursday in the summer...and it will come in two weeks when my final session completes.

Meanwhile, the intervening weeks, when no chemotherapy is scheduled, are a godsend. I'm able to visit with friends, travel, share good times with the people who care so much about me. Some of the Fubarian brotherhood and I gathered this past weekend for a tournament in Baker City, OR. Sharing concerns that we each have, though different in content, always brings us closer together. Knowing that we will pull the same stunts on a golf course that we've enjoyed for nearly 30 years will bring a laugh, no matter how old the gag. Wondering what magical shot we'll pull off next, in the midst of the Coors Light and the laughter--that's the best part. Three hours of kicking ourselves around, surrounding the minutes that make it all worthwhile. Usually a quarter of the time...so something like an hour of magic that is very difficult to describe to anyone else. Shots that come from nowhere, that sometimes rain down on the people ahead...that sometimes fool even the guy with the club in his hands.

But it isn't just the magical shotmaking. It is the way we can share with each other. Little catch up is required, we've known each other for 40 years or more. No apologies are required, we all know we have foibles and challenges that are deeply personal, but able to be shared with certain, special people. We can invite others into portions of our relationship, and this time we were even commended at what good fellows we were...something that happens rather seldom. Behaving as adults, though acting like children...there must be something magical about Neverland that happens on the golf course when Fubarians gather together.

And that, my dear reader, is the reason we should all keep track of our good friends. In "Bowling Alone" the author suggests various reasons for the breakdown of friendships and long term relationships. He asserts that each of us has declined from three good friends, to two...and that loss is hurting us all. I'm fortunate to have more than three...and though they take time to manage, I wouldn't live without them in the world. So thanks...I'll never play golf...or bowl, alone.