“How would you like to go back to Kingman, Arizona?”  That question Lisa asked me back in March took me by surprise and her unexpected phone call to me set my mind spinning with the thought of returning to one of our favorite assignments. “Okay! Let’s go to Kingman.”

Cancer!

We began planning for our trip west soon after the contract was signed and our final two months in Cambridge, Ohio flew by in anticipation of the next leg of our traveling adventure.  This would be the first time we had returned to a previous work location and we were excited to go back to a familiar place and renew old friendships.

Carcinoma!

I made reservations at familiar camping spots along the four day journey.  Springfield, Missouri – Amarillo, Texas – Holbrook, Arizona – and, finally, Kingman.  Dates for travel were set and we were ready.

Invasive Ductal Carcinoma!

It was exciting to be going home for a few weeks before we headed west. We would have time to spend with our grandson, Conner Jack, and take care of things like doctor appointments and other minor details.  I scheduled an appointment for lab work and had an examination of my left knee that was giving me trouble.  Lisa scheduled an appointment for a check-up with her doctor and have a mammogram – just routine stuff.

Lumpectomy

During our time at home, our truck broke down and the unexpected $2,300.00 repair sent me into a tailspin. I paced around the house nervous that the truck would not be ready in time to leave on the planned date.  What would we do?  A contingency plan was made to leave a day later, if necessary, and still arrive in Kingman in time for Lisa to begin work June first.  We will be cutting it close.  Got to get Kingman, Arizona.

Radiation!

Lisa’s doctor appointments went well. Her mammogram showed an anamoly that would need a biopsy – nothing to worry about.  Probably a fatty tumor that may need to eventually be removed.  No worries. 

6 – 8 weeks recovery!

The truck was still not ready.  How slow could this place be?  I worried myself into sickness over the truck.  They were overcharging and taking way too long.  What will we do?  Maybe Lisa could fly out and stay with friends and I could bring the RV later.  I had to figure this out.  The stupid truck was messing up our perfect travel plans. 

Did you say – Cancer?

Lisa’s biopsy left her bruised and in pain.  But, we had nothing to worry about.  A follow-up meeting was scheduled with the radiologist the day before we were to leave for Kingman.  We will stop by to see him in between running errands as we make final preparations to leave.  I call the mechanic and it looks like the truck will be ready in time.  Nothing like the last minute.  My mind is on that 1700 mile trek across the country.  I am worrying about our truck making it.  We leave tomorrow morning.  It is too late to worry about it now.

Time to stop by and talk to the radiologist.  Let’s get this over with – got too much to do.

We walk into a dark room. X-rays are visible on the computer screen. The doctor is waiting for us.  Something seems wrong.

It’s cancer.  The world stops turning. I feel light headed.  I look at Lisa. She tries to ask questions but is crying.  We cannot hear anything else the doctor is saying.  Somebody slap me out of this nightmare.  It takes only a couple of minutes and we are now walking back to our car.  I wrap my arm around Lisa. I don’t know what to do. 

Cancer.

I get a call from the mechanic.  The truck is ready.

We learned over the next few days that Lisa will require surgery and follow up radiation treatment.  The prognosis is good and we are hopeful for a full recovery.  We are not sure when we will be back on the road. 

But we know (at least) our truck is ready. 

You know – it’s a funny thing.  I don’t care about that truck anymore.

Thirteen weeks turned into a year and as the holidays and seasons came and went, Lisa and I stayed.  Cambridge, Ohio has been our home since last May and now it is, finally, time to leave.  Lisa and I will be pulling out of ‘Spring Valley Campground’ this Saturday and are looking forward to being home for a couple of weeks before we head west to Kingman, Arizona where Lisa will begin a thirteen week assignment June first.  We have friends in Kingman and in nearby Las Vegas and the opportunity to return to a familiar place was too good to pass up.  But, first things first.  It is time for some sad good-byes.

As I have written before, it is not the places as much as it is the people and friends we have made that make our traveling experiences memorable.  We forget most of the specific aspects of the various locations, but we never forget the people and our friends.  That is the hardest part of traveling – missing the people.

We will miss Lisa’s co-workers at the hospital.  The first day Lisa arrived for work she was handed the keys, a beeper and the news that the only other echo-tech had just quit and she was all they had.  Those first couple of weeks were not easy and in many ways this was the toughest assignment Lisa has had to date.  She worked to help hire and train new staff and leaves the department in better shape than it was that day she arrived.  The staff at Southeastern Medical have been welcoming to Lisa and myself and are now fully staffed and well equipped to move forward.  We will miss Kelly (the big ol’ doody head) and her dogs “Shit and Shinola” (we could never remember their real names or tell them apart).  We will miss our trips to her house in Kimbolton and going out to eat and hearing Gary’s stories about the little horse that beat the crap out of him that time he tried to pull it out of the lake.  I will miss Lisa’s funny stories about Fay (or “Fee-Fee” as she called her).  Lisa absolutely adores her and will miss her greatly.  Dr. Stephany Moore is a friend that Lisa and I have enjoyed spending time with (along with her family) and have shared many laughs and funny stories over the past year.  Their working relationship was outstanding and the two will be spending additional time together next week at an ultrasound training event in Asheville, North Carolina.  Their personal and professional relationship will last a lifetime.

We are both grateful to Mark (Lisa’s boss) and his assistant, Leisa.  Mark showed great confidence in Lisa practically from day one and was instrumental in her being called to work here and then staying through three extensions.  The kindness of Marti Reed was greatly appreciated and we both enjoyed getting to know her and Mark, her husband. We will think of them both every time we see the toy box they built and painted for our grandson at Christmas.

The crew of Stacy, Cheri, Tosha and Elizabeth in the CVP department will be always on Lisa’s mind and just a phone call away.  Lisa knows they will continue being a great team and provide great care for their patients.

It is impossible to mention all the co-workers Lisa has grown so fond of but suffice it to say, they all will be missed.  Driving her to work each morning has become a habit that will be hard to break – as will hearing the stories of life at Southeastern Medical each afternoon.  I will even miss hearing Wayne, the hospital volunteer, asking me, “Are you waiting?” as he did every day I saw him in the lobby.  I’ll even miss you, Wayne.

I will miss Sue Dodd.  I looked (unsuccessfully) for art classes literally from one end of this country to the other while we have traveled and never expected to find such a person and artist as Sue Dodd here in Cambridge.  The times we spent singing and laughing and painting were some of my fondest memories of being here in Ohio.  I will never be the artist she is but her encouragement has me excited to keep painting – keep trying.  I will never forget her.

 And then there are the people and friends we have made here at our campground.  We will miss Frank and Carla, a very sweet couple that live here with Frank’s job in the oil and gas industry.  We will miss the owners of the campground, Dan and Julie and our Wednesday night poker games.  Then there is Richard Mayo and his wife and the couple that sold us farm fresh eggs and joined us often for dinner at “Theo’s”,  Harriet and Richard Gray.  These people have been like family for the past year.

And lastly, we will miss a very special family.  Kevin and Sheri Thrasher and their two boys, Tyler and Chris, have become some of our dearest friends.  Kevin, or “Penis” as we call him, (The nickname came from one of our first campfires with he and Sherri.  As people drove past his camper throughout the night, Kevin grew tired of calling them by their names and just started saying, “Hello Penis!” since they could not hear what he was saying anyway and the nickname stuck) works here at the campground and we came to know this family a couple of months after our arrival.  Lisa has told so many funny stories about “Penis” that the staff at Southeastern Medical now know him by that name only and we have suggested that if he ever is admitted to the hospital or in need of medical treatment, he should sign in as “Penis” and every nurse and doctor will know who he is.  Many weekend nights were spent around their campfire laughing (mainly at Kevin) and enjoying life together.  We will miss our nightly visit from Kevin (he stays at the campground through the week) and I will be forever grateful for his company during the long, hard winter months with little to do except laugh at each other, watch the weather and hope we did not all freeze to death.  Chris, their youngest son, who has autism, has made the extra bedroom in our camper his own while he visits during the weekends and the times we took him to the movies were very special.  His parents do a marvelous job with him and have tried to prepare him for our departure (he only says, “I don’t want to talk about it” – God love him).  This special family is a hard-working inspiration to Lisa and I and we will never forget them.

Lisa and I will soon be traveling across the flat, open western landscape as we head toward Arizona.  It is certain that we will find ourselves missing these rolling hills of Guernsey County, Ohio.  We will miss watching the early morning mist lying low in the Appalachian mountains and though the winter was long and harsh, the beauty of those snow covered hills was unlike anywhere we have visited.  I will miss sitting along the banks of the crystal clear stream that snakes through the campground and I will miss feeding the horses (“Ben” and “Misty”) that are stabled at the adjacent farm.  I have to wonder if they will be looking for me after I’m gone.  In fact, I wonder if Lisa and I have made enough of an impact that will make people miss us as much as we will miss them.  With the oil and gas boom here in the area, people move in and out all the time.  It seems that most make little if any connection to the residents as their stays may range from a month to a year or longer.  Maybe Lisa and I should have used that approach.  That is, keep to ourselves and stay disconnected from others.  But, we got close to people here – we made friends and Cambridge, Ohio became our home.  This good-bye may be the hardest one yet.

But, now it is time to look homeward.  We are sad to leave these friends that we have made but are excited to be going home to our family and to spend time with our grandson, Conner Jack, before heading west.  Thanks, Cambridge, for your hospitality and friendship!

We will never forget you.  Love, Steve and Lisa

I lost a crown the other day while trying to chew up a Tootsie Roll.  I should have known better than to try gnawing through the putty-like candy but, before I knew it, my tooth was embedded in the chocolate goo.  I don’t know if I was more upset about losing my tooth or having to spit out a perfectly good Tootsie Roll. How many chews does it take to get to the center of your gums? I guess about three.

My list of things to do was now to throw away all remaining Tootsie Rolls and find a dentist. It has been an unwelcomed part of our traveling adventure trying to locate doctors, dentists and truck mechanics while on the road. The fear of the unknown is just that – fear. Fear of mechanics finding that your “Master Cam Separating Springs” need to be replaced, fear of doctors who couldn’t read a thermometer – let alone diagnose a serious illness, and now – fear of trying to find a dentist that doesn’t use a pipe wrench and wire brush. So, I said a prayer and hit “Google Search”.

Cambridge does not have a plethora of dentists (which may be a good thing) and I made my choice and called for an appointment. Fortunately, the “Family” dentistry practice accepted my dental insurance and could see me the very next day.  It turned out to be quite an experience.

Upon arriving at the office, I approached the main desk to sign in and was greeted by an enthusiastic, young woman who welcomed me to their office. She walked out from her glassed in reception area to greet me in person. Wow! I’ve never had this kind of welcome before.  After shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, she proceeded to take me on a tour of their facility – showing me the various rooms where they cleaned your teeth, pulled your teeth, x-rayed your teeth, replaced your teeth, whitened your teeth and even provided Botox services.  I was expecting them to say I could even get a hair transplant and sex change while they cleaned my teeth.  Dentistry has come a long way, baby.  My tour guide then invited me into a room where she took all my information.  A large monitor hung on the wall next to me allowing me to watch as information was shared and entered into their computer.  She then handed me a gift bag and guided me back to the waiting room.  On our way – she stopped to show me a new outdoor gas grill sitting in their hallway and she explained that it was to be given away to a lucky patient in July.  We shook hands again and she told me to relax with a magazine while I waited.  I was a little disappointed that a spa treatment was not offered.

I had just opened my “Woman’s World” magazine ( seemingly the only magazine in any doctor or dentist office I have ever been in) when my name was called and a different lady met me with another firm handshake and asked me to follow her to the exam room.  I was asked to sit in the skinny dentist chair as she began asking me questions about why I was there that day.  Along with asking about my Tootsie roll crisis, she wanted to know what was important to me in regard to my treatment.  In all my fifty-five years on earth I never remember being asked by anyone in the medical field what was important to me as far as treatment and care.  Somebody pinch me! Is this really happening?  She asked if pain control was important?  Hmm, let me think about that a moment.  “Yes!”  What about low-cost treatment options? Again, I had to think for a minute. Do I want my treatment to be less costly? “Well – Yell Hess!”  There were other questions asked but the first two stunned me so much that I don’t remember much after that.

Next it was time for dental x-rays and photos.  Another large monitor on the wall displayed my broken back teeth.  It was the first time I had really seen inside my mouth in living color and I then understood why dentistry is so expensive.  The human mouth is a disgusting place.  Maybe they should have shown me the pictures before they asked me how much I was willing to spend.

Finally, the dentist arrived and took a look inside.  By my estimation it took him about forty seconds to determine I need two extractions, one crown, two bridges and a partridge in a pear tree.  I decided that pulling just one problem tooth was best for now since we will be home in two weeks.  The hygienist then spoke into her headset (you heard that correct – a hands-free communications system was used by all the staff) and told someone, somewhere on the other end that “Mr. McFarland was ready.” I followed her to another room and met the business/scheduling person.  My appointment was scheduled, payment collected and  I was then thanked for coming in – escorted back to the waiting room and exited to the parking lot.

Cambridge, Ohio has about thirty thousand people living here.  I would never have expected the red carpet treatment I received from this unknown dentist and his staff.  Perhaps much of what they did was a little over the top. But, not really.  I liked their questions, their kindness, their welcoming of me to their business.  I liked them – period.  And if I resided permanently here I would return as a patient and gladly refer others to them. I don’t know how my treatment will go later this week, but I have complete confidence in these people. If it was their intention that the tour, questions, inter-office communication system, dental photos, large screen monitors and gift bag would impress me enough to return and maybe even refer others to their office – it worked.  I was very impressed.

And besides  – I could probably use a new gas grill.  But, after seeing my teeth in those colored photos – I may need to trade it in for a nice blender.

Smile!  Love Steve and Lisa!

King David of the Old Testament peaked early.  Read his story and you learn that his success as warrior and king was overshadowed by his failures as he grew older and, so-called, wiser.  The great fallacy of aging is the idea that we learn from the life lessons of our youth and live out our mature years with sage wisdom and sound decisions.  David was a great example of a man who struggled with aging and felt increasing remorse for his sins and failures (Psalms 51).  His early successes did not build upon themselves into a great cathedral of strength.  On the contrary, the aged David appears frail, afraid, weak and in despair and the psychology of self-actualization was never his to enjoy later in his life.  It was through those haunting failures that David became the contrite psalmist desperate for God’s forgiveness and protection.  I can relate to that David.

I have written nearly two hundred articles on this blog site that have pertained (mainly) to our travel experiences since I retired in 2012.  Those articles are fun and easy to share. There have been some of a more serious nature – even heart wrenching in their honesty.  I never wanted to hide from the truth in what I wrote and the more honest I have written – the more people seem to respond and indicate their own need for truth.  People relate to honesty.  For that I am very proud.  But, it occurred to me that I have not written much about being retired and what the experience of growing older is really like.  Knowing many of my friends are retired or nearing retirement, I decided to pull the curtain back and take a look at what growing old and being retired has looked like for me and how this stage of my life has been painful and joyful – despairing and exhilarating.  Where to begin?

Just before I retired in July 2012, I was asked to speak at a memorial service as part of my high school’s thirty-fifth reunion celebration.  The service was designed to honor and remember classmates who had passed away and I felt privileged to speak at that event.  I shared with those in attendance that as the “baby boomer” generation, it seemed, we carried a sense of permanence in our lives.  That is, we had the false belief that our life would go on forever and that things would really never change.  The ‘Bee Gees’ sang, “Stayin Alive – Stayin Alive” and that is just what we believed would happen to all of us as we went our separate ways in 1977.  The delusion of life’s permanence evaporated quickly as we stepped into the real world of work and family and children and illness and broken marriages and, sadly, in death.  But the residual effects of that attitude has really stayed with me all these years later.  Although I, like so many others my age, have experienced loss and sickness and failures – somewhere in my brain lived the little boy of twelve and thirteen years old who would never grow old, never get sick, never break down physically and, certainly, never die.  Those concepts never really entered into my thinking about my own life – until I retired.  Retirement changed how I saw myself and my world.

My retirement was a little different from most.  Lisa and I hit the road for Hanover, Pennsylvania and her first travel job as a Echo-tech Sonographer before my actual retirement date had even arrived.  Having a couple of weeks of vacation, my last official day at my job was in mid June and I really never had much time to think about not going to work again as our days were spent adjusting to this new place and new lifestyle.  In many ways that made the transition easier for me.  Having been so involved with the school system where I worked for twenty years – being twelve hours away helped put those past memories and the co-workers I missed out of sight and out of mind.  I’m not sure how it would have impacted me had I been home the past three years.  My hunch is – it would have been much more difficult.  We traveled around central Pennsylvania and went to DC and other places and my mind was as far from work as it could possibly be that first year retired – for the most part.  But, there were difficult moments and I remember one in particular.

One day after driving Lisa to her job in Hanover, I had returned to our camper in Gettysburg (thirty miles away) and was sitting in the shade of our camper awning.  It was nearing fall then and the leaves were starting to turn colors.  Suddenly and without any warning – I felt completely lost.  For the first time since I had stepped away from employment, I had a sense of regret. What had I done?  I should be at school working. This vacation should be over.  It was a horrible feeling and so strong and so real that to look back on that moment rekindles the hurt I felt that day.  Where that came from or, even more importantly, why that happened has been a mystery to me.  I wonder if other people who retire have that strong sense of remorse on occasions or did they, like me, experience it in a bursting shock.  Over time I have been able to accept that I am no longer the “working” man I had been for over thirty years and have allowed myself to just “be”.  Our identities are so closely linked to our employment that retirement forces us to lose a sense of who we are and, hopefully, rediscover oneself.  It is a journey I continue even today.

In many ways I find retirement much more difficult than working.  That may be the last thing readers may want to hear who are contemplating retirement.  Allow me to explain.  When I was working my life and my schedule and my calendar and my days activities were all set for me.  All I had to do was get up, get dressed and go do it.  Retirement takes all that away.  That seems like a really good thing and it is.  I mean, everyone looks forward to the day when they do not have to answer to a clock or a schedule.  But the reality is that it takes a greater effort for me today to stay busy, fill my days with activities and be engaged with others.  I also discovered the change it had on my marriage.  Where Lisa and I spent our first thirty years of marriage discussing our work with each other – our conversations have now changed.  She tells me about saving an elderly person’s life by discovering a blood clot in her aorta while doing a test – I tell her it took almost four dollars to wash clothes and that I dropped a quarter under the washing machine and had to bend down and dig it out.  You get the idea.  Even my conversations with my kids are different.  They talk about their jobs and things that happen at work.  I listen and give advice when appropriate and think about what I can add to the conversation.  Working gave me an automatic conversation starter.  No wonder the elderly talk about their aches and pains in every conversation – there simply is nothing else to discuss. My poor kids have already had to endure my droning on about my arthritis or other mundane topics and I’m just fifty-five.  If God allows me to hit eighty – they will be running for cover as soon as I roll into the room – assuming I probably won’t be walking by then.  I suppose retirement impacts all in the family.

Somewhere, sometime long ago I came to believe that with age came less worrying about things, more laughter, more relaxing, better conversations and generally better quality of life.  Commercials on television show white-haired couples laughing on the beach in flowing garments while sipping wine in their cabana.  They look robust and at peace – their life’s work now over and now it is their time to enjoy living at its fullest.  What a crock!  Here I come down the beach.  I am limping because my left knee is shot and needs to be replaced.  The flowing white garment is flapping around my large belly and highlighting too many high calorie meals and canceled work-outs.  My hair no longer flows since it fell out years ago and I would sip some high dollar wine with Lisa but it makes her sleepy and the cabana alone costs $75 a day to rent and my fixed income budget does not allow for such extravagance.  It was also told to me that with age comes sage wisdom – the kind of wisdom that can see through daily problems with grace and understanding.  Another crock!  As I get older I find myself just as stressed about things as before – maybe more so.  I worry about my kids back home, I worry about my home back home, I worry about worrying.  Like the psalmist David, I seek God’s grace and forgiveness as much now as ever before and my thoughts are often on mistakes of my past that still haunt me.  It is a fallacy to think that with age comes less worry and higher living.

But before anyone gets the idea that I am a complete mess as a member of AARP, I’m really not.  Lisa and I have never enjoyed life more than we do now and though we miss our family and friends, cannot imagine our life outside this experience of traveling around the country.  The friends we have made are an absolute treasure to our souls and as a couple we have never been closer.  Perhaps my image of retirement has been the problem all along.  It does not come worry or pain-free.  Regrets will hit like slaps to the face, doubt and second guessing is inevitable.

But, in the words of an old gospel song, “I wouldn’t take nothing for my journey now.”

Love, Steve and Lisa

Our days here in Ohio are numbered.  In about four weeks we will pull our RV home to Owensboro, Kentucky and enjoy a few weeks of furlough before heading west to Arizona on May 27th.  Lisa begins a thirteen week assignment in Kingman, Arizona on June first.  June will also mark our third year of traveling with Lisa’s job since I retired.  Hard to imagine that we have been on the road three years.  It does not seem that long ago that we loaded up our car and headed to Hanover, Pennsylvania without any idea where we would live or how we would like being away from home and family for several months at a time.  It has been quite an adventure and that adventure will continue – at least for a little while longer.

Traveling home this past weekend to celebrate our grandson’s second birthday, we realized our next trip home from Ohio would end our year-long stay here in Cambridge.  There are so many people and places that we will miss and we are trying to squeeze as much into these last weeks as possible.  One thing I will miss is the close proximity to Pittsburgh and my last chance (for a while) to see the Pirates play.  Lisa and I are going to a game this Sunday and I am looking forward to her first game at PNC Park.  With the weather finally starting to cooperate for good camping conditions, we will be enjoying our final weekend campfires with our camping neighbors and as the seasonal campers return for the summer, hope to begin our long good-byes.  There is a (sort of) brother/sisterhood that comes with camping in a place for a year, especially after enduring a harsh winter together.  These are people who have helped us and whom we have helped and they will not soon be forgotten.  Should we ever travel Interstate 70 toward Wheeling, WV, you can be assured we will stop at the Spring Valley Campground for a visit.

For Lisa, these last four weeks will be especially important and, to a degree, sentimental.  As the Southeastern Medical Echo Department is now fully staffed, Lisa is spending her time preparing them for her departure.  She has described it as the same feeling of sending your child to school for the first time.  Did she do enough to get them ready?  Did she miss something?  Will they be OK?  Knowing that on her first day at the job (last May) she was handed the keys, beeper, and instructions to take over the department since the other Echo-Tech had quit the day before, Lisa did just that.  She helped change not only some of their procedures, she has enlivened the very culture of the department.  For Lisa it is a “Patient First” work ethic that she hopes has been instilled with the other staff – perhaps even more important than performing a perfect test.  She has often spoken to the staff about treating patients as if they are your family.  It has made a difference.  Her time here has not been always easy and she has had to overcome some “push back” from others, but she feels that the department is in good hands and will miss the friendships that have been made along the way.

For the job she has done here at Southeastern, Lisa was notified this week that she was named the top employee of Aureus Medical Staffing for this quarter and will be automatically nominated for employee of the year.  She won’t say it so I will:  She deserves it.  In every job she has been in since we started traveling in 2012, she has been asked to extend her contract for a longer stay.  That speaks volumes about the job she has done.  Way to go, Wife!

She also may or may not say that without my superb cooking and clothes washing prowess, she is nothing.  I don’t know if Aureus has a “Spouse Support” award but, if not, they should and I nominate – me.  Her clothes are always clean and (for the most part) unwrinkled.  Her lunch is always packed and ready for consumption and only rarely do they spill out due to my not putting a lid on something properly.  I’m always on time picking her up in the afternoons (except for those times that I am late).  And I cook every single night of the week (except for about four nights a week that we eat out).  I just don’t understand why people talk about the great job she does and never mention me.

Not that I am looking for a pat on the back or anything.

Love, Steve and Lisa

Lisa and I have traveled home this weekend to join our family for our grandson’s second birthday. In just four weeks we will leave Ohio for a final time and return home for a few weeks in May before heading west to Kingman, Arizona. Lisa will begin a thirteen week assignment in our old western stomping grounds on June first.

As we made our way across Ohio and into Kentucky, we noticed the trees had started to show signs of life and, unlike Ohio, seems to be showing winter to the door. Things always seem greener and more fragrant in Kentucky and our brief stay at home reminds us why we could never uproot completely.  Though everywhere we have traveled there have been opportunities for permanent employment, Lisa and I just cannot see ourselves anywhere else. We have enjoyed every place we have been, but home is and will always be the bluegrass state.

Four more weeks in Ohio. We never could have believed our stay in Cambridge would last an entire year. There is much we will miss. We have made lifelong friends and having endured the eastern Ohio winter – we feel a kinship with the proud “Buckeyes”. But all things come to an end and our hearts are now turning for home and, very soon, toward the western skies of Arizona.

But for now we are home. And Kentucky is a beautiful place to be.

Love, Steve and Lisa.

The Owensboro High School “Red Devils” won the boys “Sweet Sixteen” Kentucky High School basketball tournament this past weekend.  Many of the players on that team were students at Owensboro Middle School during my final years there prior to my retirement in 2012.  My fond memories of announcing their middle school basketball games are cherished reminders of what a special group of young men they are and it is no surprise that they have achieved “champion” status in the state of Kentucky.  Congratulations to all of them – coaches and players.  But, today I am writing about their head coach, Rod Drake.  This is dedicated to a man I hardly know, but who has been a remarkable presence in my life for thirty-five years. 

I was finishing my freshman year at Kentucky Wesleyan College when I first saw him.  It was the spring of 1980 and I was looking forward to my first year of college being over and for the boring lecture I was enduring mercifully coming to an end when his face appeared through the window of our classroom door.  It was Rod Drake and his best friend and Owensboro High School basketball teammate, Dwight Higgs, staring through the door glass and looking into our classroom.  I remember being a little confused as to why they were on campus since they both had just signed to play basketball at Murray State University just a couple of weeks earlier following their winning the 1980 Kentucky boys state basketball tournament in Louisville.  But, here they were on Kentucky Wesleyan’s campus – looking around.  Something was up.

I rushed to tell anyone who would listen that Dwight and Rod were on KWC’s campus and that I believed they were going to opt out of their commitment to Murray State and join new KWC head coach, Mike Polio, and help rebuild the “Panther” program.  As the program had suffered several losing seasons during the late 1970’s, a new coach was hired that spring and the campus was starting to buzz about the new direction of the program.  I could hardly contain my excitement.  Having grown up a Kentucky Wesleyan basketball fan, it was exciting for me to now be a student at the school and, even more than that, had joined the cheerleading squad to become one of the basketball teams, “Yell Leaders”.  That freshman year the crowds were sparse and unenthusiastic and I did all I could to “rev” up the ‘Sportscenter’, but the team still lost and lost often and the crowds stayed away in droves.  But change was on the way.

A few days later Rod Drake and Dwight Higgs signed to play basketball at KWC.  They both had decided to hitch their wagon to the enthusiastic new coach and were released from their previous commitment to Murray State.  Exciting times were ahead.  Between my freshman and sophomore year at Wesleyan, the atmosphere at the games had turned from completely dead to absolute bonkers.  I credit Rod and Dwight for most of that enthusiasm.  I decided to return as a “Yell Leader” my sophomore year, mainly because I would have one of the best seats in the house along the sidelines.  My first memory of Rod playing for the Panthers was early in the season during a home game against a team named “Siena Heights”.  I had really never seen Rod play in high school but I had heard of his ability to rebound and use his size against much smaller guards.  As I recall the Panthers trailed early in the game but behind the play of Drake and Higgs and with the large crowd practically beside itself, staged a comeback in the second half.  With the game tied, Rod got a steal and threw down a one-handed dunk to put KWC ahead and the crowd roared louder than I had heard in years.  The Panthers would end up losing that game but the stage was set for what would be one of the most exciting four years in Kentucky Wesleyan basketball history.  The Dwight and Rod era was underway.

Dwight Higgs would, by his senior year, become the all time scoring leader for a time at Kentucky Wesleyan.  But it was Rod Drake that held those teams together and it was his will to win that carried them to some of the most exciting seasons in their storied history.  Without question the most exciting moment came during his sophomore season.  I had decided to not return as a KWC Yell Leader during my junior year as I was working full-time at the Cliff Hagan Boys Club while also maintaining a full class load (Ironically, Rod worked at the same Boys Club several years later after his college days).  But I never stopped attending the KWC games and even managed to scrape up enough money to fly to Springfield, Massachusetts to see KWC play in the NCAA Division II Final Four.  Their opponent in the semi-finals was Florida Southern and they featured a player that Kentucky Wesleyan fans will never forget, All-American center John Ebeling.

The game was close throughout and the Panthers had managed to tie the score with just a few seconds remaining.  Florida Southern was forced to inbound the ball and go the length of the floor for a final shot.  The pass was thrown to Ebeling who along with several KWC defenders went up for the ball and all fell to the floor in a mad scramble.  Foul on KWC.  It was a terrible call and it looked for all the world that the game was all but over.  With one second to play, Ebeling went to the free throw line and hit both shots to put Florida Southern up by two points.  A friend I had traveled with actually walked onto the floor at that moment and began to congratulate the Florida Southern cheerleaders.  Neither he nor I had any idea what was about to happen.  In 1982 the three-point shot had not yet been implemented in college basketball.  If only it had been.  Following the second free throw, KWC inbounded the ball and it was passed to Rod Drake.  Having no time to do anything else, Drake turned and launched a three-quarter length shot from the opposite foul line.  I can still remember that ball in the air and, as if in a dream, watched it hit nothing but the bottom of the net.  In the words of long-time KWC radio announcer Joel Utley, “Overtime! Overtime! Overtime! We’re going into an overtime!”  Unfortunately KWC lost the game.  But it was sealed for me that Rod Drake was a special, special young man.  His will to win was beyond anything I had ever witnessed in my life.  I remember seeing him immediately embrace his father after hitting that shot from seventy feet away and would embrace him again following the heartbreaking loss.

Rod Drake never won a national championship at KWC.  I am sorry about that.  No player before or since played with such heart and soul and determination.  I loved the way he led the team onto the floor as captain, the way he rebounded the basketball, the way he smiled at his opponent, and the way he poured himself out during a game for one thing – to win.

I was excited to hear when Rod was named head coach of Owensboro High School after spending a few years on the bench as an assistant coach.  To me, there was no better person to lead mine and his alma mater.  During an opening assembly of teachers and staff at the dedication of the new Owensboro High School gymnasium, I was asked to help emcee the event and introduce representatives from the previous OHS teams that had won the state championship.  Representing the 1980 champion was Rod Drake.  I remember introducing him to the crowd and saying something completely unscripted.  I told those in attendance that Rod was one of my favorite players to watch and that I believed if he could inspire his players to play the game as hard and with as much dedication to winning as he played, they would be hanging another state championship banner at the school and very soon.

It turns out that my words were somewhat prophetic.  On Sunday March 22, 2015, Rod Drake’s team did just that.  They played with the lions heart of their coach and will, in fact, hang another state champion banner from their gymnasium rafters.  Now there will be four state basketball champion banners hanging there.  The final two will say “1980” and “2015” and, I believe, Rod Drake is the reason for both.  I often wonder what would have happened had Rod and Dwight not changed their minds to come to KWC those many years ago.  How would it have changed not only Kentucky Wesleyan’s fortunes, but Owensboro High Schools as well?  To be completely honest, it would have changed my life to some degree.

I have wanted to tell Rod Drake something for thirty-five years.  And thirty-five years is long enough.  Thank you, Rod Drake – for everything!

Steve McFarland

It had all the makings of a calm, peaceful day.  The bitter cold night had passed and the Cambridge, Ohio weather forecast was calling for more cold air but with sunshine.  At this point in our, seemingly never-ending Ohio winter, sunshine is more than welcomed.  Just as I was about to get settled in for the day – my phone rang.  Lisa was calling and I should never have answered my phone.

Everyone here in southeastern Ohio is trying to cash in on the oil and gas boom that has pipeliners and oil workers willing to spend their high earnings to make themselves as comfortable as possible.  Restaurants, hotels and other shopping venues are being built all over the area and one of those restaurants, “Buffalo Wild Wings” (or BW3), opened today (2/23/15).  That is what Lisa was calling to tell me.  But more than that, she was calling to inform me that the first one-hundred customers in the door at eleven o’clock (when the doors opened) would receive free hot wings for one year.  Well – there went my comfortable, warm morning.  I really have no life to speak of here – especially during these bleak winter months when golf is out, walking is dangerous, and the snow too deep to drive around in.  So, being without any excuse, I headed to BW3s (finally figured out what the three “w’s” mean – Wild, Wings and Wow it’s cold).

I arrived at around 8:30AM and noticed that approximately ten other vehicles were also waiting in the parking lot.  For about fifteen minutes everyone just sat in their warm vehicles.  I estimated the number of people and decided my chances were good to just sit in my nice, warm truck until someone made the first move to the door.  It was about then that I realized I had forgotten to wear my warm boots and grew a little concerned about my feet getting cold.  But, maybe I would not have to stand outside too long.  At about 8:45 a group of people started from their vehicles and formed a small line at the front door.  Then another car unloaded and, almost immediately everyone was making their way to get in line.  I did as well.  By my count I was number thirteen and settled in to my position, feeling some relief that I was in place to get my free hot wings for a year.  Now all I had to do was wait.

The first ten minutes in the seven degree weather was really not bad.  I stood proudly in my number “13” position and started up some conversations with some young guys near me.  They were oil and gas workers and I immediately knew we had little in common.  Their conversations consisted of copulation, female dogs and (apparently) a contest to see which of them could string together the most four letter words without taking a breath or changing up adjective usage.  I slunk deeper into my jacket and hoodie and tried to block out their conversation and the reality that it was really getting colder.

I heard someone mention that we had two more hours.  It was then that I first began to question my ability to hold on until the doors opened.  My feet were just starting to feel the cold and by 9:15 I was cursing myself for not wearing more socks.  At one point I removed one of my gloves and stuffed it inside my hoodie to block the cold wind from slicing into my face.  My glasses started fogging up and I could no longer see anyone or anything in front of me.  I figured it really did not matter since I still had a good hour and a half to wait.

At 9:45 I began battling with the desire to go back to my truck and tell Lisa I did not get there in time.  It was then that I noticed a woman on a cane near the front door.  She was not wearing a hat or gloves and, yet, was laughing it up with some young people and saying she had been there since six o’clock.  Never mind going back to my truck.  Geez!  If this little great-grandmother can endure this – surely I can.  But, then again, she also had lived through the depression, WWII and at least eighty-five Ohio winters.  This was nothing.

By ten o’clock I thought I was, perhaps, home free.  The sun began to rise and I inched my two frozen blocks at the end of my legs into whatever sun I could find.  I have well chronicled the problems I have with my quadruple wide, flat, ugly feet and about all I could do with these things now was scoot them across the sidewalk to find a new position.  I was certain that they were turning blue and I (sort of) hoped that my right, big toe might just fall off and I would be able to avoid surgery.  By 10:15 they were so frozen I could have cut into them myself and never felt a thing.

I don’t exactly remember at what point the wind started blowing but it must have been during that last, painful thirty minutes.  That seven degrees had climbed to ten but the wind made it seem like it was thirty below.  I could barely see through my fogged up glasses that a ribbon cutting ceremony was about to take place.  The mayor of Cambridge and other local dignitaries positioned themselves for the cameras and actually seemed to be smiling.  What the $%^# was wrong with these idiots?   I wanted to scream, “Get back inside before you freeze to death along with all the rest of us!”  The four letter thoughts I had at this point would have made any oil worker blush but my teeth were chattering so hard they never would have understood me anyway.

After all the pomp and circumstance of opening a restaurant in Cambridge was over, “BW3” workers began handing out those little trays they put wings in and wrote a number on each.  Mine was number ‘eighteen’.  At about 10:55 I could no longer wiggle my toes or bend my knees and as the line finally started moving into the place – had to “Frankenstein” my way inside.  Originally, I had no intention of eating but by the time I got in – was too cold to resist at least sitting down for a while – that is if my knees would bend.  I vaguely remember being seated and could barely get my frozen jaws to move enough to order a drink.  They did not have hot chocolate.  So this is hypothermia!

It took me a few minutes to get my brain to work and I finally looked at the coupon book that was handed to me and all the other one hundred lucky, frozen, cattle being rustled inside.  Apparently there were a couple of stipulations to this “Wings for a Year” campaign.  First, it meant a snack sized order of wings and that was only free once per week.  But the real kicker was this: it had to be in Cambridge, Ohio.

Let me add all this up for you.  Lisa and I may be here for another year starting in June.  That is a real possibility.  If that happens – it will be worth it. But we also may only be here for another ten weeks.  A snack sized order of wings is five wings.  In ten weeks that will be fifty wings.  Let me get this straight – I stood in line two hours and fifteen minutes in seven degree weather with frozen feet, snot running down my face, knees frozen into unbending poles and for what?  Fifty chicken wings.   And I don’t even like chicken wings.

Upon finally getting home I brought my five chicken wings inside and just stared at them for a few minutes.  I thought about rubbing some of the hot sauce on my still frozen toes just to see if it would help.  The problem was I only had five and that would not be nearly enough sauce to cover these paddles God has blessed me with.  So I did the next best thing.  I ate them.

And now I have heart burn.

Ten more weeks and 45 more wings to go – and we will be home.  Love, Steve and Lisa.

Imagine with me for a moment.  The year is 2045 and I am eighty-five years old and living out my final moments on earth.  My children and grandchildren are with me.  Lisa is by my side.  In that emotional final hour together, one of my grandchildren thinks to ask one last question.  “Mac! What is the one thing that you regret most in life?”  I think for a moment at this very important question and then I respond with this: “I should not have turned the truck around that day back in 15′ when Mimi and I were living in Cambridge, Ohio and returned to Riesbeck’s Grocery Store and bought that one extra donut.  I should have been content with enjoying the first two – but, instead, I went back for one more.  You see, they were so good that I just decided to go back and have another.  I regret that more than anything in my life.”

Now, back to reality.  Here Lisa and I are still in Cambridge, Ohio in what is the beginning of the end of our time here.  Her final thirteen week assignment began this past Monday and we know that we will be home in May.  And this morning that absurd thought I asked you to imagine with me actually went through my mind as I wrestled with the idea of turning our truck around to buy and then eat two more soft, warm, fresh out of the oven donuts from Riesbeck’s.  Should I or should I not?  I could certainly stand to drop a few pounds and those donuts are killing my figure.  So I continued to drive away from the temptation but then the thought of living without regrets entered my mind and I realized that the only lasting regret I will have in my life is depriving myself of those simple pleasures.  I am fifty-five years old, living in Ohio in the dead of winter with snow falling all around me knowing temperatures are expected to plunge into the single digits this weekend.  I miss my family and friends – I hate the winter here and the daily battle of living in an RV during freezing temperatures.  I’m sick of hearing about Ohio State football and navigating around the oil and gas trucks that have inundated the area and torn the highways to shreds.  I’m damn tired of long, dark nights and dreary, gray days.  But, this morning I found these really good donuts and I enjoyed them thoroughly.  And then I turned my truck around and went back to have more.  And I am so glad I did.

Don’t get me wrong here.  I know about moderation and understand health issues of too many donuts or too much of anything.  Too much is too much – I get it.  But every now and then, I believe, we should enjoy the good things we find in life and enjoy them without regret.  John Piper, a Christian writer, coined the phrase, “Christian Hedonism” in his book, “Desiring God”, and suggested that we should live our lives in total satisfaction in Him (God).  His famous quote from that book is, “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.”  I would never want to be accused of equating God to a donut.  But, in a sense, there is a similarity – at least in how we respond to each.  Just as people will deny themselves the pleasure of a pastry, I am aware that many God-fearing Christians will also deny themselves the pleasure of God’s grace, forgiveness and finished, redemptive work.  In certain Christian circles to rest and enjoy life would be an abomination in God’s eyes and we should, instead, toil and suffer and hurt and deny ourselves any carnal pleasures.  I believe I am theologically correct in saying, “To Hell with that.”  Enjoy the life God has given you.

I read of a study that was done of senior adults asking what they would do different in their lives if given the chance.  One of the most interesting responses was that they would risk more.  Think about that.  If I am in my final moments in life – I can’t imagine a person saying things such as: I should never have taken the chance on that business; never should have taken that really expensive trip; never should have bought that sixty dollar steak dinner. That has not and will not ever happen.

You will not hear me say “I never should have turned the truck around in 15′ and bought that other donut.”  But, I do have one regret.  I should have bought more.

Enjoy every bite!  Love, Steve and Lisa

Justin closed his eyes – he just did not want to look.  This being his first plane ride, he had no idea what to expect and he clutched Clifford, his stuffed red dog, as our plane left the ground heading for Dallas, Texas.  His mother, Lisa, was to meet us there for the weekend while she completed some mandatory training in her field of cardiac sonography.  It was 1992 and Justin was just six years old.  I don’t remember much about that trip other than touring the infamous school book depository building from where Lee Oswald shot President Kennedy.  But I do remember the fear in Justin’s eyes as the plane took off that day and how he looked at me – scared but trusting that I was telling him the truth – that everything would be okay.

That was twenty-three years ago and Justin is now a married man who turns twenty-nine on January 25th.  Lisa and I are sorry we are unable to be with he and his wife, Lori, as they celebrate, but he is on our minds and always in our hearts.  As his father I think often of those days gone by when he and his younger sister, Heather, were children playing in the backyard or going to school or little league practice or church to sing in the choir  or the thousands of other places and events that we shared together.  We could not be more proud of them both.

One of my favorite movies is “Apollo 13”.  The story of how Jim Lovell and his crew along with all the NASA engineers managed to return them to earth from the moon’s orbit on a damaged spacecraft – is one of the most compelling in history.  In one scene, the engineers are trying to work out a sequence to repair the ship’s computer and worry that a vital step in the process may have been overlooked.  “Did we miss something here?”, one of the engineers asked as they worry that something crucial was overlooked.  Any parent will understand when I say that many nights I laid in bed thinking about the job I did as a father and asked that question, “Did we miss something here?”  Parents turn their children loose into a dark and dangerous world and can only pray that God will protect them as they go.

Raising a son is a challenge.  Not to say that raising a daughter isn’t as well.  That story will be saved for another day.  As a man, I knew the kind of challenges Justin would face in his life.  I understood from my own experiences that he would be tested for his manhood, his toughness, his sexual purity, his Christian principles, his desire to be accepted and his ability to deal with rejection.  The little boy clutching that stuffed animal on that airplane would face and did face challenges that make that scary flight pale in comparison.  As he grew and as he matured and as Lisa and I watched his handling of those challenges – we could only hope we had done enough, that we had not missed some vital step.  I have heard it said that parents take too much credit for the things their children do well and too much blame for the things they do wrong.  That may be true.  But, watching Justin dealing with the challenge of growing into a man, I have concluded this:  I have no idea who should get the credit.  God is certainly behind all this and I give Him the glory.  Whenever I look around my life and wonder how we got here – the grace of God is the only explanation.  We could not be more proud of the man he has turned out to be.  I don’t know how we did as parents but I know God did His part very well.

There are so many traits that we see in both our children that remind us of us.  I see Lisa in Heather, I see Lisa in Justin and I see traits of mine in them both.  But, there also are parts of them that I have no idea from what branch in our family tree they came from.  Justin has the quickest wit of anyone in our family and can bring a room to its knees in laughter.  It is no secret in our family that I am often the focal point of that humor.  Justin reminds me often about my love for “Little Debbie” snacks (though I swear I have broken the habit).  While denying I indulge in them anymore, Justin once retorted, “If the diabetic shoe fits – wear it!”  How he comes up with such zingers is beyond any of us. That sense of humor has served him well in what has been a challenging job working in the building industry where difficult people can make his life a living hell.  Without his ability to find humor – he may have not made it as long as he has.  Justin has developed a toughness that comes from some difficult times and hard work and, I am convinced, God is preparing him for something more in his life.  His ability to read people has allowed him to deal with difficult situations and he has the uncanny ability  to diffuse an angry new homeowner and unreasonable co-workers as well as a, sometimes, hard-headed dad.  It is fun to watch God molding the clay.

Twenty-nine years ago Justin was born.  He was born on the Saturday before the Chicago Bears played New England in Super Bowl XX.  During that game, Justin laid across my lap and slept as the Bears won 46-10.  He had no choice but to become a Chicago Bear fan just like me – it was absolute destiny.  Justin was also destined to be a Pittsburgh Pirate and Louisville Cardinal fan – it was hardly as much his choice as it was mine.  Justin is like his mother and he is like me – in different ways  But he is a young man all his own – unique, kind, understanding, smart and faithful.  He loves his wife and his family and is as loyal a friend as anyone could ever want.  I look back over time and wonder if we missed a step.  From the looks of things in his life I suppose not.  I just don’t know how we did it.

Whatever happened to the scared little boy on that airplane?

Happy Birthday, Son!  Love Mom and Dad!