Why "Free Lemonade Stand"?
1. Lemons. Got 'em? Make lemonade! (Of course, ya gotta add sugar.)
2. Lemonade stand? Doesn't that two-word phrase bring to mind the innocence of kids, wanting to do some business by getting us to stop and come over?
3. Free? Everything we have is from somebody else, no? So let's just let it flow!
Lemons: Countdown from 40-mile bike rides to open-heart surgery
6 months ago, Kathy and I did the romantic thing, retiring from my lifetime job and moving here to Traverse City to be close to our grandkids. We found great neighbors, a beautiful place to live, and lots of caring people who connect by the hundreds with people who need help.
4 months ago, I was in heaven physically. I was going for 40-mile bike rides up and down the peninsula, celebrating a strong heart and good lungs. I was helping the young guys who re-roofed our house, even carrying shingles up the ladder. I was carrying our kayaks single-handedly from the roof of our car to the lake and back. I was loading and unloading hardwood planks and landscaping rocks and trashcans of construction waste from non-stop renovation projects.
3 months ago, I started helping out at Goodwill Inn, and a simple task of facilitating a weekly group developed into an exciting, empowering project - the residents' design of board games that attracted the involvement of generous leaders from the community and touched everyone's hearts. With my wife Kathy helping on the project and getting ready for our first winter here, we were perfectly happy, and set about to find doctors in our new home town.
2 weeks ago I took a stress test my doc (Dr. Caraccio at Thirlby Clinic) wanted me to take.
1 week ago I found out that it looks like I have an aneurism on my aorta, a kind of bulge on the main artery that the heart pumps blood into, that branches off to all of the arteries in the body. If this vessel burst, death would come quickly. And I had to tell Kathy that to save my life, it would likely be necessary that a heart surgeon would need to open my rib cage, stop my heart, repair my aorta, and then put me back together again.
Today While the diagnosis is indeed a life-saver, the reality of preparation, surgery, and recovery drew everything to a halt. Others are taking over the Goodwill Inn project. The lumber in my garage will not soon turn into handmade furniture, if ever. The snow I was prepared to shovel will be shoveled by someone else . . . for me. I've become ONE WHO NEEDS HELP. From someone who seemed much younger than 62, I have become someone who knows aging, and must admit the possibility of death at any moment, as well as the call to life.
1. Lemons. Got 'em? Make lemonade! (Of course, ya gotta add sugar.)
2. Lemonade stand? Doesn't that two-word phrase bring to mind the innocence of kids, wanting to do some business by getting us to stop and come over?
3. Free? Everything we have is from somebody else, no? So let's just let it flow!
Lemons: Countdown from 40-mile bike rides to open-heart surgery
6 months ago, Kathy and I did the romantic thing, retiring from my lifetime job and moving here to Traverse City to be close to our grandkids. We found great neighbors, a beautiful place to live, and lots of caring people who connect by the hundreds with people who need help.
4 months ago, I was in heaven physically. I was going for 40-mile bike rides up and down the peninsula, celebrating a strong heart and good lungs. I was helping the young guys who re-roofed our house, even carrying shingles up the ladder. I was carrying our kayaks single-handedly from the roof of our car to the lake and back. I was loading and unloading hardwood planks and landscaping rocks and trashcans of construction waste from non-stop renovation projects.
3 months ago, I started helping out at Goodwill Inn, and a simple task of facilitating a weekly group developed into an exciting, empowering project - the residents' design of board games that attracted the involvement of generous leaders from the community and touched everyone's hearts. With my wife Kathy helping on the project and getting ready for our first winter here, we were perfectly happy, and set about to find doctors in our new home town.
2 weeks ago I took a stress test my doc (Dr. Caraccio at Thirlby Clinic) wanted me to take.
1 week ago I found out that it looks like I have an aneurism on my aorta, a kind of bulge on the main artery that the heart pumps blood into, that branches off to all of the arteries in the body. If this vessel burst, death would come quickly. And I had to tell Kathy that to save my life, it would likely be necessary that a heart surgeon would need to open my rib cage, stop my heart, repair my aorta, and then put me back together again.
Today While the diagnosis is indeed a life-saver, the reality of preparation, surgery, and recovery drew everything to a halt. Others are taking over the Goodwill Inn project. The lumber in my garage will not soon turn into handmade furniture, if ever. The snow I was prepared to shovel will be shoveled by someone else . . . for me. I've become ONE WHO NEEDS HELP. From someone who seemed much younger than 62, I have become someone who knows aging, and must admit the possibility of death at any moment, as well as the call to life.
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