Thank you TU and Chris Churchill.

Once again I find myself with picture in the Times Union. As far as I’m concerned anytime you’re in the paper and you’re not under arrest or dead it’s a good thing. This story by Chris Churchill, is a follow up on three stories he wrote for his column the “Advocate”
Score 2 for good folks, 1 for lunacy

As the story says my recent CT scan was within acceptable levels with a couple spots on my liver. Friends know my adventures in the HUB bar and Caroline St were the stuff of legends in my younger days {I haven’t drank in 20 years} and that would explain the spots. The Doctor wants another CT scan in three months to check.

Trust me, a year ago I was fighting for my life in intensive care in Albany Med so this year I’m looking forward to a nice summer. No one lives forever and each one of us is born into life owing God a debt. That debt is a death. Whenever that debt comes due, my last thoughts will be a thank you to God for granting me a wonderful life.The next few weeks might be difficult for me. I understand the importance of newspapers in today’s world. The Times Union is blessed with some wonderful investigative reporters. Jim Odato, Denis Yusko and Chris Churchill are an incredible asset to the community. That said I will continue to look in J. Robert Port, the TU’s Senior Editor for Investigations. And please remember just as one bad cop shouldn’t give an entire Police force a bad name one rouge reporter shouldn’t tannish a whole paper.

I will have a new story Friday and will be at Moreau Lake beach tomorrow {guarded by six lifeguards} so fell free to stop by and chat. I will look at the lake, feel the sun on my skin and the cold water on my body and thank God to be alive
And finally If any of my readers are battling their own ailments I offer this poem by Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light