First, a progress report. In general, the news is good. Latest blood tests need to be repeated, but they show that chemo has depressed platelets and white cell count, but not enough to warrant suspending treatment. Radiation treatments will continue daily, and another week of chemo scheduled for Feb 22. I’m on top of onerous side-effects, and although I’ve been told that they will grow more intense, I’m not going to talk myself into believing the ride is going to be rougher than it has to be. The last three weeks of my six week treatment regimen might well be as unpleasant as I’ve been warned, but the first three weeks haven’t been too bad at all — plenty of people would be happy to trade places with me.

Now, about my lucky day. Not many people actually know what their lucky day is. I remember this one well. I was sitting in my house in Portland, Oregon, waiting for my girlfriend at the time to drive me to the airport to visit my parents for Winter Break. She was way late. There was a knock at the door. It wasn’t my girlfriend. It was a stunning redhead with beautiful green eyes. She was wearing a man’s shirt, rolled up sleeves, under a cape with a hood. She was, apparently, my new room-mate’s girlfriend. I invited her in. My room-mate was a no-show, so I asked this new girl, Judy was her name, for a ride to the Portland airport. She came in, we had coffee in a PDX restaurant.

When I returned from Phoenix, I walked in on my girlfriend in flagrante delicto. We had a kinda loose relationship — this was 1967, remember — so that pretty much released me from any kind of committment. And I decided that my roommate wasn’t sufficiently appreciative of this gorgeous, brilliant, funny, and fiercely self-reliant redhead, so I poached on the relationship. Judy still lived at home, working as a nurse’s aide, but we began spending more and more time together.

Toward the end of spring, 1968, Judy and I and some friends went to eat at one of our favorite places, “The Forest of Illusion” on Steele and SE 39th. At one point, I left to go across the street to the convenience market. If you think I dress funny now, you should have seen me then. A car full of local teenage boys nearly ran me down, so I gave them the finger. They screeched to a halt. They surrounded me and I squared off with one of them. We bloodied each other’s noses and were rolling around on the ground when the sound attracted the attention of my friends in the restaurant. Judy came running out, her little fists balled in fury and threatened to kick their asses if they didn’t get the hell out of there. Then she gave me first aid on the sidewalk. I distinctly remember thinking that “this one would be a good road-buddy. She’s got my back.”

We’ve been together 42 years. A couple years ago, we played a game. We each wrote down a word to characterize our relationship, without telling the other what we were writing. We both wrote down the same word: “Fun.”

I can’t begin to detail the way this gorgeous, brilliant, compassionate, fiercely self-reliant woman has supported me in every way. When I started out as a writer, she worked in retail sales to support us. She believed in me as a writer before anybody else did. She always, always, always, urges me to follow my dreams. I love her more than life itself.