I've reflected on the comments and have churned this as a tentative canned response. I spent the better part of 30 years in first responder work as a firefighter. Everything from chemical emergencies to auto accidents.

The black humour thing pervades the fire service. No way you understand that unless you were at real war seeing real casualties or in real front line stuff. You only, in real life, catch of glimpse of that on TV shows, most like MASH. A lot of the other stuff is so unrealistic when you compare that show to say CSI XX or House etc. The latter shows, are, for the those who know little about the business 90 percent fake.

At a certain point,due to my declining health, my doc suggested selling the business my wife and I had, or to just work on the Fire Department. The Fire Department has posted an 'day' job as an Inspector/Investigator, 12 weeks training, and a bump to Captain. I sold the business (to a degree my Unix shop leaving never left me); along with my wife who still runs the place, and went to school again. It was a stepping stone where I made it to the final spot as Deputy Chief and got told after the uniform fitting that council hired a woman, and later again to the last spot tied and jumped over for a guy 12 years younger than I who resigned as Union President on Monday to take the job on Tuesday. It was for the better believe me.

So all those hours, first dealing with things the old way, blood on your gear, so what, chemicals, sniff sniff yup, burned lungs from chemicals, lay down at work and we'll see how you are later. The deaths, the stupidity of some guy who turned too fast on his new motorcycle, pumping blood from a femoral artery we can't find in the dark, the kid with the mop of hair, senior football jacket snugged up against you as you waited for the ambulance that showed as his live blood drained down your leg in the cold autumn air. Another life gone. You can't sleep, you make morbid jokes, you dick around with each other, pouring water sown the pole hole on you friend, anything to make the moment leave you.

The autopsies. None of them has ever left me. I was always way oddball. I played hockey but I also brought in recordings of Bach Cantatas with scores, I read classical literature, but Field and Stream too, I hunted but went to the opera. ODD John. And I spoke fluent French, which here was a 'hated' thing.

I slept till 8 this morning, 2 hours longer. 2 hours on the couch before lunch. 3 hours after. The baseball game (Toronto) was out of control, I lost interest, fell asleep, and now see they won 16 to 10 I hate those games really. Just got a juice and some pills and trying to chill for another 5 or 6 hours of sleep.

The honest to God Monday hand grenade that stuck out of my neck is now a 1 inch round nut. Almost gone. Too bad another week and it's not over, the worst is yet to come and then the best I hope. They are doing all they can to slowly make me aware that I won't swallow in about 10 days. Scary that.

I met my primary surgeon in the hall this afternoon. We had a discussion about diagnosis. The legislation that permits a firefighter to be compensated for occupational illness is rather narrow if there is no diagnosis. He and his partner, another surgery fellow, just released a paper on HPV and oral cancer in a major publication. There is a definite link. Here the controversy is that this sexually transmitted disease hits mostly young teen girls, so the government sends you home a form and asks if you wish to opt in to a vaccination plan. Of course your daughter in 7th grade is taken with all the other girls out of the room so no one knows who's in or out, and they come back. The boys are 'interested'. Quite the quandary that. A little more than the H1N1 or regular flu shot you get here at the corner drug store. It needs to be there not in the schools, but the sex ed teachers are pushing it.

No need to expound further on your views on that, I know the gamut. My 19 year old, high school graduate daughter, who has no clue what she wants to do is phobic about needles. I'm taking her to one cancer clinic visit for the 5 hour chemo and a radiation visit, on the guise of learning what types of jobs are in health care, and then putting the HPV thing on her plate. Her decision. 7 weeks of chemo and radiation, or a needle. She can't tell me she's NOT active, I just know and don't care to.

That was a tangent.

As for me I think of you Don all the time. I can't imagine how you were doing 'on your own' without the place you are now. I wonder if you need a Kindle, a bottle of maple syrup, or a rose in yer..never mind.

Band in a box is to a degree a loner's game. We replace, out of necessity, or in some other way, the real musicians we might play with. I get to do both, but I isolate myself with the program, and it helps with the group thing later. My wife asked about it vis a vis the 2 old jazzers and they need Band in a Box like a hole in the head in that Atrium. They do need a Bose, but 20 feet away they are magic, the electric guitar picking and strumming, plucking and teasing through the piece, it needs nothing more. Perhaps they sit at home wanting to have another play along or not. They seem like we've done this so long you could hear the other guy and pause for him.

A little story to follow for bedtime:

John Conley
Musica est vita