Tom Attwater Is Dying. His Daughter Might Die, Too. The Letter He Left For Her Is Unforgettable.

Will you PLEASE take time to read this reblog from Kindness Blog?

Kindness Blog

Tom Attwater is dying of a brain tumor, but he isn’t worried about his cancer. Instead, he is trying to save his 5 year-old daughter from her own.

He has vowed to raise approximately $820,200.00 for her cancer treatment, even if he wouldn’t be around to see her go through it.

Now Tom is almost half way to his fundraising target he is more adamant than ever to reach it. Tragically his deadline is short as his latest scans show his brain tumour is growing.

He says: “These days people make bucket lists, and the very top of mine – the one that matters most – is raising money to make sure Kelli gets the medical help she might need.

Tom attwater

“Some people have advised me to slow down and concentrate on enjoying the rest of my days. But how can I knowing Kelli’s bright life might be cut short?


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Someone’s knockin’ at the door /Somebody’s ringin’ the bell / Someone’s knockin’ at the door / Somebody’s ringin’ the bell / Do me a favor / Open the door and let’em in, ooh yeah … “  (Paul McCartney, “Let’em In”)

Thinking about doors, and don’t know why … Stranger things have happened, and I don’t know why.  Stranger things are not always a loss, not always a bummer, not always a washout.  And doors get opened, and doors get closed, and I really, seriously, don’t know why.

“When people keep repeating / That you’ll never fall in love /When everybody keeps retreating / But you can’t seem to get enough / Let my love open the door / Let my love open the door /  Let my love open the door … To your heart.”  (Pete Townsend, “Let My Love Open The Door”)


Someone told me doors are to keep people out, and to keep people in.  Some sojourners are looking for a safe place, a place of rest.  Others may be looking for a non-safe place, where the crazy-talk is, where emotions are hellish.   I like safe places, and doors play a part in all that. Closed doors can really get to me.  Times like that, I ask “What am I supposed to do?  Where am I supposed to go?”  So, if you come by, find the door locked, leave me a voicemail, an EMAIL, a text, a scribbled note with some tape on the door, or a carrier pidgeon.






Cuppa Coffee and a Ponderosa Pine

A little glimpse of what happens on the Other Side of the Trees. Smile! I hope you enjoy this. Peace, T

Wilder Man On Rolling Creek Trail

Yesterday morning, with coffee, surveyed the forest, stretching back and upward along the slope of the mountain.  I studied one tree in particular, a Ponderosa Pine, one of several I have sized-up countless times.   It goes up around 75 feet; 14 inches in diameter.  I have known that the tree needs to come down, but its a beautiful tree, or a handsome tree, one or another.  It is a large tree for my eyes; stands like a bull in a china shop.  East, ten feet away, is the roof.  North, fifty feet, is a power line.  South, twenty feet, runs the phone line. That leaves west.  And even then, the phone line on the south and the power line on the north converge, at an angle,  at the pole (west).

I will cut this Ponderosa Pine six feet above the ground and it will…

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