I'm forcing my sore arm into action. I was sitting on my front porch today, in the sun at 73 degrees. Cocktail on my little table, looking up at the sky and the sun through my beautiful trees, begging God to give me some more power.

He rescued me from homelessness once, as I was driving down a Kent, WA back road, looking for a tree to crash into. The voice came from above and said "I'm giving you some power" and a bolt of energy entered my body from the top of my head, and I was reborn.

I went looking for that again, today. He didn't answer. I guess you only get one shot at Gods help in your life. I've had an amazing life from that moment.

I saw the specialist at the clinic today, and I have Rotator Cup Tendonitis, most definitely caused by sitting at this computer and blogging. My blood pressure is really high also.

I have to wait till May 5 to see my PCP to talk about blood pressure meds. I was also referred to our local physical therapy place, but my insurance doesn't cover the usual $10 copays for this service, they want $35 a visit and I'm being cheap, and foolish for skipping this. Hell, a bottle of vodka cost $23. Although, I ran out of smoke a while back, and have no plans to re-up. That's good!

Bottom line, I'm not doing good. It hurts like crazy to write this, so it will be my last post for a while. I would like to thank my family and friends for reading this crap for the last 4.5 years, you have put up with a lot. If I fail to see you again in person, I'm very sorry...

My right arm is going South on me. It really hurts up by my muscle, woke me up several times in the night. It makes me realize how many things I do with that arm, like typing and driving a stick shift. It should put a muzzle on stupid posts at least.

I spent the morning in the clinic, had a bunch of x-rays taken and two different steroid shots, one in each hip. Talking to the radiologist tomorrow. The shots have helped a bit.

Shutting down...

As the lady that did my shirtless x-ray helped my get my shirt back on, because I caould barely use my arm, I joked that I should bring her home with me. She said "Let me check with the boss, I could use a change"." Was she talking about her boss at the clinic, or a husband. I don't know, but the vibe changed.

She had me present my ass to her later for steroid shots, and her eyes were probing mine, above the mask. wtf...

The odds of me hooking up with a woman now, are so long. I could still give a lady a fine time, maybe even a fine ride. But I am what I am, a seventy six year old man, with an arm that hurts, not so bad as the steroids kick in.

I've told this story before, feel like telling it again.

Riley and I started an Easter tradition in Kent, WA when he was around six. We kept it local to his apartment complex but expanded it miles outward when he was a teenager with a car.

I would get him an Easter gift and hide it somewhere out in the world. The gift started out as a big basket full of treats, and changed as he grew older.

Then, armed with posit notes and empty plastic egg shells, I would reverse engineer the location of his prize, to his front door.

The first note would specify the location of the prize. It actually becomes the last note. Then I would hide that egg, go to a new hiding spot and hide another egg, with directions back to the last one.

I would complete this process across about twenty hiding places, and set the last egg at his front door. Easter morning, when he came out, he would follow the notes to his gift.

I would hover around at a distance, making sure he was OK, and I was always there at the end.

We had many great Easters together, and hopefully today he's following his dad's directions, one more time, to that In-N-Out Burger joint in Laughlin, NV. as they finish up their Arizona trip.

Just got off the phone with Riley and Jess from her moms house, down the road from one of my favorite places: Bullhead City, AZ and Laughlin, NV.

It turns out, I was a couple weeks behind the loop when it came to the discovery adventure they were on. They had already confirmed that my sons biological father, was James Pruit (or Pruid) from La Porte, IN, using DNA test results.

JP's brother lived nearby in Arizona, and they all connected over lunch. No secrets anymore, Just answers.

btw: My son and his wife and daughter have been down in that eighty degree weather, to implant another embryo. Another beautiful grand-daughter is on the way, in nine months!

I never tell people that Riley is not my biological son. It's not relevant, and I have never mentioned this in any post across two blogs, across decades, until now with Answers.

I'm Riley's official dad and I will be until we determine who his real father is. I don't have an ounce of resentment towards this journey and I really want it to succeed!

I did the Ancestry.com DNA testing years ago, and my oldest grandson Chris popped up at the top of that list, so I know my daughter and all 14 grandkids and multiple great grand-children are related to me.

Riley is getting his DNA done soon, and they will see if he matches to any members of the family, that had their DNA tested. It would be wonderful to make this connection, to know his background and medical history, and discover a whole new family!

I'm pretty confident this will happen, can't wait!

My son Riley's mom arrived with him in Kent, WA, from Oakland when he was just a toddler, and signed up for services. I followed them both up there, because I had fallen in love with Riley and wanted to be his dad.

I was there through everything, schools from pre-kindergarten through high school, and then on to WyoTech down in Laramie. Every sporting event, every musical event, he was my boy.

One day, the welfare department wanted to go after Riley's biological father for back-payments. Since I was being his father, I was up first. They swabbed Riley's and mine cheeks, and determined that we were not related.

His mom was in a promiscuous state around his conception. No judgment here, hey, people fuck. The other guys involved were hit up in the Bay Area, and swabbed. Nobody...

So, who was Riley's biological father? There was really only one conclusion, the good looking mechanic named James Pruit, went by JP, hanging out with his mom's roommates, Mike and Michelle. He was the only one left, that never got swabbed.

Riley and Jess have jumped on this, determined that JP has died, and just had lunch with JP's brother and his wife, in Arizona.

My boy and his family have arrived at a place where answers can be found!

I mossied down to the St Joe Cafe in St Joseph today, to try out their hot bar. I went with the lunch plate, one meat (I had the lasagna), three sides and a bread, for 9 bucks and change.

I showed up right at 1100 as they opened it up, so everything was fresh. They also have an all you can eat option for $14, but I barely finished my lunch plate.

So what did I think? I give the atmosphere an A, the two ladies running the place chatted the whole time between themselves and customers, with great southern accents. I'll give the food a B-, tasty, but it seemed like every item had the same seasoning in it. Will I go back, probably not.

This is the Deep South, the Alabama state line is just down the road, so this place is as country as it gets. One old lady was telling the cafe ladies that her husband was born in St Joseph (pop 790), lived here all his life, and will stay here until the lord calls him home. Amen...

Wow, I've had an amazing life, and I love to write. My two blogs have captured not only every event as it happened, but my reflections on the past. Combined, they represent my history, they are who I am.

So, say I dropped dead tomorrow. My finances would go south and my blogs would die with me. All of that writing, about everything, the photos, would soon be gone, lost forever.

I guess that's the problem with living in the digital age. If you're important or famous, your stuff gets archived, otherwise it dies.

If I had access to my grandfathers life, would I want to explore it? Hell yea! As I have arrived here after seventy six years, I would love to experience every one of my relatives lives, as they lived it.

So here's the deal. It takes a couple hundred bucks every year to maintain my webspace (Ionos), and my photo sharing paid subscription site, Flickr.

If those digital bills don't get paid, I finally die. So, I hope someone sets up a gofundme, to cover this bill, and keeps me alive!

Also, think about documenting your life events, they need to be remembered!

I was around twenty, working at Harrah's up in Lake Tahoe as a busboy, when I met a girl. She was my age, a sizzling hot redhead, bussing tables along side me.

We were both bored and looking for adventure, so we quit our jobs and headed to the Pacific Ocean. We landed south of Carmel and Monterey, at the beach below Mal Paso Creek bridge. Clint Eastwood had his ranch at the head of the creek, and Bad Crossing was one of his trademarks.

It was totally accessible, we called it Secret Beach, and we spent two weeks there. Sleeping in the sand, bopping into Carmel for supplies when needed.

Over the decades that followed, I revisited that beach, and watched it become locked down. People built big beautiful homes on the rocks that surrounded it. They wanted to treat it as their private beach.

I remember the last visit, we managed to find the trail and hit the sand on a hot Summer day. After a few hours, two buff white guys came walking behind us, and entered the cave at the South end of the beach. That cave was there when the girl and I were, we explored it.

These guys acted really nervous, and I figure they stashed something back in there, spotted us on the beach from their ocean front window, and got paranoid. We split shortly after.

A couple of Summers ago, I was in the Belize area and hung out at the official and famous Secret Beach. I had a great time, but there was nothing secret about it, and there was no cave, and no girl...