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I live in a small "granny unit" across a small creek from a public park. During the wet winter months, there's very little activity. As warmer weather approaches, the sound of horseshoes, the laughter of children, and the crack of baseball bats begin to be part of my daily symphony. (I almost expect sometimes to see my Mom drive up in a Chevrolet to hand me an apple pie.) In the evening when there's a baseball game, the bright lights by the field and the muffled voices of the loudspeakers filter through the trees to my place where I'm (most likely) lying down. I sometimes like to think of this as "the voice of God", words spoken with volume and authority that I can't decipher. At times, I like to believe that this voice is telling me that things will be alright and not to give up believing in myself....that I already know what I can give of myself each day.....that my actions (or lack thereof) as a "PD-surfer" are both an experience for me to learn from as well as an opportunity to make others aware and educate the masses. When my meds kick in, this voice loses its magical quality and sounds again like a night game at the park. -------------------------------------------- I'm not religious but I found myself in an odd predicament: unable to let go (literally) of something a friend gave me. I met this person at the last bluegrass festival I performed (banjo) at before the band "let me go" due to the PD and its effect on my playing. I'd shared some banjo-knowledge with this young teenager at the festival and we traded addresses to stay in contact. My PD was never brought up till months later when he asked me in a letter to tape some of my "live playing" for him. It has often been difficult for me to tell others about the PD. I didn't know what to do other than tell this 15-yr. old my situation and hope that he understood. I didn't get another letter from him for almost three months; I didn't expect to. When his letter arrived, there was a brief note inside and a piece of black-and-white checkered cloth in a small folded square. The front of his note told me about a banjo-contest he'd recently placed 2nd in and that he was looking forward to driving a car soon but the back had this on it: "David, My Mom and I prayed a long time over this piece of cloth. It says in the Bible that if you pray over a piece of cloth and give it to a person who is ill, they will be cured of their sickness." I held that piece of cloth the rest of the afternoon. I still have it in my wallet and can't bring myself to stop carrying it. I was taken aback by my friend's "gift" to me and touched by his words. My pallidotomy is scheduled for sometime next month and I'm sure that piece of cloth will be there with me.