Of all my friends, neighbors, family members and assorted townspeople who make appearances in this blog, I'd venture to guess that none is more beloved among my readers than White Trash Bob. Heck, he has his own fan club and he's been nominated for sainthood, and for good reason. In the seven years I've lived across the street from him, he's never failed to provide advice, tools, muscle, and encouragement every time I've needed it. Sometimes even when I didn't know I needed it. He built my picket fence without once pointing out that I didn't know what the heck I was doing, talked me down off the roof when I was too afraid to climb back down, let me help him tinker around with motorcycles, and made me chicken noodle soup when I was brokenhearted. In short, he's helped me out of many a jam.
And now White Trash Bob needs some help out of a jam of his own.
Without going into detail and invading the man's privacy, I'll just let you know that WTB has contracted a particularly evil cancer, with a long treatment and an uncertain prognosis. I'm sure, although I haven't talked to him about it, that he's royally pissed off about the whole situation.
So rally round, WTB Fan Club members! To arms! If y'all are the praying type, could you send a few up for Bob? If you're otherwise inclined, please send WTB love and light and positive energy or whatever you believe might help the man. I'm sure he'd appreciate it, and the elegant and erstwhile Mrs. WTB would appreciate it even more.