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Doug Blough

As you well know, my mind occasionally gets overloaded with dangling thoughts, and like a woman seeking breast reduction, must get it all off my chest. Otherwise I walk around with a brain full of unexpressed opinions that weigh me down, often leading to a pronounced stutter. I’m funny that way.

Las Vegas has not been good to me. She’s an uncaring, self-absorbed mistress, yet I love her like no other.

If you’re acutely-astute, you probably noticed it’s not my photo. Actually, a handsome, successful, young friend gracefully agreed to substitute his photo in lieu of my haircut next week. Like you, I’ve grown repulsed by my bedraggled, outdated photo.

By the time you read this, my brother Paul will already be gone. He’ll be missed, but I’m comforted knowing he’s gone to a better place.

There are many things in this life that aren’t even up for debate since they’re so obvious. For instance, if I set my alarm for anytime earlier than 9 a.m., I’ll hit the snooze three times and hours later will find the clock on the floor missing the battery. We know this.

At the end of the day, 2016 was a pretty good year. That being said, it went out like a lion and 2017 came in like a lamb. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times, with tragic death preceding renewed birth. It is what it is. I just try to take it one year at a time.

It’s that time of year when everyone considering buying me a Christmas gift asks, “What to give a guy who has everything?” It’s true; there are no more TV channels I don’t already get, I have the two perfect dogs and just bought a new (well, a ’97, but clean) truck.

The great thing about this time of year is the holiday spirit prompting our generous citizenry to give until it hurts. When I was on the board of the Humane Society, we always appealed to the public for financial aid for our needy animals during the Thanksgiving/Christmas season. That’s America.

As occasionally happens, a myriad of unexpressed thoughts jumble my mind until a substance resembling guacamole begins oozing from my ears. So I’ll utilize my release valve known as the Powell Trib. Let’s begin:

It was a somber, cancer weekend days before Halloween, and nothing is more ghoulish than cancer. I attended my brother Paul’s wonderful wife Shelia’s (Claudson) funeral and later that evening, a cancer benefit for sweet Teri (Barhaugh) Patton.

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