We'd like to have a routine day back. You know, the kind of day where maybe you think "Is this my LIFE? Is this boring?"
We were sailing along here, researching, analyzing and writing about Eight Belles--and at work on other things. Enjoying the dialogue here.
Then came news. One of the most beloved, most important women in the Peanut crew's world had a cyst removed from her breast.
The procedure went fine. All seemed well. Then the surgeon called.
She has cancer. She has to start immediate radiation treatment, even though the surgeon thinks she got it all.
She's been this route before. Decades ago, she had breast cancer. And survived. She's also survived a seeming never-ending series of health challenges and illnesses. But she always come up still in love with life, still determined.
She's 91. A remarkable woman.
We felt like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. Stunned. Maybe that's working into angry, we're not sure yet. Scared.
Somehow, we just didn't get back to the work on Eight Belles. Not yet.
Before the next wave of storms sweept through here, we went out and gathered an armful of irises that were battered down by the last wave of stormy weather. They're beautiful.
There are some stalks out there still on the ground. Some still standing, but looking battered.
We're betting that when this cycle blows over, they'll bloom again. They'll stand tall and dance in the wind again, opening white and purple and gold into the sun.
We're betting on our own Iris, too. Storms come, storms go. They're hard to go through when they're around. But they always go. And beauty endures.
Always. We're betting on it.