Dear Tweeters:

I had no idea that there would be such a cascade of outpouring from so many of
you posting me privately in these past 48 hours regarding the sudden bombshell
note at the end of my 'marine debris' post on 12/24, that I can't begin to
reply to each and every one of you as I would like. Each of you wrote
uniquely in your own words comforting caring thoughts of encouragement that
many times brought me to tears. I can't begin to find the proper words just
to say thank you all other than just post here a general and sincere thanks!

It was very difficult with such a bombshell phone call so suddenly on
Christmas Eve and in the middle of a Tweeters composition, to grasp the idea
of my brother's being diagnosed HIV+ *plus* full blown AIDS all in the same
breath, thus my utter collapse at the end and an urgent need to just get the
'marine debris' post off, unchecked and edited with a couple small parts
deleted like it should have been. I must also say that I am not without
feeling a bit uneasy by all this outpouring of expressed concern and sympathy
that arrived right at the holidays, because I know there are many of you who
have friends and loved ones who likewise are afflicted with various illness
and have suffered losses but whose individual concerns, fears, and sadness are
shared only in silence. I must not let this perspective pass unnoted.

I owe my life to my little brother and quite literally. As kid-brothers and
budding birders, he only an 8th grader at the time, we took on the world, our
only then known world in rural Northwest Missouri, with all that youthful
enthusiasm and invincibility minus any thought to the fragility of our own
mortality that most of us all share at the early parts in our lives. For had
it not been for him one late winter's day so many years ago, I would not even
be here to write this testimony. Thus, this holiday season is filled with a
lot of distant and haunting tearful memories of Christmas's past and times we
shared together. He is currently in good hands and seems to be doing
reasonably well under the circumstances.

We were birding together one late winter's day at the Squaw Creek National
Wildlife Refuge and along the banks of the Missouri River. A massive ice jam
had piled up in The 'mighty MO' near St. Joseph, and upstream near Squaw Creek
the river was frozen solid. I thought it would be 'cool' to 'walk' across the
river to tick off a few 'day birds' in Nebraska just for fun, and well... to
just do it. And off we went skating and sliding and laughing our way across
the vast open slippery icy plain happy and care-free as could be on such an
adventure. Perhaps no more than three paces from setting foot in Nebraska,
the ice gave way and I plunged into the bottomless icy muddy waters. The
current was so strong and dragging my body under the ice as I clung to the ice
with whitened knuckles as the thin ice and my only flimsy support constantly
broke away piece by piece and the frigid muddy river relentlessly tried to
pull me under. There was no time to go for help which would have been miles
away, or even go anywhere to find a rope or tree branch to extend as a tow or
lifeline. Somehow, and surely by some sheer miracle my little brother managed
to extend a hand and sleeve of his jacket by lying flat on the ice and
eventually I was able to hold on enough so as for me to hoist myself out. I
was so terrified and not even thinking of my plight, rather had far more fears
of terror that he too would go through the ice as well and there could be
nothing I could do. Throughout my life to this day, I have chilling recurring
frights of terror and I can't even face the prospects of setting foot on a
hard solidly frozen pond without some trepidation.

This incident and by virtue of living in Washington state is a private
personal reason why I never want to see the "Mighty MO" -- the historic
battleship, to ever leave the piers of Bremerton. Even if just by name only,
it's nearness still projects reflection and comfort of native 'home'.

I will also never forget another late winter / early spring day, maybe that
same year, birding again at Squaw Creek and we were way off in some far remote
corner of the refuge. It was terribly windy that day when all of a sudden a
huge prairie fire sprang up, apparently ignited by a passing train. The fire
quickly grew and spread through the dry prairie grasses fanned by 40mph winds
and spread out forming an unbroken line. A towering wall of angry orange
flame amidst black smoke came racing towards us and there was nowhere to go
and precious little time to think about it. We jumped in the car, and I
floored it heading straight into the advancing sheets of fire. In no time, we
punched through amidst the roar and heat, flames spewing out from under the
wheels, and my brother was so terrified beyond words through that moment of
panic that he was sure we should have gone up in one huge explosive gas bomb.

We've since drifted somewhat apart, geographically and with our lives, and he
no longer a birder in an avid sense, it still gives me no end of joy to hear
of him just mention in writing the names of some of the common birds he
learned and retained from me when we were kids, some of those he may now
incidentally encounter when working in his plot in the community garden in the
heart of the city and Manhattan's Times Square / Hell's Kitchen area, or when
he's returned from a hike somewhere, or just those common birds that may
happen to be around the yard of a second home retreat out on Long Island.

So yeah, I owe him everything, and right now more than ever, my undying love,
prayers, and support. And again to you all, thanks so ever much for your
compassionate words of support and understanding.

Richard Rowlett (Pagodroma at aol.com)
47.56N, 122.13W
(Seattle/Bellevue, WA USA)