Although there is a bee or two in there, I hardly think that qualifies as a *bug* photo set! It should have read big photo set!!! Please accept these extra photos as my apology: Aloe erinacea Opuntia microdasys Deeply variegated Aloe arborescens

here's another one in a more positive light, if only because they MAKE it positive. God bless them! "Who wants to share what they wished for?" Lam asks. Every arm in the roomful of children flies up. Support Director Gary Lam points to Andrew, a cherubic six-year-old boy with curly brown hair. "Swimming with the dolphins!" Andrew calls out, beaming. Several dozen other campers bounce up and down, eager to share similar experiences. "Meeting Mickey," cries Jordan. "I got a shopping spree in a toy store!" says Kendall. After each wish is revealed, moans of envy echo around the room. "What other good things have happened because you have cancer?" An older boy across the circle, about eleven years old, raises his hand. "Being sick has brought my family closer together. We spend way more time now doing fun stuff." "If I never went to Children's Hospital," a nine-year-old girl, wearing a pink bandana to cover her bald head, says next, "I never woulda met my best friend!" She squeezes the hand of the pig-tailed girl in a matching bandana, seated next to her. "I have a new appreciation for life," says Jake, a counselor and former camper, now in his early twenties. "I've crammed more experiences into the last five years than most people have in their lifetime." Jake is not only the guitar-playing comedian all the campers worship. He's also survived the same battle they are currently fighting. Lam nods appreciatively. "What would you say is the best thing about cancer?" Every hand flies up into the air again and Matthew, a mischievous ten-year-old with shaggy blond hair, is chosen. He smirks, and announces proudly, "The best part is getting to look Cancer in the face and say Ha Ha. Beat You!'" Everyone laughs. Seven-year-old Ella, who has been waving her arm frantically for the past few minutes, can't contain herself a moment longer. "The best part about cancer is getting to come to camp!" she squeals, before clamping a hand over her mouth sheepishly. Ella is referring to Camp Goodtimes - a pediatric oncology camp nestled in the University of British Columbia Research Forest in Maple Ridge, British Columbia. It could easily rival Disneyland for the title of "Happiest Place on Earth." My first encounter with Camp Goodtimes came four years ago after reading a story in Chicken Soup for the Volunteer's Soul, which inspired me to go see the magic for myself. I've been changed ever since. The feather-light little girl snuggled on my lap shifts her weight slightly and jars my attention back to the room. Dani has been listening intently to the discussion going on around her without actively participating. It's hard to believe this sweet girl is the same sad, sick-looking child who stormed into my cabin on the first day, furious with the world, and anything but a happy camper. "The sickest kid in camp," a fellow volunteer had warned me. "So let's not let it stop her from having the time of her life." Dani had barely spoken a word the first few days but was silently soaking it all in, and soon began thriving. Gary Lam circles the room, handing each child a small square of paper and instructing them to write down or draw a picture of something that brings a smile to their face. Dani furrows her eyebrows and sucks on the end of her marker; then she flops on her tummy and swaps the marker for a pink crayon, and begins printing letters carefully. "Do you need help thinking of something?" I whisper nervously. The poor kid has been through so much in the past year, battling treatments and brain surgeries. What could she possibly have to smile about? She shakes her head at me impatiently, as I'm obviously interrupting her thoughts. I glance around the circle at Andrew, Ella, Matthew, and all the other new members of my extended camp family. It's going to be heartbreaking to say goodbye in a matter of days. As magical as these precious weeks of summer are, the frustrating part is leaving this enchanted forest behind and returning to reality, where well-meaning friends just don't realize that the cure rate for childhood cancer is actually quite high and that many of the campers will survive and return as counselors. "You must have had the most depressing time with all those dying kids." I reflect on the summer's activities. Kayaking through the early morning mist. Baking cookies in our pajamas. Water fights of epic proportions. Breaking into spontaneous song and dance whenever the desire struck. "Now it's time to share our smiles with the rest of the world," Gary informs the kids. My campers follow me down a gravel path to the lake, holding hands and clutching strings with dozens of balloons dancing in the breeze and bonking our heads with rubbery thuds. We kneel on the creaky dock and begin the countdown: "3Â..2Â..1!" Dozens of balloons with paper messages attached dancing in the breeze and bonking our heads we release the balloons - and our optimistic thoughts - up into the sky and out into the universe, watching as they slowly float up, up and away. "Blow!" Gary yells. We huff and puff and watch the colorful spheres as they finally disappear from sight. As I survey the young crowd craning their necks for a final glimpse, I marvel at Gary's ability to take a bunch of sick kids and turn a discussion of childhood cancer into such a positive experience. No one was thinking of the hard times. No one was wondering who would be back next summer and who wouldn't. Dani glances up at me and grins. Just moments earlier, before she had carefully folded her paper in half, sealing her message inside, she'd quickly flashed the paper open to give me a peek. In bold pink writing, her message simply said: "I Smile Because I'm Alive."

vacuumfreak - congratulations on your adoption! He's absolutely beautiful!! And congratulations on adopting a rescue . . . I believe they make the best companions. I'm very thankful for another year with my aging shelties and cat. It's been touch and go year for my male sheltie, but he's still here and still enjoying his life. My female sheltie has "grown up" and stepped into the role of "alpha" in our house. My beautiful snotty cat is still the little light in my life. She's absolutely hateful to anyone but "her" immediate family, but we adore her and wish others could see the lap-kitty side of her. But, after 17 years, I will assume that it's possible that everyone will always think of her as a little . . . snot. It's a wonderful day to be thankful for the little furry blessings that grace our homes and keep us company. Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!

Nice to hear that you've been enjoying yourself, S. K. I hope that you find the rest of your free time gratifying and can return to the task refreshed. May your New Year bring many happy, wonderful experiences and things ... some unexpected ... and the fulfillment of a dream or two. ole joyful