I have longed to go to Cuba since I was a girl and learned that the smallest bird in the universe, the Bee Hummingbird, is found only there. Also, the most adorable bird in the universe, the Cuban Tody, lives only on Cuba. (If you don't believe that it's the most adorable bird in the universe, see for yourself: http://twinbeaks.blogspot.com/2009/04/americans-might-be-coming-to-see-me.html ).

It's ridiculous that we have closed ourselves off to the splendors of Cuba for so long, especially considering the politics of countries which we do allow our citizens to visit.

My sister died of cancer last year after being on chemo for 8 straight years--she lived 7 years after she was given less than six months to live. While she was sick, she was very active in her area's Relay for Life program, and also with other fund raising for the American Cancer Society, and came into contact with a lot of other people with cancer, few who could afford her level of care. Some had been laid off from one job, and when they got another were refused insurance for their "preexisting condition." And premiums went up so high for some that they simply opted out of more treatment, not feeling they could justify that kind of expense when they had children.

Obama death panels? Bullshit.

I think Obama is doing as well as anyone could possibly do in dealing with the devastating aftermath of an 8-year disaster. But it's lovely to know that there is one person in this administration that we can count on to say exactly what's true.

One person's lifetime is like a book. Whether the book is exciting or vapid, wonderful or truly awful, it comes to an end. The best books, like the best-lived lives, come to an end too soon, and much as we rush through our reading of a good book that’s hard to put down, we're sad to reach the final pages.

A lot of the pages in our individual lives are written by other people and by the fates. But our own character responds to those other people and to the fates in the ways that define both our character and the entire work. As the ultimate author, up until the final page we get to decide either that we're still moving toward changes in plot and character development or that the plot is over and we're locked in a long, sorrowful denouement. When an author gets stuck in the middle of a book and can’t decide how to end it, there is often some angst and re-reading the opening chapters, when the book was fresh and new and the potential plot twists endless. Unlike a real book, the chapters of our own lives are written in stone once each day passes, so by age 50, virtually all of the possible plot developments we originally envisioned have vanished. But there are still many choices, though the author may need some creativity to find satisfying ways to approach his own life's climax. The author may just give up and tuck the book in an attic, his life petering out before his body does. It can be a huge challenge to head back to the typewriter and move forward. But that’s exactly what today’s letter writer is looking for, right?

My sister was always extremely conservative. Then she got cancer, and was on chemo a few times every single month for the last 7 or 8 years of her life--she was in a lot of pain but managed to watch her three daughters grow up and was one of those positive forces you read about. Her husband had a large income and they could afford quality insurance for her. But she got active in a cancer group wherein she met a lot of people who had no way of getting the level of care she received. And because she had a brain AND a heart, she realized that we need universal healthcare.