Your cactus is not a cactus, it is a euphorbia, the well known crown of thorns. It will not withstand frost, and being a succulent, will not tolerate overwatering. On the other hand, underwatering can cause leaf drop, which is not fatal to the plant. I have seen beautiful specimens in Florida, and during my last visit 2 months ago, took a few cuttings which appear to have rooted successfully, one of the cuttings even flowered a few weeks after I took it. It needs well drained soil. Christopher

I am so sorry.. The pain is still fresh for the both of us.. Your website is beautiful! He would be proud of it, I'm sure.. Remember that he will be with you during graduation. Right next to you, look for a sign, I'm sure you will see something today..I have to remind myself that Dad wouldn't want me being sad..He didn't like that..He would always try to cheer me up..Remember those moments.. I'm facing a birthday party on Sun. that I'd rather not have..But I'd have a very disappointed 6 yr old little girl if I don't do it..He loved the kids and the parties, the kids were his drive in life, one of them..He would drive 2 hrs each way to come and visit sometimes for an hour and go home..Christmas will be tough too... We had the picture perfect Night before Christmas ritual going on. He would read that story, I would put the cookies in place and hang the stockings. He would hang around while I wrapped the presents and he would help me eat cookies. Last Christmas he was sick and in the hosptial from the 14th to Jan 5th or so..Little did I know, it would be his last..I questioned it, but everyone said I was overreacting, he'll be fine..Then in April, they tried to take out the cancer and found all through out his body! I was right!!! I'm having my moments too...Good luck today.. Keep in touch. Heather

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."

My Dad was an abusive alcoholic. Not to put too fine a point on it, it was a tremendous relief when my parents divorced when I was 13 and he left. I had no contact from him after that, not that I was bothered. Then, when I was 16, I had finished school and was spending a year travelling. Since I would be passing through the city in which my Dad and his new wife lived, my mother insisted I should at least visit him for an hour or two between landing on the plane from home and boarding the ship for overseas. I didn't particularly want to but my mother was a hard person to argue with. So, he and his new wife picked me up from the airport and took me to their apartment for afternoon tea. It was awkward. I was too young to really ask the right questions. Like, why did you hit me? That said, he was so locked into lying about everything I doubt I would have got a truthful answer. New wife had some adult children from a previous relationship who were older than me, who apparently would like to have met me but were unavailable. So I had to speak with them on the telephone, again an experience I wasn't all that keen to have. They chastised me for being an ungrateful daughter: according to my Dad he had been sending me birthday and Christmas cards and gifts, money, the whole works, and not once had ungrateful me replied or sent thanks. This was more fantasy on Dad's part: I never received anything and have no reason to think that my scrupulously honest mother would have prevented me receiving anything that had been sent. I disabused them of the fantasy. Eventually our awkward afternoon tea drew to a close and they took me to my ship and I left and never saw him again. When he died some years later I reacted to the news with total indifference- he was out of my system. I think this was due to my mother insisting on our final meeting, I got to see him with more mature eyes and process my feelings about him. So, I think you might consider at least one meeting with your father.Ask him any questions that have always niggled (and there are always niggly questions after the end of any relationship). If you suspect he is being fast and loose with the truth, let him know you're not interested in hearing BS. But I do think you'd benefit from hearing him out, even if you decide afterwards never to see him again. At least then you won't have any "what ifs" that can never be resolved after his death, wondering how things might have gone if......they are the hardest things to deal with after a person dies because then there is no hope of there ever being a resolution.