They run the financials (with help from Jill and Amanda), and I merely take my cue from them.

But recently we have been working on a “book.”  That’s cheesy business parlance for a business plan.  People in the financial community like to say things like, “get me your book and I’ll consider it.”  Translation:  “Send me your business plan and I will think about investing money in your ideas.”

For the past few months Mark and I (with help from John and Barb and Rachel and David and Ben and Amanda and everyone else we can tap) have been working on writing a grand plan for Piedmont Biofuels expansion into the world.

I do the words.  Mark does the numbers.  It’s been a big chore, and it is coming together.  Once it is released into the world it will answer a whole bunch of questions—like “How do I invest in this?” and “What does the future of Piedmont hold?”

The “book” is damn near done.

But Mark has not been feeling well.  He had a blood clot, followed by what we thought were allergies followed by what was mis-diagnosed as pneumonia.  It’s been irritating for me.  Maddening for him.

When my nephew David passed through town, he chopped wood, played guitar with the boys, and ran the spreadsheets like ringing a bell.  22 year olds have a digital literacy that I lack.

So the business plan has been progressing sans Mark.  And I have learned to drive the spreadsheets myself.  The initial response to our idea has been well received by the investment community.  Apparently food, water and renewable energy still have a pulse in what remains of the investment world.

And what is being talked about is a whole bunch of money.  There is a very real chance that millions of dollars are about to be dropped on our heads so that we can execute the plan.

This very bad day began like any other.  I dropped the boys on their bikes at Doug’s auto garage and drove to the plant.  I fired up a kettle of water to make a pot of coffee and opened my notebook at the bar in the kitchen.

I got a panic email from John in New York about how all the spreadsheets in the preliminary “book” were broken.  I went in and fixed them on my own.  Leif came by to drop his lunch in the fridge, and I merely grunted rather than offering my usual effusive “Good Morning.”

At which point Mark pulled in on his way to the hospital.  I jumped in to be his sidekick.

Over the years Mark and I have gone on hundreds of adventures together.  From cross country road trips to cross county sculpture installs.  Jumping in together is what we do.

And when we arrived at UNC Hospital, it was merely that.  I park the car, and fetch the medical records—he goes for this test and another while I read a book—we flap aimlessly in the waiting room and all is well.

Until we learn cancer is involved.

At which point my blood pressure rises and I feel like I am plugged into an electrical socket.  Reading comes hard.  Concentration is wandering.  Small talk is hard to find.

Mark is tough as nails and has a brave face.  He is also making jokes about the things we could do to increase some of the tension in the waiting room.

I’m his loyal sidekick (as I have been all my life), so I laugh along and shrug off the cancer thing.

His girlfriend Beth pulls in.  She’s terrific.  Mark lights up when she’s around.

And together the three of us pull through a long “medical establishment” day.  Mark is the one getting poked and prodded and having to stand for twenty minutes with his arms above his head.  All I have to do is read, and sleep, and survive the boredom of the hospital waiting room.

By the end of the day Beth is in charge and my responsibilities have been reduced to getting Mark’s Mercedes back to his house.

Which gives me some time for quiet reflection.  Which causes me to lose it.

I would rather have Mark than 10 million dollars.

When I pulled into the plant I tapped Leif for a ride to drop off Mark’s car.  Leif has had a nightmare day.  He’s running the plant, and the bio-refinery, with new help, and no help, and struggling to stay above water.  When he hears about Mark he slams the dash and curses loudly.

When I return to the plant I get the cell call from Rachel. She is in St. Louis at a meeting of the National Biodiesel Board.  She has been loaded up with enough scarcity to crush a mule, and has had a very bad day, but when she hears about  Mark she merely starts to cry.

One of the unwritten rules about Energy Blog is that we only write about the good stuff.  It’s our media, and we censor.  If you want bad news, try another outlet.

And when it comes to Mark it is not bad news.

He’s young.  And strong.  And feisty.  And still laughing.  And he will send this cancer packing such that he can join us in full force again.

And to do that he needs us.  He doesn’t need us to see him “out.”  He needs us to see him “through.”  Just as hundreds of people  turned their goodwill toward Kaitlin after her accident, it is time to do the same for Mark.

After all, having him on the couch instead of “on project” is really annoying.  We are not the same without him engaged in our lives…

Original post by Lyle

Original post by Lyle

Original post by Lyle

Original post by Lyle

Original post by Lyle

Original post by Lyle