Dandelion Assist

It's not spring. Yet.

Which made my discovery this past week of a dandelion growing in my front yard even more surprising. It's a brave little dandelion, to decide to come up and face the cold and snow; brave to bloom when all the other flowers are still huddled down and waiting for the winter winds to blow their last.

A long time ago on these pages, I wrote that my faith is a dandelion. It's still true. My faith turns up when it's not expected. It braves the cold of winter and shows up anyways. It dismisses the scorn of those who look down on it because it does not follow the proper guidelines and pops up all bright and cheerful and raggedy around the edges.

My faith has been helping me absorb the news that yet one more friend has lost her battle with cancer. That makes four this month.

Somehow, this month, my mind hasn't gone down the mental path of "If it's happened to them, that must mean it'll happen to me, and I'm going to be next." Rather, the lessons I learned walking with myself and Kate and Libby on our respective cancer journeys resound. (I'm pretty sure some of the credit for my strength goes to the foolishly brave little flower on my lawn.)

Despite and because of my tears, I've been remembering to live and love the days I have been given, always with an eye out for the margarita truck that could come by any day. I've reveled in the returning light, smiled at the cheeky robins on their journey north. I've stopped and listened to the morning song of the birds as they proclaim I should wake for another day. been thankful for the evening light outside. (It's no longer dark already at five!!!)

And today, I am rejoicing with a friend whose husband underwent a successful kidney transplant earlier this week. (And sending prayers of thanks to his sister who donated one of her kidneys in the hope she will be giving him more good days of life; prayers of gratitude for the steady hands of their surgeons.)

Death and second chances and winter and spring all rolled up together this week, serving to remind me the cycle of life continues. The cycle is not mine to control, rather, it is my privilege and duty to simply bear witness to the turning of the seasons. To notice and to wonder and to cry and to laugh and to thank the One Who Is for the beauty which can be found in all of the days if I but remember to look.

Think Spring!!!

Cancaversary #8

I woke up this morning at my usual time after a pretty darn good night's sleep. I showered with my usual shower soap and when I'd finished, put a thick layer of lotion on my skin, effectively soothing over the memory of this same morning eight years ago.

That morning, I hadn't sleep much at all the previous night, but still had to get up at dark-thirty to get to the hospital. I had to use just Dial soap to cleanse myself, and then was asked not to use any lotion, thus setting me up with an irritating full-body itch which unsuccessfully tried to distract me from my fears as I waited for my surgery to begin.

This morning, instead of having to drag my scaly, scared body to the hospital for surgery to cut off my boobs, I scheduled a massage, to soothe tight muscles and celebrate the fact my cancer is still NED (No Evidence of Disease).

I am grateful I am still here to breathe the chill February air, to walk in the sunshine (yes, the sun considerately decided to show its face this afternoon). Since the time I groggily woke after five hours of surgery to the wonderful news that they had found no evidence of cancer in my lymph system, I have been gifted with eight years of new moments to tuck away in my memory book.

A much easier day all around, I must say.

And yet.

In the last two weeks, I've gotten hard news three times; the latest call came just this morning. One cousin from each side of the family and a good friend from Colorado have died from their respective cancers. Rest in Peace - Mary Pat, Jackie, and Phyllis.  *heavy sigh* *tears*

Why them, why not me?

You'd think I'd have learned by now not to ask that question; to know there will be no answers forthcoming other than the sure knowledge that, one day, I will follow their path past all I know and finally see what lies beyond. *another sigh*

Stop.  Breathe.

The day when I find out will come for me, but that day is not today. (so far, so good, at least...)
Today, I am here and alive and well.
Today, I am not taking my health for granted.
Today, I am grateful for the days I've had.
Today, I am looking forward to the days I will have yet to come.

Happy Cancaversary to me!

Long Thoughts

And then, there are those magic minutes where Good decides
to set the sky on fire, just in case anyone is watching.

Joe and I made a quick trip up to Minnesota this past weekend. (His wife wasn't able to come, and the baby stayed home with her.) We wanted to be up there with my niece on the evening of her not-wedding day. Not that we were actually worried about her turning into a train wreck - the wedding was called off for good reasons - but there are some days it's important to not be alone, to spend at least a few hours with a few of the right people if it's possible, and the day you were supposed to get married is one of those days. It was possible, and we are two of the right people in her life, so we went on up for dinner.

I must admit I wasn't looking forward to driving up one day and back the next, but schedules are what they are, and that's all the time we were both able to get free, so off we went.

To my surprise, the drive wasn't bad at all. It has been a good handful of years since Joe and I made the drive together, just us. He's busy these days with work and family and buying a new house and being a responsible adult and and and, and I haven't seen much of him. When we do get together, his wife, and now the baby, are usually along. Their company is not a bad thing, but it does change the conversation.

Historically, when we took a long drive, we would go long stretches without talking - just looking out the windows, one of us napping, listening to the music of the hour. This time, he drove the entire distance (he prefers to drive if he's not too tired), I rode shotgun, and we talked.

About his worries and fears and joys and loves. About the project-to-come that is his new house. About the way the baby's early arrival tore his heart, how Baby Joe's catching up to his age-mates in the last six weeks has eased the tightness Joe carried in his chest for several long months. We talked of the bumpy landing I've had entering retirement, and what I've been doing with my days.

We had time for long thoughts - the ones that only seem to pop up on drives like the one we were on. It took some time to find our old rhythm of conversation. When we first hit the road, our conversation bounced like a stone skipped across the water, and hit only the surface. As the hours wore on we both let down our defenses a bit, and let each other see some of the tender spots. The conversation grew deeper, more open.

I am SO glad we made the trip. Not only did I get to have a lovely dinner with one of my favorite people in the world, I found the unanticipated gift of reconnecting to my son. I realized anew how much I like the man my boy has become. I am proud of him.

Good Is.

!!!Go, Chiefs!!!

Sunset the night before the game,
Lake of the Ozarks

I'll admit it, I'm not much of a football fan - the whole "watching people injure their brains for my entertainment" part usually leaves me cold. But when it's the hometown team in the Super Bowl, and they haven't won, or even made it that far in fifty years, it's hard to ignore the hype - and why would you want to? If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

So, Sunday night found me over at the home of some like-minded friends. I was driving over to their house just a few minutes before the kickoff, and felt like I was out after curfew. I saw just three other cars on the normally bustling route between our houses. Three. In two miles.

Once I got there, we adjourned to their home theater room, where I discovered it is much easier to follow the action on a bigger screen. (I think I last watched a game when a 24" screen was good-sized...) When the players are bigger, it's a lot less like watching ants scurry; the movements of the teams make more sense. And, my friends totally got into the spirit of the game by having too much good food on hand, so I know we did that part right. (Do I know how to pick my friends, or what??)

We enjoyed the first half of the game. I ate too much of the good food, and started to get into the game. I enjoyed the back and forth action between the two teams; they ended up tied at the half. (If I weren't in Kansas City, I'd have to admit, those 49ers were playing a great game!)

I won't pick a side in the after-game debate of how many clothes the half-time singers should have been wearing - but I will say I admired their fitness. If I was her age, and I could do that, and look like that doing it, I might well forget to cover my nether cheeks, too...

Then the game restarted. Despite my protests of not really caring, I found myself pulled into the action. The 49ers got ahead, and we (notice, they're suddenly MY team) didn't put up a matching score. Then, when we finally got the ball, we threw an interception.

I couldn't watch. I was pulled back to earth, suddenly aware I needed to visit the bathroom; that my contacts were about to quit for the day. I'll admit it - mostly, if we lost, I wanted to be able to immediately climb into bed, pull the covers over my head, and try to convince myself I really hadn't cared all along.

So, I said my good nights, got into my car, and drove home over the eerily quiet streets. When I got there, I gave my eyeballs some relief, then turned on the TV, only to find we were now ten points down.

**sigh** I couldn't stand it, so I turned the sound off. Somehow, that was going to make it easier.

But then, but then. Just when it was starting to look like a lost cause, Mahomes reached down deep into his pockets and there, among the mint wrappers and pennies, he found his magic, just six  football minutes before the end of the game. (Football minutes are not real minutes - the two aren't really the same thing at all.)

The Chiefs got the ball and scored, got it back and did it again to pull ahead, and once again to seal the deal!

The city erupted as one, the normal divisions of race, politics, economics erased for a magical hour. The fireworks were going non-stop, crime did stop. Through the closed windows of my house in my normally quiet neighborhood, I could hear people outside cheering; their houses suddenly not large enough to contain their elation.

We won!!!!! (A victory all the sweeter for having been so long denied.)

Surely, they had a room up in heaven somewhere where the big screen was tuned into the game, because I swore I could hear Walter screaming with the best of them. Surely, he didn't miss this just because he died too soon. Rest in Peace, buddy...

Go, Chiefs!!!!