*Not* Stressed

I'm not feeling stressed.

I often pretreat a couple of shirts to try to get some stains out, then start the washer - without putting the shirts into the machine. (I was, perhaps, a bit puzzled when I opened the machine at the completion of the cycle and found it empty.)

Fortunately for my shirts, Shout can safely sit on the fabric for a while, and the grease stains came right out when I re-ran the cycle.

OK. Maybe I'm a little stressed.

Mostly, I'm glad to be moving on this Kate surgery thing. Getting to this week has been a too-long process. Too much time to think and stew. I am scared, and my subconscious knows it. Time and time again, I've had to turn my thoughts away from the doomsday scenarios my imagination so easily conjures up when I let down my guard. 

So many unknowns. 

Soon, they will be resolved.

I've been busily nesting, getting my place ready for winter, so that when I return home at the beginning of November I can snuggle in without having to fret about all the fall chores I left undone. 

Truth be told, this is one of those times when it's hard for me to picture an 'after'.  Probably because I know surgery is just the first line of defense against her cancer, and getting through the follow-up therapies will be one long and hard slog.

Back to one step at a time.

What can I do to help her take *this* step? Don't worry about all the hard next steps. Just take *this* one.

It's worked for me, for us, before. I am pretty sure it'll work again.

Getting Real

Kate texted me this afternoon. She said her upcoming surgery is getting more and more real by the minute.

Yup. I'm there. "Not Yet"is quickly becoming "This Is Real".

My vacation in Minnesota was lovely. Lots of driving (*ugh*), lots of good family time and some quiet time to myself (*happy sigh*). There was a lovely wedding (*awwww, my heart!*) and I bought some new red boots (*bonus!*).

I'm back home and looking at my calendar and what was AN ENTIRE MONTH away is now the end of next week.

The idea of the upcoming surgery is frightening, but also oddly reassuring. She'll finally be able to GET IT OUT!!!! EEEWWW!!!! and know what she's dealing with. She'll be past the interminable waiting of the last few months, and moving on to whatever it is that comes next.

She will be in good hands. She has a team of three surgeons scheduled and ready to go a week from Friday. The plastic surgeon will remove the implant. The oncology doc will take care of lump #1, and then work with the thoracic surgeon to go in to see what that other scariness in her chest wall is up to. 

Nothing can change the fact these upcoming months will be hard for Kate and everyone who loves her, but I have a lovely group of friends at my back, ready to support me as I do my best to support her. They know there's nothing they can do to help, but they offer anyway. I know they'll be there when I need them. 

One friend has set us up for a pre-surgery pedicure later this week. (Pretty toes make things just a little better, it's true!) Another stopped me before my exercise class this morning to give me a box of my favorite butter cookies (the secret is in the touch of salt!) she'd picked up just for me.

One of my most enduring lessons from my cancer journey 12 years ago is that I am loved. 

I don't have words to describe how much it means to me to know this is still true; to know I don't walk life's paths alone.

Good Is. 

A Moment to Breathe

 

It seems the Universe is not vested in my martyr complex after all, and so I’ve been able to go on my long-scheduled trip back home to Minnesota this week. (Part of my heart still thinks of Minnesota as home, and I find that funny - it’s been 40 ??!!! years since I last lived here.)

It’s a chance to leave my to-do lists behind and pause in the Not Yet before Kate’s surgery at the start of next month.

Stop.
Breathe.
Relax.

Yes.

Welcoming Myself

In yoga the other day, the instructor invited us to settle onto our mats. Then, she asked us to envision a time when we felt welcome. Once we captured one such time, could we break it down just a bit, probe the feelings underlying the moment? Perhaps acceptance, perhaps joy because someone felt joy in our presence?

Then came the kicker - could we welcome ourselves to that room at that moment? 

I gave it a shot - and, I could! I envisioned myself opening my arms to me, pulling me into the space. I felt a frisson of the joy I feel when I am welcomed, and was able to carry that bit of self-acceptance into my movement practice.

That night, as I settled into bed, reflecting on my day, the moment came back to me. It made me realize how I take my presence in my life for granted.

I'm a good show-er up-per. I keep a list of things to get done each week, and usually make a good dent in the pile of tasks. I realize I can be a bit hard on myself, chastising me when I don't make sufficient progress in checking things off the list (using whatever arbitrary scale I'm using to define sufficient this week).

What I don't habitually do is welcome myself to my day.

Even the concept has a ... I dunno ... braggadocious flavor. (my word of the day!)

*sigh*

The message I once received to not think too much of myself is clearly deeply ingrained in my psyche. Be humble, put others needs first, don't be needy (God forbid!), work to blend in with the crowd, don't toot your own horn.

Hmmmm....

Perhaps, just perhaps, welcoming myself to my morning isn't showing off. I mean, it's not like I can avoid my presence anyways. What would it hurt if I greeted me with a pleasant 'Good morning. Welcome!' ? 

Perhaps this is a facet of the message I received while on the Camino last year - that my life would be easier if I relied on my strengths.

Perhaps.

The Grass Is Greener

Ah, September!

Many of my life's changes in direction have had their launch in late August and early September, and they've left their mark on my psyche.

My soul remembers all those first day of school moments, fresh supplies and at least one new outfit at the ready. Mom died in early September. I launched into motherhood one late August, started my camper van journey that same time of year several decades later. Last September found me walking across Spain.

The sun gets up a little later, the quality of the light shifts towards the softness of fall, and I'm ready to go. I woke up this morning wanting to explore beautiful places, to head off into the wild blue yonder, to transplant myself to new surroundings in anyplace that's not here, to start afresh.

Ain't happenin'.
Not this year.

I mean, I do have an important task on the near horizon. (All Kate's scans are done, the doctors are in agreement about what needs to happen in the operating room, and we're back to waiting for them to find a date on their schedules when all three surgeons will be available.) And while there's no place I'd rather be when the time comes, I'm sure you understand I'd just as soon not have this particular trip on my calendar. 

Perhaps now is a good time to remind me that this, too, shall pass. God willin' and the crick don't rise, I will have other Septembers for fun adventures. In the meantime, I have today to enjoy the beauty present in my life here and now. 

The summer heat has broken for today; we're having a fall preview in these parts. It's cool enough this morning to have windows open, to feel the fresh breeze. The sun is shining, there are still some late season flowers blooming in my yard. 

Beauty Is.