Fear

Fear.
It's an insidious beast.
I realized this morning that it's crept back into my life, hiding just beneath my awareness.
I've known that I'm restless, unable to really settle into my new job, but haven't been aware of why - or really tried to figure it out.

Facebook (of all things!) woke up my awareness - showing me my memories and a picture of the cat I rescued just before I had my cancer surgery. (I wrote about Dexter back then. (Free To A Good Home) I couldn't keep him because I didn't know what was coming up, but I found him a good home. Dexter recovered completely from his trials and lived a life of luxury for four years - but died of cancer just before Christmas last month.  sadness.)

As I looked at the picture of the kitten, I was transported back to the uncertain days just before surgery, when fears loomed large and there was no quieting them. Days when I moved ahead only because the noises of motion helped to drown out the voices of doom.

And I realized my resistance to settling in to this job stems from those sames roots of fear.  Because whether I'm aware of it or no, my body responds to the seasons.  Between my cancer diagnosis and Kate's, January is now my season for fear.

Why try?  Why dream?  Why plan?

The future is not certain, the year after next is not guaranteed.  So why not throw caution to the winds and live for today and only today?

Because the voice of fear is often wrong, that's why.

No, nothing is guaranteed. not the year after next, not tomorrow. But it's been four years since I first heard the word cancer attached to my body, and I'm still here. It's been a year since I heard the word cancer attached to my daughter's body, and she is still here. Neither of us show any sign the disease is returning, and we are doing all we know how to do to keep it that way.

One of the ways to keep it that way is to celebrate the life I have today, and the life I hope to have tomorrow. Which means I need to keep working for a while longer. There is another camper van out there, waiting. The time to travel again is not yet. But my heart has begun, almost in spite of myself, to plan. To remember days of freedom, of seeing Good in sunsets and sunrises and beautiful places.

Those days will come around again.

So, take *that*, fear.
You do not win.
You do not get to run or to ruin my life.

Patches of Ice

As is typical in Kansas City, last week's snow is largely melted, leaving behind only patches, especially on the north side of the trees.

With the short days, I find it ever-so-helpful to get out for a walk at lunchtime - especially if I'm working from home as I have been this past week. (I decided not to go into the office to share my cold. Giving season is over!)

As I turned the corner from my block to the park, I came upon a large patch of ice on the sidewalk. Being a grownup and sensible and all, I skirted the patch by walking on the grass.  I did the same with the next two stretches of ice.

But the next stretch was wide and long and suddenly I was tired of being sensible and going around the patches of ice. So I stayed right on my track, walking carefully; the surface was made slick by right-around-freezing temp combined with the warmth of the sun.  I'd almost made it to the end when I got careless and, Whump!  Down I went. Except for my pride, I was unharmed, and popped back up to continue my walk.

Far from discouraging me, my fall only made me more determined to walk on the ice. The next patch, I was going to make it! But it was uphill, and all my best efforts were for naught. The thin sheen of water on the surface and the not-designed-for-ice-traction tread on my shoes combined to defeat me, and I slid back to the beginning of the patch twice before giving up in defeat and walking around on the grass.

The next patch had promise.  (See how the world was giving me lots of chances here?!) I stepped gingerly onto the ice and started walking. See, there it is again, my left foot slipping out to the side. Perhaps I'm not stepping evenly.  Hmmm...  Sure enough, if I make sure to step my weight evenly onto my foot, I don't slide!  I made it safely to the end!  Score, one!

The next patch had a bit of a downhill slope. More confident, I stepped onto the ice, and even managed to glide for a bit. Now, I was having fun! I finished my circuit of the park half-skating, half-walking, half-slipping as I conquered the challenge!

See, I don't always have to be grownup just yet!

Winter

Christmas is over, the lights are down. There's snow on the ground; the car has a layer of salt-grime on it that is an exercise in futility to wash off because it'll just be covered again within a few blocks of leaving the car wash.

In other words, welcome to winter. This is the time of year I just hunker down and endure; grateful for my furnace and electric lights.

I welcomed the quiet pace of this past weekend - no people, no events, just me and my dirty house. Laundry and cleaning got top billing for the weekend's activities - there was something nice about the return to routine.

My new counter tops got here in mid-December, just in time for us to have a decent surface for our annual cookie baking marathon. They're a welcome change from the temporary one I'd been making do with for the past eighteen months.

For one, they actually cover the cabinets below. While it was handy to reach down into the top drawer of the island without opening it to grab silverware, the convenience was outweighed by the crumbs that found it a convenient landing spot. (The cabinet doors will have to wait either until spring or until I get heat out in my workshop - it'll be a close race.)

And, I'm back to battling with the cats. Yes, I'm still allowing them in the BOXWITHWATER. (It's back, it's back!)  But. They can't easily jump directly to the sink like they used to, and have decided, since they have to cross the counter top to get to the BOXWITHWATER anyways, it is a good place to linger. They also like to check the contents of any dishes on there along the way. I don't like them to linger on the counters, and I don't like them to check out my food. You see the problem here.

I've spent a lot of time these last three weeks chasing them off the counters. They think it's a game, and try to make it to the BOX before I can dump them onto the floor. I've made a little headway - sometimes, when I walk in, they start to leisurely walk to the edge of the counter before I can yell at them to get off.  sometimes.

Ah, well. Chasing them off will give me a place to vent my impatience with these dark days of winter.

Happy New Year!

Family Goodbyes

Our Lady of Lourdes Church,
Lourdes, Iowa

My mother came from a large family; she grew up somewhere in the middle of a group of twelve (plus two more who died in infancy). Consequently, family gatherings when I was a child were large, boisterous. After she died, I didn't see these relatives often, reconnecting just in the last ten years or so.

Last week, word came that one of her four remaining siblings had died. I hadn't seen Aunt Roselyn in at least thirty years, but remember their home as a happy one; filled with good feelings when we came to visit.

When I stopped by my brother's house to bring Christmas cookies, he asked if we could alter our travel plans and leave a day early to attend the funeral, which was last Wednesday. At first, I said no. Too busy, new job, no vacation, long time no contact, etc., etc. He was OK with that. But then I stopped. My excuses glared, tinny and fake, as just that - excuses. There was no real reason I couldn't or shouldn't go, and so we went.

Those of my aunts, uncles and cousins who could make it were there, along with her friends, her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. All were sad, but for ourselves left behind, not for her. Her last years were filled with the confusion of dementia - she has gone home to see her siblings and husband, to garden in Peace.

Her funeral was in a small country church in north central Iowa. The second Vatican council passed the church by - her side altars, large central edifice and communion rails remain intact. The church is near where my mother grew up, many of the aforementioned family gatherings were held in the church hall.

As all were gathered for the post-funeral luncheon in the old school gym / parish hall, I stopped at the top of the wide old oak stairs leading down into the room, transported for a moment back through the years to the gatherings I'd attended there as a child. I shook my head to clear it and joined the crew, to find my cousins had experienced the same sense of deja-vu. We shared memories and stories of the days we played in classrooms in the upstairs hall. Do you suppose the classrooms were still there? The front stair was locked, but didn't that door next to the kitchen lead to another staircase? We tried the door, and it was indeed unlocked. The old worn treads were covered in dust, otherwise untouched by time. Memory led us upwards and we found ourselves in the single hallway that had served as a small country school. Now used for some sort of classes and religious ed, the only things missing were the shelves and coat hooks that once graced the hallway. The shadowy dark seemed fitting as we peered through the glass on the doors to look at the old desks and chalkboards, beckoning with their almost-forgotten memories of afternoons spent making up games to stave off boredom while waiting for the grownups to finish eating and talking.

As my brother and I pulled away to resume our journey to Minnesota for Christmas, I found myself glad I had taken the time to come to say goodbye. I've traveled far from those uncertain days - it's good for me to revisit them now and again; to reframe the shadows; to share the stories.

Aunt Roselyn, rest in Peace. (and say 'hi' to Mom, eh?)

Christmas Cactus

I have to admit, I stole it. Even though its owner was sitting right there. It was clearly unloved and neglected, down to just three leaves, those more gray than green.

This was several years ago at work. I'd stopped by to talk to my friend Anita. As we chatted, my eyes wandered around her cube, finally lighting on the saddest excuse for a Christmas cactus I'd ever seen.

When we finished talking, I scooped up the plant and told her I was taking it to intensive care - she could have it back when it had a fighting chance to live. She didn't try to stop me.

I put the poor thing on my windowsill (I rated a cube with a window in those days) and tenderly nursed it for several months. It was slow to respond. but that ghost of green never went away, and eventually became stronger, spreading through the leaves until they were healthy and shiny again.

It took a while longer for it to be brave enough to put out new sprouts; to regain enough strength and trust to grow. At this point my conscience started bothering me, so I took the plant back down the aisle and offered it back to Anita, who graciously declined. She was not a bad sort, but her spot in the office just didn't offer the right sort of light for the plant to live.

Not at all sorry, I took it carefully back to my desk, and continued to water it and watch it grow. My little spot of green. It took at least another year, but the plant rewarded me with two brilliant red blossoms one dreary fall week.

When I left AT&T, the plant came with me. (Of course!) When I left home for my trip, I reluctantly handed it off into foster case - I knew it wouldn't thrive in the uncertain environment of the camper van. When I came home, I got it back - still healthy and green - moved it into my condo, then into my new house. It's still not fond of moving; not quite certain yet of this place. The light isn't quite right, and I haven't been able to find the perfect spot for it.

Still, now and again, it blooms. On its own schedule, watching the clock of Christmas in a world tied to ours but not visible to my senses or calendar.

Until, last week when the calendars synced up. I noticed a small tip of red on the end of just one branch. I watched carefully as it grew and swelled and finally burst into full flower - to my eyes, a bird just taking flight.

Somehow joyful.
Beauty in the darkest days of the year.
Color amidst the gray.
Light in the darkness.

** happy sigh **

Cat Confusion

I think I'm over-identifying with the cats this morning.

A while back, I wrote about the battle I'd lost - Monster had decided the sink was not only a BOX, but even better, was a BOXWITHWATER! Since then, getting a drink from the trickling faucet has become his cherished morning ritual. He prowls the upstairs as I get ready each morning.  As soon as I set foot on the stairs, he zooms past me to get to the sink to await his drink. (I've added a daily note to self: take care on the stairs - if he hasn't already zoomed past, he will, and worry about my footing is not on his radar screen.)

It took Angel a while, but she got in on the action. She watched the ritual for about a month, then cautiously joined him in the sink, then not-so-cautiously.

I've managed to hold my line about the countertops being off limits, and they're really not a problem in the sink because as soon as the water is turned to full flow and starts splashing them, they're outta there.

I want to reuse the kitchen sink that came with the house.  It's the style I want, and is heavy-duty enough to last for some time. Unfortunately, we couldn't find a model number for it, so the countertop people were unable to pull a template to do their cutout. They're ready to begin fabrication and so asked us to pull the sink so they are sure to cut the proper sized hole.

You see where this is going.  Last night, Joe de-installed the sink so we could get it down to them. This morning, the cats got on the counter for their morning drink, looking desolately into the hole where the sink used to be. I let them look for a minute, and got them a bowl of fresh water to drink. They took a few polite laps, but then returned to looking at the hole, then at me, then back to the hole.

I needed to get ready for work, so shooed them off the counter, and started to pull my things together. The minute I turned away, they started to double-team me. One would jump up. While I removing him from the counter, the other would take a turn. They'd get up there and meow plaintively at me - what did you do with the BOXWITHWATER??? - winding unhurriedly but effectively away from me as I tried to dump them back on the floor.

Their confusion was clear. They like their morning drink and couldn't understand why the box was gone. They looked to me to fix it. I had no way to let them know this is a temporary loss, that the BOXWITHWATER will return sometime next week (along with new and improved countertops!)

I kind of feel the same way. Cancer has been messing with my treasured rituals all year - disturbing the balance of work-family-friends-leisure. I don't understand why, and would like it back the way it was. Please and thank you. Perhaps there is a larger picture beyond my ken, but I am unable to see it and am confused and a bit forlorn.

And here comes the trust thing, 'round again.

Because I have to believe there is a larger picture, that all of this will somehow get fit back in and the hole will be refilled. Not that it happened for a reason, I don't believe there are reasons for stuff like this, but that the Universe is on the side of life and will move to mend the rift as best it can.

Trust - I'm working on it.

Thanksgiving

I'm working on the gratitude thing, I really am.

And, I am grateful.
The box explosion has been contained - almost everything has a home, and the stuff that doesn't is on its way out the door.
I have all my dishes back in the kitchen, and there's room in the cabinets.

But.

Cancer strikes again.

This time it's a friend I've known for some thirty years. He's about my age, and found out last week that he has a brain tumor. Still waiting to hear some of the details, but we know it's the spreading kind. They've operated, which has relieved some of the pressure on his brain, but weren't able to get all of it.

and, again, I find myself asking, "why him?"

He is a good man, he is honest. He goes to church and is kind to children. He loves art and sports and drives in the country and horses and does his best to do good and not harm in this world.

He doesn't deserve this - no one does.

He's been in the hospital for a couple of weeks already; first while they figured out what was up, then to recover from surgery. We've gone to visit him several times; have spent a lot of time talking about good food. They have him on a low-carb diet, which leaves him hungry. And since it's too hard to talk about the hard stuff, food is an easy topic. (I understand why they're adding insult to injury this way, but helped him skate around the edges of the rules on Thanksgiving.  The meal we put together for him was kinda-sorta low-carb - and the nurses all looked the other way. After they helped us reheat the plate so his dinner would be hot.)

So, I am grateful - for small pleasures able to smother large pains, if only for a short time. For a top-notch medical team - who are giving him the best care around. For laughter - we laugh anyways when I see him. For his faith - it is helping him through this.

Give thanks, always and for everything.
(that's in the Bible somewhere...)
I'm trying.

Boxes Again

It's been one of those things-have-got-to-get-worse-before-they-can-get-better kind of weekends.

OK - worse is probably a bad word for it.  How about messier?

We started Saturday by cleaning out my car's spot in the garage. The spot has been filled by the detritus from various and assorted projects since last spring. You know how it goes; you put something there just for right now, until you figure out a spot for it. Then, the something starts breeding. Next time you go out there, a box has grown next to it, then a pile of lumber. Add some spare parts and a pile of recycling or two, and the next thing you know, you can't even walk into the space, let alone park a car in there. But winter's coming and it was high time, so we tackled the piles and got the space cleared out.

Next, we needed to start on the things we've been storing in the neighbor's garage. (the breeding process there has been slower, but we've definitely been encroaching upon their space and need to get out of there.) To get our stuff out of their garage, I needed to have room for it in my house. Now the cabinets are almost done, I knew I could clear the rest of the kitchen boxes out of the porch/storage unit. While I was getting those boxes, I figured I should get the rest of the stuff I'd been ignoring out there while things were under construction.

I had more boxes out there than I realized.

**sigh**

But we persevered until the pile had been transferred into the main house. Now, I 'just' need to empty boxes. Again. Given that I haven't seen the things in these boxes for four years, I think a lot of it will just move right on out the door without passing Go. On the other hand, just looking at the labels, I know I'll find some lost treasures - the picture albums, my Nativity set (just in time for the holidays!), a picture I bought in Honduras.

Since I had more stuff in the porch than I'd realized, at least there's plenty of room out there for the furniture that's in the neighbor's garage. It's mostly chairs.  I didn't know I had a thing for chairs until it came time to move - and I moved over 20 chairs from the old house to storage and then to this one. Yes, I know I don't need all those chairs, but for some odd reason, I'm finding it hard to let them go. They can stay out there until Joe moves out and frees up the rest of the space for use as a room instead of storage. Then, they'll have to go. Period. I just hope the stuff from the garage fills the available space. We KNOW what will happen if there's room leftover out there...

This downsizing stuff is a little harder than I'd thought.

Now That's Done...

I went back up to Minnesota this week to help Kate through her latest, and we hope, her last surgery for a long, long, long while.

All went well; the surgery for the final implants is less of an insult to the body; the damage has already been done. As far as her body is concerned, the additional damage amounted to two deep cuts.

She fell in love with the anesthesiologist; plans to send him a declaration of her undying devotion. You see, he listened to her; tried a new combination of drugs - and she came out of the operating room not at all nauseous. A welcome and major change from her first surgery last February.

As we had before, we went down the day before surgery for her pre-op appointments. We were done there by two, so had a marvelous late lunch and indulged in some retail therapy to distract ourselves. Kate hit the wall just after we got to the hotel to check in; she's been fighting what she calls the Great Fatigue of 2015 for the past few weeks. (Sleeping twelve hours at night and another three during the afternoon. It seemed a bit extreme, so she went in for bloodwork last week. All came back as good, so we decided it was her body's way of healing.) Since she was so tired, instead of going out to dinner, we stayed at the hotel and enjoyed their complimentary soup for dinner.  It was canned minestrone, but we weren't complaining. It was hot.

About halfway through dinner, winter decided to make an appearance. The temperature dropped from the upper fifties to the upper thirties in just a few minutes, accompanied by strong winds and cold rain. At that point, the soup tasted a whole lot better - the fact I was there eating it meant I didn't have to face the storm.

The rain had abated by morning, but the wind was still fierce. Hers was the second surgery of the day; we didn't have to be to the hospital until 8, which gave us time for coffee on the way in. (They let her have black coffee the morning of the surgery. I didn't get coffee on surgery days - not fair!) The routine was familiar - check in, wait for a couple of hours, they take her away, wait for more hours, she comes back.all groggy and sore.

Only this time, there were no tubes, there was no sense of loss. In its place was a sense of completion. This surgery is the last piece of her active treatment; she's more than ready to close out this chapter of her life. Now, finally, she can finish healing and move on.

Next?
Next!

Cabinets

After I got back from Minneapolis, I set myself in a race against winter; I wanted my cabinets built before the weather changed. The fumes from the finish I've been using for the interior of the cabinets are lung-searing; the lacquer best applied outdoors. (I use it because it dries quickly, doesn't require sanding, soaks into the wood to protect it and is water resistant.)

I made good progress at first - having all my afternoons free helped a LOT; a benefit of the way I'd structured my job search process. But then I found work. In most ways this is a good thing, definitely eases worries about paying the bills, but it cuts deeply into available project work time. Especially when you take a week out to go to Montreal.

My long and easy afternoons were immediately compressed into the hour(s) of daylight left after returning home from work. Each evening, I'd change as soon as I came home and work until dark. Days shorten quickly during October - and once daylight savings time goes to sleep for the year, there is no such thing as daylight after work. The weather is also subject to change without notice from balmy to 40s-and-rain; too cold for finishes and glue to set properly. Which meant I needed to finish what I was going to finish before Halloween.

To be honest, I didn't think I'd make it. It's been several years since I exercised my woodworking skills. My steps stuttered; progress was slow. But I kept at it, and as is the way of such things, I looked around one day last week to realize that I was almost done. Done enough anyways - painting can be done indoors, and I don't really NEED cabinet doors right away, now do I?

Last weekend, Joe and I hauled the cabinets in, and got them installed - it went quickly; my measurements had been close enough; only a small amount of shoehorning was required to get them to slide into place. (**whew** big sigh of relief!)

The countertop people stopped by this morning. (They won't come out until the cabinets are set, and insist on taking all the measurements themselves. You supposed they were burned at some point?) She said I should have them installed within the month.  ?!?!!

Progress!