Forgiveness...

State Forest State Park, CO

Awareness of my own anger is not one of my strong suits.  I've worked to recognize it over the past few years, and have gotten much better, but I still have a lot to learn.

As I was walking down from Lake Agnes in Colorado last week, I stopped for a bit by a cheerful little stream, to rest my legs.  In contrast to the water, which bounced and burbled down the hillside, I became still, both within and without.

As I sat and watched in stillness, I became aware of the tears spilling from my eyes.  I hurt, and something in the movement of water was drawing the hurt out, to be eased and smoothed.  I probed back within to find the source of the tears, and wasn't completely surprised to find me angry with my body for getting cancer.

It was quite a betrayal.  I've done my best over the years to do all I could to minimize the odds.  I exercise, I eat right, I don't smoke... I've done all I could do to stay healthy.  But my body, my genetics... I ended up with cancer anyhow.  And it sucks.  On so many levels.

As the tears fell, I let the anger go, or at least tried to.  I sent it into the water, there to be broken to pieces on the rocks, no longer strong enough to add to my burden of coping with the remaining effects of my illness.

Then, the next level of awareness.  Christians are told to forgive not just ourselves, but our enemies.  Could I forgive, not just myself, but the cancer, for leading me on to this unwelcome detour?  Still fight it with all I have, but fight with cold determination and not let the anger leech part of the energy I need for the battle?  This one's been a little harder; I'm still working on it.

I stayed there for quite some time, until I felt a measure of Peace.  The tears slowly dried, I became aware of the sun on my back, the rock poking me in the leg (there always has to be one of those when one sits on a rocky bank).  I stood, still thoughtful, and continued on my way.

Forgive the cancer?  Really??????

Plains

Boyd Lake State Park, Colorado

As I was leaving the mountains of Colorado last week, I was reflecting on the beauty of the plains vs. the beauty of the mountains.

The mountains show Nature's indifference to humanity by going up and blocking the sky and easy passage across with their bulwarks of rock.  The plains show it by giving too easy a passage; a glimpse of the vastness of the sky, the breadth of the earth.

They say, "You, humanity, can try to tame us.  You can build your roads across with high speed limits to try to minimize the distance, you can dam the rivers to create lakes where none were, cut tunnels through the living rock to get across the mountains.  But know your efforts will not last.  The forces of wind, water and time will prevail to bring the landscape back to where I, Nature, want it to be."

It's a living example of the old Ash Wednesday prayer:  Remember, you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.  As a child, the refrain scared me - it expressed an impending loss my mind couldn't embrace.  Like many people, I liked my world as it was.  We, people, like our mountains, rivers and seacoasts to be immutable.  When earthquakes, hurricanes and floods impose a new order, we cry, and do our best to restore things to how they were when we first found them.

In the last decade or so, I've begun to appreciate the beauty of the prayer.  Rather than cold death and loss, the refrain now speaks to me of the cycle of life.  As the mountains were once seabeds, and time inexorably washes their rocks again to the sea, so we are meant to grow tall and strong, then return to the One who created us.

"This, too, shall pass."  All are encompassed in the cycle; from the tiny fish who swim in clear mountain lakes to the sun that brings life to the water.

Life is beautiful, precious, ephemeral.  It cannot be grasped; held on to past its time.  Each day I open my eyes, and I have a choice.  As when driving across the plains, I can look for and find the beauty of the sky and the landscape, stretching to the horizons, or I can wallow in frustration, focusing only on the odometer and the hours yet to be spent behind the wheel; worried more about my destination than the glory surrounding me during the drive.

God, help me to seek the beauty.
Amen.

It's Fixed

Sorry no photo, but I'm typing this on my iPad - no Internet here at Boyd Lake campground in Loveland, Co.

But, there is a lake and a view of the mountains, and there was construction on the main road through Fort Collins, and I didn't have the energy to fight through it twice to get back to the mountains after getting my pump fixed.

Since my tanks were full, and I couldn't dump them, Plan A, which was to stop halfway down the mountain and enjoy the river, had to be scrapped. I'm no good at camping without water. So, I drove on in to Fort Collins instead, and threw myself on the mercy of the mechanics at RV World.

I'd sent an email to the good people at Roadtrek before I left the hinterlands, and they'd replied in record time with a close-enough description of the wiring for my pump. (It wasn't standard on the trucks back in 2003; the dealers added them as an after-market feature, so the information is not in the all-important owner's manual. I'm not blind after all.)  My new best friends at RV World were nice enough to stop what they were doing and fit me in. One guy helped find the fuse in the engine compartment - sure enough, it was blown. A second jacked up the truck, so he could reach beneath it to unstuck the pump. The entire operation took less than 30 minutes. Total charge: $2.49.

God Bless 'em.

 I woke up this morning with a better understanding of why I was so upset with it all last night. It wasn't that the pump was broken, that happens to stuff; it was that I had half a clue how to fix it, but not enough know-how to finish the job. I hate it when I can't fix stuff I think I should be able to fix!

 I needed to avoid the sun today anyhow. After returning from my hike yesterday with a beet-red face that looked like sunburn, but didn't hurt until I put lotion on it (which meant it wasn't sunburn, and I swear I'd put on a ton of sunscreen!), I looked up the side effects of Tamoxifen. (Each morning when I take my pill, I envision a fresh team of little warriors on white horses hunting down and killing stray cancer cells, and yesterday's team fading to nothing, their job well finished.) Sure enough, there in the fine print, it says to avoid sun exposure. Now I know why.

Tomorrow, I'll begin to head for home across Kansas, breaking the marathon drive into two days. This has been a beautiful break. It's ending too soon, as breaks are wont to do, but it's been long enough for me to stop for a bit and breathe. I didn't realize until the other day how badly I needed to do that. I need to figure out a way to take mini-breaks back in real life.... Hmmmm....

Highs and Lows

Lake Agnes. Colorado

Today was a study in contrasts.

The first part was great.  I took a hike up a trail near here to Lake Agnes.  I stopped at the ranger station for a pass, and they told me the road in was closed, so I stopped at the top of the turnoff and hiked on in.  Turns out the road wasn't closed after all - I could have saved myself a good mile of hiking - but that's OK.  The air was cool and clean and smelled like fresh pine - aaahhh!  I enjoyed the road in; it was a fairly easy hike. 

Which is more than I can say for the last stretch of trail up to the lake.  It was still covered in a foot or three of snowpack.  The snow was soft, the slope was steep.  I ended up taking it in chunks.  Take ten steps, stop, breathe, repeat.  Fortunately for my leg muscles, the snow was almost at the end of the trail.  Shortly after the snowpack ended, I turned a corner, and there was a tiny crater lake.  There were a few other people there, fishing and enjoying the day, but their presence didn't bother me.  Rather, it was a comfort.  It meant that if I slipped and fell on the snow heading out, there would be someone behind me to call in help if I hurt myself.

As you can see, the view from the lakeshore was well worth the hike.  (Yes, that's an island in the middle of the lake!)  I didn't stay as long as I would have liked - some dark clouds came rolling in, and I didn't care for the prospect of climbing down the snow in the rain.  I did take time to enjoy it for the better part of an hour - sat, ate lunch, watched the water change colors with the sky.  The hike down went much more quickly, and was much easier on the lungs than the inward journey.

When I got back to the campground, things went downhill just a bit.  It's about time to empty the holding tanks on the truck, so I pulled to the dump station, and started the macerator pump.  After about 10 seconds, it sounded like it took too big a bite of something, and quit running.

A quick look at the web claimed there should be a manual turn switch on the pump.  Of course, the pump just HAS to be located dead center under the vehicle - but I crawled under the truck to find it anyways.  (I can be a bit stubborn.)  No such animal, but I did get my good hiking pants covered with grease, and discovered that my new boobs just won't squish the way the old ones did.  **sigh**  (Theoretically, there's a fuse somewhere, too, but I couldn't find that either.  I guess I'll just have to be REALLY careful with water until I get back to KC, and can find someone to repair it.)

After a few tears of self-pity, I stopped, pulled myself together, and went in for a shower.  I wanted to wash the clothes before the grease set in, but by the time I'd gotten to the laundry room, they'd already closed up shop for the evening.  ** more sighs **  I'd decided to sit down and catch up on my e-mail, and the lady who runs the camp came by.  She saw my soap and clothes, and offered to reopen the room for me.  ** OK, maybe this isn't the end of the world. **  I got in, rubbed about half a bottle of detergent on the stains, and started the washer.  Not all of the grease came out, but the vast majority of it did. 

My clothes will survive. 
And maybe I will, too. 
Not so sure about the pump...

I find my emotions a bit unstable these days.  Small setbacks - especially when I think I've screwed something up somewhere - upset me disproportionately.  The pump breaks, and I'm instantly a fool for hanging on to the camper van because keeping the darn thing running is going to bankrupt me and I'll never get to travel again anyhow.  (Yes, this ignores the fact I'm on the road right now.  There's very little logic involved in these trains of thought.)

A little dinner, the shower, the kindness of the campground owner - these have all helped.  Along with some good timing - I made it back to the van just as a thunderstorm rolled in.  The internet connection magically decided to start working in my camper during the storm.  See?  Good things are happening, too!

Stop.  Breathe.  Relax.

Way High...

The friend whose advice sent me up through Fort Collins and another two hours into the mountains will be devastated to hear of the damage the Mountain Pine Beetle has done to this remote and beautiful land.

Once out of Fort Collins on Hwy 14, the drive was incredibly beautiful.  Much of the road parallels the Poudre River, with its load of colorfully dressed rafters.  As you get further into the hills, the river traffic dies off, and the road winds through breathtaking mountain passes.

Alongside the beauty, I cried for the trees.  Slopes once covered in majestic green pines are now grey and tinder-dry, waiting for a summer thunderstorm to put them out of their misery and start the cycle of life anew.  (The campground owner here told me they'd cut down 4000 trees on their site alone.)

Yet all is not despair.  Mother Nature is beginning to work her cycle - the aspens are moving back into the barren ground the pines once proudly claimed.  There are two hummingbird feeders outside the camp office - and the brightly-colored tiny birds are darting about, quarreling over some important issue, chasing one another and finally stopping for just a moment to stop and eat.

Tomorrow, I plan to go for a hike up to a small lake near here.  The hike is not overly long, and I have all day.  I think I'll need it - I just jogged the 50 feet back to the truck because I forgot the internet password, and was completely out of breath by the time I got back to my laptop.  Slow and steady will be the watchword.

As the hillsides will renew themselves after their disease has passed, so will my body, if I but give it time.  God has not abandoned these mountains, nor has She abandoned me.  I can't understand the whys of what's happened here, as I cannot understand the whys of my detour - but here in the mountains, where the only sounds I hear are that of distant thunder, the wind and the hummingbirds, I can be a bit more at peace with what has happened these past few months.  God Is.

Rocky Mountain High...

It feels great to be back in the camper van again.

Yesterday, I got up and on the road within 30 minutes of the target time I'd set for me to leave.  That's about as good as I get.  I left at 8:30 AM, and made it to Golden, CO shortly after 6.  Joe and his friend Ty were supposed to catch up with me to spell me, but they didn't have as much luck getting out of town on time, and I ended up beating them here by about an hour.

Western Kansas got long and boring.  (Surprised?)  Thank goodness for Colby.  That's right.  Out in the middle of nowhere Kansas you can find.... a Starbucks!  Caffeine!  The shot carried me through.

I was about 30 miles outside of Denver, and still hadn't seen the mountains.  I was beginning to wonder what was up, then took a closer look and realized that the bottom layer of clouds wasn't clouds.  Wound my way through the tail end of rush hour traffic, doing my best to focus on cars instead of mountains, and got to the campground without trouble.  The park we're staying in is run by the city of Golden.  It's small, smack-dab in the middle of town, and is a pretty little place.  It sits next to a stream; the bathrooms easily pass muster - what more could I ask?

I laid down around 10 last night, and didn't open my eyes until 5:30.  5:30???  That's what I thought!  I've been getting up at 6:30, and didn't make the time change.  That was fine with me.  I laid there, snuggled in a bit deeper, and cracked my eyes just enough to watch the world brighten.  I finally turned the heat up around 6:30, (you don't expect me to get up in a cold camper, do you?)  and got up around 7.  A beautiful way to wake up.

The first part of Joe's test this morning went very well.  Unlike the fitness ordeal of the first three tests, the test for 4th is actually kind of fun.  We met a friend of mine who lives in town for lunch, came back to the campground, took a nap, and then I went for a bike ride.  (Have I mentioned I miss life in the camper van?)  It's been a beautiful day.

Where do the ducks come in, you ask?  As we were standing around outside this morning, waiting for the test to start, I noticed a commotion at the other end of the parking lot.  Mama Duck was trying to shepherd her babies across a busy street, and someone got out of their car to stop her.  (Which is where I came by and took the picture.)  The gal had Mama convinced to stay in the parking lot until animal control showed up - and then she wouldn't move her brood.  I didn't realize it, but the animal control officer told me you can't just catch the ducks and move them.  Mama knows where she wants to go, and if it involves city streets, well, that's just too bad.  She'll try to bring her brood across the street.  Unfortunately, I don't know how the story ends.  When I left it, the ducks were ensconced beneath a parked car, the animal control officer had received another call and had to go, and I had to get back to the karate test.  I'm hoping they either all made it safely across the street, or Mama decided to take another route...

Testing...

From the first time I watched my kids go through the black belt testing process, back in June, 2001, I've had a love-hate relationship with the process.

It's not a bad thing to test one's limits, especially in the 'controlled' environment of the black belt tests.

However, at every test I've seen, I get angry at the leaders.  They let testosterone and an overdose of sadism and control rule over common sense.  They are in charge; they will allow no dissenting voices.

They do not take into account the willingness of those testing to do ALL that is asked of them - whether it is in their own long-term best interests or not; especially those getting their first black belt.  Needless injuries happen.  I've spent months healing from my own tests.  Those testing get caught in the fervor and spirit of the moment.  They are on an adrenaline high, and pain comes to the fore only later. 

The leaders, who have all been through the tests, should know this, and should be watching those testing - to push them to their limits, but not beyond.  Instead, they push them for the sake of pushing.  They push the fittest to their limits, which is well and good - but in doing so, they carry along the older, the previously injured, the not-so-fit, and those good people push themselves to the point of injury so as not to seem weak.

As my instructor once said, "The contortions people will go through, to get a four-foot strip of black cloth with their name on it, is amazing."

This morning, while my knees ache in sympathy with those I saw barely staggering out of the gym Saturday morning, my heart is proud of my son.

He was doing the pre-test for his 4th degree belt.  For 4th, this is the hard part - the actual test will be in Colorado next week, and will be easier than Saturday's ordeal.  The test started at 9, and ended at 1:30.  He was moving almost constantly that whole time - and he did it!  He approached the activities with the same stolid endurance he learned as a construction laborer.  Don't reflect on what's done, or try to look to the end - you'll only be distracted.  Focus only task required of you now. Time will pass, the test can only last so long.

If you'll excuse a moment of parental pride, Joe was among the fittest.  He looked good.  Once he got home and showered, the natural high carried him through the rest of the day; the remains of it still linger this morning.  He earned that high.

Congratulations, Joe!

Some Days...

Some days, I don't know how I feel any more.

Is it possible to be simultaneously grateful to be alive and on the mend, and in a funk?

Friday, I went to the doctor to get pumped up again.  I thought the size of my new girls was pretty close to where I want them to be - I've been able to wear my bras since the last time he added some fill, two weeks ago - and so asked him about it before he added any more fluid.  Sure enough, I am close enough.  No more fills.  My pec muscles have been thanking me all weekend. (Yay!)

It was very surreal.  I was standing there debating the fit of my bra with some guy I barely know - and it felt normal-ish!  No funny vibes, we could have been discussing the best socks to wear hiking, nothing sexual about it.  Maybe that's part of the problem.  I still think my breasts SHOULD have SOME sexuality attached...

I look in the mirror and don't see anything resembling what I had before.  They look normal enough once I add my bra and a shirt, but the picture in the mirror is still pretty grim.  Instead of breast-shaped things on my chest, I have a couple of half-round water balloons attached to plastic plates.  (I can usually make me smile by jiggling them...)

and it strikes me, again, that while most of the trauma and drama are over (thank Goodness), I'm still months away from whatever my new normal will be.

He PROMISES me that the permanent implants are better, much better.  Not near as much jiggling, and no plastic plates.  Surgery is scheduled for July 12th.  This surgery will be much easier on my body and mind; he tells me I'll be back to work in two weeks.  Physically, the surgery is pretty minor.  No deep cuts necessary, I'll leave with all the body parts I came in with; the water balloons gone and replaced by silicone gel - which at least pretends to sorta-kinda move like normal tissue.  I have no idea of what to expect emotionally.  I suspect it'll be the same sort of mixed reaction I had to Friday's news.  Hallelujah, and oh, dear!

I try to focus on the positive, but some days, I just can't seem to zero in.  I can't get past the tight band across the front of my chest; I'm tired of being tired.

This, too, shall pass...

To Walk

Several years ago, I was in California, taking care of my aunt and uncle for a spell.  He had broken a hip, and was in the mid-stages of Parkinson's disease.  While I know some grow angry and bitter, his sickness had turned him into one of the sweetest men I've ever met. 

She was dying of cancer, and was not in the best space while I was there.  One night I got quite angry with her.  As is my habit when I get angry, at the first opportunity, I put on my walking shoes and got out of there.

I walked for about thirty minutes, then came back feeling much better.  calmer.  ready to let bygones be bygones.  No one mentioned the argument again, until bedtime.

I customarily put Uncle Jim to bed while I was there.  That night, as I was tucking him in, he looked up at me and said, rather wistfully, "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Isn't what wonderful?", I snapped, not as over my snit as I liked to pretend.

"To be able to get up and walk.  Just because you want to.", came the reply.

Instantly the remaining bubble of my anger was gone.

"Yes, Jim.  It is wonderful.", I replied, and I meant it.

Until that moment, I had taken my ability to walk freely completely for granted.  It is wonderful.  I want to walk, I stand up, I walk.  The same would never be true for him again in this world. 


Uncle Jim walks freely now.  He has moved on.  His words often come back to me when I'm having a pity-party for one.  and always, my hurts seem a little smaller, of less import, as soon as I recall the conversation.

"Isn't it wonderful?"

Electricity

Electricity.

I've been fascinated by the concept this week.  Like love, it's a many-splendored thing.

Since my sojourn in the camper van, I've taken it less for granted.  Its availability is not a given on the road.  Some of my favorite nights were in the campgrounds where it wasn't available.  When night fell - it fell.  In the darkness one night, I looked out across a valley, and was able to distinguish a single light more than a mile away.  The stars were incredibly numerous and beautiful, like I remember from growing up.  I definitely appreciated my flashlight (mobile electricity!) when it was time to hike to the bathroom.

Electricity can be incredibly powerful, making the leap from high in the clouds to the ground in bold and jagged light that can be fear- or awe- inducing, but can't be ignored.

Electricity can be the spark you feel when you kiss someone special - especially that first time.  I swear you can feel the current leap between your bodies; telling you that THIS is someone to pay close attention to.

It can be measured in micro-volts, used in the pacemakers that help the hearts of so many maintain a steady rhythm.  It can be measured in mega-volts - as I picture those running the speakers projecting the music that is in the background as I type - music being produced a half-mile away.

If you stand beneath high-voltage power lines (or too close to lightening!), you can feel the small hairs on your body stand at attention; alerting you that danger is near.

As my body heals, I get random mini-threads of it running through the skin that used to cover my breasts.  I think it's a good sign; that of my nervous system trying to get back in touch with the numb band that currently runs across the front of my chest.  "Marco", it calls repeatedly; "Marco".  "Polo" comes the occasional response, sending a mini lightening bolt through my system.  (It can be a little disconcerting when it happens as I'm concentrating on a conversation at work.  I try to keep my focus, but it inevitably wanders for just a bit as I marvel at my body's ability to try to heal itself.)

Fascinating.