Lexi Time

Lexi, January, 2013

It seems my daughter missed me as much as I missed her.  So, last weekend she loaded up the baby and headed to Kansas City.  Yes, I'd seen her the weekend before when she got home, but it was such a quick visit; we had little time to enjoy each others company.

Our visit was delightful.  Kate and I spent our time vastly entertained by the antics of the baby. 

We spent three whole days on Lexi time.  On Lexi time, you get up early, but you get to take naps.  You go to bed early.  You take longer to eat because you stop to closely examine and enjoy your food.  It takes longer to walk anywhere, because you have to stop and look at all the interesting stuff you see as you journey.



You don't worry about getting your socks and pants wet as you discover the joys of going in and out of the shower.  Open the door, close the door.  In, out.  Smile broadly every time you manage to open and close the door.

You delight in learning new things.  She was having a hard time turning one of my lamps on and off.  (It has one of those switches where if you turn it the right way, it switches, but if you turn it the wrong direction, it just unscrews itself.)  But she kept trying it.  And every time she managed to make it work, she'd turn around, clap her hands and say, "Yay!"  (I need to remember that for myself - to say "Yay!", if only to myself, when I manage to master a task...)

She is amazingly well behaved in restaurants, as long as you bring a large supply of toys.  (any one item holds her attention for, at most, five minutes.)  She managed to charm all the tables around us by watching the door; every time someone left, she'd call out, "Bye!", in her toddler voice - the one that carries further than you'd often like it to, especially when they're upset.

She is a city child.  One afternoon, it was quite warm, and we took her out for a walk.  She was fine as we headed down the sidewalk, but when the concrete ended and we had to walk on the grass, she didn't care for it.  She kept heading for the street, we kept heading her off.  A block or so down, we came to a roped off parking lot.  She was delighted, and just loved running around - finally, the proper surface upon which to play!  (Kate PROMISED to get her out to parks more often come spring...)

It was a right proper weekend, if I do say so myself.  As always, when they left, they took a piece of my heart with them as they drove away...

Joy!

Lexi, Oct. 2012

Kate, my daughter has been doing research in the Antarctic for the past 2 1/2 months.

It's been a hard time for her, and for those of us who love and missed her, especially over the holidays. 

Her daughter, at eighteen months, probably had the easiest time of all of us.  While she most certainly missed her mother, she is young enough to not yet have a sense of yesterday or tomorrow.  As near as we could tell, from her point of view, Mama wasn't here right now because Mama had gone away to live in the iPad.  (they got to see each other a few times via Skype, and so she figured that's where Mama had gone.  Whenever she saw one of the devices, she'd point to it and say, "Mama!")

I was telling the people at work about Kate and the baby and how long she'd been gone and how much we missed her and how much I'd love to see the baby's face when she finally got to see her mama again, when I stopped and thought, "why not?  It takes her 36 hours to get home, I can get to Minnesota in eight. hmmmm..."  

So, when Kate e-mailed this past Saturday morning, to let me know she was coming home, I decided to put my wild idea about driving up to meet her plane into play.  I called Joe, who dropped everything and headed back to Kansas City from Rolla.  I called Vincent, to find out exactly when she was due in, and to make sure he didn't mind if we joined him to pick her up at the airport.  I sent a note into work to let them know I wouldn't be in on Monday.  Sunday morning, Joe and I left for Minnesota.  (The weather gods cooperated - it was clear and cold; no precipitation coming down to slow us down.)

We got there just in time to stop at the house, drop off our car, and climb in with Vincent and the baby.  As we were pulling up to the baggage claim area, Kate called to let us know she was in.  (Vincent had inadvertently ruined the surprise when Kate's plane was delayed in Chicago, and let her know we were coming.  Oh, well - this way she had something to look forward to on the last leg of her flight.)  Joe went in first, to help her with her bags, and when they didn't come out right away, I followed with the baby (leaving Vincent at the curb in the car).

As I walked inside, I was telling Lexi, "there's Mama.  See, there's Mama!"  She didn't get it.  She was looking around, but all she saw was a crowd of people.  But Kate heard me, and started towards us.  I was watching Lexi's face as she saw her beloved Mama come into focus.  Her eyes grew wide, as if she didn't quite understand what she was seeing.  Then, as she began to believe, she smiled a little half smile.  When Kate came near and it was clear that she was REALLY here, the half smile turned into the biggest smile ever.  Mama was home!  She had gotten out of the iPad to come home!

Those few moments made the trip worthwhile.

House Hunting

I wouldn'a thunk it.

House buying is hard work.

These past two weeks of dipping my toes into the real estate market from the buyer's side have been most enlightening.  and frustrating.

I've never looked for a house to buy before.  My ex-husband found both the houses we bought before we split up.  I stayed in the second for 24 years before selling it so I could go on my adventure.

I thought it was easy.  You look at the listings, pick the top ten in your price range, go look at them, and buy the one you like the best.  Somehow, it never occurred to me that I'd not be able to find ten I'd even want to consider, or that the first four I'd look at would ALL be unsuitable.  I mean, of course I know people that have had problems finding the right house, but I somehow just figured they were too picky.  or something.

I knew real estate only from the seller's side (in a down market at that).  The sprucing the place up to appeal to buyers.  Making my bed EVERY morning, lest they call to schedule a showing that day.  The nervous tension when the real estate company called to schedule a showing.  The disappointment when the house didn't meet their needs - again.  The self-doubt about the price the paint the floors the kitchen, as the months passed and the house sat on the market.

I never thought about the buyer's frustrations.  What they call a second bedroom, I call a porch.  Those stairs could more accurately be called a ladder - I can't imagine carrying groceries or laundry up and down.  You access the master bedroom off the back porch?  Really?  One house had some appeal, until I looked at the surrounding places, and the junk they'd stored on their handy front porches.  Nix that one, too.  **sigh**

I know, I know.  I've just started looking.  Good thing I started before I HAD to move.  (I have new-found sympathy for people who relocate and have to find a house in a weekend or two of touring.)  There are three more houses on my short list; I'll look at those sometime next week.

Stay tuned...

Detour No More

Rock Hound State Park, NM

There comes a time when it's time to stop and ponder where you are in life, and where you are going.  For the past few days, I've been taking a look at where I've been over the last year, where I am now, and where I'd like to be next year when it comes to a close.

With a heavy heart, I've decided it's time for me to give up my illusion my current track is a detour.  I've been following it for the better part of a year.  Somewhere along the way it's changed from a detour into the new road I am to follow for at least the next few years.

It is not a path devoid of beauty, love and joy.  It's just not the one I wanted to be on.  But it does me no good to keep wishing I had been able to finish my trip.  It ain't gonna happen.  The money I had budgeted for the road has gone to keeping me alive and resetting up house.  Yes, I will still be able to take a month each year to continue my camper van travels, but I will need to count the days I spend traveling.  Real life wins.

I have a good spot for my camper to stay, but it sits in the sun.  To protect it, a friend bought me a cover, which arrived last week; Joe helped me to put it on.  It covers the van quite snugly, down to about six inches from the ground, and has a side zipper so you can get into the van without having to take the cover off.  At first I thought it symbolized the shuttering of my dream, putting it under wraps, calling it done, but then I had another thought.  Perhaps, along with the van, the cover also protects the remnants of my dream - keeping it from drying up, cracking and fading completely away in the harsh light of the sun.

A day will come when I am free again.  It will.  And when it does, I will take the cover off my dream, reshape it to fit where I am when the day comes, and drive off once again to see beautiful places.

We Can't Protect Them

The topic I had planned for today, a meandering description of my frustrations and joys this past week, seems meaningless today in light of the shootings in Connecticut.

The gunman touched on my deepest fear; on the deepest fear of many - we cannot protect them.

We bring our children into this world.  They are beautiful, they are perfect.  They are our most precious treasure.  We want to keep them safe from all harm.

The harsh reality is that we can't do it.  They dart in and put their little hands on hot lawnmower mufflers when we are watching from just a few feet away.  They get hit in the head with baseball bats during schoolyard ballgames.  After they are hurt, we have to patch up their wounds as best we can, and send them back out in the world - where we can't protect them from getting hurt again.  Locking them in the house to keep them safe just isn't one of the options, though I've wished it was, and only regretfully acknowledge that it wouldn't work.  As a wise woman once told me, "Life is risk."

The shootings this week highlight our vulnerability.  Locks and cameras couldn't keep out one deranged young man, determined to hurt our treasures. 

I want to scream to the Universe, "Why?", but know there will be no answer.  With the rest of the country, I cry when I read the list of names, see the innocent faces.  I am angry, without a target for my anger.  The villain got off too easily, shooting himself so he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

If God cares at all, there is justice for him.  To me, that justice would be having to face the full realization of the harm he did as he left this world.

For the innocents, and those who died trying to protect them, I know they are in better hands than ours.  We couldn't keep them safe, but God will.  God will watch over them until their families and the rest of those who love them join them in the only safe place there is.

My Bed

Omaha Zoo, Oct. 2012

I have to admit, I LOVE my bed.

I know.  It sounds silly.  But it's true.


I love that the mattress is not too hard, nor too soft, but just right.  And, it doesn't have any lumps.  I know I won't wake up with a crick in my back from it being too soft, nor will my hips be talking to me in the morning because it was too hard.

I love that my pillows are not lumpy, nor hard, but rather are soft and fluffy and gently cradle my head as I lie down to rest.

I love that I have all the covers I need, and they don't have any holes in them.  My sheets are soft and clean, the quilt is warm.  If I need it, there is an extra blanket down at the end of the bed; I just need to reach down and pull it up if I am cold in the night.

I love climbing into it at the end of a long day, and snuggling down into my sheets and pulling the covers up to my chin.  There are no prickles, no hard edges, just soft and welcoming warmth.

I love that I don't have to share it with many-legged creatures who like midnight snacks.

On the nights I am really tired, all I have to do is lie down, warm up just a bit, and let sleep overtake me like a wave, carrying me off until morning.  It's a beautiful thing. 

I wallow in the luxury of it all - and am acutely aware that the same is not true for most of the other people in the world.  I remember the lumpy foam we slept on in Honduras - and they gave us the best they had.  In the hotel we stayed at in Guatemala, the mattresses were hard and unyielding.  I once saw a photo that haunts me still - of a young boy in Africa, asleep on the ground, with nothing but a plastic sheet between his little body and the dirt.

There is a group in Kansas City that gives mattresses to families who don't have enough beds.  Last time I replaced my mattress, they took the old one, and gladly.  It was in much better shape than most of the ones the children were currently sleeping on.

God, help me to be aware of my blessings, both big and small.

30 Reasons Why Failure is Good

The weight of past mistakes has been weighing on me this past week.  Many, many moons ago, I had the notion I had to be perfect before anyone would love me.  In response to this misguided idea, a wise counselor had me write up a list of reasons why failure is good.

As I was brow-beating myself yesterday, the memory of the list came to mind, so I went and dug it up.  Reading it helped me to get past the past, and anchor myself again in today.  I rather like the list, (if I do say so myself), so thought I'd share:

30 Reasons Why Failure is Good

1. It gives you a reason to inspect the toes of your shoes.
2. It can teach you one, or several, of life's little lessons.
3. You know one more way not to do it.  a.k.a. 'experience'
4. You can be an example for other people's children.  i.e. "If you keep this up, you'll end up just like ____, who did it when she was young."
5. It shows you your limitations; you can't succeed at everything.
6. You learn that even big mistakes don't mean the end of the world.
7. You learn that the world doesn't revolve around you.
8. It makes other people feel smug, because they have a reason to say "I told you so".
9. You can rub it in the faces of those who jeered when you later succeed (and be smug yourself).
10. Sometimes, it proves that people will love you, even if you're wrong.
11. It stretches the mind; you have to think of new ways to accomplish your goals.
12. It teaches humility.
13. Sometimes, it helps you to re-order your life's priorities.
14. It teaches you to handle frustration and control your anger, if handled correctly.
15. It teaches you patience.
16. It gives you a chance to face disappointment without becoming bitter; to become mature.
17. The way you act when the chips are down will show you what you're made of.
18. You learn who your friends are.
19. You learn who your enemies are.
20. You know that at least you tried.
21. You learn what your fears are.
22. It brings you back to earth.
23. It opens doors you might otherwise have missed.
24. It changes your perspective; forces you to look at things from another angle.
25. It satisfies your curiosity; you know what happens if you do it 'this' way.
26. It can teach you compassion, for you, too, have walked a dead-end path.
27. You learn you can make it through places you never thought you could.
28. You learn not to let one mistake color your whole world.  To figure out what went wrong, don't do that again, and go on.
29. You learn you can't hide from your failures forever.  That eventually, you have to come up for air.
30. You learn that a failure in one minute doesn't mean you won't succeed in the next.

What Cancer Cannot Do

Nelson-Atkins Sculpture Garden

What Cancer Cannot Do Author: Unknown

Cancer is so limited...
It cannot cripple love.
It cannot shatter hope.
It cannot corrode faith.
It cannot eat away peace.
It cannot destroy confidence.
It cannot kill friendship.
It cannot shut out memories.
It cannot silence courage.
It cannot reduce eternal life.
It cannot quench the Spirit.

For whatever reason, my experiences with cancer this past year have kept coming to the front of my mind these four days off.  It irritates me - I think I should just be kicking back and enjoying my break from work.

But I am aware, as I have not been for some time, of the band of nothing across my front that used to be my chest.  The muscles are tight, and it feels as if I were cold, though I am not.

As I clipped my shattered nails short again this morning - one of the side effects of Tamoxifen is that it can make your nails brittle - I found it a lot ironic.  I bit my nails for most of my life; quit for good only a couple of years ago.  And now, I have to keep them almost as short as they were back when I was biting them.

Tamoxifen can also cause fatigue, which makes me wonder how much of the tiredness I battle is still recovery from the surgery (which now seems to have been AGES ago), and how much is the drug.  My sense is that the drug isn't awful, but it's still a slow drain on my energy.  One I still need to come to terms with.

I'm trying to swing my awareness around; I don't like dwelling on the things that bring me down.  (One of my favorite quotes, author also unknown; at least to me:  Avoid those who have bought into negativity.  They have an uncanny ability to also sell it.)  The aftermath of my cancer leaves a mess to clean up, but I can do it, if I just keep at it.  I've gotten past harder troubles in my life, I will make it past this.  Especially if I remember the words of wisdom above.  My thanks to the unknown author.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Dinner 2007

In the spirit of the season, I am thankful:

That the nasty cancer that so disrupted my fun has had its existence even more nastily disrupted.  There are no remaining traces of it in my system.  I am on Tamoxifen for another four years and four months (who's counting?), but it could have been so much worse.  I'm counting this one done.  and good riddance.

For the outpouring of support that helped me through the hard parts.  I got cards and calls and visits and meals and prayers - so many let me know they love me.  I still get a bit misty eyed when I think about it.  especially since there were a number of years where I was convinced I was unlovable.

For people who spend a lot of time and effort on landscaping and decorating their houses for the holidays.  I do so getting to enjoy the benefits of all their hard work.

For my children - always and always.  They are among the brightest lights in my life.  And for that new baby, now 16 months old - it makes my heart go pitty-pat, just to think of her.

For people who reach out in kindness to others, just because.

As Robert Frost said:  "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in."

For home and for family.  For the nieces and nephews who still haven't quite forgiven me for selling my house out from under them, but love me anyways.  For sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, in- and out- and almost-in-laws, all willing, when I call (sometimes on short notice), to welcome me and take me in. 

For lights that brighten the darkness, and furnaces that keep the cold at bay.

For friends.  I couldn't make it without them.


For all the good things, and some of the trials (for they have taught me much, even though I don't often appreciate the teachings at the time), for laughter and tears both.

For leaves of gold and red and orange that glow with an inner light on the grayest of fall days - a visible sign of the Beauty that Is, if we but take the time to notice it.

Amen?
Amen.

Operation Creep Out: Success.

McMurdo Station, Antarctica

Late this summer, our Wifi vendor got a bit busy and called in a friend of his to help resolve some problems we were having with our new internet setup.

Justin was in and out of the office for several weeks (it took him a bit, but he did find and fix our main network issue), and one day happened to wear in a shirt with an Antarctica EMT crew logo on it.  Since Kate was going down in November, I asked him about it, and it turns out, in one of his other lives, he's part of the EMT crew down at McMurdo Station there.  He's gone down each of the last several years for the winter (summer, there), and was planning to go down again this year.

Immediately, my mind began to hatch a plot.  How funny would it be, if, while Kate was wandering around the station in Antarctica, one of the far corners of the world, some complete stranger met up with her and asked her how her mother was doing at Cristo Rey?  It would totally mess with her mind.

I asked Justin if he was in on the scheme, and he was with me in a moment.  (Did I mention he's a bright young man?)  He left to go down there at the beginning of October.  Kate arrived earlier this week.  It's not a real big place, so it only took a couple of days for him to run into her.

His report:  Operation Creep Your Daughter Out was a resounding success!

Have I ever mentioned that one of my favorite parts of being a parent is that you get to mess with them just a little?  I'm still laughing.