Happy New Year!

Actually, as I get older, the new year seems a bit anti-climatic.  It marks a turning of the calendar, but for my heart the year turned a couple of weeks ago at the winter solstice.

I learned some things about myself in the camper van.  Among the things I learned was that it isn't the cold that troubles me this time of year as much as it is the darkness.  I was trying to run away from it all that winter, but it all followed me.  (It all has a way of doing that, I've noticed.)

I tried - went as far south as I could go and still remain in the U.S.  It was warm enough, but when the sun went down at five and I had several dark hours before bedtime, some of the evenings were cold despite the temperature.

Since then, I've tried to be more aware of the light.  It's light in the morning when I drive into work and I stop for a moment before getting out of the car to appreciate it.  Some mornings it's easier than others - we had a long stretch of cold gray days to start this winter; cloud cover heavy enough that the sun was barely visible as a brighter spot in the sky.

I've always loved the cool-washed tones of a winter sunset.  But it's already dark most days by the time I leave work.

So I take heart in the turning of the days.  The year is turned; the light will not continue to disappear.  It will not leave us alone in the cold dark.  Tomorrow the light will last a bit longer.  It returns.

I'm trying to hold this thought close to my heart as I contemplate the trials the next few months will bring as I do what I can to help my daughter through this bout with cancer.  (She's waiting on some test results to decide on a treatment plan; we should know more in a week or so.  The good news in the bad news is still that she found it early and it's treatable.)  I need to remember the cycle of life; that this, too, shall pass.  Trials come and trials go, but God always Is, and the beauty is always there if I but remember to look for it.  

Cancer and God Moments

This year, my daughter decided to get a live Christmas tree.  It wasn't until she got to the front of the line at the store that she realized she'd kill the tree if she kept it inside for the three weeks until Christmas.  But, it was a long line, and she liked her little tree, so she brought it home anyhow.  She and Alexandra decorated it, and then put it out on the small front porch of their apartment.  We talked about the risks - someone might come by and take it, but decided if that happened, it was OK - only someone who REALLY needs one would steal a Christmas tree.

 A couple of weeks ago, Kate had found a suspicious lump in her breast.  She made an appointment and went in to see her OB/Gyn.  She agreed it didn't look good, and sent Kate to get a sonogram / mammogram.  Still didn't look good, so they scheduled a biopsy.

Kate called me as she was walking home that day.  Her biopsy had been a little more involved than mine, and it hurt.  She was scared.  As we talked about the experience, she arrived home.  As she went up to the door, she looked at her little tree; her sign of hope.  No, it wasn't gone.

Someone had added an organic, fair-trade, sea salt and almond dark chocolate to the decorations.

Yesterday, she got the results of the biopsy.  It is cancer.  But if it must be cancer, at least it's a caught-early, very treatable kind.  (DCIS - ductal carcinoma in situ)  It's not time to despair.  There is much hope.  Still.  It sucks.

So, now she starts on the road I took three years ago; the road I would take again, for her, if I could; to keep her from having to travel it. Tests, surgeons, oncologists, more tests.  Lots of waiting and fear.

This morning, she got up, and looked at her little tree.  The angel (presumably the same one) had struck again, adding more treats.

Hope.  Kindness.  Stronger than darkness.  Stronger than fear.

Love Is.
God Is.

Tile

It's been a little over two weeks, and my knees are just now beginning to speak kindly to me again. They didn't like the before-Thanksgiving push to get the tile floors down in the bathroom and the kitchen.

I had motivation.  I was having a three year-old guest in, and didn't want her to have to trek down two floors to our beautiful rustic subterranean stonewalled bathing facility should she have to go pee in the middle of the night.  (It's a daunting enough trip at my age!)

Someone (not to mention point any fingers) just had to have one of those modern twists on the traditional 20's bathroom floor - the old-style tile, but with a border around the edge.  It looked really great in the tile shop showroom. So what if I had to dry-fit the entire floor before I could begin?   (I'll admit - it's a good thing I didn't have to pay the tile guy by the hour.  It would've blown what little remains of the budget out of the water.)  It's one of those projects that even as I was cussing me out while doing all the tile cuts I knew I'd love it once it was finished.  And I do.

My brother kindly came by to set the toilet and sink the day before she got here.  I'm not sure she appreciated the extra effort, but I do - that I no longer need to trek to the basement in the middle of the night myself is one of those beautiful side-benefits that we occasionally get in life.

And, because I thought I could fit it in, I also got the kitchen floor laid, not without a bit of drama.  You see, the black tile came in boxes of 21; the white in boxes of 15.  The Tile Shop computers thought both colors came in boxes of 21, so when we got about 80% done with the floor the Saturday before Thanksgiving we ran out of white tiles.  (I'd had the tile delivered; that'll teach me to actually unwrap a skid to check its contents on delivery.) So, we spent four hours on Sunday running around to the different locations in town picking up what they had in stock so I could finish the floor that afternoon, so the grouting could happen on Monday and be partially cured for company on Thursday.

With all that running around, I was pretty tired by the time I got around to grouting the tile after work on Monday.  So, when one of the tiles in the middle of the floor popped up, instead of doing the sensible thing and mixing up a bit of mastic to re-lay it, I just got out my trusty caulk gun and used it to glue the baby down.  Subsequent research on the web tells me that may not have been the smartest thing I've ever done - caulk doesn't hold up under traffic load.  But, what's done is done and the tile is firmly attached for now.  I've decided to think of it as a science experiment - how long will a tile stay attached to the floor if you use caulk to glue it down?  We shall see!

Alyson

Joe and I went for a slow amble around the park this last Saturday, just before the weather turned cold again.  I was recovering from a bout with a stomach virus, and since it was a beautiful day, decided a walk just might help my joints recover a bit.  (It did.)

As we were walking, Joe bent over to pick up a small piece of red paper lying near the sidewalk.  He unfolded it, and we read:

I just want to get along with my brother.  I don't want to stop loving him.  I truly love him but sometimes when we fight I am feeling I am loving him less.  God / Jesus I just want to have a normal childhood life with him.                                Sincerely, Alyson

I am sharing the note with you all so you can add your prayers to mine.

From the handwriting, I'm guessing Alyson is just entering her teens.  Lots of growing; lots of change, inside and out.  I'm sending a prayer her way - that she and her brother find a way to common ground so she can get back to her normal childhood life.

There are times I have had trouble loving my family.  I'm sure there have been times my family has found it hard to love me.  And I know I shared her yearning for a normal childhood life. (whatever that may look like...)

Alyson, May the newborn God's Peace find its way to your home this Christmas season.

Here's to family, with all its warmth and warts and wrinkles....

It's November???

Loose Park, Kansas City

It's November already?

OK.  Who took October, and where did they put it?

Calm down, Janice.  You know perfectly well where October went.  You spent it working at work and working on the house and the days whizzed by while you were thinking you really ought to stop and enjoy the good weather while it was still here.  And then the good weather was gone.  Almost.

Today was gorgeous.  I stopped myself from working long enough to take a walk around the park.  Most of the trees are bare, but there were a few, like the one pictured, still showing glorious color.

I spent most of the weekend putting down the tile subfloor in the addition.  Many years ago, when we did the kitchen floor, we just plunked down the rockboard on top of the plywood and called it good. This time, when I looked the process up on the internet, most people recommended using thinset mortar under the rockboard.

I really didn't want to spend the time and deal with the mess, so I looked at several more websites. The consensus was still to glue the stuff down.  Really?  So I called the tile store.  Sure enough the National Association of Tile Manufacturers HIGHLY recommends gluing the stuff down.

So, I grudgingly glued it down.  And then put in the gazillion screws they want in addition to the glue.  Those stupid boards better not shift and crack my tile - that's all I have to say.  I was most grateful for the good cordless drill I had to help me with the screws.  I can't imagine putting them all in by hand.  My knees are sore enough as it is.  (I don't think I'm meant to kneel on the floor for over an hour any more.  Not that I ever thought I was.)

The goal is to have an operational toilet and sink upstairs by Thanksgiving, when we are having visitors.  Not that I'm getting sick of my rustic stone-walled subterranean bathing facility or anything.

One step at a time...

The Universe Within

Galactic nebula, credit:  NASA

For years I've been intrigued by the images from a website put together by researchers in Florida.  The purported purpose of the website is to illustrate the power of powers of 10.  It shows a series of images scaling in from a picture of the universe, to the earth, to a tree in Florida and into the cellular structure of the tree.

Very factual descriptions of the pictures.  Dry even.

As at teen, I read Madeleine L'Engle's, A Wind in the Door.  It was my first introduction to the world of mitochondria.  She wrote of a struggle between good and evil; the battle scene set within the body of a young boy.

I go back to the site every now and then, intrigued by the scale of the universe.  The stars outside are mirrored by the stars within.  And though I can't quite make the connection, I wonder if L'Engle was on to something.

I look at the pictures, but I can't grasp the scale of the stars without.
I look at the pictures, but I can't grasp the scale of the stars within.

And I wonder.

Could it be that it's all linked on some cosmic scale?  When I take care of myself, do I bring good not only to the part of me I'm aware of, but to some distant star within?  Is that that star within linked to the stars without?  When we do violence to one another here on earth, do the stars cry in reflected pain?  When we reach out to help another, do the stars rejoice?

Does the strength within that I draw on when my own strength fails come from the stars?
It's an intriguing thought.

If you'd like to see the images, they can be found at:
http://micro.magnet.fsu.edu/primer/java/scienceopticsu/powersof10/

Kids These Days

On Monday afternoons, from 4 to 4:30, my job assignment is to stand in the back lot of the school and watch the children as they wait for their rides.  It's easy duty, especially on nice fall afternoons.

This past week, as I was standing there, I noticed one of the girls crying off to the side.  Her friends were with her, so I didn't try to intervene, but stood nearby in case they needed help.

She didn't want to tell them what was wrong.  I could see them asking, but she just shook her head, no, as the tears continued to fall.

After a few minutes one of the boys quit talking and reached over and gently removed her earbuds and set them aside.  He took her electronics, her books, and added them to a careful pile.

He leaned in, took her hands, and as he pulled her to her feet, began to sing, "Do you want to build a snowman? Come on, let's go and play!"  (from the movie Frozen)

He pulled her into a giant hug.  "I never see you any more, come on out the door, it's like you've gone away!"

She began to smile through her tears.  "We used to be best buddies, and now we're not.  I wish you would tell me why."

Her tears dried up.  "Do you want to build a snowman?  It doesn't have to be a snowman..."

She smiled a real smile.

Her friends left, the tears didn't return.  She was even still smiling a little.

Good friends.
They made my week.

Kanopolis

Kanopolis, KS

I love the way the word Kanopolis rolls off the tongue.

It was my last night on the road this summer.  I'd picked the park because it was a state park, more or less on my way home, halfway through Kansas.

The park is geared to horseback riding.  There are not only trails throughout the park, but corrals for the horses in the campground area.  (all for only $29 / night)

I pulled in around four, and Scrap, a big, beautiful bear of a dog from the campsite next door, came over to say hullo.  (His owners call him Scrap because someone dropped him off like he was worthless scrap - they think otherwise.)  Ted, his owner, came over to call him off, and we got to talking.  His wife, Amy, came out to join us, and we talked some more.  They offered me a drink, then dinner.  It was cold, the temps on their way down to near freezing, but the fire and the company kept me warm.

The only time I went back to my camper during the evening to plug it in and make us a salad for my contribution to dinner.  (a rare occurrence)

I fell in love with them.  She was warm and friendly.  He would have fit in perfectly back around the turn of the century, last century.  The self-reliant type, able to fix anything, short on words, long on heart.  They are the kind of people that, once on your side, you know have your back.  More at home on the back of a horse than in a truck.  I could picture them at home, her working as a Postmaster in town, him running the farm.  Not always an easy life, but together they get through the troubles.

It's good to know there are still people like that in this world.  The next morning as I began to drive away, they came out of their camper.  I waved and started to take off, then stopped and jumped out of the truck for a hug goodbye.

Some friends we have for just a moment...

The Sheetrock Came!

yes, that's Monster, back in his Box with Water!

I called them three weeks ago, right after I'd finished the last of the prep work.  I didn't dare call before I was actually ready because if they just happened to be free and they showed up before I had my ducks lined up, I'm thinking that Melvern Figge would not have been happy.  And it's unwise to get on the bad side of your contractor before the job even starts.

So, I've been waiting.  Almost patiently even.  It's helped that I have plenty to do outside to finish the painting before winter sets in.  And work's been super busy since I came back.

Figge (it's pronounced figgy.  like the pudding.  I haven't even thought about asking him what dish he brings to holiday gatherings.  I'm sure he's heard it before.  But it makes me smile to think about it...)

where was I?

Oh, yes.  Figge called on Monday, letting me know they'd be dropping off the sheetrock late this week.  He called Thursday to let me know it would be delivered Friday afternoon.  He called Friday afternoon to let me know they'd be there on Saturday to hang the rock unless I had some objections.

Objections to progress?  Not I!

They showed up bright and early on Saturday morning, a crew of six hangers and Figge to supervise.  They worked until about four - and got it all installed.  Kitchen, laundry room, bathroom and garage.  I was impressed.

Even though I know it's done, it's startling me a bit each time I turn on the kitchen light, and it has walls.  and, it's catching me by surprise each time I climb the stairs - did you know someone put a room at the top of the stair?

Progress!

The Rabbit

Lathrop State Park, CO

I try to add a bit of beauty to the world when I can, and often pick up trash as I walk as an easy way to feel I've helped nature out just a bit.  As I was walking along the banks of the river near the place I was staying near Glacier Park in Montana, I picked up a cigarette lighter and some bug spray.  I picked up a stray piece of paper or two, and an old abandoned stuffed rabbit.

When I got back to the house, I added the bug spray to their collection on the porch (they have some killer mosquitoes up that-a-way), and went to throw out the rest.  I easily threw out the lighter, but stopped when I got to the rabbit.

I couldn't just throw it in the trash, it had been loved.  It had just one ear, and someone had picked off much of the fur on the lower half of its body.  It hadn't been outside long; there was no rain or animal damage to the poor bedraggled thing.  Unable to convince me to callously pitch it, I somewhat sheepishly tucked into one of the cabinets in the camper.  I didn't know what I was going to do with it - I certainly didn't want to add a battered stuffed animal to my life - so I carried it with me for much of the trip.  I opened its cabinet a lot; several times I went to throw it away, and just couldn't.  Finally, I decided I would burn it at the next quiet campsite I stayed at.  I've always loved the story of the Velveteen Rabbit - I thought I could send the spirit of this little guy to join his.

When I got to Lathrop State Park in Walsenburg, CO, I found the perfect site.  Quiet; no one to think I was nuts as I cremated some poor defenseless stuffed animal.  Plenty of small sticks to create a funeral pyre.  Still feeling a little foolish, I lit the fire, put the rabbit on top, and watched it burn to ashes.

Feeling sad, I decided to talk a walk about the park.  As I came around the corner of the restroom building, I saw a rabbit.  The only one I saw on the the entire trip.  He stopped, looked back at me, stretched just a bit, then leisurely made his way into the bushes.

Maybe, just maybe, the little fellow I found became Real.  I like to think so.