June 29, 2007 – Chapter Sixteen
Julie’s Stinking Cancer Update: Tuesday will be my 12th chemo treatment. I think that makes me officially halfway there though I can’t remember now if the original order was for 24 or 25 weeks. Anyhoo – it’s a milestone for me and I think I’ll celebrate. Possibly by wearing my new Martini shaped eyewear that Miss Jenny sent my way. I think people send me things as jokes and think that no person in their right mind would be caught dead in the item and yet there I am, wearing them and feeling oh so very cha cha. Honest to God. I have them on my head right now.
Chemo Partner Cheri Marie and Julie sporting the new Martini eyewear.
Anyhoo – back to the Big “C”… so I’m halfway Home and for the most part I’m doing fine. The irritation with my eyes and my fatigue are my biggest complaints. My hair is falling out in chunks now and that is kind of scary. I can’t wash it down the drain anymore because even I realize it’s time to admit that the daily “handful” is more than the recommended amount for a non-industrial drain. I do occasionally try to bolster myself up though and tell myself things like, “Well maybe it’s not as bad as it looks”. This morning was one of those times so I tried the whole, “not so bad… maybe it just looks worse than it is… etc.” I pulled open the shower curtain and as Trevor passed by and saw one of my piles of hair his expression was one of horror… “OH MY GOD! Jesus, it’s really starting to come out now!” So here’s a note to those of you living with someone on chemotherapy. Keep your head down, avoid eye contact and confirm nothing. I think this is one of those moments like when someone you like is wearing a new outfit. Even if your actually thinking “Dear God, poor choices have been made here.” Or “For the love of everything Holy! Take that off and do not make me look at it again.” You may think those things but you DO NOT actually say them out loud. For your own safety. Sometimes less is more. When someone you love is losing their hair at an alarming rate, you may just want to pretend you don’t notice.
I keep writing about my brain damage on chemo and I know it’s getting tedious but I think I spend more time analyzing it because I work with a group of really wonderful people who experience the same thing. To be honest I have always considered myself to be good at working with old people. I don’t talk to them like they’re two even if their behaviors can be reminiscent of it. I get that they are old souls who have led amazing lives and who deserve respect and kindness even if their behavior doesn’t reflect that at the moment. I get it. Some people never can. But I do and I always have. I am not a saint. I could never be a teacher because I do not have the patience children deserve, I just thought I got old people. I realize now though that my confidence with “getting” my residents was perhaps overly stated before.
Now I think that we are all really very arrogant in our youth without meaning to be. If you come to work in this building you are young. Your mind, your body, your skin, the fact that you have a life and places to be and people to see demonstrates that. Though I respected them and loved them I was arrogant in the fact that I knew I would out live them, that my body would out last theirs, and that my abilities would not diminish as theirs were. So it has been such a gift to wonder now if that is really the case. I can tell you that I treat them differently now. I relate to them. I CAN RELATE TO THESE OLD SOULS. I thought of that again this morning when I wondered if it was snowing. Yes, I wondered for a moment if it was snowing. Here is how Julie with Dementia works: I looked at the trees across the bay and from where I was sitting with the light shining on them, they looked almost white. So I thought. “It’s snowing.” Then something seemed off about that observation but I didn’t realize immediately what it was. So I thought: “I wonder if that’s right, I better double check.” So then I thought: “When does it snow in Ketchikan? October? Let’s see, it’s July so August, September, October. No, it can’t be snowing.” What is a straight shot in terms of Yes or No answers in your brain is more of a meandering path for me right now. Yes, I eventually get to the right answer but it is exhausting and deeply disturbing to feel my brain in all of it sluggishness.
Please don’t mistake this as a depressing passage, it’s not. The fact that I can relate to my residents is a gift that I would have missed entirely had I not been handed this little package. I’m only halfway there but trust me, it was worth it.
Endurance…. I have never been an “endurance” kind of gal…. I think the simplest way to demonstrate that point, though there are MANY examples, is to say that I was a cheerleader. I took one look at the basketball players running suicide drills and decided that cheerleading was perhaps more my cup of tea. If these Chapters were just being sent to the original list I wouldn’t be too worried about insulting some passionate little cheerleading enthusiast but since they are being forwarded on to God knows where, I should clarify here that there are two kinds of cheerleaders. There are the cheerleaders born and bred to the sport who are acrobats and gymnasts and who make football players look like wimps. The kind that try out in front of the whole school and whose mothers have been arrested for attempted murder when their princesses do not make the squad. (Did you guys see that episode of Dateline?) There are those cheerleaders and then there is the kind of cheerleading I participated in. I wore a short skirt and I yelled at the crowd.
The point being that I have lived my life avoiding activities which would require anything close to endurance. But I was thinking about endurance Wednesday in chemo. I was watching the maple trees outside the window. Over the course of the treatments I have watched their leaves grow and bloom and change color. I love to watch them in the breeze. I try not to think about the fact that I will be sitting in that same chair watching the leaves fall. I try not to think about it but I do. Then I think about endurance and how everyday, but especially Wednesdays, are a test of my endurance. I measure everything in terms of the task directly in front of me. I tell myself to just get started and if it’s too hard then I can stop. But I know deep down that I hate to quit something once I start so I finish that task then I tell myself the same thing about the next one and the next one and the next one until I find myself at the end of a day and I crawl under the covers and close my eyes. Endurance was never a word I would have said I understood before but I know it now, intimately.
I was gardening this week…I’m not supposed to be. Something about the chemicals etc. At first I was relieved and thought I could take the year off and no one would think I was a loser because I have a valid excuse. But honestly, I just can’t do it. I tried, but the weeds were killing me and I HAD to get the veggies in the ground. There is something very therapeutic about dirt and a shovel and green things, that and my little dolly chirping in the background. She loves to play in the clover and pretend an old, broken umbrella is really a horse. She feeds the horse for hours amid the bumble bees and flowers. Occasionally I hear her say things like: “Don’t eat so fast Mr. Horsey, you are going to choke on all that grass and get a tummy ache.” Or “Don’t you shake your little butt at me Mr. Bumblebee! And if you try to sting me I’m just going to run away.” So by now you all may have visions of me and my gardening therapy, planting and growing things and enjoying the beauty around me. But I have to be honest and tell you that the most therapeutic thing I did while gardening was to kill a bush. I killed a Rhododendron and it felt VERY, VERY good. Possibly another “special needs” moment but I was damn sick of watching that Rhodie struggle to live. First of all, I have never really liked them, I think they are kind of common. Instead I buy rose bushes every year and envision myself with gardens filled with roses. Every year they bloom and then they die in the winter and I have to pay hundreds of dollars to replace them. So call me a slow learner but I am becoming acquainted with the idea that Rhododendrons are a staple in SE gardens for a reason. Anyway – I have one Rhodie that has been dying since I purchased it five years ago. It always has a few green leaves and one or two blooms but is generally a pathetic bush. I have moved it, I have weeded it, I have fertilized it, and I have had words with it. But it continues to eek a pathetic life in my garden. And this year, there is something about looking at it every day that just pisses me off. I feel like I gave it every opportunity to flourish and it hasn’t. So I killed it. I pulled it from it’s roots which left me laying in the dirt for five minutes recovering but I did it. And I have to say that it is a relief to look at my garden now… everything green and growing, blooming and living…. Nothing dying…. As it should be. Right?
This may sound very mundane to some of you, but you know what really makes me grateful this week? My overstuffed, fabulous chair. It’s in the corner of my bedroom looking out over the channel. From that chair I watch whales in the bay, fishing boats coming home, and giant cruise ships stuck in rain squalls. I love my chair. I love that when I think back on this time in my life and all of the struggles that I will remember that chair, I will remember feeling safe and warm and loved. I will remember being held in that chair. I will remember saying “I love you” in that chair and I will remember the healing power of those moments.
Love to all of you…….j
The view from Julie’s Chair
But in my defense, here is WHY and if you can read the following description without being moved to a state of bliss then you possibly do not understand me…
Black Mary Janes with a silver heart buckle…. Not JUST Mary Janes, but SPARKLY, Mary Janes.
What is it about a little bit of glitter that just cheers me the hell up. The shoes remind me of Christmas ornaments on my feet. I love Christmas ornaments. I love the thought of them, I love shopping for them, I love picking them, buying them, carrying them home, wrapping them up and storing them, I love it when Christmas rolls around and I unwrap them and hang them from the branches. I own some really ornate, complicated ones… there isn’t one ornament on my tree that doesn’t have a story or a reason for being there but honestly the one that inspires me the most is one that I bought at a garage sale for 50 cents. I use it as the star for the top of the tree. It’s a 1960ish pink, tattered star, an angel sits in the center of the star with a bit of glitter still clinging to her pink tulle skirt… she has such a sweet face and she is somewhere between gaudy/tacky, retro/classic, and whimsical/charming…. One might make the case that those are also appropriate descriptions for her owner as well. Anyhoo – her wiring is REALLY bad (hmmm.. another interesting comparison) and I’m actually afraid to put that in print because every year that I use her I wonder if this is the year she’s going to start the tree on fire and burn the whole house down but she’s so stinking cute somehow I think maybe she’s worth it. Every year… people give me grief about how I need a new tree topper… perhaps something new and shiny… something trendy… or coordinated… something expensive … but every year the same thought comes to me… how she has a past… I don’t know what it is but she does…. Before she came into my world she was a part of some else’s world, graced some one else’s tree, year after year…. My pretty, little complicated angel, broken and damaged but charming and irreplaceable…. No, I think I’ll keep her…. In all of her scary… fun… glittery ways… she speaks to me.
So I sit here typing tonight in my jammies, glass of red wine in hand wearing my sparkly Mary Janes, I know that the rest of you might think its silly to waste time documenting my ridiculous treasures found along the way. But honestly, sometimes the bigger blessings in life that should inspire me…. don’t, and when that happens, thank God … it’s the little treasures… the ones that no one else would see in quite the same way… Sparkly shoes, broken angels, a little glitter… somehow they are enough to make me smile, want more, laugh a little, and restore perspective so that despite the unpleasantness that is assured me… I find myself looking forward to the moments in between..... Love to all of you….j
July 31 2007 – Chapter Nineteen
Well gang! I just finished week sixteen … ten more weeks of chemo to go. In terms of cancer/chemo updates, all is well. I saw my oncologist at Swedish last week and she is thrilled with the care I am receiving from my fantastic doctor and my counts continue to remain stable. Thank God…… some are a bit low which is why I imagine I am so stinking tired…… a tired I’ve never felt before. I am having difficulty trying to figure out how to give some things up, like work or errands and still feel like I accomplished something in a day. Staying home in my jammies sounds so appropriate some days but I can’t manage to force myself to do it yet…….. Things to do…… People to see…..I am looking forward to next week when I am officially in the single digit countdown……….nine sounds a whole lot better than twenty six. Thanks very much to all of our Washington friends who came to see us, entertained us, and honored us with their time…. I enjoyed the trip immensely and the memories even more………
I think Campbell has it more together than I do sometimes with her emotional well being and the “taking what she needs from the world” philosophy to which she so clearly subscribes. Campbell rates her pain in degrees and her treatment therefore is proportionate to her perceived agony.
“Mommy, I fell down in the yard. I have a hurt on my elbow. I have a scrape on my knee…. But my HAND! MY HAND has a HURT, a SCRAPE, and a BLEED. I need a hug, two kisses, an extra squeeze, and a pretty band-aid please, one with princesses if you have it.”
Mommy delivers, and Campbell moves on, the pain behind her and her world fresh, new and ready for more. As adults I wonder how we could get better at that.
“I have a broken heart, a crushed spirit, and my soul feels tired… I need a hug, three kisses, an extra squeeze, a pretty band aid…. and a little gin and tonic, Hendricks, if you have it.”
I might try that this week.
I’ve been thinking about that… as others we know are suffering from loss…It’s hard to know that people you care about are in pain. Like me I imagine they walk through a crowd of people saying the word “fine” over and over…. More for the audience than because it resembles truth…….I find that it is much easier to be the bearer of the burden than the bystander……it hurts to know that others hurt….. Someone once told me that they wished that pain had a color. I agree. If pain had a color and we could all see one another’s suffering as we walked by each other then it would be difficult to ignore, “fine” would become implausible and I would like to believe then that we would all stop what we’re doing and simply hold each other more.
We have this wonderful man in our lives, Chuckybaby…….. he’s an artist and photographer and we are blessed to have the lives of our children documented by him. Occasionally, he sends us photos of his travels which grace our walls. I am always interested in the way people react to his art. I like to stand back and watch them look at the photos all lined out on the wall. It’s fascinating to watch how they react and finally decide which one is their favorite. It always makes me wonder why. Why does that one speak to them? Was it the colors, the people, the buildings? Was it something that reminded them of their youth or something they hope to see in their future? It just makes me wonder.
I saw a sculpture once at the Seattle Sculpture Park. I didn’t particularly enjoy it. In fact, I didn’t like it at all and I looked at it from every angle before I decided that I wouldn’t plunk that thing down in my front yard if someone paid me. But the quote next to it from the artist was interesting and it was something I never really thought about before. I always thought that art was about the piece that was created. But this artist said that he believed that art is less about the piece before you and more about the way people react to it.
I suppose that could be applied to more than the art in our lives, or maybe the interactions in our lives could all be perceived as artistic. I write these silly, sometimes tedious chapters and assume that you are all reading them as I do and taking from them what I intended. But I suppose that isn’t true at all……when I was in Washington this week visiting friends and family I found it interesting how many people commented on receiving the chapters and in particular one chapter that apparently many people have deemed as a favorite (tulip and daffodil). It was perplexing to me and I found myself considering it often over the course of the week because honestly, reading back over these, it was one of my least favorites and one that I wished I hadn’t sent…..so it made me wonder what it was about those stories or words that reached people when I was sure that I hadn’t.
I guess if we think in terms of life as art then it is never about the final product. What we accomplished or succeeded or produced, but about all the immeasurable ways we moved people along the way. The way people reacted to us and from us and because of us…joy and laughter and warmth and passion….moved to feel something because of us….maybe then we’re all artists with the ability to create something spectacular every day.
Love to all of you….j
“I have a hurt, a scrape, AND a bleed.”
Chapter Twenty – August 7, 2007
I see my hand reflected through the monitor screen. It is covered in blue tubes and band-aids. The toxic green syringe is being brought to me now. It goes into the tube and I watch it wind its way down into my vein. Now I wait…it takes just seconds, two blinks and a deep breath and there it is, the feeling in the back of my throat and the pit of my stomach. My body telling my brain that something is not right here and what ever it is that just came on board should be asked to leave…..quickly. Lots of rapid swallowing to keep it down. Here comes the next toxic syringe… I can taste this one…. Makes me think of metal and blood.
“Critically Low”. Those were the words I knew would come but had avoided until now… I was hoping to skim the edges and make it to the end without anything else added to my list of dread. But it’s here so we’re starting the dance now…. The complicated maneuvering of more chemicals and drugs added to my body in order to sustain my counts so I can proceed through the rest of my treatments. It means nothing to me other than more appointments, more injections, more lab work, more discomfort… the real dilemma sits with Stacy, Monica, and Dr. Rinn who have the complicated task of figuring me out, some of this and a little of that to patch me back together and make this process work. That added to my increasing fatigue, nausea, and hair loss and I have to say… it’s been a hell of week…I find myself hoping for different things now. No longer enough patience to make it to the end of this process, but instead that the process will remain the same… no more….no more.
But today I’m choosing to ignore that because lots of amazing things have happened to me this week too. In fact some of them are practically miraculous….
As most of you know, when asked about athletics, Campbell’s response is: “Ummm… No thank you… I just want to be a cheerleader.” But this week she not only agreed to attend soccer camp but she did it. Let me clarify that she only attended because she wanted to: “wear the soccer outfit.” But still, my daughter attended soccer camp and participated. Kind of. It was really more like Campbell building sand castles, Campbell wandering to the net and seeing if her head will fit through, Campbell picking weeds, Campbell covering her head with her shirt and twirling in circles. But the miracle to me and what I am choosing to view as a HUGE step towards my daughter being saved from the clutches of cheerleader hell is that occasionally she would wake from her world of “Campbellness” and realize that she was surrounded by other children playing a sport and she would run toward the ball and kick it…. She would then immediately turn around and walk back to her sand castle without even watching to see where the ball landed but still… I choose to find hope in the fact that my daughter opted to take off the cheerleader outfit and try on the athlete outfit… even if it was short lived and not exactly reeking of athletic talent it was still my little girl being brave enough to try something new and even better than a child running up and down the field kicking the ball was my child who as always, did it her way. Campbell Rose made mommy laugh out loud.
Miracle #2 this week was a note from my favorite designer, Betsey Johnson. You all know that I love her based on previous chapters. I love Betsey because she designs her clothes as if she doesn’t care what other people think of her and she uses words like “whimsy” freely. I sent her one of the chapters that referenced the Battenburg lace dress and she sent me a note back with a box of Betsey treasures. Seriously….. how thrilling is that?….Do you ever think about what it is you can do to make someone’s world better? Do you? I don’t, or at least not enough. But Betsey made me think about it this week because I imagine the note didn’t take very long to write but it made me feel like my day had been bright when in fact it hadn’t been. Interesting isn’t it? Something little to us can be something so huge to someone else. I’m having my note framed and plan to hang it in my closet, my reminder of Betsey, whimsy, and how simple words can make some one else’s world seem bright even when it isn’t.
The thing that I found myself clinging to all week though was the appearance of Fall. I know, it’s not Fall and in fact quite the contrary in Ketchikan at the moment but I had a preview to Fall and I found myself Thanking God for my little sneak peek of my favorite time of year. I realized how much I associate soccer with Fall when I got the kids ready for camp. I think this year part of the thrill is that my body knows the punishment ends in the Fall but part of it is just me looking forward to my favorite moments. The October storms, the sound of the rain pounding on the cabin roof, rain coats and boots, the wind when it makes you feel small, picking out pumpkins and knowing they came from a patch somewhere, and pencils, packs of new pencils and glue sticks. Not to mention darker days and the granddaddy of all thrills… you know what I’m going to say ladies…. Fall Fashions. Doesn’t that just have a nice ring to it…. Fall Fashions. Fall Fashions. Fall Fashions.
Something about the change of seasons gives me hope…. That despite the challenge before us, time marches on and with it comes better times and worse too, but still the prospect of a different season leads me to be hopeful that I’m leaving this one behind and moving on… away from the tubes and chemicals, drugs, and labs, doctors and discomfort…. I’m not there yet, but I’m grateful for the preview that those days will come… and with it the hope that the future holds more laughter than tears…..
Love to all of you…j
Campbell Rose with her beloved, Grady.
Julie’s Stinking Cancer Update: Tuesday will be my 12th chemo treatment. I think that makes me officially halfway there though I can’t remember now if the original order was for 24 or 25 weeks. Anyhoo – it’s a milestone for me and I think I’ll celebrate. Possibly by wearing my new Martini shaped eyewear that Miss Jenny sent my way. I think people send me things as jokes and think that no person in their right mind would be caught dead in the item and yet there I am, wearing them and feeling oh so very cha cha. Honest to God. I have them on my head right now.
Chemo Partner Cheri Marie and Julie sporting the new Martini eyewear.
Anyhoo – back to the Big “C”… so I’m halfway Home and for the most part I’m doing fine. The irritation with my eyes and my fatigue are my biggest complaints. My hair is falling out in chunks now and that is kind of scary. I can’t wash it down the drain anymore because even I realize it’s time to admit that the daily “handful” is more than the recommended amount for a non-industrial drain. I do occasionally try to bolster myself up though and tell myself things like, “Well maybe it’s not as bad as it looks”. This morning was one of those times so I tried the whole, “not so bad… maybe it just looks worse than it is… etc.” I pulled open the shower curtain and as Trevor passed by and saw one of my piles of hair his expression was one of horror… “OH MY GOD! Jesus, it’s really starting to come out now!” So here’s a note to those of you living with someone on chemotherapy. Keep your head down, avoid eye contact and confirm nothing. I think this is one of those moments like when someone you like is wearing a new outfit. Even if your actually thinking “Dear God, poor choices have been made here.” Or “For the love of everything Holy! Take that off and do not make me look at it again.” You may think those things but you DO NOT actually say them out loud. For your own safety. Sometimes less is more. When someone you love is losing their hair at an alarming rate, you may just want to pretend you don’t notice.
I keep writing about my brain damage on chemo and I know it’s getting tedious but I think I spend more time analyzing it because I work with a group of really wonderful people who experience the same thing. To be honest I have always considered myself to be good at working with old people. I don’t talk to them like they’re two even if their behaviors can be reminiscent of it. I get that they are old souls who have led amazing lives and who deserve respect and kindness even if their behavior doesn’t reflect that at the moment. I get it. Some people never can. But I do and I always have. I am not a saint. I could never be a teacher because I do not have the patience children deserve, I just thought I got old people. I realize now though that my confidence with “getting” my residents was perhaps overly stated before.
Now I think that we are all really very arrogant in our youth without meaning to be. If you come to work in this building you are young. Your mind, your body, your skin, the fact that you have a life and places to be and people to see demonstrates that. Though I respected them and loved them I was arrogant in the fact that I knew I would out live them, that my body would out last theirs, and that my abilities would not diminish as theirs were. So it has been such a gift to wonder now if that is really the case. I can tell you that I treat them differently now. I relate to them. I CAN RELATE TO THESE OLD SOULS. I thought of that again this morning when I wondered if it was snowing. Yes, I wondered for a moment if it was snowing. Here is how Julie with Dementia works: I looked at the trees across the bay and from where I was sitting with the light shining on them, they looked almost white. So I thought. “It’s snowing.” Then something seemed off about that observation but I didn’t realize immediately what it was. So I thought: “I wonder if that’s right, I better double check.” So then I thought: “When does it snow in Ketchikan? October? Let’s see, it’s July so August, September, October. No, it can’t be snowing.” What is a straight shot in terms of Yes or No answers in your brain is more of a meandering path for me right now. Yes, I eventually get to the right answer but it is exhausting and deeply disturbing to feel my brain in all of it sluggishness.
Please don’t mistake this as a depressing passage, it’s not. The fact that I can relate to my residents is a gift that I would have missed entirely had I not been handed this little package. I’m only halfway there but trust me, it was worth it.
Endurance…. I have never been an “endurance” kind of gal…. I think the simplest way to demonstrate that point, though there are MANY examples, is to say that I was a cheerleader. I took one look at the basketball players running suicide drills and decided that cheerleading was perhaps more my cup of tea. If these Chapters were just being sent to the original list I wouldn’t be too worried about insulting some passionate little cheerleading enthusiast but since they are being forwarded on to God knows where, I should clarify here that there are two kinds of cheerleaders. There are the cheerleaders born and bred to the sport who are acrobats and gymnasts and who make football players look like wimps. The kind that try out in front of the whole school and whose mothers have been arrested for attempted murder when their princesses do not make the squad. (Did you guys see that episode of Dateline?) There are those cheerleaders and then there is the kind of cheerleading I participated in. I wore a short skirt and I yelled at the crowd.
The point being that I have lived my life avoiding activities which would require anything close to endurance. But I was thinking about endurance Wednesday in chemo. I was watching the maple trees outside the window. Over the course of the treatments I have watched their leaves grow and bloom and change color. I love to watch them in the breeze. I try not to think about the fact that I will be sitting in that same chair watching the leaves fall. I try not to think about it but I do. Then I think about endurance and how everyday, but especially Wednesdays, are a test of my endurance. I measure everything in terms of the task directly in front of me. I tell myself to just get started and if it’s too hard then I can stop. But I know deep down that I hate to quit something once I start so I finish that task then I tell myself the same thing about the next one and the next one and the next one until I find myself at the end of a day and I crawl under the covers and close my eyes. Endurance was never a word I would have said I understood before but I know it now, intimately.
I was gardening this week…I’m not supposed to be. Something about the chemicals etc. At first I was relieved and thought I could take the year off and no one would think I was a loser because I have a valid excuse. But honestly, I just can’t do it. I tried, but the weeds were killing me and I HAD to get the veggies in the ground. There is something very therapeutic about dirt and a shovel and green things, that and my little dolly chirping in the background. She loves to play in the clover and pretend an old, broken umbrella is really a horse. She feeds the horse for hours amid the bumble bees and flowers. Occasionally I hear her say things like: “Don’t eat so fast Mr. Horsey, you are going to choke on all that grass and get a tummy ache.” Or “Don’t you shake your little butt at me Mr. Bumblebee! And if you try to sting me I’m just going to run away.” So by now you all may have visions of me and my gardening therapy, planting and growing things and enjoying the beauty around me. But I have to be honest and tell you that the most therapeutic thing I did while gardening was to kill a bush. I killed a Rhododendron and it felt VERY, VERY good. Possibly another “special needs” moment but I was damn sick of watching that Rhodie struggle to live. First of all, I have never really liked them, I think they are kind of common. Instead I buy rose bushes every year and envision myself with gardens filled with roses. Every year they bloom and then they die in the winter and I have to pay hundreds of dollars to replace them. So call me a slow learner but I am becoming acquainted with the idea that Rhododendrons are a staple in SE gardens for a reason. Anyway – I have one Rhodie that has been dying since I purchased it five years ago. It always has a few green leaves and one or two blooms but is generally a pathetic bush. I have moved it, I have weeded it, I have fertilized it, and I have had words with it. But it continues to eek a pathetic life in my garden. And this year, there is something about looking at it every day that just pisses me off. I feel like I gave it every opportunity to flourish and it hasn’t. So I killed it. I pulled it from it’s roots which left me laying in the dirt for five minutes recovering but I did it. And I have to say that it is a relief to look at my garden now… everything green and growing, blooming and living…. Nothing dying…. As it should be. Right?
This may sound very mundane to some of you, but you know what really makes me grateful this week? My overstuffed, fabulous chair. It’s in the corner of my bedroom looking out over the channel. From that chair I watch whales in the bay, fishing boats coming home, and giant cruise ships stuck in rain squalls. I love my chair. I love that when I think back on this time in my life and all of the struggles that I will remember that chair, I will remember feeling safe and warm and loved. I will remember being held in that chair. I will remember saying “I love you” in that chair and I will remember the healing power of those moments.
Love to all of you…….j
The view from Julie’s Chair
July 8, 2007 - Chapter Seventeen
My friend Vickie sent me a card that said: “You are the story behind so many of my best stories.” I love that line and it has left me thinking about it all week - Who are the people behind my best stories and do I keep them in my life and if not then why not? Time and distance are obvious culprits… but there are other reasons too… and I’ve been thinking about it and how I could do better… I could reconnect or at the very least tell them that they are the story behind so many of my best stories…..
So I’ve been thinking about the people in my life, and their personalities and what they give me and what they take from me. I suppose I’ve been thinking about it because the fourth of July in Ketchikan is always a time of homecoming and catching up. I’ve been able to spend some time with people that I have really missed and it has been nice to focus my energy on something other than being sick. It has been such a busy time that I feel like I’m spinning in circles from one gathering to the next and barely able to process one interaction before there is another. But when I’ve had the time to retreat to my chair and look out the window I’ve been replaying the conversations and wonder about the people behind them. It reminds me of looking for pretty rocks on the beach. Picking them up and looking at them in the light. Putting them in your pocket if they mean something or strike you as particularly beautiful in some way but discarding the ones that turn out to be less than you thought it would be, or worse, the ones that turn out to be downright ugly.
I marvel at the pretty ones - the people who leave you wanting more and wishing you could put them in your pocket because when you turn to walk away from them you realize that they make you feel good, that the world is good. I also marvel at the negative people in my life, the ones that offer judgment and harshness, either on an obvious level or hiding behind the surface of a smile. I wonder about them too…….how did they get that way and why in the hell does God put them in our lives. But I think it must be for the same reason we are given the opportunity to interact with the beautiful ones… because the difference between the two can sometimes be subtle and we each have in us the capacity to be both…positive and giving, or venomous and harsh. I think about the times in my life when I’ve been ugly…how easy it is to become secure in my life, my world, my successes, so that others can seem less than what I think they should be… yes, it’s ugly, but I’ve been there. If I had this year to exchange for another one, I wouldn’t do it…. I wouldn’t take the pain away, or the illness, or any of the other difficult lessons life has thrown at me……because it’s a gift to realize how quickly life can change either because of decisions we make or because life throws us something unexpected….and more than anything I realize how foolish it is to become so secure in our own lives that we do not bother to offer something beautiful to others… there is danger in passing judgment… both in the way it takes from those around us and the lessons it offers our children. Simply stated, as I sit in my chair looking out my window today, I think I will try harder to be one of the pretty rocks in the world..
Kenny Eichner was on my mind all week, as I think he was for lots of people. I was dreading the parade, knowing that he wouldn’t be flying the flag overhead this year for the first time since I can remember. Though I was proud to know that Eric would be doing it, I still felt the loss. During the parade I looked around me and saw the hole that he has left among his family and his friends…. And it just moved me. To think that each of us has the capability to leave that sort of legacy… not the Pioneer or the Legend part… because I do not believe that is something each of us could be… those roles are destined for a few…..but the legacy of being such a great father, grandfather, husband, and friend…. to be so wonderful to the people around you that when you are gone there is an emptiness that lingers… and cannot be filled. That is the part about Kenny Eichner that inspires me… In his world the people who knew him would say that he was the story behind so many of their best stories.
I wonder who that is for each of you…who are the people in your lives that inspire you to be better, happier, kinder, the people that bring you joy, make you laugh, or feel as though you’re not alone?…..Who are they? Are they next to you? If not, then why not?
Inspiration for the week is obvious, it’s all of you… all of the ways my conversations with you have moved me, made me think, left me feeling better or worse… it’s a gift, all of it… so thank you for the way you have changed me and keep changing me…
Love to all of you……j
My friend Vickie sent me a card that said: “You are the story behind so many of my best stories.” I love that line and it has left me thinking about it all week - Who are the people behind my best stories and do I keep them in my life and if not then why not? Time and distance are obvious culprits… but there are other reasons too… and I’ve been thinking about it and how I could do better… I could reconnect or at the very least tell them that they are the story behind so many of my best stories…..
So I’ve been thinking about the people in my life, and their personalities and what they give me and what they take from me. I suppose I’ve been thinking about it because the fourth of July in Ketchikan is always a time of homecoming and catching up. I’ve been able to spend some time with people that I have really missed and it has been nice to focus my energy on something other than being sick. It has been such a busy time that I feel like I’m spinning in circles from one gathering to the next and barely able to process one interaction before there is another. But when I’ve had the time to retreat to my chair and look out the window I’ve been replaying the conversations and wonder about the people behind them. It reminds me of looking for pretty rocks on the beach. Picking them up and looking at them in the light. Putting them in your pocket if they mean something or strike you as particularly beautiful in some way but discarding the ones that turn out to be less than you thought it would be, or worse, the ones that turn out to be downright ugly.
I marvel at the pretty ones - the people who leave you wanting more and wishing you could put them in your pocket because when you turn to walk away from them you realize that they make you feel good, that the world is good. I also marvel at the negative people in my life, the ones that offer judgment and harshness, either on an obvious level or hiding behind the surface of a smile. I wonder about them too…….how did they get that way and why in the hell does God put them in our lives. But I think it must be for the same reason we are given the opportunity to interact with the beautiful ones… because the difference between the two can sometimes be subtle and we each have in us the capacity to be both…positive and giving, or venomous and harsh. I think about the times in my life when I’ve been ugly…how easy it is to become secure in my life, my world, my successes, so that others can seem less than what I think they should be… yes, it’s ugly, but I’ve been there. If I had this year to exchange for another one, I wouldn’t do it…. I wouldn’t take the pain away, or the illness, or any of the other difficult lessons life has thrown at me……because it’s a gift to realize how quickly life can change either because of decisions we make or because life throws us something unexpected….and more than anything I realize how foolish it is to become so secure in our own lives that we do not bother to offer something beautiful to others… there is danger in passing judgment… both in the way it takes from those around us and the lessons it offers our children. Simply stated, as I sit in my chair looking out my window today, I think I will try harder to be one of the pretty rocks in the world..
Kenny Eichner was on my mind all week, as I think he was for lots of people. I was dreading the parade, knowing that he wouldn’t be flying the flag overhead this year for the first time since I can remember. Though I was proud to know that Eric would be doing it, I still felt the loss. During the parade I looked around me and saw the hole that he has left among his family and his friends…. And it just moved me. To think that each of us has the capability to leave that sort of legacy… not the Pioneer or the Legend part… because I do not believe that is something each of us could be… those roles are destined for a few…..but the legacy of being such a great father, grandfather, husband, and friend…. to be so wonderful to the people around you that when you are gone there is an emptiness that lingers… and cannot be filled. That is the part about Kenny Eichner that inspires me… In his world the people who knew him would say that he was the story behind so many of their best stories.
I wonder who that is for each of you…who are the people in your lives that inspire you to be better, happier, kinder, the people that bring you joy, make you laugh, or feel as though you’re not alone?…..Who are they? Are they next to you? If not, then why not?
Inspiration for the week is obvious, it’s all of you… all of the ways my conversations with you have moved me, made me think, left me feeling better or worse… it’s a gift, all of it… so thank you for the way you have changed me and keep changing me…
Love to all of you……j
Campbell Rose, twin babies, and Mommy sporting “Remembering a Legend” T-shirts in honor of our hero, Grandpa Eichner.
July 16, 2007 – Chapter Eighteen
Sorry for the delay with this one… and thanks for the calls about it…. I’ve discovered that my audience feels secure when the e mails come regularly. I’ve been struggling this week with what I have left to say. Lots of pages of typed words… lots of different stories… but none of it seems important when I finally go to send the Chapter. So I’ve held onto it…. Occasionally picking it up, reading the pages and starting completely over. I feel a little flat… I wonder why that is… maybe tired of being in limbo…. Tired of wondering… Perhaps just tired….
Humor is inherent in “Julieland”… my life is like a stand up comic routine. Honestly. Somebody should film me so you could all sit back over a bowl of popcorn in the evenings and laugh at the way I manage to look like an idiot. It’s a gift. I am a horse’s ass, most of the time.
I had a manager meeting at my house today. I like to invite the people I work closest with to my home every now and then to thank them for the ways that they put up with me and because it seems ridiculous that we could spend more time with each other than with our families and know so little about one another. Anyway – it’s been a long time since I’ve done it and I wanted to gather before I went on my trip to Washington this week. So I was making lunch for the group and here was my thought about dessert. “I should make something with Strawberries. Everybody likes strawberries.” So I found a recipe and made a nice little strawberry pie. I put it in the fridge to chill. Then I got busy around the kitchen and thought… “I should make something with lemons”… so I made lemon bars then I put that in the pantry. “Chocolate… I should make something with Chocolate… cake it is”…. Then… “Apples… everyone likes Apples”. My short term memory though impaired is not completely gone yet so I at least had the vague notion that I had prepared more than a couple of desserts but didn’t recall exactly how many I had made until I went to put lunch on the counter and realized that my inability to make a simple decision or to keep track of details meant that I prepared many, many, many desserts…for a very, very, very small group. In an effort to hide the fact that I am losing my marbles I told them something that I thought was more believable than the truth and possibly less alarming…. I told them that I was drunk.
Something happened after my manager meeting though that rocked my world, made me giddy, laugh out loud, catch my breath and feel like spinning in circles with my arms wide open….
I got a little package in the mail.
I know it’s shallow and wrong and all of that but last week after chemo I felt like crap. Every week seems to hit me a little harder. I move slower, do less, feel as if I am sick. The thing that bothers me about that is that I’ve been trying to muscle my way through this process. The whole “bury my head in the sand” theme combined with the “fake it till you make it” and “when life kicks you, kick it back” etc. etc. etc. --- all of those little slogans and more used in combination to elbow my way through the bogs of this bullshit disease … and if the process was only three months long I could have done it and most of you would never have really noticed me failing. I mean you see what I share with you every week but you probably wouldn’t have really seen me stumble. Yet here I am… halfway through and it’s getting to me and I am going to have to start looking sick and acting sick because honestly, I can’t keep maintaining the effort that is involved in pretending I’m not. And that REALLY, REALLY pisses me off.
Anyway, last Wednesday evening I was trying to think of something to cling to… some reason to get excited, to feel like myself, to look forward to moments to come instead of dreading the ones that I know will hurt. Life is funny that way, its less about the circumstance before you and more about the way you choose to see them. But occasionally life does spin me on my tail a bit and it takes me awhile to shake my head and recover from the blow. Wednesday I was trying to become oriented when I found a pair of shoes on my friend Betsey’s website that spoke to me. That is dangerous, dangerous territory in Julieland…
Trust me, I’m not proud and when it happens I usually at least make an attempt to call for back up. Here is my sad little plea for help.
“I found a pair of shoes that spoke to me, talk me down from the ledge.” But though my best friend gave it her best effort to talk some sense into me, as usual, her logic fell on completely deaf ears.
Sorry for the delay with this one… and thanks for the calls about it…. I’ve discovered that my audience feels secure when the e mails come regularly. I’ve been struggling this week with what I have left to say. Lots of pages of typed words… lots of different stories… but none of it seems important when I finally go to send the Chapter. So I’ve held onto it…. Occasionally picking it up, reading the pages and starting completely over. I feel a little flat… I wonder why that is… maybe tired of being in limbo…. Tired of wondering… Perhaps just tired….
Humor is inherent in “Julieland”… my life is like a stand up comic routine. Honestly. Somebody should film me so you could all sit back over a bowl of popcorn in the evenings and laugh at the way I manage to look like an idiot. It’s a gift. I am a horse’s ass, most of the time.
I had a manager meeting at my house today. I like to invite the people I work closest with to my home every now and then to thank them for the ways that they put up with me and because it seems ridiculous that we could spend more time with each other than with our families and know so little about one another. Anyway – it’s been a long time since I’ve done it and I wanted to gather before I went on my trip to Washington this week. So I was making lunch for the group and here was my thought about dessert. “I should make something with Strawberries. Everybody likes strawberries.” So I found a recipe and made a nice little strawberry pie. I put it in the fridge to chill. Then I got busy around the kitchen and thought… “I should make something with lemons”… so I made lemon bars then I put that in the pantry. “Chocolate… I should make something with Chocolate… cake it is”…. Then… “Apples… everyone likes Apples”. My short term memory though impaired is not completely gone yet so I at least had the vague notion that I had prepared more than a couple of desserts but didn’t recall exactly how many I had made until I went to put lunch on the counter and realized that my inability to make a simple decision or to keep track of details meant that I prepared many, many, many desserts…for a very, very, very small group. In an effort to hide the fact that I am losing my marbles I told them something that I thought was more believable than the truth and possibly less alarming…. I told them that I was drunk.
Something happened after my manager meeting though that rocked my world, made me giddy, laugh out loud, catch my breath and feel like spinning in circles with my arms wide open….
I got a little package in the mail.
I know it’s shallow and wrong and all of that but last week after chemo I felt like crap. Every week seems to hit me a little harder. I move slower, do less, feel as if I am sick. The thing that bothers me about that is that I’ve been trying to muscle my way through this process. The whole “bury my head in the sand” theme combined with the “fake it till you make it” and “when life kicks you, kick it back” etc. etc. etc. --- all of those little slogans and more used in combination to elbow my way through the bogs of this bullshit disease … and if the process was only three months long I could have done it and most of you would never have really noticed me failing. I mean you see what I share with you every week but you probably wouldn’t have really seen me stumble. Yet here I am… halfway through and it’s getting to me and I am going to have to start looking sick and acting sick because honestly, I can’t keep maintaining the effort that is involved in pretending I’m not. And that REALLY, REALLY pisses me off.
Anyway, last Wednesday evening I was trying to think of something to cling to… some reason to get excited, to feel like myself, to look forward to moments to come instead of dreading the ones that I know will hurt. Life is funny that way, its less about the circumstance before you and more about the way you choose to see them. But occasionally life does spin me on my tail a bit and it takes me awhile to shake my head and recover from the blow. Wednesday I was trying to become oriented when I found a pair of shoes on my friend Betsey’s website that spoke to me. That is dangerous, dangerous territory in Julieland…
Trust me, I’m not proud and when it happens I usually at least make an attempt to call for back up. Here is my sad little plea for help.
“I found a pair of shoes that spoke to me, talk me down from the ledge.” But though my best friend gave it her best effort to talk some sense into me, as usual, her logic fell on completely deaf ears.
But in my defense, here is WHY and if you can read the following description without being moved to a state of bliss then you possibly do not understand me…
Black Mary Janes with a silver heart buckle…. Not JUST Mary Janes, but SPARKLY, Mary Janes.
What is it about a little bit of glitter that just cheers me the hell up. The shoes remind me of Christmas ornaments on my feet. I love Christmas ornaments. I love the thought of them, I love shopping for them, I love picking them, buying them, carrying them home, wrapping them up and storing them, I love it when Christmas rolls around and I unwrap them and hang them from the branches. I own some really ornate, complicated ones… there isn’t one ornament on my tree that doesn’t have a story or a reason for being there but honestly the one that inspires me the most is one that I bought at a garage sale for 50 cents. I use it as the star for the top of the tree. It’s a 1960ish pink, tattered star, an angel sits in the center of the star with a bit of glitter still clinging to her pink tulle skirt… she has such a sweet face and she is somewhere between gaudy/tacky, retro/classic, and whimsical/charming…. One might make the case that those are also appropriate descriptions for her owner as well. Anyhoo – her wiring is REALLY bad (hmmm.. another interesting comparison) and I’m actually afraid to put that in print because every year that I use her I wonder if this is the year she’s going to start the tree on fire and burn the whole house down but she’s so stinking cute somehow I think maybe she’s worth it. Every year… people give me grief about how I need a new tree topper… perhaps something new and shiny… something trendy… or coordinated… something expensive … but every year the same thought comes to me… how she has a past… I don’t know what it is but she does…. Before she came into my world she was a part of some else’s world, graced some one else’s tree, year after year…. My pretty, little complicated angel, broken and damaged but charming and irreplaceable…. No, I think I’ll keep her…. In all of her scary… fun… glittery ways… she speaks to me.
So I sit here typing tonight in my jammies, glass of red wine in hand wearing my sparkly Mary Janes, I know that the rest of you might think its silly to waste time documenting my ridiculous treasures found along the way. But honestly, sometimes the bigger blessings in life that should inspire me…. don’t, and when that happens, thank God … it’s the little treasures… the ones that no one else would see in quite the same way… Sparkly shoes, broken angels, a little glitter… somehow they are enough to make me smile, want more, laugh a little, and restore perspective so that despite the unpleasantness that is assured me… I find myself looking forward to the moments in between..... Love to all of you….j
July 31 2007 – Chapter Nineteen
Well gang! I just finished week sixteen … ten more weeks of chemo to go. In terms of cancer/chemo updates, all is well. I saw my oncologist at Swedish last week and she is thrilled with the care I am receiving from my fantastic doctor and my counts continue to remain stable. Thank God…… some are a bit low which is why I imagine I am so stinking tired…… a tired I’ve never felt before. I am having difficulty trying to figure out how to give some things up, like work or errands and still feel like I accomplished something in a day. Staying home in my jammies sounds so appropriate some days but I can’t manage to force myself to do it yet…….. Things to do…… People to see…..I am looking forward to next week when I am officially in the single digit countdown……….nine sounds a whole lot better than twenty six. Thanks very much to all of our Washington friends who came to see us, entertained us, and honored us with their time…. I enjoyed the trip immensely and the memories even more………
I think Campbell has it more together than I do sometimes with her emotional well being and the “taking what she needs from the world” philosophy to which she so clearly subscribes. Campbell rates her pain in degrees and her treatment therefore is proportionate to her perceived agony.
“Mommy, I fell down in the yard. I have a hurt on my elbow. I have a scrape on my knee…. But my HAND! MY HAND has a HURT, a SCRAPE, and a BLEED. I need a hug, two kisses, an extra squeeze, and a pretty band-aid please, one with princesses if you have it.”
Mommy delivers, and Campbell moves on, the pain behind her and her world fresh, new and ready for more. As adults I wonder how we could get better at that.
“I have a broken heart, a crushed spirit, and my soul feels tired… I need a hug, three kisses, an extra squeeze, a pretty band aid…. and a little gin and tonic, Hendricks, if you have it.”
I might try that this week.
I’ve been thinking about that… as others we know are suffering from loss…It’s hard to know that people you care about are in pain. Like me I imagine they walk through a crowd of people saying the word “fine” over and over…. More for the audience than because it resembles truth…….I find that it is much easier to be the bearer of the burden than the bystander……it hurts to know that others hurt….. Someone once told me that they wished that pain had a color. I agree. If pain had a color and we could all see one another’s suffering as we walked by each other then it would be difficult to ignore, “fine” would become implausible and I would like to believe then that we would all stop what we’re doing and simply hold each other more.
We have this wonderful man in our lives, Chuckybaby…….. he’s an artist and photographer and we are blessed to have the lives of our children documented by him. Occasionally, he sends us photos of his travels which grace our walls. I am always interested in the way people react to his art. I like to stand back and watch them look at the photos all lined out on the wall. It’s fascinating to watch how they react and finally decide which one is their favorite. It always makes me wonder why. Why does that one speak to them? Was it the colors, the people, the buildings? Was it something that reminded them of their youth or something they hope to see in their future? It just makes me wonder.
I saw a sculpture once at the Seattle Sculpture Park. I didn’t particularly enjoy it. In fact, I didn’t like it at all and I looked at it from every angle before I decided that I wouldn’t plunk that thing down in my front yard if someone paid me. But the quote next to it from the artist was interesting and it was something I never really thought about before. I always thought that art was about the piece that was created. But this artist said that he believed that art is less about the piece before you and more about the way people react to it.
I suppose that could be applied to more than the art in our lives, or maybe the interactions in our lives could all be perceived as artistic. I write these silly, sometimes tedious chapters and assume that you are all reading them as I do and taking from them what I intended. But I suppose that isn’t true at all……when I was in Washington this week visiting friends and family I found it interesting how many people commented on receiving the chapters and in particular one chapter that apparently many people have deemed as a favorite (tulip and daffodil). It was perplexing to me and I found myself considering it often over the course of the week because honestly, reading back over these, it was one of my least favorites and one that I wished I hadn’t sent…..so it made me wonder what it was about those stories or words that reached people when I was sure that I hadn’t.
I guess if we think in terms of life as art then it is never about the final product. What we accomplished or succeeded or produced, but about all the immeasurable ways we moved people along the way. The way people reacted to us and from us and because of us…joy and laughter and warmth and passion….moved to feel something because of us….maybe then we’re all artists with the ability to create something spectacular every day.
Love to all of you….j
“I have a hurt, a scrape, AND a bleed.”
Chapter Twenty – August 7, 2007
I see my hand reflected through the monitor screen. It is covered in blue tubes and band-aids. The toxic green syringe is being brought to me now. It goes into the tube and I watch it wind its way down into my vein. Now I wait…it takes just seconds, two blinks and a deep breath and there it is, the feeling in the back of my throat and the pit of my stomach. My body telling my brain that something is not right here and what ever it is that just came on board should be asked to leave…..quickly. Lots of rapid swallowing to keep it down. Here comes the next toxic syringe… I can taste this one…. Makes me think of metal and blood.
“Critically Low”. Those were the words I knew would come but had avoided until now… I was hoping to skim the edges and make it to the end without anything else added to my list of dread. But it’s here so we’re starting the dance now…. The complicated maneuvering of more chemicals and drugs added to my body in order to sustain my counts so I can proceed through the rest of my treatments. It means nothing to me other than more appointments, more injections, more lab work, more discomfort… the real dilemma sits with Stacy, Monica, and Dr. Rinn who have the complicated task of figuring me out, some of this and a little of that to patch me back together and make this process work. That added to my increasing fatigue, nausea, and hair loss and I have to say… it’s been a hell of week…I find myself hoping for different things now. No longer enough patience to make it to the end of this process, but instead that the process will remain the same… no more….no more.
But today I’m choosing to ignore that because lots of amazing things have happened to me this week too. In fact some of them are practically miraculous….
As most of you know, when asked about athletics, Campbell’s response is: “Ummm… No thank you… I just want to be a cheerleader.” But this week she not only agreed to attend soccer camp but she did it. Let me clarify that she only attended because she wanted to: “wear the soccer outfit.” But still, my daughter attended soccer camp and participated. Kind of. It was really more like Campbell building sand castles, Campbell wandering to the net and seeing if her head will fit through, Campbell picking weeds, Campbell covering her head with her shirt and twirling in circles. But the miracle to me and what I am choosing to view as a HUGE step towards my daughter being saved from the clutches of cheerleader hell is that occasionally she would wake from her world of “Campbellness” and realize that she was surrounded by other children playing a sport and she would run toward the ball and kick it…. She would then immediately turn around and walk back to her sand castle without even watching to see where the ball landed but still… I choose to find hope in the fact that my daughter opted to take off the cheerleader outfit and try on the athlete outfit… even if it was short lived and not exactly reeking of athletic talent it was still my little girl being brave enough to try something new and even better than a child running up and down the field kicking the ball was my child who as always, did it her way. Campbell Rose made mommy laugh out loud.
Miracle #2 this week was a note from my favorite designer, Betsey Johnson. You all know that I love her based on previous chapters. I love Betsey because she designs her clothes as if she doesn’t care what other people think of her and she uses words like “whimsy” freely. I sent her one of the chapters that referenced the Battenburg lace dress and she sent me a note back with a box of Betsey treasures. Seriously….. how thrilling is that?….Do you ever think about what it is you can do to make someone’s world better? Do you? I don’t, or at least not enough. But Betsey made me think about it this week because I imagine the note didn’t take very long to write but it made me feel like my day had been bright when in fact it hadn’t been. Interesting isn’t it? Something little to us can be something so huge to someone else. I’m having my note framed and plan to hang it in my closet, my reminder of Betsey, whimsy, and how simple words can make some one else’s world seem bright even when it isn’t.
The thing that I found myself clinging to all week though was the appearance of Fall. I know, it’s not Fall and in fact quite the contrary in Ketchikan at the moment but I had a preview to Fall and I found myself Thanking God for my little sneak peek of my favorite time of year. I realized how much I associate soccer with Fall when I got the kids ready for camp. I think this year part of the thrill is that my body knows the punishment ends in the Fall but part of it is just me looking forward to my favorite moments. The October storms, the sound of the rain pounding on the cabin roof, rain coats and boots, the wind when it makes you feel small, picking out pumpkins and knowing they came from a patch somewhere, and pencils, packs of new pencils and glue sticks. Not to mention darker days and the granddaddy of all thrills… you know what I’m going to say ladies…. Fall Fashions. Doesn’t that just have a nice ring to it…. Fall Fashions. Fall Fashions. Fall Fashions.
Something about the change of seasons gives me hope…. That despite the challenge before us, time marches on and with it comes better times and worse too, but still the prospect of a different season leads me to be hopeful that I’m leaving this one behind and moving on… away from the tubes and chemicals, drugs, and labs, doctors and discomfort…. I’m not there yet, but I’m grateful for the preview that those days will come… and with it the hope that the future holds more laughter than tears…..
Love to all of you…j
Campbell Rose with her beloved, Grady.
