Now Alive

My son, now seven, and I where sitting in the hall clipping his toe nails.  I was explaining how the middle toenail has wrapped around the tip of his toe and he had to careful to cut it off before it became and ingrown nail.  I showed him how to clip his own nails be careful not to clip to short.  I added a simple detail that we were clipping them on Sunday evening in the hall because I was about to vacuum.  You know, teaching him some easy housekeeping tips while we are at it.  If you do that, you remember to once a week and don't have nails all over the house, easy.

He looked up at me with those deep chocolate puppy eyes.  "Why are you telling me all this."

I might not always be around to help you care for yourself.  It is my job to teach you these things.

"Why do I have to learn it now?"

You are old enough to do these things and I may not be here sooner then we'd like.  My time here with you is coming to an end faster then we like.  And, I may not be able to teach you these things next year.

"So, don't you have to get all old and grey first?"

Yes, that is what is supposed to happen but my body got sick.  I have cancer, you know we have talked about this.  It keeps trying to take me away from you.  We don't know when this will happen so I want to teach you all I know now.

Son touches my hair, sits up, really inspects it.  "May that is why your hair turned grey this time.  It,,Mom, I think it looks a little brownish underneath.  Maybe it will come in brown soon then you won't be old."

On the day someone tells you that options are running out, it could be a year, or next month, you are left with a huge whole in your sole.  I know, because I have done it three times.  I have sat across my oncologist as he nervously shifts in on his stool trying not to look down at the floor and says, "Sara, I have to be honest with you.  There are so many people right now on your side fighting this.  But, we maybe getting towards the end of what we can do."  I suppose it makes it harder when you have become good friends.  I just wanted to ask how his vacation went and change the subject.  But, this time, there is a reality that lay heavy in the room like never before.

The cloud left with when my mom and exited the exam room.  I went to the bathroom to collect myself.  I decided to shake it off for the day.  What else is there to do?  I wasn't dead today.  I am not dying tomorrow.  The thing I wanted to do most was laugh.  So I trot down to the nurses in the infusion room smiling.  Of course, they are no idiots knowing this office visit was not a planned one. It was my regular routine to come in between infusions that occur every three weeks.  One of the nurses hugs me and asks, "So what does he say?"

I explain a few details using code as to now upset other patients.  They hug me and rock me a minute.  I stifle the tears the best I can.  After gaining my composure, I ask them if they seen the article yet.  I rush around looking for the Cure Today.  They are excited.  I was interviewed about exercising during treatment and recovery after treatment.  The interview was two months ago, about six months after full brain radiation and my third treatment for my bitch cancer.  The last quote says:

A little more than six months after whole-brain radiation, Brown is back to running. “Cancer tried to take away my physical body three times, but I kicked it in the behind and kept moving,” she says.

The evening after the appointment was hard.  I felt torn between crawling in a little ball and giving up, start throwing away everything I owned I didn't want people to have to deal with when I am gone, and buying a ticket for the south of France.  What I really wanted to do was just make dinner.  I petted my stinky kid's hair, kissed it, sniffled, choked back my tears and showed Daughter how to use dice to figure out her multiplication tables.  Son busled around me while I was in the kitchen having notyet learned how to self-entertain himself.  He's frustrated about something.  He may explode here in a minute.  Oh, he doesn't like the food I am making.  Okay, then don't it it, your choice.  This is my life.

Husband comes home all pimped in a suit.  Four days in a new corporate job.  Huge life change.  My heart sinks.  He knows what is going gist of the situation, not the details.  I will tell him later.  Actually, I will have my mom just e-mail the notes.  She is good at that.  Right now, this moment it is dinner time.  we laugh, whine, complain about the food, laugh some more, review spelling, and share our days.  Well, not all of my day other then I started a painting.

We, six doctors, my parents, my husband, my sister and her husband, my brother-in-law who is nurse to one of the doctors, everyone, are sorting it all out.  Some tests need to be done this week to see if my body is clear of disease; if this is the only site of issue.  Then we move forward.  The area in my brain that was originally cyber-knife radiated and then whole brain radiated last year is swelling.  It sits like an ice cream on top of a cone on my brain stem.  So you can imagine this could cause some more issues.  one option, of course, is to do nothing as it is in such a sensitive area. we can maintain it, but it will continue to do its thing.  It maybe a course of a year as my body slowly stops functioning properly.  I already feel a bit weak at times and loose my balance so I can imagine this would be a horrific fate. 

So the hope is this is the only area of disease and the specialists will carve a whole in my brain and dig it out.  Sounds. perfect, right?  Just get it out whether it is malignant or just dead brain cells.  Remember the area of concern is on my brain stem.  I could very likely not come home.  That is heavy.  Even if I survived the surgery, how would I be changed?  Would I ever paint again.

So yes, what do you do when you are taking all this in and waiting to know when you are going to die, you just live.  Friday, the day after the appointment, I went for a short run, ran errands, picked up the house, and painted most of the afternoon as the kids were at school.  I kept looking at the clock to make sure I didn't get too involved and forget the kids like usual.  But, the clock had slowed down.  time slowed down.  Paint, yoga, clean the house, make dinner, read books, cuddle.  What do you do on the day you realize you may not be here next year or even Christmas?  Well, you live.

Loving Life

I capital L, capital O, capitol V, capitol E, LOVE where I live.  A sweet September day sat at my feet this morning as I roused the kiddos. It is a bit chilly, grab a sweater.  Take off sweater as the temp climbs from 44 to 67.  Look, kids, it is nearly seventy.  The wind is gentle.  They scoot and I walk.  Running now as they ramble on ahead.  Sun.  Happy morning.  School.  Bell rings.  Scoot. Scoot scoot.  Kiss in hand for youngest Chester (if you have kids, you know the book reference here.). Dash off across lawn to eldest to remind her of her homework folder she has forgotten for two days.  She pretends to not hear then spins around, "I've got it Mom.". A bit sassy, don't you think?  Skulks over for a hug.  A quick chat with the Playground Moms and it is off for a run.  New path west of the school.  Running towards the Peaks.  She is majestic, Long's Peak.  She is mother.  Her children play under her ultramarine skirt.  They shimmer in spots of gold.  The aspens.  The air is thick.  A fire in Wyomning.  Geese overhead.  They smell it too.  It is coming early this year.  My bones know.  New path and new tunes in my ears.  Round the loop.  Not long enough.  Loop around, have to walk a bit.  Neck hurting.  I fell off my bike three days ago; face plant, minimal damage, slight whip lash, purple shins. I am alright, just walk now,take earbuds out.  Grasshopers, they are everywhere.  The sound.  The sound smells of autumn.  Sweet...oh, one crashed into my leg.  Ouch that sort of stung.  Bunny, red wing black bird, hear a chickadee, squirrel, he's mad, wave hi to kid in stroller, junior high PE class learning flag football, teacher yelling, tiny girl day dreaming off on the side praying the teacher won't call her in, that was me.  Old path.  Mud swallows.  Grasshoppers everywhere.  Around towards home.  Breeze at back, trees in site.  Leaves changing. Home.
      As I sit on the porch, drinking water, planning my day, I hear the children play.  They are in the school yard not so far away.  Screams of utter joy.  Tag, you are it, I imagine.  Yes, today, I will work on my porch under the shade of the purple ash.  Dim.  The clouds roll in.  Bright, they roll out. Geese.  More geese.  An airplane.  High, it is slowing, jumpers at the airport.  The wind picks up; I'm chilled.  Yes, it is coming.  From the north, I think.
    Before long, too short of a moment, I will trot out to get the kids.  A half mile at most.  We will all go there.  Some on bikes.  Some on feet.  Three with strollers, two waiting for their preschooler, and
one on her son's scooter.  We will fly like the geese to gather our goslings.  Home.  But, not without a chat.  Did you understand yesterday's homework?  How are you feeling today?  Will you help me out on Thursday?  Coffee Friday?   Yah, sounds good.  Great.  See ya.  Okay okay.  I am coming.  Go on ahead, I need another moment.  More geese.  A plane.  Flying high.  Slowing.  Jumpers.  One, two, six.  Hot now.  Breeze picks up.  They promised an Alaskan front.  I can smell it.  Was that a rain drop?  Oh, the change.  Breath it in.  Exhale until empty.  Fill up with loving life.  

Quilt painting class

Boy, I sure had fun making art all week.  Even though I was exhausted when I got home, it was quite w thrill to spend a seven hour day, minus lunch hour with a bunch of ladies making art.  Oh, they crack me up.  And surely there was a few tears at one point when the conversation on Reiki got just a little too deep about the spirit world.  I learned a lot and am inspired to work on some new projects.  Well, of course, I will get this one done first.  It is beautiful, if I do say so myself.  Technique uses hand painted fabric.  Our first two days we just created fabric bits, some for fun and some with our image in mind.  The third day we started making.  I got the distant areas done and discovered my dupyed pieces were not intense enough.  So the fourth day, I rushed around dying in the morning.  After lunch break, the pieces were dry enough to heat set.  And pow!  Awesome!  Exactly right. So I snipped and snipped completely most of the image.  This morning, I set in a few shadows and highlights for drama and sat at my machine tacking the aplique pieces down in netween instructional talks.  I am excited for the results.  And, I can't wait to finish it soon.  Thanks for Denise.  Thanks for Cheryl, the studio hostess and giver of a beautiful quilt....ask me the story sometime.  She just gave it to me and my mother because we liked it.  Now to find someplace to hang it on my two walls in this house.  Oh, above my bed!  I always wanted to decorate my room.  Anyhoo, thanks to my mom for invitng me to go.  and lastly, the garage sale shoppers for buying my junk so I could pay the three hundred without dipping into my budget.  And, I must not forget to thank Dad for taking the kids to school and picking them up afterwards.  Otherwise, I would have missed about two hours of class.

Man of the House

     Monday, I rolled Home tired from a day of dying fabrics and learning in a town thirty minutes away.  The kids are eating dinner.  My dad had volunteered to take the kids to school in the morning and walk them home in the afternoon so I could attend this fabric dying and quilting class with Denise Laberdie.  As I sat on the porch rocker watching the kids climb the tree after finishing a meal I did not have to plan, make, nor clean up, I imagimed for a moment that I was the man of the house.        
      After enjoying a few minutes watching the kids, I would go inside.  Yes, inside to the air condition.  I would plop off my shoes in the middle of the family room floor.  I'd sit on the couch and turn on the boob tube.  (Wait, I wouldn't call it a boob tube if I was a man, would I?). Seinfeld would be on; I've seen this one a couple of times.  Still funny.  I would play Scrabble on my iPad.  Spouse would wrangle with the kids.  Once things settle down upstairs, I would wonder up.  I'd finish my game and wait until Spouse has finished homework with one or the other kid.  A short check in, "How was your day?  Did you learn anything new?". Okay, good night.  And it is off to bed to. Watch some online episodes I missed or read a book.
      Well, that is not exactly what happened in the real world.  Rsther, I had a small snapshot of what a full time working mother must feel like.  Luckily, my dinmer was made and kids fed.  Left overs were in the fridge (I actually prepared that the day before)  But, once Dad stepped out, it was all me.  Somewhaere between homework, baths, and teeth brushing, I cleaned the two upstairs bathrooms and dusted the master bed room.  Since I squeezed in vaccumming the upstairs and mopping the downstairs between church and going to the Bay for one last swim in an outdoor pool, I comsidered House "clean enough" for the week.  Man, I was tired.  May legs were actually shaking and muscles cramping from standing all day during the class and cleaning.  Yet, I swam through the evening 
getting homework completed, e-mailing teacher questions about said homework, sending son back to 
brush teeth a second time, clipping kids' finger nails, painting mine, talking with absent Spouse on the phone, cleaning up kitchen, changing the water in the fish bowl, feeding the hermit crabs, picking up books in the middle of the hall, getting ready to cater dinner for the women in the quilt class the next 
 day, replying to select e-mails, and probably a gadzillion other little things I fogot.  The kids were 
 tucked into bed.  First chapter of Book Club selection was cut short as I fall asleep.  
       This afternoon, day two of full day class, I get another view of a full time working Parent.  The 
kids are well care for, fed, dressed, and run to ballet (Daughter, Son plays his Nitendo DS) by dear 
Papa-Nanny.  I am happy to meet the kids at the door.  Homework wasn't done before practice.  So 
straight upstairs...what?  Your hungry?  Snack.  Then baths for two stinky kids, books, homework, it 
is past the 8:00 pm cut off.  I am putting in over time.  I don't get the math.  How am I supposed to do this!  Oh, I get it.  Done.  No Daughter, go to bed now, I am clocking out.  Son, what are you doing 
up?  We woke you?  Okay, good night.  
      Downstairs, I am rinsing the containers from the lunch boxes and reflecting.  I am thankful that 
Husband and I decided that I would not return to full time work.  In a normal life time, being a full 
time teacher and full time mom would be a challenge.  I know I would figure it out and muster 
through only doing each job at 80 some odd percent.  And, the art, my life line, would fall through 
the cracks in the railway.  But, we would survive.  With our reality now, with a body that functions 
like I am fifty-seven instead of thirty-seven due to commplications from my surgeries and side-
effects from my drugs, I could not make it in a full time position.  Around two o'clock, I want to pass 
out.  Today, imfact, I fell asleep in the sewing room while my peers were bustling around the wet-
studio.  I fell asleep in the car on the way home too.  No, silly, I was carpooling with my mom.  Over 
time, I might build up stamina.  My mom's doctor who replaced her ankle a year ago told her she only has so many steps in that ankle.  It is up to her how she wants to spend them.  Would she rather park 
a far distance and walk the parking lot or park in the handicap and save those steps for something 
amazing?  Husband stated during our conversation about me returning to work now I had cancer, "It 
all depends on where you want to spend your precious time."  Our reality is my time is shorter than 
most of yours.  That is our reality.  Tonight, after just two full days of being on my feet, I have 
confirmed that I physically could not teach all day, five days a week.  Oh yes, I miss it emensely.  
But, I am more glad to not miss wqtching my kids grow up first hand, even when they are arguing.  
Oh, I need to read the poem I wrote them three years ago.
       Point of Reflection:  Are you doing what you should be doing in your life?  Even if what you are doing is a challenge, are you making the best of each moment?  Have you heard your calling?  Did you choose to listen?  Could you do one thing towrds making that change tomorrow?  Would you?

How to have a garage sale.

Prelude:  A hummingbird flew into my garage the day before the sale.  He linger for a moment on a red item am then swooped away.  I didn't know we could get them down here.  Maybe I ought to get a feeder.
         Before I devolge harbourred secrets of a sucessful garage sale, let me start with a story of ill representation of humanity.  So it is the first day, Friday, sometime early in the sale.  A woman mills aroung slowly.  She is slowly evaluation everything.  She picks up a few loose items.  She asks about the dining table.  We walk over to it and the six chairs.  "It is Dutch Modern, and we are decorating with Mission," I explain.  She shakes the table.  I explaing that we only quickly screwed on the legs this morning and it is not wigglely if the nuts are screwed on with a wrench.  She talks about looking for something for her daughter.  She says she will think about it and asks the price.  Sevety five for the set.  That, by the way, was my purchase price ten years ago from my neighbor's sale.   She wonders to the other table, asks if it has chairs, is told no, and says she will think about.  Meanwhile someone is intested in the Burley double stroller and bike trolley so I go over there.  In a few minutes the table woman calls me over.  We talk about how it needs to be buffed and maybe varnished.  She says something about it is for her daughter and womders if I will take forty.  I say sixty.  Big story of her daughter not haing a lot.  She asks fifty.  With hesitation, okay.  It is for her daughter's new home and somewhere in there someone has cancer or something blah lah blah.   Later in the day, she comes pick it up.  Maybe this is when she talks about being ill or something as she is climbing up into the truck with a step stool.  She is friendly, we, my mom and I, laugh with her as we help load.  I was a good moment feeling like we'd really helped her out.
    Flash forwrd to today, the close of the sale.  I had packed up the loose itms I thought I could consign or sell to the flea market.  The kids and I drove around running things here and there.  At Front Range Merchantile, they gladly bought a few antique dresser scarves.  After making the exchange, Daughter wants to go look for Bsrbies.  I turn around to approach the first aisle and there it is, my table.  $257.95.  I couldn't believe it.  The vary next day after I shared my geuine soul and caring to this woman, she flips it for a huge profit.   It isn't the fact she buffed it up and resold it in one day, it is the fact that I felt totally taken advantage of.  After all, I ran downstairs where it was stored to look for a missing cap on one of the chair legs.  When I couldn't find it, I asked for her number so I could look harder later and call her if I found it.  After all, she was going to give it to her daughter, right?  She played the cancer empathy card, and I ate right of her hand.  Seriously, fifteen   dollars?  I hope karma catches up with you, Honey.  Just be honest, geesh.
       Okay, I will step off of my soap box now.  How about those tips?
-Get a friend to help, preferably one who will bring you beakfast and watch the sale so you can run to the store, Thamks Mom.
-Advertise specialty items like crafts, children's clothing, specific furniture, etc. by doing all caps in the article.  We emphasized crafters and furniture and that is who came.
-Be aware that when you say the sale starts at 8 am, they will come at 7:15.
-Resalers come on Fridays.
-Families come on Saturdays.
-Resalers will clear you out of big items like furniture, will try to get it super cheap, may make you feel a bit insecure, and will be your best customers.
-Have jobs in mind for children helpers.
-be clear that anything in the sale is not to reenter the house.
-Bend a little because their puppy dog faces are too cute and let them have something from the sale but only in exchange for a toy of equal value.
-Send kids on missions like bugging their friend around the block who is having her own sale.
-Put things of interest out near the street to entice the drive-bys to park and take a better look.
-Label what you can that isn't one dollar.  Anything without a label is one dollar.
-Put out bins.  One for small items for a quarter.   The if you have a lot of children's clothing, sort by size and gender in bins.
-Offer bulk purchase prices for similar items.
-Make lunch, a sandwhich or a wrap, the night before.
-Get out breakfast bowls and cold cereal the night before and set for kids to serve themselves.
-Put fives and tens in your left pocket and dollars in your right pocket.  If you are left handed, switch that.
- Play light music to take the edge off  the day.
-Call the thrift store, DAV or ARC are dependible, to schedule a pick up after the sale.
-Smile a lot and say hi to all customers.  Your kindness will motivate sales.
-Have a friend help...wait I said that already.
- Schedule a massage...oh wait...yah, well, okay...at least plan an easy dinner or delivery, have kids bath early, and watch a movie.  Don't do anything but cuddle your kids on the couch and go to bed early.
-And last but not least, give away at least ten percent to charity.  Offer out your bounty and gifts will flow in trifold.

The Choice Factor

In light of one public figure, Mr. Akin, who is completely misguided, I am going to write a story tonight that may be a little difficult to read.
      It was October.  I was eighteen, a freshman at the University.  My friend Shana needed a date for her boyfriend's best friend.  She asked me.  I was excited because I had not been to a semi-formal event yet.  I had to borrow a dress.  It was black with little pastel colored roses on it.  The size was one up from my petite frame so it hung to the floor if I took of my pumps.  Being used to tops being too big, I carefully pinned the deep V-neck so it wasn't too revealing.
    After puffing out our hair, it was the early nineties after all, we walked over to the fraternity house.  The air was cool and fresh.  The anticipation of the first snow, real Colorado snow, hung in the air.  We passed through the guest list line and up the steps.  The house was warm and loud.  Music pumped from every room.  People were smashed against walls until we squeezed towards the back of the house where the catering was.  I met my date.  He was tall and okay looking.  He had course brown hair and wore a plaid shirt.  Attractive, I guess.  He definitely wore his ego on his shirt sleeves, and I felt really small.  It was too loud for much conversation as the four of us danced a bit in the front room.  Then we went back to the back room where this guy, they called him Duckie, gave me a glass of wine.  This was a wine and cheese party.  I didn't like it so I just took little sips.  Duckie spent most of his time chatting up anyone who walked by.  Apparently he was very popular.  Or, at least e thought he was.  He noticed I wasn't drinking and took my glass.  He returned with another glass.  It was better tasting.
   So the night progressed.  We danced with our friends.  They eventually disappeared.  It was late.  I wanted to go home.  I was feeling a little fuzzy.  Duckie wanted to show me a CD or something in his room.  I wanted to find my friend.  He told me that since Shana's boyfriend was his roommate, I would find her down the hall.  I followed.  We got into the room.  He put on the song.  He grabbed my waist and started slow dancing.  It was nice.  Then we started kissing.  It was really nice.
     Now, I will save you the details, but you can guess what happened next.  I have gone through it many a times and not knowing if I could have stopped it.  It wasn't violent.  It wasn't what I wanted to do.  I wasn't asked.  Did a kiss mean yes?  Not when you are fuzzy in the head and pinned to the couch.  It hurt.  I cried.  I heard my friend's voice in the hall.  He quickly dressed and went out of the room.  I sat there feeling sick and dizzy.  What had just happened?  I wanted to go home.  I was embarrassed.  My dress was still on.  It was ripped where I pinned it.  Smoothing down my hair, I waited until the voices in the hall to die down and snuck out of the house.  It was cold outside.
     Back at the dorms, I showered and went to bed.  The next morning, Shana calls wondering where I went the night before.  I can't remember what I told her.  I remember I dressed in the baggiest overalls I could find in my closet.  I wanted to hide.  He took away my virginity without even asking.  I felt confused.  Was it my fault?  I shouldn't have drank that wine.  I didn't have but a few sips because it tasted so gross.  In the hall, I joined the girls to walk to the cafeteria for breakfast.  Allie was going on and on about her wild night filled with love escapades with her Marice.  They were the most beautiful couple in the dorm.  He was a dark Mediterranean Ken, and she was an green eyed, freckled, Irish Audrey Hepburn.  As I listened to her excitement over his romance, I asked myself, was this what it was supposed to be like?  The girls roared and snickered at their previous night's love affairs.  I felt sick.  I went to the restroom.  I felt weird down there.  I looked in the toilet after going, and there was the condom.  Apparently, it got stuck when he quickly exited.  I was horrified.  What if it leaked?!  What if I was pregnant with this horrible person?  I couldn't believe this was happening to me.
     The next couple of weeks I waited for that blessed drop of blood.  It came.  I prayed great gratitude.  During the wait, I ran all the scenarios through my head.  Would I keep it?  Could I keep it?  I don't think I could.  I would hate it.  Could I carry it and give it away?  One time.  One ugly time and all my plans for my life could...snap...be gone.  I never quite answered these questions.  All I knew is that I was glad I could choose.  I had a choice.
     A month later, not pregnant, not a virgin, and getting over the profound burden of all that, the dreams stopped.  My friend talked me into going to a party at the same fraternity.  I told her to promise to stick with me this time and I would go.  We walked up to the front and guess who was at the table with the guest list?  He looked up and said, "Oh, let me guess.  Heather, right?".  My heart sunk so low in my belly that I wasn't sure it was still beating.  My head got hot.
   "No, it is Sara, and I am on the list," I say stomping up the stairs behind my friend.  The music was louder.  The dancing great.  Shana kept feeding me red jungle juice.  I was angry.  I was hurt.  I was confused.  So I drank it.  Stupid, I know.   A male friend from my psychology class offered to walk me home.  I felt even sicker then that night it happened.  Outside, it was snowing.  I didn't have a coat.  It was slippery.  I was crying.  I couldn't see the lines on the street.  They were jumping.  Josh carried me across the street.  I walked the rest of the way to the dorm.  Amy down the hall was home and agreed to help me.  So he left and the night proceeded as expected.  I got so sick that I thought I was bleeding.  It was red from the juice.  It burned because of the Everclear.
     In the end, I found some really good friends who I am still friends with today.  Several of the girls have the same story to tell.  They were given drinks, started making out, enjoyed that, but then it went too far before they could figure out what had happened.  Needless to say, it was legitimate rape.  There, I said it.  I lost my virginity to a rapist.  It was all horribly unpleasant.  It was an act of violence.  But, the fact is I did not want to have sex.  I was given too much to drink, pinned down and never asked.  The point is that my story, and those of my girl friends, are fact.  They are truth and legitimate.  I am so glad I had a choice if I became pregnant through this act.  I was never the same after this and have never truly gotten over the experience even though I am married and have two lovely kids.
     Well, every good story has to have a happy ending.  These new girls I met through Amy from down the hall formed a sisterhood that became our survival through those fun, although trying, years.  We had one girl out of the five who was Designated Mom for the weekend.  As designated mom, your tray was cleared for you at meals, your room cleaned, and basically you were treated like a queen.  In return, you couldn't drink more the one beer.  Your job was to make sure all the other girls were behaving themselves, hold their hair back if they didn't, make sure no one got cornered in a room by boy, and everyone made it home safely.  Designated Moms is the absolute number one tip for a young lady. So make a smart choice when you are way from mom and designate someone to be your DM and get you home in one piece.
     The best choice is freedom to choose.  Just put yourself in my shoes.  Play the scenarios in your mind.  What would you do?  Se there, you made a choice.

110 minutes, 109, 108, ...

Tick tock goes the clock.  The kids sleep.  They may rest their nervous heads for thirty three mor minutes.  I, Mom, am awake.  Head is racing.  First, yoga at 9:30.  Arrive early.  Meditate.  Linger in savasana as long as desired.  Meander home.  Stop by Micheals for canvases and King Soopers for dinner on way.  Home. Shower. Eat huge ham and cheese sandwich  with pickle and tomatoe from garden.  ....
  Oh, dear, she is up.  She is doing her hair.  Smile.  Okay, okay....so then finish something.  Finish anything.  Get it done.  Yeah!   Oh she is so pretty in her new outfit.  Gymboree of course.  Brown mini-skort with sunflower florals and sunflower yellow top.  I know, not what I thought she would pick out.  "Mommmm,, you are writing about my outfit...". Caught.
   Well, here it goes.  A third grader.  This fact makes me a bit sad and proud.  A first grader.  Both kids in school.  Smart, beautiful, funny kids.  I will miss your company as I take a nap when I feel tired.  I will miss your input as I wonder the grocery store aisles smiling at toddlers in the carts screaming for a fruit snack.  You grow and grow.  Yes, I am excited to get in to my studio; it has been too long.  Yes, I am so excited to go to am yoga class.  Yet, I am torn with emotion over your being away all day.  It only means one year closer to you leaving my nest.  Good luck today.

Day 82

Prescript: the editting functions on this app have not been functioning correctly.  Please escuse any weird typos as I just give up at some point and go to bed.  Thanks...smile.

What a trooper.  I would love to be in my little guy's head when his mother, who has been gone for five days, calls to explain that he will have to skip breakfast in the morning.  As I sulk in the Kansas City International Airport with my folks waiting for a flight delayed by two hours, Dad takes Son and Daughter out for a good meal.  See, he will be tested in the morning for his reactions to sugars.
      In the dawn of the day, after arriving home at nearly midnight, I am woken by my Dot.  I smile to see her fuzzy head next to mine on my queen sized pillow.  She has pulled in tightly and swung her foot over my knee.  She is asleep.  She peeps.   Son sleeps.  "Let's get up and est nefore your brother gets up."
      Mission accomplished.  Brother drops down on the couch crying.  He's hungry.  He wants to eat.  sister comforts.  sister turns on Phebus and Ferb.  Brother laughs at something.  Mom gets ready for the day, sweeps the floor that may not have been swept in five days, and shuffles mail.  Time to go.  daughter crying now.  She doesn't want to go.  She agrees to conscessions and motivates Hungry Boy to the car.
     An hour drive goes by quickly with networked video game players.  We check into the Children's Hospital.  No, it isn't a big deal.  We are just testing Son's reaction to surpgsrs with a breath test in hopes of solving the mystery of his tummy discomforts.  This is a three hour long test on and empty stomach.  He breaths in a tube every fifteen minutes.  The first one on empty and followed by a cup of uber sugary lemonaide stuff.  He drinks it like a pro.  The nurse is clearly impressed.  Then three hours of waiting with only interruption every fifteen minutes.
    What troopers.  Well, the hospital makes it pretty easy with On Deman movies, Star Wars Ntendo games, play area, and an art walk.   Me, well, I have five days of e-mails to catch up on thanks to free Wifi.  Three hours.  No immediate reactions.  Results in two days.  Blah blah blah.  Boy looks faint.  Head out with a bag of chips and a juice.  Bass Pro Shop for late lunch as a reward!  Yeah!  Good job Kids.
    Traffic.  I miss the first turn off and slam, not litterally, into a nice jam.  The off ramp that I was going to take to turn around is blocked off.  All three lanes are blocked off.  We shuffle one, two, three, one two, three, one , two three into the center shoulder.   Fire engines, police, people in reflective vests with measuring tape, and one misplaced, black leathr lace up men's dress shoe.  I feel sick.  Someone is still here.  They don't know what to do.  Should they go home?  I try not to cry.  I have to drive.  Slowly, we move forward and are released to our personal business.
     Kids are clearly upset.  The Kid hasn't eaten in eighteen hours.  Sister snuck out for a quick sandwhich, by the way.  We finally pull over north of Denver at the Orchards Mall.  There aren't too many resturants to choose from.  rock Bottom Brewery will do.  They have fish and chips anyway and that is what Son wanted at Bass Pro Shop Diner.  So all are happy again.
     Summer pulls to a close in two days.  A lot of growing occurred in 82 days.  I look across the table at my offspring and admire.  Son gives Sister a few fries.  Sister gives Her brother the rest of her fruit.  It doesn't matter these are fruits she clearly explains that she doesn't like.  These kids are survivor kids.  They are resilent.  They are symbionic.  The fight like lions, wrestle like wolves, and groom each other like chimps.  My job here is done.  NAYGH.  Love you to the moon and back twenty times over.  XOXO

Laughter Yoga

We were laughing so hard we were crying.  Three generations of women grabbing tissues by the handfuls and roaring with laughter.  I was laugh crying so hard that I started to cry cry.  It felt great. My mom was sitting across the room on the other couch.  I sat next to Grandma.  Mom was telling her that we were going to meet at eight o'clock for breakfast.  This was the fifth time Grandma asked when she'd see us again.
  "What! We are all going to die at nine o'clock?" Grandma exclaims.
   "No, we are going to go to First Watch to have breakfast at eight o'clock."
   "Do I have to fix breakfast?"
   "We are going to the resturant at eight o'clock"
   "Oh, that's good before we are all dying at nine o'clock."
And, that is when the laughing started.  I know, maybe this conversation with an 87 year old who has little short term memory storage shouldn't be a laughing matter.  Why shouldn't it be?  She started the laughing after all.  It just escullated when she paused and said, "Wait, what is happening at eight?".
    That's when I started to cry, real cry.  You, know the heaving chest, snot running down my lips cry. Laughing and crying.  Crying and laughing.  It wasn't funny at all.  She couldn't remember, and she knew she wasn't remembering.  I know what that is like.  Do you remember eight months ago when I was recovering from whole brain radiation?  Many of you asked how I felt.  I said I felt like my eighty year old grandmother.  Not only was I physically weak, but I was mentally weak.  Just like my grandmother, I couldn't remember things you just said.  And, I knew you had said it.  That is why I reacted in such a way to the broken record player conversation.  We all three did.  The laughter was a good thing for us.  Not only did it burn off a couple of calories from the wonderful scallop dinner we just had, but it released some major blocked chi.  Let's face it, growing old and being terminally ill is kind of a laughing matter.  What should one do?  Sit there and wallow in her impending loses of life's vibrancy.  Or, should she giggle at the profound oddity and irony of the experience.
     When I left Grandma at the door of the apartment complex, she said smiling, "I am so glad I don't have to cook breakfast tomorrow.  See, I am not as batty as we all think." Love you Grandma.  And, folks, please be kind and patient to anyone loosing their mind.  It isn't easy.  God bless the brain I have and the miracle to mend its broken bits.  Maybe not everything connects like it once did, but I know I will have breakfast tomorrow at nine o'clock.
 at eight?"

Hitting the Floor

Yesterday morning, I hit the floor.  A wave came over me as I slapped sunflower butter on my son's sandwhich.  I can't do this.  I was so tired and so full of lists swimming in my head.  The lists swarm like bees.  Get this done.  Oh, you still have this to do.  Wait there isn't time.  There just isn't enough time left.  The kids started arguing about which chair they got to to sit in for lunch.  "Mom!  Mom!  It is not fair." And, the wave came pushing me to the floor.  Rocking on my haunches craddling my forhead in my hands.  I knocked back and forth soothing myself enough to swallow all that was left.
      Even the strong break.  I have been feeling like a robot moving in and out of a life not expected.  One day you are healthy, vibrant and the next you are feeling the punches.  Sucker punches.  I strive to be as normal feeling as possible.  I think that is what keeps me here with you.  Power of intention.  But then, I am making sandwiches and feeling sick to my stomach.  My head aches and the sound!  The sound of them nagging each other.  I stopped listening to the words. It is just sound.  Who cares about the chair?  I don't want to be making sandwhiches.  I want to...I have no idea what I rather be doing.
       Deep breath.  Son comes to hold me for a second.  daughter brings me a tissue.  I am better and it is over.  The flood from the tsunami recedes.  Swallow.  Breath.   Finish sandwhiches.
       I read a blog post yesterday by a friend who is in Guatamala as a missionary.  They have been down there about a month now and settling in finally.  In her writing she discussed her concerns with raising third culture kids.  Though there are a lot of negative warnings, she has discovered the positive underlying the charge.  Instead of worrying about how the kids may grow up with a challenging concept of belonging and connections, she prays that they mature with the knowledge of developing strong relationships.  The power of intention.  A mother charged with steering her children through unease waters puts on her armor and takes a dive into the wave.
      It is not easy to be a mother charged with the stewardship of raising  young people to become outstanding adults.  Maybe we are putting forward more effort then necessary.  Maybe we can settle the earthquakes before the tsunami over takes us?  Or maybe we just have to roll with the wave and hit the floor in the heaviness of the burden from time to time.  Only time will tell.  I will forever wear my stretch marks as a band or courage.

Day 74

The last several days have been about work.  We have been having fun all summer with lots of trips, swimming, and play dates.  This pst week included a sleep over of  two of Daughter' s closest friends and a little brother.  After a big afternoon at the Boulder County Fair horse show, the kids came over ready in PJs for a movie, Mirror Mirror.  Since we all had junk food and a lot of sugar for dinner at the fair, I made smoothies of avacado, spinach, pineapple, mixed berries, bananas and orange juice.  It was a nice evening.  The little brother went home and the the girls went to bed fairly easily...surprise.  The best part of it all is sneaking downstairs after hearing their whispers and startling them with a BOO! In the morning like my parents used to do.
      Thursday, we took one of the friends to the Bay.  I
T is a city pool with five water slides.  It is a lot of fun for this age of kid.  This w a blast for the kids to have a friend along.  This summer is the first for Son to go on the slides.  He is pretty proud of himself.  We snuck home in the afternoon rains leaving just before the crowds.   In the evening, I went to yoga with a friend.  Afterwards, we had a little chat in the diner next door.  What a pleasant day.
      The following dat, Friday, was a work day of sorts.  I working housekeeping chores and then started the studio.  We are having a grage sale soon and I needed to go through my messy room.  I haven't been able to get in there to work on art or pick it up this summer.  To give the kids a break, we went to get our hair cut.  My first official cut since Nember 2011.  It needed to be cleaned up.  It is only about one and half inches long and had little spikey areas that struck out in the back.  Its grey. I hate it.  Anyway, the kids did pretty well in the afternoon working on projects while I sorted fabric.
      Sturday was a bit the same as I really wanted to get the studio cleaned up so I had room to work once school started.  And Sunday was spent running to the grocery store, getting ready for house guests, packing my own things for a trip to see my grandparents and sister, and straightening the studio.  I tried to get the kids to go outside to play several times.  But, they won't, not even when I was out there pulling weeds and trimming bushes.  I think they are crazy because there is no way my mom could get me inside during the summer when I was their age.  I called her up to comfirm this, and she said yes, she had to make me come in when the Texas heat it one hundred.
      The afternoon break on Sunday was yoga.  The studio has a kids class and an adult class at the same time on Sunday.  We then went to the fair for the last afternoon.  Husband met us there and we went on a $16 ferris wheel ride.  Yep, $4 a piece.  Well, at least the carosel operator let Son and Me on for free when I told him I only had money for Daughter to go.  After an hour in the heat looking at the fair animals, we went to the ice cream shop to cool down.  The evening was spent finishing housekeeping tasks, like changing sheets, while the st of the family fanned themselves on the couch watching Princess Diaries.  I know, real exciting lives the real housewifes of Bould County lead.
      Tomorrow, I will have an infusion of my cancer stopping drug Herceptin.  The kids will go to a friend's to play.  Later, my mother-in-law will arrive with her husband.  They will stay the week.  I will miss them for the most part with my own trip to the sweltering heat of Kansas City.  Oh, but the plans the have for the kids during their last week of summer vacation!

Day 71...13. Days of Summer Thrive

This is the last full week of summer for the kids and me.  They have another week and will spend it with their paternal grandmother and her husband while I travel to see my grandparents and sister's family.  I am pretty excited to go back to the humidity, but I am hoping my nephews will take me out for a late night fire fly catching adventure.  Oh, the memories of staying with Papa Homer and Ann.  They have both passed now.  They had this giant back yard that had a huge slope that we went sledding on in the winter.  In the summer there was a vast vegetable garden at the foot of the slope.  My cousins, all boys, lived down the street.  They built a bridge across the creck and it was literally a bridge to Teribithia.  In the late sweaty evening, the fire flies came out.  We ran around catching the fliers in baseball caps.  garmdma provided us with milk jugs with holes punched in the top.  Just pick out the frieflies from the cap, drop into the jug, and you have a personal lantern.  That and the root beer floats in the glass bottom pewter mugs made summers so lovely.

       The past couple of days have been full of summer memories, I hope, for the kids.  Wednesday started off witha visit to the Boulder County Fair.  They have been making stick horses with the royal court since they could walk.  As I watched Daughter tower of the little tikes, I noted this just might be her last year.  Okay, hopefully I can fan her imagination and playfullness for a few more years like my mother did for me.  Then, we had to see the cows for Son.   Home for lunch as the temperature reaches the nineties.  A little more house cleaning for Mom while the kids...what where they doing?   Then it was a few errands to the Gallery to pick up some art and to RedBox for a video for later.  Next, the horse ballet with friends, disgusting hotdogs, cool fluffy chickens, giant bunnies, more goats and cows, all while it stormed.  We stayed dry, sort of, between showers and celebrated the wet kept the usual dust at bay.  Phew, I was tired.

       But, the evening had yet to begin.  The three kiddos we spent the afternoon with came over for movie night.  Being as we all ate junk food at the fair, I made avocado, spinach,  banana, pineapple, and mixed berry smoothies with a pinch of dairy-free chocolate chips.  Yum!  We watched Mirror Mirror and the youngest, not old enough to sleep over, went home.  When his mom came to the door, he promptly announced he was bored during the movie.  To each their own.  After brushing teeth and rearranging sleeping bags a dozen times, the four remaining kids were ready for Lala Land.  Yah, right.  The two guests had to ask my two to settle down and go to bed.  This they did do by 9:30.  Not bad.

        This was so fun!  For the first time in my motherhood, I got to sneak down the stairs to the family room and yell BOO!  The kids were so startled.  I remember my folks doing that when I had sleep overs.  Now, I know why.  French toast breakfast followed by some serious Barbie playing.  sSon got to be Ken.  Thanks, girls, for including him.   One girl went home, the other wanted to go swimming with us.  After exchanging clothes for a swim suit, we were off for a full day at the Bay.  Five slides, splash area, large five foot swimming area, baby pool with its own slides and stretches of lawn and sheltered picnic tables is a delight for all.  We tried going to the Bay two times earlier in the week and got rained out.  So this time we went before lunch.  Three and a half hours of wet fun on our third day at the pool this week.  Did I mention we went to Kanemoto on Monday and the Erie Rec Center with friends on Tuesday.  Phew check that off the summer bucket list.
 
         A full week of activities for sure.  My reward?  A BLT with avocado.  Do you think I like avocado?  And the victory lap is a hot yoga class with a friend followed by a leisurely snack of salad and smoothie.  I have to say I am pretty proud of my kids.  At first they started to cry and literally ran to me and clung to my arms when I said I was going out.  I calmly said, " Look, I have been with you and your friends for a full 24hours of non-stop entertainment.  Now it is my turn to go relax.  I expect you to respect that.". They let go of their hold on me.  They said they were sorry and would let me go if they could watch TV.  Oh, the constant wheeling and dealing of those two.  In the end, their desire was granted as they waited for their dad to come home and I left for yoga.  They must have given their dad the run around.  I found Son passed out in a weird position snoring with his mouth open.  Daughter was sound asleep still holding her book on Marc Chagall erect on her chest.  And Dad, well, I found him smack dabble in the middle of the bed with his clothes still on.  Thanks for letting me get some me time and girl time.  Now, kids, tomorrow, I am thinking we stay home all day while you go invent imaginary worlds in the backyard like Phineus and Pherb.  Me, well, You can find me sorting my studio so when you are at school in thirteen days, I can pick up a paint brush instead of a dust rag.

How The Portable Electronics Ruined the Simple Life

The other day, I had yet another doctors appointment.  Being summer and being that I am a full time mom, the kids came singing a long.  Well, not exactly.  First there was a polite question by the eldest if the iPad could be the entertainment.  She would check in on our Smurf village.  Sure, I say. Explosion of the youngest; it is not fair!  Take your Nitendo DS, that's why we bought them for doctor office waits and travel in the car.   But, I wanna...  Fire cracker.  Snap.  Pow.  Pout.  The iPad ends up to be the entertainment playing Phineus and Pherb wifi style.
           Yes, in therory, the portable electronic devices were supposed to make the long multiple waits in a young child's life endurable.  Some of the games may even accidentally teach something.  Others develop coordination and fine motor skills.  Yet, in my experience, it only adds stress to a mother's simple life.  In my young days, we brought paper and crayons.  We went excitedly with mom to her appointments hoping to find the newest Highlights magazine.  Well, you might have to ask my mom if it was so easy or if my sis and I had our own share of disputes over the blue crayon.  But, my point is, in the simpler time, we didn't fight over how we would be entertained, we only moaned that we were bored.  Or so I thought as I scooted my now grumpy kids into the car running five minutes late and already exhausted.
         Digital cameras also ruined photography.  Black and white dark rooms are being gutted and turned into computer labs at local high schools. Yes, it is true there are some cool things one can do with digital photography to manipulate the image.  For example, our family photographer, who took our images with a regular SLR at the start of our family years, was able to take two nearly identical images of the four of us and swap lips so everyone was smiling in the same picture with her digital imaging.  Digital photography is cool in many ways.  However, as a teacher of  old-school photography, I morn those formats and techniques lost to history.  As a mom, the digital image makes putting together an album a cinch.  However,the preciousness of the image, the roll of film, and keeping the negatives safe until you arrive home and development is lost.  Also lost is the the anticipation of waiting for mom to go get the prints so you could see what fun you had on the trip.
         The digital image also sucks up my time.  Hours are spent labeling, filing, and uploading images.   Now, don't get me wrong, I do enjoy this task and pressing the order button on Shutterfly, but is it time well spent?   With portable computing devices, I can sit on my couch clicking the mouse of my laptop and swishing a photo from here to there on my iPad.  I can chat with friends.  I can look at my calendar.  I can stay in touch with the news without waiting for ten o'clock.  It is great.  But, then why am I up hours past when I should be on a regular basis?   I could pick up a phone if before eight o'clock.   I forget dates all the time.  Maybe if I went back to the paper calendar, I would remember them because I am writing them down.  Then again, with the e-mail immediacy, I have far more dates to remember then I ought.  And news, well, I still prefer the thirty minute update of CBS over the disjointed clips of news on the internet.  Maybe that is because I rather listen to the soothing voice of a newscaster then all the reading of the Huffington Post.  I never have enjoyed the paper.
          The portable devices in my life have ruined my simplicity, and I let them.  I am guilty.   In the old days merly five years ago or so, I computed for no more then an hour a day.  I sat at my desk top in the fourth bedroom during that period between putting the baby in his crib and the fifth and final time the toddler came in to announce she was not tired.   When the house was finally snoring, I escaped to read a book or watch shows.  And, by the way, I had to get down stairs by eight on Thursdays and Sundays to catch my shows, no DVR.  Now, I can record them.  Resulting in the lingering through chore tasks prior to sitting down on the cozy couch.  Ergo the late bed times.  

          Okay, okay, it is what it is and I let it happen.  I stay up typing blogs and sorting photos.  It is a good life.  It is a current life.  I only miss the simple time when I spent a weekend clipping and pasting scrap books.  I miss the days before I shared my space at night.  After a warm shower, I crawled in bed to write.  Yes, I wrote on paper.  Ten minutes a day with a real pen and a book with real paper.  Misspellings and all, you can find the grand collection of journals in my studio.  They are pretty funny.  And then I read a few pages dozing, a head jerk, turn off the light, and goodnight.
          Yes, I can return somewhat to these simpler habits.  Or can I?  It may not be as easy as it sounds.  Yet, I hold an element of risitance. You have teased me about it.  I have complained I wanted yours when we where travelling and needing directions or resturant recommendations.  I use a flip cell phone.  It is a three year old antique.  I don't text.  Thought the company keeps encouraging me to pay more for more services, I pay the least.  I enjoy the fact you can't always get a hold of me.  It is sort of fun to dash into the gas station to ask someone for directions.  And, I can plug into my kids instead of my fancy phone in the middle of the day.  Yes, I resist by keeping my phone simple.  You might have to ring me a couple of times before you get a hold of me.  Oh, I only hope it reminds you of a simplier time when you went out on errands and to play with mom all summer's day.  Just you, her and the world.  No calls.

Day 68 of 84

In 16 days and 9 hours the kids will return to school.  We've started some training.   Get to bed by eight, brush teeth in the morning, make your bed, comb your hair, fifteen minutes of reading, be nice to your sister.  There is a bit of a bitter sweetness to the words, back to school.  Though I look forward to some major studio time, I will miss days like today.  Monday, cleaning day.  A slow morning deserving of some party kids.  We moved through the motions of cleaning.  Son cleaned the kids bathroom with great pride.  And Daughter grabbed some alone time playing dolls.  Two bathrooms and a bedroom finished, we dash off with a lunch to Sunset Pool.  There is only two weeks of outdoor swimming left, you know.  A storm rolls in and we dash off with our reciept to the indoor pool...no charge.  Dinner; I actually cooked.  Enchiladas, three different kinds and some to freeze for later.  The kids get some bonding time with Dad watching Mountain Man on TV, and I go upstairs to "black bag" all that remained on Daughter's floor.  You know, she was asked to clean up her room.  She chose to play dolls.  Bye bye Barbie dresses.  A some reading time with each kid, and finally a shower and out of my still damp swimsuit.  Though I then moved into housekeeper mode cleaning the kitchen and folding laundry, today was a good ol' fashion summer day.  A little work and a lot of play.  Hey, Saturday wasn't half bad either.  We went to another outdoor pool for what will probably be our only visit this year.  Then we had friends over for Chinese dinner and Big Miracle.   Sunday was also a good ol' summer day.  Sleeping in, missing church again, and going to the grocery store instead.  Daddy takes Son to his first baseball game at Coors field and Mom takes Daughter up to Allenspark to Father-in-law's cabin.  We have lunch and then watch a performance called Fairytales and Fables at the community center.  It was fun but was rushed inside during intermission due to rain.  Yes, I am excited to have some uninterrupted time soon.  However, the kids give me a reason to get up in the morning.  They give me reason to take care of my home.  They give me hugs.  Motivation is hard to find when you struggle with the emotional impact of survivorship.   There is a mind language that belabors on any pains, worries, and losses.  It fools you into being unhappy.  I suppose whether I was sick or healthy, I would feel this from time to time.   as a housewife.  The feeling of worthlessness.  Feeling of emptiness.  Lonliness. And a craving for nurturing.  And that is where my little pains in the bum come into the picture.  They crawl into my bed in the mornings.  I am sandwhiched in love for a few minutes.  Just a few minutes we lay there silently as Beings until our roles as Humans begin.  Especially when you have a slow morn of summer.

My Sentence is My Service

A couple of Sundays ago, Pastor Alan talked about John.  Or, was it James?  Paul, maybe?  One of those disciples who was in a Roman prison chained to a guard twenty-four, seven.  I think it was John.  Anyway, he was talking about how John served a role through his sentence.  He wrote letters to followers.  He taught and witnessed.  People came to see him and he counselled them.  Maybe he didn't like his sterile digs.  And, being chained to someone means they will have to watch you use the bathroom.  But, it also means that they hear every word you say.  The guards listened as John counselled people.  The guards, when their century was over, went home.  The guards told their friends the stories, the lessons, the hope.  Those people then told their family.  Do you follow the chain reaction here?  John came to acknowledge and found peace with his service to the world even though he sat in a prison chained to a Roman guard.

When you are faced with an illness that will ultimately kill you, you are in a prison.  There is no way of knowing how long you will serve the sentence.  As your body fights and relinquishes, your mind builds your prison walls.  Mine are covered in lavender and peach roses.  As I struggle to understand the profound burden of having cancer, I have to make decisions.  I can a. go crawl in the corner of a grey prison with no windows.  Or, b. chip away at the mortar so the garden can creep in to mask the harsh stones of reality. 

Okay, that was a little abstract so let me explain further.  I have found the service in my sentence.  The other day, I was talking to a friend and received some bad news about her sister's health, brain tumor.  She stated, "I think I have known you for the past three years to get me ready for this."  She went on to explain that all this time she would think of me and what I was going through.  If something bad happened, it couldn't be as bad as what Sara is dealing with.  So it seemed easier.  Now, they have to deal with walls of a prison being built with no rhyme or reason.  Yet, I have given her hope and endurance through my own perseverance.  In a sense, like John, I have witnessed to her faith.

It is humbling to be told that I am an inspiration.  Friends, family, people far away, and others I have just met tell me that I inspire them.  I wrestle with this compliment.  Who me?  Me, inspiring?  How can my living be inspiring? You have to be kidding.  Alas, I now know that this is the role I am to serve.  If you want to stay at the surface level and ask why me?  Then you would say, well, why not me?  Did I get cancer so I could be an inspiring survivor?  Did John have to be in jail to be heard?  I try not to go to that place of reasoning to find purpose.  Well, maybe it is so.  So be it.  I am out on parole for good behavior.  Take from me what you need.  I will humbly bow to you and show you how to keep your prison walls filled with holes so the sunlight and garden creep in to make it a peaceful place.  Rock on, Baby.  Go listen to the rain and be still.  Rest your mind.  Breath.

Blah Blah Blah and Then there was Day 62

Last week was a typical summer week full of staying inside to escape the heat, doctor appointments, sneaking in yoga while the kids are at their aunt and uncle's over night, and general errand running and housekeeping mixed with play dates and park time. 

The weekend was spent in Red Feather Lakes at Dowdy Lake with the Cronins.  It was hard for me to see the burn line from the High Park Fire as we drove in on Hwy 72.  There is a distinct edge of the fire.  It is so close to several homes and ranches we have seen along the way each time we drive up to my parent's cabin.  At any rate, the weekend was fun with the kids and our friends.  The men and the little men spent much of the day fishing and floating on the boat.  It looked like it might sink when they added Sweet daughter to the crew.  We ladies enjoyed the three mile walk around the lake and time for reading in the shade.  My dad also brought his kayak on Saturday, and we took a tour of the glacial rock formations in the middle of the lake.  Though there was a little drizzle off and on through Saturday's dinner, the weather was perfect.

This week, the kids have a Super Soaker day camp in the afternoons.  They are having such a great time that they both fell asleep on the short car ride home today, and it is only Tuesday!  By Friday, they might not make it from the car to the pool.  I have enjoyed a little time chatting with a good friend I have missed seeing, getting my massage therapy for my arm...much needed, and organizing for a garage sale.  Yes, I am strange and enjoy organizing.

Right at this moment, it is raining.  Lightening.  One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.  the thunder clashes.  I hear one of the children groan.  Will they wake?  I think I will go sit on the porch for a spell.  A sip of peace.  of

51 & 52 - scrubbed clean

The worst thing about vacation is coming home. Now, we are all familiar with the manifold of references of this exclamation. One is the putting away and cleaning. I left the house dirty. So it took several hours over three days to complete the putting away, washing, and scrubbing the bones of this abode. Alas, breath in, yummy smell of vinegar and lemon. Fresh. When making a quilt, the Amish are perfectionists. Their work is so meticulous. Yet, they humble before God with a humility block. One block is backwards, upside down, or slightly off color. Everything, clothes, towels, sheets, all of it is washed. Laundry still looms in a invasive blob on the floor. It will be done by the close of this eve. Two bags will be packed for our next two adventures. My humiliy spot is the powder room rug. It is filthy. It shyly slipped by my notice until mopping. I bow to you./ ......A surprise arrived while we were away at the lake, my sister and nephews. She showed up on Wednesday. We enjoyed pizza, ice cream, a walk, backrubs, and the cousins laughed a ton. We enjoyed each other's company so much that it was nine o'clock before I noticed my kids should be in bed! Consecutively, my cell phone rang. I forgot Mom's Night Out. Yep, they will go on in the night so come on over. Goodbye hugs commenced, kids are swept off into their jammies, popped into bed, foreheads kissed and mommy is off for some friend time. Apparently, kids didn't pass out at 9:45 and woke their dad. So it was a good thing I left a note on the table of where I was. Midnight battmitton was well worth the rush. Thanks for calling me ladies...I just forget stuff./ ..... Day three of cleaning, the downstairs. Check. Yoga with kids. Then home to finish last list items of the cleaning that I hope lasts for two weeks because it is awefully exhausting. Dad Parent takes kids to pool for two hours of over drive. Rose bush trimmed, powder room cleaned, kitchen sorted, fish bowls cleaned, fish very happy, laundry all dried and piled, and wow, I need a maid. Dinner out, thank you Hubby! And back by six. She is early! Six twenty, the photographer for Cure Today magazine arrives. Good thing I spent an hour in the morning e-mailing pictures of my outfit choices to my closest friends. Outfit number three, coordinate running knee pants and top, won. An hour spent doing Yoga poses, pretending to tie my sneakers, walking away from the camera and looking over my shoulder, wishing I had grand, flowing locks to toss over my shoulder instead of a grey militant buzz, and kids wondering into the scene wanting their images taken too. This survivor is ready to sit. Apparently, after a week of staying up until nine or ten o'clock at night, a six and eight year old are NOT going easily to La La Land. And now, it is ten forty one. The laundry pile and bags to be packed loom in my ditant future. I wonder if I can stretch that future into Tomorrow Land. Night.

42-50. Lake Life

Being that I could not submerge my noggin' due to the ear tube placed last week, I spent much of my week on Lake Powell chill-axin' on the boat. Though it was a miscommunication on Whaler usage that I missed out on a day trip with the family, that afternoon may have been my most favorable. See, I was left behind to tend to my five month old grand-nephew. He was sleeping when my family left and his parents went off to play on the Seadoos so I practiced Vinyasa yoga in the living area in front of his swing. The little cutie woke up and smiled. I taught him mommy and me (okay what was mommy and me to Baby Daughter and Son, anyway) yoga. He loved flying through the air and rocking up and down. Otherwsie, much of my time was spent hanging out making finger woven friendship bracelets for the crew. I made eleven. Oh, and helped kids make two each. And, I watched the world go by. It is interesting what you learn when you just sit in the moment./ ..... Seven days on the lake ended. Seven hours later, we arrive back in Colorado and realize it is just as hot here as it was at the Lake minus maybe a few degrees. The thing is there is not a body of water to kiss your sizzling skin here. However, there is air conditioning for lucky folks like myself. After a dinner of the five eggs I blessedly left in the fridge, I couldn't wait to get the kids out the door for a walk. Seven days. Seven days without walking. Boat life is great for seven days. But, if you can't take your morning swim and play mermaid all day...seven days./ ..... A mile into our walk to check out progress on our new community park, we run into some ol' friends in the north hood. Turns out my friend is just home from a major knee surgery. I knew she was having issues but had not known about the surgery. It was truely a serendipitous event to run into her hubby and kids. We escorted them home and I stepped inside. Oh, it was good to see me friend. She is doing well. We chatted on numerous topics. She bequested advise on post-suregery recovery. I asked her what I should wear at my photo-shoot on Sunday. Yes, you heard that correctly. They are going to take my picture "exercising" for the article I contributed to for Cure Today magazine on exercise and survivorship. I am nervous. National magazine in my running clothes! My friend gave me a cleaver little thing called a Booty Cover her sister invented. It is pretty cool; like a sweater you tie around your waist and a fanny pack all in one. During a work out, it holds your stuff while covering your rump. At any rate, we left before the kids were too wound up with snails. Yep, new pets; I am so excited. Thanks friend's kids./ ..... On the way home, I thought about how serendipitous events come around. I needed her. She needed me. Neither of us knew this. But, as I learned in my week of observing and being with muself, there is great calm in being present. And, in the presnce there is a calm. Everything is as it should be. I am where I am as it should be. Sure, I get impatient at the kids. Sure, I get sad when I realize how lonely I feel time to time. And yes, I have pain. But, those moments are those moments, and they pass away. All these years later, nearly twenty since the insecure high school days, I have found great peace in being with myself. I find great joy in that growth towards self actualization. Whatever that means. Peace out.

This is the Sweet Life

So in light of the Fourth of July and certain events in the goverment, my mom has me thinking about politics and governing. I know, weird, right? So on one hand there is the thumping of socialist republic. The cancer community is excited for the decission on health care because one could get coverage even when they have pre-exsisting conditions like metastatic cancer. But then, there is the socialist care of Cananda. Canadanas already travel the borders to American to get cancer drugs like I am on. If we have the same system, I would have to fly to Germany waith all the Canadians. Anyway, some thoughts brewing. ....Our Fourth was great. I felt like I had a lot of energy and eally enjoyed seeing the ol' gang and family. We were up at my inlaw's cabin in Allenspark. Horse shoes, volleyball, and good food. I ran the horse shoe tournament. Social director is a role I enjoy. They kids had some buddies and climbed throguh the woods and requeested Sprites. I think we all had a good time. No fireworks our scorched Front Range. But, good news, the High Point fire is 100% contained!! ....The Sweet Life. A blog I follow was discussing the sweet life. She has metastatic, rare cancer. When she is feeling down, she looks in the mirror and repeats, "I have the sweet life.". Over and over. Hey, it works. Maybe it is just a way to rationalize the black cloud of an early expiration date, but I guess it is my calling to be the survivor I am. Seeing old friends I have known for eighteen years, I found myself humbled as they went on and on about how amazing I am. What did I do? Run towards life the best I can is all I do. I choose life. I chose to make the big things little so I can leap frog over them. I run and practice yoga for body and mind. And most inportantly, I give. i give and give and want to give more. The Dahli Lama instructs over and over in different ways(we are Facebook friends, you know) that what you give out flows back to you. You can't request it, pay for it, nor expect it. Just do it, give it. Give all of you. My calling is to encourage oothers though my living. And it flows back. ....hey, sometimes it comes in simple ways. This morning, I had a bunch of worries that kept me up all night. We are leaving for a week with no internet nor cell. Way cool. But, I had paintings do to the Muse Gallery next week, an art show application due and a guitar string broken yesterday. I was able to get into the gallery ear Y this morning. Then, I swung by the guitar shop. Larry was there and hour before opening. He totally rocks as he showed me how to restring the guitar, tune it, and learn cords A, E, and D to play just about anything. You know, I do my best to take care of people, even strangers. I smile at the frustrated mommy in the store. I hold the door for just about everyone. I hug my friends. I listen. And it flows back. The world cares for me if I let it. Even if it is humbling to hear all the compliments. It is may payment for my service here. And a few last notes as I will be away from my keypad for a week, Steam Punk. Look it up. It is a current art movement my mom and I have been researching. Very interesting. Think Sherlock Holmes, the Capitol in the Hunger Games, and all those cool upcycle jewelry piece you see at the art show that use gears. It is a little British Victorian breed with goth. And it may explain the bofant hairdos those youngins wear these days. Oh, and I am a Neosurrealist artist. Look it up. I will explain later.

Day 35-41. Just about enough

So aparently it takes about half the summer to start going insane. Yes, I know I have the sweetest kids on the block. That is, they are so darn cute and sweet to you unless you are their mother. These past few days I have had to fall into the parenting role I detest of commander in charge. Time out...for the both of you. Oh, that toy is in toy jail since you can't seem to share it. Don't talk to me that way. Check your attitude at the door. Go back out and try that again. Oh my gosh, everyone be quiet, I am trying to drive. And on and on. Time out, lost dinners, toys in jail, seperate...oh sigh. .........In amoungst the argueing and disrespectful behavior there has been quite a few giggles. Thursday, I can't remember, it was such a long week with treatment and the ear thing. Friday we went hiking around Lily Lake with friends. I quite enjoyed myself inspite of the whining and complaining. We stopped for lunh with my Father-in-law, and then and afternoon of packing for our trip. Saturday was a big day of biking and tubing along Boulder Creek. I, of course couldn't participate in the tubing due to my ear. The kids had a great time with their dad though. Sunday was church and then I snuck out of the house to meet a friend in Golden for lunch. That was a great way to spend the afternoon. We went to the Rocky Mountain Quilt Museum and had a personal tour that was quite educational and interesting. Monday was a work day for me. Grocery shopping, packing, and sorting out stuff in the house. Kids were pretty grumpy and I wished I had two girls or two boys so they would play together better. But, eventually, they pulled out some games and calmed down. In the evening, we went to my folks to celebrate my dad's birthday. Yeah! And Tuesday we all went to Madagscar 3 and On the Border for lunch. Well, that is about it. Nothing too exciting. But, I promised myself I would write about every day of my summer. So here it is. Nearly half way through and tired of hearing the kids yell at each other. Maybe there will be something enlighting tomorrow on the Fourth of July.

What Great Teeth You Have

Something quite unexpected happened this morning. I checked into the day surgerey center amd then was escorted back where I dressed in my gown, peed in the cup (I told you I wasn't pregnant), and shuffled out of the bathroom. The nurse took my belongings back and ushered me around to the first stall. I froze. A wall of emotion welled up in my throwt. I felt sick. Tears brimmed my lashes. This bed was the bed I sat on ten years ago bleeding with a miscarriage. It was my twelfth week. They baby died at eight weeks. I hadn't miscarried so we scheduled an DNC. But, just as I laid down on the hospital bed, the miscarriage started. Today, it all came back. A memory forgot amd put in the vault. The nurse gwve me a tissue witha puzzled look on her face at my sudden look of frieght. I told her through my tears that I had a miscarriage on that bed ten years ago. She asked if I would like another bed. No, I said, it is alright. I choked down the memory, let it go, and crawled into the bed while the nurse readied the IV. ..... After a long wait, the procedure got on its way. I am not sure why but the anesthesiologist looked in my mouth. He said I had great teeth several times. I thanked my mom and dad sitting in the chairs beside me. We all chuckled about orthodontists and were on our merry way. I woke feelimg the best I have ever felt under sedation. The anestesiologist said he was really careful with the dosage to keep it very minium and only a little narcotic at the end to help with the pain. Dr. Carr said he was glad he went with this procedure instead of doing it with a local in the office because he was able clean out a lot of junk. He even got hardened junk that was behind the eardrum. He does not think that this fluid is infected. Every time I ask if this or that is normal, he simply replies, "You have intersting ears". .....All and all it wasn't too bad today other then finding out I can't go swimming. I am glad to see my kids back home. We went for a walk as the night was cooling off. They were cray on their scooters. A bath and goodnight. A friend picked me up jus minutes after Hubby came home to tuck the kids in bed. We went out to Moms' Night Out with the girls. It was a nice time talking about pet horror stories and mice in our kitchens. My mom said today that she admired how resilliant I am. I didn't know what she meant. She explained that I pick myself up as immediately as possible and move forward. Well, walking with the kids and gabbing with the gals must be my spring board for the week.

Day 34

(to be read in your best Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure voices) So, Dude, what's with the ear? It is like totally going to explode, man. Woh, dude, what's that goo totally coming out of your ear? Oh, yeah well, Doc Man totally exploded my ear drum. Bogus, dude. Hasn't your ear been bothering you for like ar supper long time; like totally New Years heh? Yoo, man. Post piercing is so ellating. But, would you stop talking so softly, I can't hear you. What? What did you say? Talk on my right side. Oh, yes Doc is putting me to sleep so he can put in a tube. That's cool, Dude. Maybe it will be like the inside of a shell. If I put my ear next to your ear, I will be able to hear the ocean. Nahaa. Just kidding. Well, it already sounds like the ocean in my head now. Oh and Man, I can hear my heart beat...bump...bump...bump. (out of character, back to Sara. And, don't ask....bored I guess.) My ear has had pain off and on since January. The last two months I basically couldn't hear much from the left. We've watched it with my Ear Nose and Throat guy. But, last week, the pain became too much in a short amount of time. I have been in the office to have it drained every morning except Saturday and Sunday. Tomorrow, I will have a permanent tube put in under general anestsia. I am not happy about it, but my head already feels better other then my headaches are back. Yes, the radiation headaches. And, that is how this whole ear gig is stupid cancer's fault. Both ENT and Oncologist comcure that the radiation "messed with" my ear tissue causing it to be unable to reduce fluid in my mastoid which is a bone behind the ear. I had been hospitalized for mastoiditis in 1995, when I was twenty. That time was a pnemoua b infection. This time, the culture showed no bacteria growth infection. Anyway, appartently, this is a WBR side effect that can happen in the sinus, ears, and other like areas in the head. So now you know why I have been sticking my finger in my ear and rubbing my jaw the last several months. The hear gal says the hearing nerves are all intact and expects hearing to return in time. Please pray for that because I am trying to learn the guitar inspite of the fact I can't feel my finger tips. Eye yie yie, God, keep me in the right of mind please. PS God, I pray for my left leg. I have lost part of my left vision, left hearing, and function in my left arm. So I pray that there is no more assult to my left half because I need all the function of my beautiful right brain to create more beautiful art. Please keep me running, seeing, hugging, and holding a paint brush for as long as I live. Oh, and typing too because I sure love writin'. Sincerely, The Girl Who Could Write with Both Hands and Is Now Glad She Chose to Be a Righty in Kindergarten.

What's my Art Movement?

So I was doing some reading last night on what it means to be a post-modern contemporary artist.  Much of the art I see these days is either still hanging onto the Asian Magna crud (clearly my opinion) or grotesque, overly sexual naked orgies.  Is that what is consider the art movements the Twenty Teens?  What are the artists dabbling in Plen Aire and other fabulous classic genre called when executing these modalities in a post-modern era that revere sex, sexuality, video, and tipping over the insanity edge.  And, where do I fit in?  After some thought last night, I decided I am a Feminist Surrealist.  Now, I am not totally sure Feminist is the right word.  Maybe I ought to just say female.  This is important to note because Post-Modern Surrealism is a male movement.  Though there are several women contemporaries of note, they were primarily shoved out of the inner circles of Surrealism.  Also, Feminists of the era criticized the Surrealist for using the female nude as objects of desire and other Freudian symbolism.  The reason I chose Surrealist is that the movement explores the immediate mind thought without ego editing while creating real images.  My work may not have dripping clocks or contorted naked figures in a dessert landscape mostly devoid of color and happiness.  My work is beautiful and realistic at its surface.  Yet, below the surface it speaks of my subconscious bemusing.  Ergo, I am a sub-real, or surrealist with a feminine intuition.  Now, I am not sure that this is a timely art movement nor a valid title for the stream I travel with my painting and writing.  However, I do not wish to dabble in the odd sexual, horrifying genre that seems to be the way of the young artist.  My work is subtle in its emotional dealings.  The first impression is one of feminine beauty.  Only after an intimate viewing may one really understand the story being told.  And, truly, it should be viewed in person, not on an iPad.

Day 32 & 33. Missing my Sun and Moon

It turns out that when my sun and moon are gone, even for a spell, My Earth starts to spin chaotically. The first day or two of darkness is a bit of experiment as The spin moves through hyper drive getting everything on the needs-doing list squared away. Then it slows to a putter sipping tea and watching a movie and it is only three. What? Pakamas at six is too early? Oh yah, the first in the shower. That is what hot water feels like. Okay, let's spin. It's 8:30 pm and perfect time to sew. Feeling a little twentyfive uear old frisky in the head. One eleven am, I missed your zen. ......Seven thirty one, where is my little girl who sucks her thumb? Where is Mr. Brown eyes? Oh, I miss you. I had such fun spinning in the dark in my own chaotic universe. But, it is time for a hug to give my Earth gravity. Kiss kiss. Soon, my babes. Stay away a little longer so the doctors can patch me up once again, make me all better. Won't it be great when Mommy can hear you the first time around? See you really soon, Sun and Moon.

Just a Moment

It just takes a moment. Really, just a minute. But, the reward can last all day. The other day, I went in to get a rice milk late half hazelnut, half vanilla. Ms. Barista poured the frothy beverage into my cup and said, "I hope you notice how how particularly creamy the rice milk is today." She stared down at the froth stirring the delicate carmel and white foam into a shape of heart. Her eyes were lit with subdue amusement. I told her that I was glad she noticed something so small in her day. She looked at me confused. So I told her that most people don't take the time to experience the small moments, the beautiful weed in the sidewalk crack, how facinating a crushed bottle cap looks in all its shiny glory in the parking lot, or that too many humming birds actually can make a noise that is a bit unnerving. "I am just saying it is nice to meet someone who notices details like me. Most people don't have that skill. We are so lucky." Her smile tells me it has been a long time since someone told her she was neat as she watched me push the door open with my back. It only takes a moment to notice someone. Just a minute. Gift for them. A gift for you.