It Is Enough

That's it. It's over. Done, thank God! Get me out of this year of misery and pain! Good riddance 2010!

I have never, ever suffered like this. Ten years ago I was ten years younger and ten years stronger. Back then, I never prayed I could just die from the misery of cancer. Not so this time. Apparently I am not that good with pain, especially the mind-numbingly excruciating kind. Who is?

Well, it wasn't all bad. I did grow closer to Leslie, and am so thankful for knowing her, thankful that she too loves me, and for having her nearby on the peninsula. And Nan has stayed so close, calling me every few days to see what I need, stopping by on occasion to visit. What a blessing they both are.

My book got published. I wanted to be a writer at age ten, and would sit in my closet, writing ridiculously horrid fiction stories that were so bad that even I refused to read them. Gave up that potential career for my entire life, then started to write for real a few years ago. So, DWTP exists in spite of me.

I also finished "Okay, Then", my book on Sam, and learned to know him better because of it. Whether published or not, it was worth it to go through the journey of those memories.

As a result of over two years of collaboration, Leura, my editor, is now my friend. I can tell because she mailed her family Christmas letter to me. Seriously, that means more than anyone could know. I'm on her "it" list! We do still write random notes to one another. And we've only met twice. With 1500 miles between us, I'm thankful for email. For now, it will be enough. Besides, not that many people share my type of humor, but she does. And she is wickedly funny, but not wicked.

Zoe and I became friends this year. I've only known her since she was born 32 years ago, but now I finally really know her. Well, more than I did. And I like her. A lot.

And Matthew is free. And a Believer. Oh how I hope we can see him more, know him better, love as he needs and wants to be loved. His life matters to me.

I helped Sam find a job where other Aspergians work. No, he doesn't love it, but they treat him well, pay him well, and it can lead to better things.

Though the reasons are not good, I learned once again what an amazing man, nurse, caretaker, husband, person Steve is. I've been incapacitated and in great need of help for 6 1/2 weeks, and he has yet to throw me out the window. He even sometimes rubs my legs, my back, makes me food, brings me liquids, and kisses away my tears. Morgan and Sam do kindnesses when asked, but Steve is the one who offers without my asking.

So, lousy year at first glance with the cancer nightmare, but not so bad if I remember all of it. I am loved. It is enough. Goodbye 2010. Happier New Year to everyone I love.

The Real Deal

Merry Christmas, about four months early. I believe Jesus was born sometime in what we call April, but I'm not certain. This holiday breaks up a cold and boring winter and helps the stores make money. I believe it actually used to be a pagan holiday - real close to Christ, wouldn't you say? Ha!

But we have a real tree, decorate it, give gifts, and have a nice meal, nonetheless. But even that's not all about the food. Christmas Eve dinner this year was BLT's on our laps in front of "Miracle on 34th St." For the four of us, the holiday is fun, but it's not who we are.

In 2009 we left our former church that seemed to be more about "Christianity" than about Christ. Not for all, but for some. (Women not equal to men in God's eyes; be conservative, even if it doesn't truly follow Christ; don't smoke or you'll go to hell, etc.) We now go to services where the pastor loves science fiction movies and doesn't seem to own a tie, but believes in Jesus as savior-God, period. We're staying.

I still admire and respect Billy Graham, but his son Franklin has gone over the edge, turning into a political (got that?) idiot. And Jim Wallace is not conservative, but he is brilliant and true. Billy and Jim promote truth, rather than religion. In other words, they promote Christ, who really needs no promotion. He simply IS. There are other people out there who believe as I do. Not in "Jesusy" Christianity, but in truth. In the real Jesus.

Jesus was not popular in his time. His life was often in danger, and indeed he was murdered. He was poor, with no amount of monetary holdings to help him "build his ministry." He wasn't good looking. His early life is mostly unknown to any of us. And he changed the world. I'm tired of the blue eyed, blond haired fake that so much of American Christianity portrays. The real man was a poor Jew, for heaven's sake. Well, for our sake, actually.

He had siblings, well, half siblings. Joseph and Mary did have conjugal relations after Jesus's birth. James, Joseph, Simon, and Judas (no, not that one) and at least 2 sisters who are not named. The man had family. Can you imagine growing up as his sibling!? Wow. Do you suppose he shared? One would think so!

I'm just happy to have grown up and met him through words. Words have grown into reality.

Many Colors

The ugly red scar is over 10" long. And lumpy. Blood Red.

Being off chemo has allowed my hair to grow for the first time in years. It's getting long and full and not half bad. And curly. White on top; dark brown in back. Pin it up and I look, well... pretty decent. Pink.

I can barely walk across a room without having to sit down. Dingy Gray.

Today we ran errands. I walked into Kohl's (first time anywhere in weeks) and had to grab onto a cart to stay standing. But walk I did. That I saw nothing I wanted to buy is immaterial. I was out there. (Okay, yes, it was a test.) And rather than have Steve drive me, I walked the whole way next door to the grocery shop where I sat down but who cares? Purple.

I've lost over ten pounds, and when I turn sideways, I'm nearly invisible. Puce.

Last night I slept all night. (well, only one brief wake up) Nothing hurt (much) and I stretched. Dear God, what a pleasure to finally be physically able to stretch. And I slept 11 hours, my goal. I was so happy that I got up right away. And get this... I took a shower all by myself! I'm a big girl now! Candy Red.

I've forgotten what I used to do on a normal day. Everything seems weird around here. Black.

For now, I read, just finished writing my second book, have to find a new publisher, try to move myself to do more, and practice deep breathing. Having assumed I'd be gone by now, I suppose it's time to figure out what to do with the rest of the time I do have here. Life feels surreal. I talk to God a lot. In new ways. Grassy Green.

Life is full of horrid things. For most people. But for me, I prefer to concentrate on the good. I'll let that color my days.

Use or Lose

My babies are home. Morgan is here. Sam is here. Even the boring days are more fun with them here. And trust me, we Richardsons do boring very well. Sitting on the couch, laughing, telling old jokes, watching reruns, you know, boring stuff. Love it!

We also do interesting stuff quite well. I just finished writing my second book, "Okay, Then" about raising an autistic son. Now comes the hard part - finding someone to publish it. Doable, but not my favorite activity. "Look at me! Love my work!" Ugh, I prefer no one look at me. Morgan is the gifted writer, for Pete's sake. But I'm the one who's lived the life in the story, so I'm the one who has to find the publisher.

Thank God for Leura, my editor. We've met two times, once in an office, once at Ian's funeral. I adore, trust and enjoy her, and frankly, feel comfortable now calling her my friend. She'll keep me in line and make me get it done.

So, what does Steve do? Well, pretty much everything else in our lives. He does all his work, 99% of mine, (okay, 100%) and just in the past week he's built and installed winter window coverings, carted multiple truck loads of leaves off to the dump, made all our meals, Christmas shopped, grocery shopped, done laundry, put up our Christmas tree, gotten up in the middle of the night to give me pain killers, nabbed a couple hours of sleep, and still gets up at 5:00 am to go to work each day.

Amazing. He is off for the next ten days. And that's only because he is at "use or lose" and it's time off now, or lose it forever. Yes, I love having him home. But, he makes me do more than I want. If he didn't, I'd fall apart, because everything hurts. He won't let me be a sissy. I get upset and I cry - in fact, a few of us cried tonight - but the hugs still come and we make it. He's right; I use it or I lose it. That's just the way life is.

I can't give up. Three people want and need me to get through this. Pain and misery be damned. I hate each moment, but it will be better. Their hugs and kisses are my medicine. I'll make it.

Live a Deep Life

I woke up in my own bed today for the first time in I have no idea how long. I am so looped up on drugs that most things are fuzzy. This is not a recreational adventure. If you take drugs for pleasure or recreation, you're an ass and an idiot. And your life is shallow. I'm taking drugs to get through mind numbing pain, hoping to reach normalcy again. And if I can endure that pain, I'll skip them. I just want to be ME again. Drug free, pain free, clear-headed, normal me.

What do you know about pain? Can you brush your teeth? That's too hard for me right now. Standing at a sink and rubbing those once soft, but now rough bristles across my tender teeth hurts too much. Can you stand up? I can with help from Steve or a chair, but only for moments. Can you sit immobile in a chair without crying? I can, if I concentrate hard enough. Are you able to inhale deeply without crying? Sometimes I can do that, but for now, my lungs are not at full capacity. Can you remember what happened yesterday?

Where was I? Oh... try spending your life as a nearly obsessively independent person, then lose it all to physical inability, and let me know how you handle it. It is humbling and tiring and depressing and takes all one has to overcome. My will is indeed strong, but it all collapses under a body that will not obey my brain, a body that cannot function with any certainty anymore, a body way too young for all this. Except, it's obviously not too young. It can happen anytime.

Two months ago I was capable and strong, independent and energetic. Can I get there again? Well, yes, I can. I just have to break out of this prison I'm in. The prison formed by my sick body and lived in by me. Yet first, my brain has to rebuild and take over my day to day functions. It can happen. If I stay off the pain killers, get some rest, stop trying to be a super-human, and do what Steve tells me is best, I'll get better. The temptation to feel sorry for myself is so strong. I'm just tired of fighting. I'm weary of reality. The truth has worn me out.

It's time to take a nap. When I awake, I want to get up and walk around the house, go outside to see my yard, laugh with Steve, trade jokes with Sam, have a bite to eat, clean the joint, and read. But if all I do is sit here and read, that's okay too.

Three Men and A Baby

When my brother, David was young, he'd eat massive quantities of Lima beans for the sole purpose of trying to make me throw up. I didn't care if he liked them or not; it was gross and made me sick. I moved away a week after high school graduation, most anxious to get away from dinners ruined by his antics. Ugh.

My brother-in-law, Charlie, urged my sister to leave me alone in MD to return to Ohio to be with him in 1969. The bum. I was 19, all alone, and clueless. I needed her but he didn't care. Okay, fine, it wasn't all about me; he was in love, but still. It made me mad and I lost my best friend.

My nephew-in-law, Donnie...wait... It's really hard to come up with something negative about him. Oh yeah, he took my niece to Russia to be a missionary with him three years ago. So I rarely get to see her.

Three men who put their own wants and needs before mine. Lima beans, young love and foreign missions.

So now it's today. And guess what they put first in their lives this week. Me. David left his family to fly 1500 miles to be with me during surgery and even missed Thanksgiving with his own wife and family. Charlie spent his 41st wedding anniversary with me in the hospital, even as his wife (my sister) was just released from her own dramatic surgery and recovering at home. And Donnie came on his only day off that week, leaving his wife with two little kids and a newborn at home.

These three men love me. And they put me first this week, even ahead of their own wives and children. No, they don't love me more, they simply love me, and sacrificed what had to be. These three were with me until moments before I entered the OR. They stayed with Steve and Morgan during my surgery, prayed with them, comforted them. Rejoiced with them when the results came back. Praised God with them for my survival.

So now it's three men and a woman who could not feel more loved or complete.

I Want My Brain Back

I've been hallucinating, and it's beyond me why anyone would ever choose to live with a brain altered by drugs. As of now, I can't tell you what happened all week. Oh, I have memories, but of what? I'm pretty certain that one cannot type in midair and have it end up online. The worst part was explaining to Steve & Morgan just what I thought I was doing. At the time it made perfect sense, but why did it seem they were gently laughing at me?

And the horrifying monsters which occupied my hospital room? Well, maybe they weren't really there. But I did sit nervously wondering and pointing. And the beautiful, arching, warm soft droplets of "dove shaped angel water" that drifted over my face while I was talking with Morgan and Steve couldn't have been real. Could they? I kept wiping it from my face, though my face seemed oddly dry. Yet it was pretty.

So, on Nov. 22, my choice was this: 1. Live out your final 3 - 4 months relatively pain free, get very confused, slip into a coma, then pass away. Let the cancer win; it's winning anyway. The only one who wouldn't suffer would be me. Easy and peaceful way to go. Or 2. Have high risk surgery that could kill me, but perhaps extend my life by a year or so, while also leaving me in excruciating pain for weeks, and perhaps not extending my life at all.

Which would you choose? Well, so did I, but it took Sam all of 15 seconds to weigh in and say, "Go for it Mom. We already know you're going to die from this. Please just try to stay a little longer." So I went for it.

So 9 days later, here I sit. The surgery didn't kill me, but it should have. After all, I was allowed no food or liquid (including water) for nearly a week. Seriously. Well, there were the delicious ice chips and the catheter. The incision is over 10" from top to bottom, and we're talking cutting through a liver here, okay? Livers are full of blood, as in "stuff we must have" that's likely to shoot out randomly all over the room. Gag me.

But the tumor is now gone and I'm not yet dead. There were no cancer pockets, no other cancer detected. They didn't have to invade the stomach as expected, and did a few other things that I'd rather not describe. Hey, even I'm getting sick from reading all this, and I was there. They released me early due to my somehow miraculously regaining strength at speeds unheard of.

I talked about my book, and even one atheist nurse said she'd be curious to read it. I told her it was based on our faith, but she indicated that didn't matter. "Yours is an interesting story. I'd like to read it." Clearly, a room full of miracles.

Thanks for the "Bad" Stuff

Thanksgiving was great! It was yesterday, on Saturday. At least at this house it was. Morgan made a fabulous dinner for us four - turkey and the works. Since I'll be in hospital on the day you all celebrate it, we did it when we could. I have to fast today and tomorrow for surgery. Gak. At any rate, it really felt like the real day. Hey, we can be thankful any day we want, right?

What am I thankful for? Well, I'm thankful I got cancer ten years ago. Without it, I probably wouldn't be a true Believer. I was a "sort of" Believer before, but being told you'll die is a sure way to rethink one's life and beliefs. Take my work for that. It just is.

I'm thankful my son has Asperger's. He is so much more interesting and brilliant that a regular kid. And he's made me see the world so differently than I would have otherwise, made me learn to be a better a person for the struggles we've endured. Made me thankful for our pain, for without it, pleasure could grow old and loose some of its allure.

I'm thankful that I was stupid enough to marry a guy I barely knew and never would have married if I'd been smart. I'd have missed out on such a glorious journey of discovery and adventure with the most brilliant and creative man I've ever known. Yes, we were fools to marry without actually knowing one another, but God was in control, even as we were not. Thank God!

I'm thankful for my crooked teeth. A guy I adored once told me that they were "bothersome" to him, so I was probably saved years of pain by realizing his shallowness so clearly. His jerkiness shone and I've smiled just fine ever since. I'm also thankful for my premature white hair, since it is probably my best feature, even though most women will go to ridiculous lengths to avoid the same.

There are surely good things that call up my thankfulness, but it is the bad things that probably have meant the most, because they came, not from my will, but from the will of the One who knows me. When your life hurts, when it seems devoid of pleasure or happiness, then know it is time to open your eyes and LOOK. You'll be surprised at what you see. After all, happy days one after another will grow boring and lose their pleasure after a time. Grab onto that which hurts, and you'll live.

My Daughter, My Mother

I'm worn out. The best thing going on right now is that I'm not in the hospital. Yep, that's the best.

Yesterday morning I woke up, stood up, threw up, gave up, and let others take over. The young ambulance guys were handsome and kind, but having my eyes open to a constantly swirling room made me throw up more, so I shut them, resigned to being a disgusting old slug and being carried in some contraption down our stairs. Steve was home sick, but loving his wife, he went with me to the ER and spent hours silently sitting by my side while I slept and was filled with another's blood that gave me back some life.

Steve and I both have colds (things that arrive on average for me, only once every ten years, needed or not.) That's what we've dealt with all week, you know, in preparation for surgery and a lengthy, unwanted separation on Monday. Can't think of a better way to prepare. House is filthy, clothes unwashed, letters not written, fridge empty, family ignored, no kissing!, nothing done.

But what that was, I have no idea, other than horrid and scary. For literally hours I could not open my eyes without nausea and vomiting. So much for pretending I'm still attractive. (Trust me, the ER nurses saw the real unvarnished me.) This morning I just feel exhausted. But I'm mobile. And ate some breakfast.

So, today I have to wash bedclothes, clean the kitchen, clean the birdcage, go to pharmacy for pre-surgery drugs, buy groceries, bake a pie and do pre-Thanksgiving food prep (celebrating tomorrow due to being in hospital on the exact date), make the beds, and who knows what else. Yeah, right. I think I'll take a nap and know that Morgan knows exactly how it is here, and she couldn't care less if this place is a dump when she walks in the door tonight. All I care is that she walks in that door.

Well, I am going to wash her bed linens. In fact, they're already done; the machine just beeped!

How old should we be before we give it up and hope our kids can take care of us? I really thought I'd be much older before that day came.

Emmy Lou and Me

At 15, I had thick, dark brown hair with streaks of reddish brown. Not exactly auburn - that would have been lovely, but no such luck. Still, people did ask if I died it. I didn't. Then at 18, I noticed random white strands. Egads! The Stevens' curse of premature white hair! Thanks, Mom. One day I pulled out exactly 100 strands, and that hurt. But what hurt more was that it made not one iota of difference. There were hundreds still there, so I quit.

Years went by, and I grew my hair long. It was so thick that it sometimes gave me a headache with its weight, but still, it grew. So did the white. One day, still in my mid-twenties, I got on an elevator and a man got on behind me. I began to feel nervous, standing in the closed in silence, my back to him. I could feel his eyes on me. Then he quietly said, "Miss, is that natural? You are so young to have so much white hair." "Yes," I said. As he exited (to my great relief) he said, "Well, it's beautiful." At least he didn't think I looked like a skunk.

I hit forty, and the mane of white and brown continued to grow whiter. Entire sections never did turn though, and it looked like I'd planned it that way. Someone at church asked where I got my hair "frosted." "God does it," I answered. I had nothing to do with it.

More years passed, and the white began to overtake the brown in quantity. In the freezer aisle at the grocery store one day, a man approached, "I'm sorry to intrude, but you have beautiful hair. You're so young to have that color, white and brown together. Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?" "No thank you. I'm married, but it was kind of you to ask," I said.

One day at work a man approached. "Are you Irish?" "Well, yes, I do have some Irish blood, I responded. "Why?" Well, you're too young for white hair, and the Irish have hair that turns white early, but not completely. I thought you might be Irish, with your white and reddish brown hair." I turned him down for coffee, too. Why do men like white hair so much? I wondered. And...why do women think they have to dye it!?

Now that I'm sixty, white hair is normal. But most people's hair is one of three things: the original natural, out of a bottle, or white. But me? I have old lady white hair, and I have girlish brown hair, both natural. When I pin it up, it appears fairly dark from behind, white from the front. And all I do is wash it. To be honest, I rarely even comb it; it's too curly and wild. Then other days, it's nearly straight as can be.

I've never really known what to do with my hair. In the Bible, white hair is called, "a crown of glory." When I was bald from chemo, I missed my crown. On "feeling ugly" days, I put on a hat or pin it up. Some days I know people look at it, with it's unusual color. But my hair is not me. It's just something God gave me to help me feel secure out in the world.

Many years ago someone told me that I reminded her of Emmy Lou Harris. We were both young then and I was thrilled at the thought of even coming close to her beauty. When she stopped dying her own hair, her true beauty was revealed. She is stunning now in her "crown of glory." I'll happily stay in this place, wearing the crown God gave me.

Beauty

I'm beginning to have some understanding of how a pitcher feels about halfway through a game that appears to be a rare "no hitter." Things look good, keep it up... If he can just continue his perfect pitches, he'll get the perfect game and be in history books. Anticipation, fear, trying to not think too much about a possible end to it all. And such joy when it does happen.

This morning the sun is shining. And has for nearly two weeks. It's absolutely gorgeous outside. How long can it last? Clearly we don't live in northern Ohio, where I grew up with clouds @ 70% of my life. Or Oregon, where we spent a week in rain that did NOT cease. And can trees grow that tall without loads of moisture? How long can the sun shine here in MD? Clouds have to show up eventually.

A street light (and who puts street lights up on rural roads by houses on a peninsula, anyway?) is outside our bedroom window. After years of barely being able to sleep in the bright light, we got ridiculously expensive custom blinds to cover our windows. Then I added curtains, just to be certain. Now it is dark when we go to bed. Then each morning, I truly have no idea what it's like out there. Oh, I can tell if the dark has passed away, but until I raise those blinds, I have no clue as to the weather.

So, for the past two weeks, I am thrilled at the glory of the beauty out there. I pull up the blinds and literally gasp, "Oh! It's gorgeous!"

If you have a hot fudge sundae every night, it can get old, right? It's still good, but not as enjoyable as it once was. We all get tired of wonderful things when they are used too often. But what if you know that after your month of sundaes, you can never have another? Ever. What then? I'll bet you'll love the last as much as you loved the first.

So, I love my early morning glory. It is absolutely gorgeous out there. Every day. As I sit here today, the leaves are slowly falling to the ground, covering the yard. Soon it will end, and we'll have to rake up the once lovely leaves, by then brown, soggy and too much for our lawns. But today, well today is a gift. I don't know when it will end, but for now, I love the beauty before me, and have no worries over when it will end.

Anticipation, fear, trying to not think too much about a possible end to it all. That's for the pitchers; it's not for me. I live for today. And today is beautiful.

Lincoln and Friends

What do you MEAN it's November!? Do we just forget a lot more days when we're older, or are the days truly going by more quickly, the earth spinning faster? This is insane. Yesterday I mailed Valentines. Didn't I? Wait, knowing me, I probably did.

I've not yet announced my cancer situation here, but assuming most of you know about it anyway, I'll just go on. The surgery will be Nov. 24, the day before Thanksgiving. After so many years of this, it's not scary. It just ...is. I'm obedient; I do what I'm told. Except when I don't. But at this point in life, I do what Steve and my doc tell me to do. One loves me. And frankly, the other seems to also. And both are Believers who talk to God about me. I'm sure of that.

Today is about the tenth day in a row where the sun has shone gloriously. Beautiful. The tree colors are in full glory, and most leaves here have yet to fall. They'll disappear soon enough. But for now, I wake up each day, throw open the shades in anticipation and nearly yell with excitement, "Yes! It's gorgeous out there!" Heck, even on dark or rainy days anymore, I'm just glad to look out and see life.

What a strange way to live... waking up each day with death on my mind. It sounds so dreary, but it's not. As a Believer, there are moments when I can hardly wait! But as a wife and mother, not so much. As in, I want to stay here with my three beloveds. I don't want them to suffer. My thoughts are more about what heaven will be like, the people I look forward to seeing there, (like Catherine, and Abe, and Ian) and most of all, (I can barely breathe this into words) meeting Christ!

But for now... today is Sam's birthday. He's 22 today. I have gifts, will not bake a cake (since I quit that in 1977 when the one I'd just baked dropped and nearly cracked the floor), and we plan to take him out to dinner. I also plan to do his chores for him. He asked for no gifts; it's the least I can do. The most I can do is love him, support him, and teach him how to be a good man. So far, I think that's what I've done.

Each day now, I live my life in spite of the cancer, I live my life in spite of the prognosis. And most of all, I live my life in spite of me.

I Can't See the Wind, So It Must Not Exist

For the past week, the view out the dining room window has been gorgeous. I look out to see a red, gold, orange and yellow leafed tree, bordered by the still green leaves of everything else. Fabulous. Stunningly bright and beautiful. Today it's half bare. The wind blows and life goes on, cycle after cycle.

Have you ever seen the wind? No of course not, we only see the effects of it. Today a few leaves are moving slightly, but once in awhile they almost jiggle with excitement as little gusts flutter around. Some days entire branches sway back and forth. Sometime soon the leaves on the ground with fly up into the air in a swirling dance, landing somewhere as yet unknown. All that visible, physical activity, but we can't see the wind itself, just what it does.

Have you watched the leaves turn colors? No, not, "Wow, look outside. The trees have all turned red or brown." I mean have you ever looked at a green leaf without turning away until it is orange? or yellow? ...or gone? Yes, we notice the gradual changes, but none of us have seen the change actually happening. Hey, I've probably seen my own face in a mirror 99.9% of my days. No, I never saw it grow old, but it is. Things happen that we cannot see.

Can you see the love someone has for you? The love you have for someone else? No, you can't. Oh, you see the effects of that love, but not the love itself. A kiss, a hug, a gift...all due to love, but they are not the love. Love is very real in your life, but you cannot literally see it for itself - it's not meant to be seen, or even understood I suppose. Just experienced.

So much of one's life is invisible to the eye, but is totally believed in, sensed or felt in our hearts. So why is it that people who experience and believe without doubt that these things exist are so loathe to believe that an invisible God can exist? What, we can't actually see Him, so He must not be real?

"Well, I see the leaves moving, so wind must exist." "The leaves changed colors, and it doesn't matter that I can't explain that scientifically." "I feel such joy and passion for this person so my love must be real." Okay, you choose to believe in some things you absolutely cannot see or understand, since it makes sense to do so.

Yet it makes no sense to believe in God, since you can't see Him, is that it? Tell me, how is that any different? You see unexplainable things happen, but rather than attribute them to an all-knowing God, you think, "That just happened. God is the fantasy of fools and dreamers."

Oh really?

Tips For A Full Life

1. Get born.
2. Listen enough to learn something.
3. Eat well and enjoy the gifts of the earth. (Except for lima beans, no way.)
4. Learn how to read so as to have access to truth (Bible), mystery (Sherlock Holmes) and unexpected faith (Annie Lamott).
5. Laugh, and make others laugh, especially when it hurts. It hurts less then.
6. Love for the sake of giving, not getting.
7. Help things grow: my kids, my garden, my patience, my knowledge, my love for Steve.
8. Live in today, not tomorrow. Just relax and live 24 hours at a time, then do it again, and again, till it ends.
9. Put others first, me last.
10. Go home.

Pissed Off

How's that for a nice title by a Christian writer?! But I am.

Why is it that some people (am I crazy in thinking it's usually men?) think they are above the rest of mankind? As in doctors. (Insert loud growling noise from grown woman.) I'm sure you've dealt with your share of arrogant professionals who treat you like dirt too. One of Steve's doctors/jerkoffs has called - yet again - to reschedule an appointment made in March of this year. That's seven freakin' months ahead of time, but somehow not good enough.

Now the guy who supposedly has devoted his life to practicing medicine has decided he has something better to do on a Friday afternoon than see his already scheduled patients. Like maybe go to some sporting event, or a little vacation to some island. Jerk. Yes, I'm angry. (Note to self: never write when angry or you'll look like a dope. I don't care.)

...

So, after that last sentence, I made some calls, found a new gastroenterologist, one who can see a new patient within 6 weeks, no 7 month wait. And I'm about to call and fire, okay cancel the aforementioned doctor. He canceled his appointments one too many times for us. No slander here, just the facts of how he runs his practice.

I know full well that this guy will never know, care or be harmed by our "firing" him. But his name is Michael Epstein of Annapolis, MD. Thought you'd like to know his name, in case you ever need a throat doctor. You'll know who not to call.

So Full

Did you ever think (or assume) that you'll never see someone again? Someone from your past who might have been important, but with life moving forward you simply know it won't ever happen? Then it does happen. How wonderful is that?!

The phone rang this afternoon while we were watching an old movie. Phone numbers show momentarily on our TV, so we usually don't answer unless we recognize it. I didn't know this one, but something made me answer anyway. "Hello, is this Linda Richardson?" "Yes." The voice was vaguely familiar but I couldn't quite place it. "Hi, this is Dr. Hardy-Cartwright." My heart skipped a beat.

On the phone was the doctor who diagnosed my cancer ten years ago, the woman who probably saved my life. My heart was in my throat. She had just left her church service and wanted to know if she could come by our house to say hello. In shock, I said yes.

She'd gotten my note about the book, and was so moved (had she even thought of me all these years?) that she wanted to see me. Twenty minutes later, there she was at my door, a huge, beautiful bouquet of flowers in her hands. Her eyes lit up as she said, "Oh, I DO remember you!" We sat and talked for awhile. It had been over five years since I last saw her (now seeing my oncologist instead monthly) yet I've never forgotten her kindness and wonderful care. Still beautiful, she hasn't aged at all. And now I realize that she is also a Believer. What a small world.

We talked about my treatments, subsequent surgeries, chemo, and Dr. Boice, with whom she still associates. And she understood it all. So, I'm boring you, but for me, it was a total treat. This woman saved my life. And now she's about to read 'the rest of the story.' I was simply her patient from long ago, but she cared enough to come see me, all these years later. Can you believe that?!

My life is so full. My health is so bad. But my life is so full.

Words

Have you ever studied and learned a foreign language? Have you ever heard the Biblical story of how the languages were originally divided? That sure would have been a day of confusion and frustration! You don't have to believe our "tongues" were divided that way (I do and I'm curious to hear how you think we all just stopped communicating) but the fact remains that people speak a lot of languages.

How many would you guess? 57? 175? 732? How about 6809? Yea, really. There aren't even that many nations, and do you know how many of those there are? Forget it, I'll tell you. There are 195. Go ahead - name 30. Ha! (There's legal squabbling over 3, but let's just say 195.) Seriously. No wonder we can't communicate with one another. And yes, the language # includes dialects, tribal differences, etc., which indeed do separate us.

Have you ever wondered why your spouse or your boss or your parents just don't get what you're trying to say? It almost makes more sense to doubt that anyone would ever understand anyone! And indeed, we can speak the same language, and still not have any idea what even a family member is talking about, right?

So, to my point. My son and I both speak English, but he speaks it from an autistic brain that has an IQ in the stratosphere. Yes, he uses words, phrases, ideas and perceptions that would never occur to me. Only recently (after 22 clueless years) have I realized that I'm the one who has to learn the new language.

And it's working. Yes, I still stand by clueless and dopey a lot of the time, Sam looking at me with disgust as I say, "Huh? I don't understand you." (Well, duh.) But more and more I AM getting it. I'm on alert all the time to interpret the words that I now know are not what they seem to mean. He's not talking to a toddler, and he doesn't fill his sentences with explanations of his meaning. He just speaks, albeit in his unusual way. And it's beginning to make sense to me as it never has.

I still blow it and he still gets mad at me for being a dope, but the communication is growing. And equally important, I remember that this whole thing works both ways. I have to be more careful in what I say to him also, never assuming he gets what is meant, and no longer assuming he is rude, or dismissive or angry when he is not. We just speak two different languages, that's all.

While that's probably true for most parents and sons, for the autistic, it takes on far greater meaning. I will never assume he is not bright enough, or experienced enough to "get it." He is. Though autism can be a disability, Asperger's can be a blessing, in that it can give the person a huge advantage of intelligence and perception that the rest of us can only dream of. Sam's ability to see things clearly and understand things I don't get has always amazed me. It also amazes me that he can be so clueless.

It's all part of the package, and it's why we have to communicate so differently. He lives in the world of autism, and sees the rest of us as maybe a bit odd or hard to understand. I live in the world of ?? normal? yet see Sam as maybe normal in his own way. Thank God I've learned that I'm not the standard for humanity, that Sam doesn't have to learn to think like I do. How much richer his life will be as he continues to see through the eyes God gave him, to think with the brain God gave him, to be the man that God made him.

Old Lady Up the Street

Do you remember the old lady up the street? She was either your Mom's age, or your aunt's. Wait, she might have been closer to your grandmother. You know, another generation, one who lived through wars and history you've read about in books. Even now, though you're grown yourself, she's someone of another time, another era. Past her prime, so to speak.

She had white hair, almost never wore shorts, worked in her lovely little garden. Probably had doilies on her coffee table. And Canada Pink Wintergreen Mints. You'd see her walking around or puttering in her yard, but the thought of inviting her over, or visiting her for anything other than fund raising (she was always ready to support the schools or your charity) or to ask, "Have you seen our dog?" never occurred to you. Nothing against her; you just wouldn't have anything to talk about.

You're busy working, raising your kids, doing tons of laundry, making meals, volunteering at school or church, reading bedtime stories, cleaning the house, going to meetings, playing sports with the guys, living life in America. The old lady up the street is so yesterday, not even on your radar. You do wave occasionally, but when she passes on, you'll probably just send a card, or maybe attend the funeral. She was nice, as far as you knew, but the loss won't be personal. She wasn't really in your life. You never really knew her.

Did you know she liked to laugh hard most every day? Her husband often shook his head and smiled in amazement at her silly ways and goofy antics, so much like her own Mom. She loved sarcasm and irony, and those who used it well. Though not a gutter mouth in any way, her sometimes risque words could set people aback, coming from her mouth. She also could swear a blue streak when provoked, though not often, but she usually managed to control it. Yet from that same heart and mouth came wonderful prayers and praise, fully believed.

She knew she talked too much, so sometimes she'd just write down her thoughts to keep them private, but not forgotten. She'd express her rage, her sorrows, her hopes, her regrets, but no one read them. But still, she laughed at it all.

And she grew old. And she grew braver. And she grew stronger. She decided that it was time to stop keeping it all inside, so she wrote a book. Maybe someone would read it.

Since her hair began to turn white at age 19, she never dyed it. Men clearly thought it was sexy on a young woman, so it stayed till she grew into it. A good judge of female anatomy, she decided her own legs were a C-, so she stuck to longer pants, only revealing the good parts. And at 60, she knew she still had amazingly good parts. Men were still trying to "pick her up" in her mid fifties. She knew how to grow things, gardening like the pro her father had taught her to be. And her own coffee table? She rarely even dusted it.

For now, she watches the kids in the neighborhood grow up, sometimes praying for what she suspects they'll need in life. She waves at and speaks to the neighbors when she sees them. She truly likes them, and has no regrets that she's not in their lives. They're so young; they have life to live. They'll be fine without her.

But she recalls the old ladies from her past, all those old "boring" women whom she ignored in her own youth. "They're old!" "They're boring!" "What could they teach me that matters?" What a sad loss. So much she could have learned.

She still likes those pink Canada mints, but hasn't had one in years. Maybe someone will set out a bowl at her funeral.

My Mickey Mantle

My almost fifteen year old potting bench is now sitting in my one day old greenhouse. Can you see me grinning from ear to ear? I TOLD you I was excited. Actually, three more window panels go in today, but it's ready to use.

Five small pots of tiny Red Lace Leaf Japanese Maple trees go in today. (I have to write that down to even remember the name.) No ordinary Maple trees here! Anyway, my specimen tree out front, from the yard of a now deceased neighbor from Steve's childhood, is the glory of my front yard. At close to 7' tall and quite lush, I must prune and shape it every Spring. It also rarely produces seeds, so this is a wonder to be made use of. I want my gardener friends to have one of these glorious trees also, and now that's possible. Oh, Dad, you would be so proud and happy to visit here right now to help me set this up. I sure could use your wisdom, but I'll be fine.

I feel like a five year old. I keep going to the window to look out and see that my playhouse, I mean, my greenhouse is still really there. Do you understand this? I'm like a man whose childhood dream was to get a baseball signed by Mickey Mantle, then sees it happen at age 60. Life might be happy and satisfying, but the surprise joys of youth are certainly not expected, or even hoped for at this age. This is an unexpected crocus in the winter of my life. Not the cold, dreary, fading winter. The crisp, bright, and glorious winter!

Okay, fine. I'll calm down. I'll have a glorious year with my greenhouse, maybe two or three. It's good to have little things to plan and dream of doing in it. My days can be richer with this outward focus. Maybe my children with their usual "I-don't-want-to-be-outside-there-are-BUGS-out-there" attitude will find some pleasure in it too. If not, they can watch me be a kid again.

Thank you Steve. It was not easy to construct, and yes, at 62, it was quite a tedious chore for you, but you did it for me. And it was your own idea. That means more than anything.

Huey

OKAY! I did it! I made four perfect curtains. Well, they look somewhat similar from across the room, and are hanging up in our bedroom. (They aren't supposed to all be the same length, are they?) There's one to go which will be a balloon shade, I hope. I even got material to make some place mats. Sewing in a straight line is my forte. No curves, no wavy lines, no errors. Sounds like baseball.

After running back and forth every thirty minutes all day from one side yard to the other side yard, taking measurement of how much sun is in each, I have decided where to put my greenhouse: in one of the side yards. Living on a wonderfully shaded and cool lot is great, until planning where to put my new greenhouse. It finally occurred to me that the sun on the ground is NOT the same as the sun would be up on a table, where the plants will be. I have to figure it out by tomorrow, since Steve is laying the base then. I'll sleep on it.

We walked down to the river today. We used to do it often, but of late, have done it rarely. I'm stronger now, so we hope to do it more. It's been cool and beautiful so it was a lovely treat this time, and the walk felt great.

We pass a house near the end of our walk where a man has lived for years. Huey would have been a homeless bum, but his brother chose to care for him into old age. We first saw Huey years ago, walking and carrying his trash bags. He was odd, in that he had ears as big as his hands, spoke occasional real words but usually just gibberish, never bathed unless forced to, and collected empty soda and beer cans to sell to the dump. He sat in a lawn chair most days, unless he was out scrounging for cans. He was what we now call "mentally challenged," or a "bum" who had a home.

Huey's brother cared for him into old age. Then his brother died, then his sister-in-law, also elderly, cared for him. We'd walk by the house and Huey loved to ask Steve about the Redskins, or the local blue grass festival. He was very hard to understand, but we tried.

Today we walked by and there was a simple note on a lawn chair, a black ribbon tied to the corner. Huey died. I cannot tell you how sad this made us. We just stood there for a long time. We didn't see the note in time to attend the funeral. That almost made me cry.

I know how to sew a little, and I know how to garden. Huey didn't know much, except walking and smiling. I wonder what Huey knew about God. I'm sure God knew Huey.

Feed Dog, Clamp Screw & Electric Shock

I have my old sewing machine which is broken, and my former mother-in-law's, which is also broken. So Steve surprised me with a new one two days ago, because I want to make some curtains.

I just sat down to set it up. Now I'm remembering my high school aptitude testing which told us that while I was on the bright side, I should stay away from machines forever. I was in the 20% range, as in I had no clue as to 80% of what I was asked about machines. My chart had a slightly wiggly line ranging between 95 and 100, except for the deep gash at mechanical skills. It was like a red arrow pointing down that said, "she's really stupid at this stuff."

There were a few phrases in the machine's instruction booklet that left me sweaty and broken. "Feed dog" was first. Then tension, shuttle cover, clamp screw, shuttle vase, spool pin, presser foot and electric shock! I'm so scared now that I want to just board up my windows... screw the curtains!

After being near tears for an hour, and now able to think in only monosyllabic words, I got the dang thing threaded. But will it sew, or jam and break? I'm almost afraid to try it. The only thing I felt confident with was when I found the plug and plugged it in. Nothing blew up anyway.

Inside the base, which only took me 25 minutes to pry open, having to first realize it had bright blue tape (which for some reason was invisible to me) sealing it shut, I found a small bag of sewing accessories. There are 11 pieces. I identified three bobbins - hey I know what a bobbin is!! - two packs of needles (which I never plan to use since it would mean having to install them - no way) and all the rest was alien stuff which I have no intention of even looking up to identify. I want to sew straight lines only.

So now I'm sitting across from it, looking at it as though it was about to attack me. I can only see the back, which isn't quite as scary. The knobs are on the front, the ones that I have no clue as to what they're for. But I am not about to let this hunk of plastic and metal get the best of me. And I absolutely cannot let Steve know how terrified I am, of a machine.

I AM going to do this, and I'll let you know when it happens. Just don't wear our your current wardrobe waiting for me.

Sweet Dreams

I've been asleep for twenty years! No wait, I mean it. If I've slept about 8 hours per day over my lifetime, then I've been asleep for 20 years, because I'm 60. 1/3 of my life. No wonder my mattresses have worn out.

Of course, there's this too. I've actually been awake for only forty years, so from now on when people want to know how old I am, I'll simply say I've been walking around this earth for 40 years, and leave it at that. They can think what they will. (Wait, they might look at me and think, "Egads, she's aged poorly.")

Why do we sleep anyway? And why do we wake up? Hey Moms, have you ever slept through a violent thunderstorm, but awakened at the sound of your baby softly crying? Clearly it's not the level of noise, but the need for us somehow. And where do we go when we're asleep? How on earth did I climb that mountain without boots on, and how did I fall off that cliff without dying? Dreams are amazing. Some dreams are so vivid, and wonderful ... even scary. So I guess my brain's still busy processing signals even when I'm "out." Clearly, it's not under my own control, or choice.

And how is it that some birds can migrate or fly for days on end without stopping to sleep, and some animals can hibernate or sleep for weeks without starving to death, but we humans tend to/have to keep a repeating 24 hours schedule? Except for babies and college students, of course. They're all insane.

I wish I knew where I went during my dreams. Or maybe it's best I not know. Might be too scary. For now I like my awake dreams the best. You know, the ones where I don't have cancer, I work all day without wearing out, I'm nice to everyone, that sort of thing. Dreams can make us wake up each day and desire to keep going. I do, I do desire to keep going, even when I must sleep 11 hours each night, I still have cancer, I act like a jerk, and my left thumb is so sore it would feel better to cut it off.

So, today I plan to not sleep anymore (till next time) and do this amazing thing: I'm going to plan and lay out exactly where to put my brand new GREENHOUSE that Steve bought for me yesterday. If I didn't know better, I'd think I'd already died and gone to heaven.

Failure Leads to New Things

My back yard is so lush I feel like we live in Eden. After a dry summer, we've now had rain. The deck plants are voluminous. My scraggly little geranium, which is years old (it winters inside) is huge, and dripping with bright pink blooms. The three ferns are massive green mounds that show new shoots almost daily. The arboricola is nearly doubled in size. I could go on, and that's just the deck!

I might have to trim back some large branches on trees overhanging too close to the deck, or else we'll never get out the back door again. It's less sunny there now, but how nice that is on hot summer days.

A walk through the yard reveals hundreds of dead branches, blown down in storms. "Self-pruning trees." Love it! Unfortunately, some ground covers have not fared well, since the previous winter storms left packed snow and ice that destroyed most of them. And yes, I'm only now getting to the clean up. Oh well, I'll plant again. Still, a few peep up and might survive.

I thought of Dad yesterday, and how he "made" me work in his garden. Thank God for that! I learned. What I've grown in my life is a pittance of what he probably did in one year as a nurseryman and landscaper. Of course, he had that rich dark brown Ohio soil, and I have... red clay nicely mixed with sand. (Don't clay and sand make concrete?)

Some days I'll get my big ol' shovel, pick a spot, set the blade in the ground, and jump on it with all my might to sink it deep into the earth. It goes in about 1/2" and I fall on the ground. Of course, the roots from a zillion trees nearby don't help. Either I'm a fairy, or this soil is not happy to give in to me. I do it every year, always hoping to do better.

Last year's veggie garden (full of garden center bagged soil and my mulched dead leaves) gave us tons of cherry and heirloom tomatoes, green beans, strawberries, cucumbers and more. It's in my only sunny spot: 4' x 8'. This year's total take has been 3 tomatoes (not plants, just 3 tomatoes!) and one tiny 'lope. Seriously. Other than a heat wave, me lying in bed on drugs half the time, and who knows what else...oh wait, that's enough to cause failure.

So this year I'm doing my first ever fall garden. Already researched what to plant, have a call in to the garden center - I'm ready to go. Carrots, onions, cabbage, cauliflowers and more - here I come!

Park 51

Man, those Muslims... What are they trying to do? Oh right, they're planning to build a mosque near the former World Trade Center. Except it's more a community center than a mosque. The top 2 floors will be for worship; the rest will be open to all comers. A basketball court and culinary school will be there. Cooking and throwing hoops, how radical and non-Christian is that!? Geez. The building's been abandoned for nearly ten years; how nice to have the space put to some use again.

It's to be called Park 51. Sounds so "New Yorky" and not at all "Muslimy." And it's location is actually 4 blocks away by foot (2 as the crow flies) and out of sight of the former WTC. So what's the big deal? Oh yeah, some people like to hate Muslims, I forgot. They're not usually white, and they're not "us." Give me a break. Racism against non-whites is still racism, and still ugly.

I forgot that Muslims are the ones involved in this current war my nephew is now stuck in. You know, the one where we went to support the citizens - the Muslim citizens - against Hussein and his terrorists. So... our loved ones are fighting to help, and dying for our enemies? Am I an idiot, or are some Muslims actually our friends there?

Do you know religious Muslims believe Jesus was born of Mary via a virgin birth? Yes, really. And their Bible includes the gospel books, and they believe He ascended into heaven, but dispute that he died on the cross. In fact, Muslims and Christians have a few things we believe in common, but a lot we don't agree on. I don't know that much about the Muslim faith, but it takes little actual reading to know they needn't be our enemies.

Just as a huge number of people like to call themselves Christian because they went to a church once, or their parents did, but have absolutely nothing in common with true Believers, many people call themselves Muslim, but hold no bond with the tenets of that faith either.

Do you think the Christians who died on 9/11 at the Trade Center would be glad to see their former co-workers who were Muslim be discriminated against because of their own faith? Because of revenge? That's no honor.

I'm so sick and tired of people claiming the name of Christ to gather support for their angry, hateful and stupid reasons for action. They make Christians look bad. Unfortunately, some of these boobs are Christians, and that breaks my heart. I guess all people can be idiots and jerks. I hope you're smart enough to know the difference, and to know that using the name of Christ is NO assurance that someone actually is one. Most people I know personally who are true Believers rarely use Christ's name in their own defense. They just live as if He's in them. And hate isn't part of who they are.

Today, Just Live

With whom do you converse more than anyone else in your life? On a regular basis. For most married people, it would be one's spouse. Then maybe the kids. Same here.

Wait, I'll bet some people talk to coworkers more than anyone, since 8 hours a day is more than evenings at home. Whatever. I work at home (writing, cooking, not cleaning, corresponding, etc.) but I do talk with Steve via phone nearly every day. For a long time.

But I find myself talking with someone else on and off all day lately. God. Okay, so that sounds geeky if you're not a Believer, but oh well. I'm a geek and it's what I do, so please refrain from laughing. Sometimes I think I should be more respectful, less casual, and stop "dropping in on Him" so often. Then I think He wants to be in my life, so what's wrong with an ongoing conversation all day long? Yes, there are days when I sit down, read my Bible and truly worship Him, but frankly, most of the time it's simply talking, asking, admitting, questioning, even begging.

I suppose it's all related to this cancer journey which is so up and down and bizarre. I never know if I'm getting well, or dying or just odd. I decided today that I'd rather not know how I'm doing; it's too exhausting to deal with how to react, how to look forward, how to handle my emotions and those of my family. Gak! I'm pooped and I just woke up.

I remember when I first got sick, and learned to "live in today." Sadly, I've lost that ability. I want it back. Yes, do my chores and handle responsibilities, but don't dwell on tomorrow or wait for today to end. Just live in it. Today is all I've got that's certain.

I hate, hate, hate that I got cancer. I'm also thankful for it, since I've been forced to learn things I'd never have learned without it. It's a puzzle. Odd as it seems, the scale is tipping toward... glad I got it. It's scary to think where I'd be if it had not stopped me in my tracks ten years ago. There is absolutely nothing in my life today that came as a result of cancer that I'd be willing to let go if given the chance to trade it for 'no cancer.'

It is what it is. Do you have some horrid thing in your life that has miraculously made your life better? Think hard, remember. Even the excruciating pain of childbirth leads to having someone who fills your life with love. So the pain is worth it, no?

I find it harder as days go by to waste time, to wish "it" would hurry up, whatever "it" is. I'm trying to recapture being able to live in today. Tomorrow comes without my having to do anything. Like I said, today is all I've got that's certain, and I'm not about to waste it.

Thanks for listening. I feel better already.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

Here are the facts:

Decided to attend a niece's wedding in Kansas City. Sam joined us because he longed to see his favorite cousin, but Sam won't fly. We looked at our 2 old cars, sighed, then rented a car and left. We drove 9 hours to KY to get Morgan. She was suffering from what her doc thought was MRSA, a dangerous, wicked rash on her leg, but healing.

Her grass was 10" high. She'd been with us for 4 weeks in June/July, and her lazy housemate hadn't mowed even once. Then Morgan's mower broke. Steve fixed it and mowed while I tried to rake up the "hay" and dispose of it. Steve's back had "gone out" leaving him in serious pain. Oh, and it was over 100°.

Next day we headed to Kansas, another 10 hr. drive. The front passenger seat was so low I couldn't see the hood, let alone the road. Steve's head was 6" above mine; I looked straight into his neck. I felt like a two year old unless I was driving, then Steve was the little kid. Nice view of the sky though.

We arrived at the motel where we weren't placed with extended family on floor 3, but on floor 2 at the opposite end. No problem. Until we realized we had no chair and no phone. After we'd unpacked, they told us they were moving us, so we repacked and moved to floor 1. We got a phone that we never used. It was now 107°.

Saw some family at the pool (we didn't take suits) but we did get a short visit with mostly in-laws of my sister-in-law. Not our family, but fun people whom we truly enjoy. Morgan and Sam went with cousins to a movie. I went to sleep and Steve merely laid down in pain.

Morgan woke me @ 5:00am and asked me to look at her neck. She'd broken out in another painful, itchy rash. Took her to an emergency clinic that opened 90 minutes after our arrival. Turns out she's allergic to the meds given for her previous rash. The poor woman was in agony. She laid down in our room and we all slept, missing every family gathering that afternoon.

Went to the wedding, which was 90 minutes - outside. The bride was lovely though. Don't brides sweat? Morgan was in too much pain to attend. Yes, really. She rode 10 hrs. for... what?

Went to the reception, (Morgan too, warily) which began @ 8:00 (9:00pm our time, already 30 min. after my usual bedtime with my current drugs) and again spent time with in-laws of our sister-in-law. Fortunately I really like these folks! Morgan and Sam were seated at other tables. Sam only got @ 10 min. with his favorite cousin, who was elsewhere. He was pretty bummed. The hors d'oeuvres were fabulous, but Sam is food-cautious, so only ate one pineapple slice. It was his only meal of the day, partly explaining why he's so thin.

Returned to KY, where Morgan and Steve hunted for a car to replace hers, one previously owned by her grandmother, with only 40,000 mi. on it in 10 yrs. Fabulous and paid for. The previous week it was totaled by a 17 yr. old who rear ended her. About $6000.00 later she had a car, an older one with high mileage. Thank God for Dads with dollars. Then we came home.

The good things: ...um...

Wait, there were good things. My niece is happily off on a new adventure. Morgan is healing. She has a new/old car. We got to spend hours and hours with our own kids, which seldom happens. We had a great meal our last night together and saw a hilarious movie. We arrived home in one piece. It's under 100° here in MD. Barely.

Oh, and to top it off, someone sideswiped our rental car in a parking lot, but the rental company charged us not one dime for it when we returned it. Go figure. God, I'm glad to be home. Hope the house doesn't burn down.

The End Zone

Some of you already know how this past year has treated me like a football. You know, kicking me around, throwing me curves, even carrying me when there was no other way. Now it's kicked me into the end zone.

I've had ovarian cancer for ten years, which in itself is amazing. Yes, there have been bad times, but not as many as you'd think. Wait, probably more than you think, but not as many as I could have had. Dr. Boice has been great, and though he remains totally professional, I've begun to feel a bit of friendship there. He's my doctor, and I have a terminal illness - he can't risk caring too much.

Everything must come to an end, and so must this. There is no chemo left that I've not yet taken. The cancer has grown unabated nonetheless for over six months. Two months ago we were gently and lovingly told that it's unlikely I'll live another year. And I've been fine with that. Enough is enough. Steve, Morgan and Sam were not so placid.

But wait, my doctors, who obviously rarely wear shoes and socks, have had their socks blown off yet one more time. A few days ago we were told that yet again, my body is reversing it's pattern and going into a possible remission. CA125 is dropping rapidly. That's a very good thing, yet it makes little sense right now. My two oncologists don't understand it but are pleased. We are stunned.

Nothing is certain. I will not live to be an old woman. (Shut up, I am not already old!) Or maybe I'll live longer than you. Who knows? What won't change is that I'll continue to wake up and live my days as if there are no tomorrows. I have no other option. I'm on a chemo alternative and will remain on it for some time. We'll see how it goes. For now, I'm regaining strength, working in my garden for the first time in ages, and painting some old furniture.

Imagine what you would do today if it was your last day on earth. Can you do that? Good. Now you know what today is like for me. Have a good day. I plan to.

It Takes Two

Okaaay. According to some blog and email responses to my last posting, perhaps I should be clearer. I'm not saying you shouldn't go to church. What I'm saying is that going to a church will never save you. The danger is that today so many "Christian" churches aren't Christian at all. They're social clubs where a few Believers attend, yet many attendees simply go out of habit or to feel good about themselves.

I've known many people who go to church for years, but are not saved. My own father was one. He went because Mom wanted him to. It's what decent men did in Ohio in the 50's/60's. Then around age 65, he heard the gospel in a way that touched his heart and mind for the very first time, and his life radically changed as he gave up his disbelief. Going to church didn't save him; it just led him in the right direction. God saved him. And his 3 believing kids and 1 wife were thrilled!

(Dad used to introduce Mom as his "first wife." It startled others, made her want to kick him, and made us laugh. She was his "first wife" until they both passed away in their mid-80's.)

I've also known people who go to church while having affairs, cheating on taxes, believing in horoscopes and other non-Christian things. But it doesn't mean they can't learn in the midst of their sin who Christ is. In fact, I can't name one non-sinning Christian I know. We're all jerks half the time, saved or not. Thank God for His grace. Going to a church doesn't save anyone; believing Christ does.

I've also known people who never attend a church for one reason or another, yet they are saved. Yes, I would like to see them be aligned with a body of other believers, but for whatever reason, they're not. But they are aligned with Christ. As I've already said, it's between the person and Christ, no one else. Not a mom, a dad, a friend, a pastor, a spouse... no one.

I miss and still respect our former pastor; he's a good man. But I don't miss the church only because God changed where He wants us to be for now. So where are you? Are you where you should be? It only takes two...God and you.

Where's the Truth?

People shouldn't go to church.

Do I now have the attention of all you Believers, undecideds and atheists? After all, I'm a Christian, so why would I say that? Well, I say it because it's true. Church is a place to learn about Christ and to worship Him. Unfortunately, many (way too many) churches don't offer that opportunity anymore. Many people now go merely to feel good about themselves and see their friends.

Ten years ago I wouldn't have said that, but today I have no problem doing so while adamantly wishing it weren't true. After all, we recently left a church we'd attended and loved for many years. From the very beginning Steve and I were identified as Believers and leaders and we acted accordingly.

But some leaders, or more accurately volunteers, (wait, let's be honest - those who couldn't say "No" to a request for help) get caught up and changed by "being in charge" and do things more for their own glory than for God's. It was ugly to see. We wanted no part of it, giving up more and more duties as we watched the "I'm so holy" war unfold, until we barely went to Sunday morning services anymore. And for reasons to be explained another day, they didn't like me.

We left that church but we stayed with God. We roamed for some time, then found another pastor who speaks the truth. Sometimes we go listen to him speak, and sometimes we stay home to listen to Tim Keller. It's been a paradigm shift for us. Going to church doesn't save anybody. Knowing and trusting God does. We're learning as much now as ever, maybe more, and that learning matters. It completes us. Ignoring or denying Him hurts us, like it or not. True faith is between God and us, no one else.

Most people interpret God's word in human terms. We're human, but God's word is definitely NOT human, it's just sometimes for and about humans. So, go to church if you want, but if you want to know God, go to the source. Trust me: God wants you to feel good about yourself, and He's the only One who will take you there.

Miles Don't Matter

Our daughter moved away in late 1999, but it feels like she did it yesterday. Well actually, she did move out yesterday. That's when she packed up her bags, got into her car, waved to us and drove away.

Morgan came home in early June for a one week visit. She learned I'm having health issues and decided to stay longer. She also found out that several relatives whom she rarely sees would soon be visiting, so she had even more reason to stay. Armed with her computer, cell phone and books, she stayed. We got to see her beautiful face for four entire weeks.

I can't say we did much during her visit that is memorable. It was just being together that meant the most. I'd peek into her old room before she awoke, then sit down and caress her... my grown woman/child who still loves the touch of my fingers on her back and legs. Seeing her sit in our family room as she'd read, laugh or watch TV... watching her work her delicious magic on a crumb covered counter as she transformed it into a gourmet kitchen... listening to her entertain guests with her wit, humor and stories of her life. I loved each moment.

The other relatives eventually left. The house grew emptier. Then Morgan filled her car and drove away. Sam went to his room. Steve and I sat in the family room, resting. It was so quiet. Sobs rose to the surface, but never came out. The phone rang at 9:30pm. She and Lady Bird had driven 8 hours and were an hour from home, calling before our bedtime to tell us they were fine. We said to call when they arrived; we'd wait. The phone rang again an hour later and our little girl was safe in her own home. Our weary 29 year old doctoral candidate whose wit and humor never fail to entertain, our gentle child who adores and cares for the brother who never lets his parents touch him but will always hold his sister's hand and let her hug him... that's the woman whom I love.

My days with her grow fewer, but she is with me always. She is never far from my mind, and I think she knows that. She is so much more than I ever dreamed I'd see in a child of mine. The only time we really talked was the day we ran errands and ate lunch in Annapolis. It was nice, quiet, fun. We didn't say much, but when you're with someone you've known her entire life, words mean less than just being together. Morgan is with me always, even when she is over 400 miles away.

Let Freedom Ring

The Fourth of July! Let Freedom ring!

Wait, I'm free? I can't move out of MD since our insurance is only good in this state. And I can't change insurance companies, since...right...who would take me now? And I'm not free to make plans for my seventies since, well, I probably won't have any seventies. And I'm not free to travel since I have to be at hospital every 21 days exchanging blood for drugs, and see doctors more often than that. And I'm not free to take our beloved long walks since, well, I can't walk that far right now due to weakness and exhaustion.

So am I free? Well, to be honest, yes I am. I'm free to sleep luxuriously late any time I so desire. Like everyday. But I get up most days by 6:30 anyway, because I want to. I'm free to read voraciously and am currently reading three books, according to a mood for history, drama or humor. I'm free to not cook dinner on my weariest days since Steve is always ready and able to do it himself.

I'm free to write and write and write since even if I'm weary, I can sit comfortably at the computer creating, and my days have few tedious chores that call out my name. And, with one book due out soon, and a second nearing completion, it's a pleasant way to live my days while doing something others can enjoy.

I'm free to wander in my lovely garden, pulling weeds if I feel up to it, laying down mulch if Sam helps me, or just sitting on my garden bench, enjoying the quiet beauty. For Pete's sake (and I've learned since my last inquiry @ "Pete" that it refers to St. Peter, amazingly), I have a marvelous life right now. So... yea, I'm free.

Oh, and it looks like we're going to Hawaii in the fall. Between infusions... you know, less than 21 days. If that's not freedom, then I don't know what is.

Do You Fit In?

Steve and I became Christians sometime in the mid 80's. Don't ask for a date; it was a gradual, stumbling process. Thank God (and I mean that personally) belief came to both of us around the same time, because it would have a been a difficult marriage otherwise. Today we're both committed to Him. If you know us, you already know that.

Today is not the time for the story of why we left our church last year, other than to say we didn't "fit in." You know, we're not Republicans, we do drink wine or beer, we see movies, we didn't home school or send our kids to religious schools, and other sundry things that are not important to us, but are to some "Christians." We've never tried to alter who we are to fit in anywhere. If I'd lived with Christ, I'm pretty sure He'd have loved me as I am, even though I don't fit the current "Christian" mold.

So, some 24 years after accepting Christ, we have not yet found a new church home. Oh, we go to a local one and the pastor is great. Really great. But it's not yet our home. The place is casual, the sermons are great, the people are friendly. Yet because my children and I were wounded so deeply at the other place for not being who they thought we should be, I am "gun shy" so to speak. I'm not ready to open my heart to others, not even Believers, so we'll just visit for awhile.

And that's not a bad thing. I'm realizing I don't need to belong, as long as I believe. Where does it say that someone who loves the Lord has to go to church every week? All I'm called to do is to love Him, and I do, passionately. For now we'll continue to disdain most conservative news media, we'll watch R rated movies if they look good and not offensive, and if you must know, we'll continue to watch Glee, starring two gay actors whom I absolutely adore.

And by adore, I mean if the young man was my son, I'd love him completely and if the woman was my sister, I'd be happy she was. This story is amazingly honest and insightful and I wish Christians were forced to watch it in Sunday School. I have no energy or room in my sinful life to hate anyone who is not just like me. Do you?

Looking Up

She's alive! Well, I only crashed for 8 days, more or less. The chemo knocked me down completely this time. I was on the couch, or the floor, or the bed for days. Ugh. Seems we have a nice clean ceiling, by the way. I looked up.

It finally occurred to me that I needed a blood transfusion, so that happened on Thursday. Vampire delight. If they hadn't agreed to that, I'd have been in trouble, or a bad movie. Takes a few days to build up, but near normal now. I can walk and talk and even cook a little. And eat. Hadn't done that for days.

I'm going to be telling you some interesting and new things in the coming days. New ideas and beliefs are swirling through my head. Still Christian, but not what you'd expect to hear from me. I need to get them settled in my brain before talking about them. There is new life in me, and it's good.

Morgan is with us for a short time, and it's nice to have her here, for the simple joy of being with her, but also for the blessing of having someone who understands how I work, who is so intelligent and interesting and provocative in thought. She makes me better. I wonder if I ever made my Mom better, if I ever pushed her to become more than she thought she was.

Yes, things are looking up around here. I feel better and I feel smarter and I feel like living for awhile longer. There's not a lot of time left, (compared to yesterday) but it will be good.

Crash

Well, I was wrong; I didn't crash Thursday morning. It was Friday afternoon. And today (Tuesday) I'm still down. As in I can barely move and haven't eaten in three days. Sort of feels like it did ten years ago at the beginning of all this. I see Dr. Boice today (Steve is taking me) and I think he might switch drugs. The current one is not working, as in, I'm getting worse, not better.

After two days of the initial "drug-induced" energy, it's now that much more depressing to be a slug. But I did read an entire Grisham novel in one day. I did it to keep myself from doing anything that required moving, and the only problem at day's end was a sore butt. And Sam brought drinks, rubbed my back and sort of checked on me all day yesterday. And I took two baths to ease the body pain, promptly falling asleep in my towel.

I find it easier to sleep and dream than to feel positive about my future, so I sleep. Of course, I'm not worried, just oh so tired. Each time this happens, I say, "Oh my gosh, I've had it!" Then I remember that I've lived through it before and will again.

I think right now I'm supposed to be living in today, and nowhere else. So that's what I'll do. Steve just gave me strawberries, and they are delicious.

What Matters

Silly me. I went to bed at 9:00P.M., but I'd had chemo at 9:00A.M. So, that's not gonna work. Got up at 10 and came downstairs. Writing, thinking, drinking grape juice, speeding, NOT cleaning, though before I left, Steve asked if I thought I might. Ha. He's so funny. Smack.

No pain, and I feel pretty good, actually. Thank God it was raining all day, or I'd have gardened myself to death. God was watching out for me with the wetness and chill. Instead I made three great fruit & vegetable dishes for dinner and Steve came home, looked at them, and made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Oh right, he eats meat (of which none was thawed) which has started to repulse me. I hope our marriage can handle this dietary shift. Well, chemo and my food repulsion is only every 4 weeks.

I'll crash tomorrow when the sun comes out. When neighbors drive by and see me lying face down in the grass, I hope they assume I'm napping, on purpose.

I've thought a lot about whether or not, if given the choice, I'd trade in having cancer for living the life I used to have - the healthy one where I ate well, felt well, worked hard, and had few concerns. Remember? The life without clear direction or true faith or purpose. I guess there's my answer.

Part of it is having grown up - a little late at now 60, but at least I finally did it. Part of it is simply giving up, and giving the wreck of who I was to God. I think (I know) I like me better now. So does Steve, I think. Life is no longer all about me. I like it this way. Dana and I have discussed it. Thanks God for the cancer...we hate it, but thanks for showing us what matters.

test

Hi, This is only a test, and no 1950's TV's are involved. I'm not explaining, either. Over.

It's A Life

I'm hot and tired and have no energy. The garden is lush, the sun is shining, and we went sailing this week. The kitchen is a mess, I have too much to iron and clean and no energy to do it. We ate out last night and Sam made me laugh, and Steve has been happily home with me all week. I have two friends whom I rarely see and often miss, but they live across the Atlantic. I have two good friends who live on this peninsula, a short walk away.

Am I happy or sad? Both, I suppose. I love my back yard, uneven lawn surface notwithstanding. I love my front yard with it myriad of flowers and lush foliage, even though the weeds outnumber the actual grass. It's all lush, full of color, and growing.

Real life is the good with the bad. I remember that I began to work at age 18, and ran through life doing the same until age 58. Now, I write, spend time with family, read, lie in my hammock, garden, occasionally cook, and just last night we all laughed so hard our sides hurt. For over 20 minutes! Why do I somehow think I'm not doing anything? What about America makes me feel like a slug in that I'm not "employed?"

I'm still creative, producing, caring for family, loving God and being alive. Isn't that enough? Isn't that what God has me here to do? I demand that the lie we're all fed, the lie that we have to produce something of value for others, that we have to earn income, is the reason why we live. I'm alive because I have life, because I bring God pleasure, because I bring my family pleasure. Isn't that enough?

Welcome to Holland

My friend Leura sent me a piece by Emily Perl Kingsley called "Welcome to Holland." (Look it up; it's worth the read.) She thought I could relate to it in parenting my own son. Although the conditions are not the same, it is indeed something which touched me deeply. Asperger's and Down Syndrome are very different, especially in IQ's. But a parent's dreams for a child are the same.

Lately I've been working hard to stay tuned in to Sam's wisdom. Sometimes it's hard to hear, but that's because the noise of "normal" life gets in the way. When I really listen, I can hear and see it, and those days are my richest. I've stopped trying to always protect him, and started watching him protect himself. He's very good at it. I'm trying to see the world through his eyes, from his vantage point. It looks quite different than it does from here.

I used to feel the weight of my son's disability. Now I am lifted up by his uniqueness, his abilities, his wisdom, his humor... I'm lifted up by him. I'm saying goodbye to the old dreams that will never happen, and looking forward to the rest of my journey with this fascinating young man. I've grown to love my life in Holland with him.

Growing Up

If you're not me, don't read this, because it's boring. It just is. Wait...

For our birthday, we got up late, got a call from Morgan that made us laugh and be happy, ate fresh strawberries, mango and cantaloupe with cold juice, then went for a ride. With light gray clouds over our heads, we headed off to Solomon's on the water in southern MD and the sun came out right after we left. A beautiful hour's ride later we parked by the water, walked through the quiet town, shared a delicious roast beef sandwich and fries while laughing and sitting on a curb like little kids, later sat on the pier watching boats and talking, laughed some more, took pictures, held hands, and relaxed more than in ages. And we (yes, we) took pictures.

After a few hours we headed home. Once here, we found two bouquets of gorgeous flowers had arrived and a small pile of birthday cards from friends and family. We showed Sam our pics, laughed with him, then he wouldn't let me do yard work while he did it for me. Later we went out to eat a fabulous meal by the water in Annapolis, came home and decided turning 60 and 62 is rather nice, thank you very much.

If this is what it's like, I'm so ready to be old.

The Up Side

I'm depressed, and you're going to help me not be. Actually, all you have to do is sit there and read. Here's the crud. In three days, I'll no longer have a 5 in my age. Gag me. I miss my daughter who hasn't been able to come home since last year. The sun hasn't broken through the clouds in 69 hours (not that I'm counting). My autistic son got irritated with me this morning. I've had cancer for 10 freakin' years and I sleep close to ten hours per day, with no energy the rest of the time.

The up side? Well, I've lived ten years past my cancer diagnosis, which is a miracle since I never dreamed I would see 60. My daughter won a major award for her work and is teaching a class early summer before she comes to visit in June, and we talk @ 2-3 hours per week. The rain has watered my garden every day while I haven't felt well enough to do it on my own, so things are actually growing. My son showed me his final project grade after sharing not one single thing all semester: A - 100%. Unbelievable. And, I've had advanced cancer for ten years...and I'm still alive! Oh, and I get to sleep as much as I want since I work at home and need it.

Wait, why was I depressed?

"Facing" It

We got pretty angry at Sam last week, so instead of just yelling, we decided to take him out to dinner and a movie of his choice. It made no sense and it actually worked. We all had a great time and came home friends.

We also came home bruised and swollen. Well, I did anyway. Steve had his arm around me afterward as we walked since I was cold, but he and Sam thought I started acting silly, so they let me go ahead in my "weird dance." Except the weird dance was my falling in slow motion. Flat on my face on concrete. They were horrified to see me on the ground and not still walking, but I was calm. I just screamed bloody murder and cried for an hour with ice on my face. And I didn't get the ice cream cone Steve had promised.

I look like a prize fighter, the one who lost. There is parking lot gravel embedded in my face, my eye is nearly swollen shut, and if you like purple or red, my face is your dream. Amazingly, the pain is nearly gone. That must be a miracle. And nothing actually broke, unlike last time I fell on my face. (No, it's NOT a habit; it's been 20 years since I smashed my face and had stitches and a broken arm.)

I had a wonderful Mother's Dad as long as no one looked at me - great food, lots of laughter - except I refused to attend church where I'd have to say, "No he doesn't beat me." After all the previous delays for cancer, blood tests, illness, etc. I now have 10 days left to renew my driver's license. I plan to drive perfectly and not write a single check for the next 3 years. No way is anyone going to ever see that photo.

Hungry?

It's getting harder to laugh at this cancer crap, but I have to keep trying.

Have you ever felt like not eating? I don't mean, "Oh yuck, it's liver tonight" not eating. And I don't mean, "No thanks, I'm stuffed, no dessert for me" not eating. I mean "not eating for days and days because the thought of all food makes you ill" not eating. Yeah, I'm there.

I suppose it's a combination of my cancer (nausea and blood transfusions don't boost appetite), maybe a flu bug (my stomach is so unhappy, but the drugs can do that), and the 8' walk to the kitchen is just so darn tiring. I kid you not, by the time I get there, I have to hold onto the counter to stay upright.

I've looked at grocery and health food stores for pure juice. Not much is out there. Apple is pure, but I don't like it much. Too bad, I just drink it greatly watered down. Grape is pure, but is so sweet that I add more than double the water to make it palatable. (I think my taste buds have gone wacky - everything is SO sweet.) Then there's pure cranberry juice. Ever had it? It's @ $4. per quart, and makes your entire face shrivel up into a prune. But added to others, it's pretty good. That's it. No other pure juice is available. They all have water and sugar added in great quantities, plus scary things I don't recognize. I'll add my own free water and no thanks on the sugar.

Then there's the food. I bought a quart of beautiful fresh strawberries 3 days ago! I've eaten three. I promised Steve I'd eat them all before they go bad. Hope I don't throw up. One good thing is now when Steve grills a steak, he and Sam get to split it 2 ways, instead of 3. I'm unintentionally becoming vegetarian. Or maybe an" airatarian", since breathing air is all I seem to enjoy.

Steve and I go out to a nice restaurant for our birthday every year. (Yes, born same day) Does anyone have a good suggestion of what to do this year? I don't want to throw up on him.

The Garden

I worked in my garden today. And by worked in my garden, I mean I pulled weeds, including some huge ones that rival my own arms, and appeared two years ago. Last Spring wasn't such a good one for my garden. It wasn't such a good one for our entire family, having just said "goodbye" to our dear Ian, who died of cancer at 13. Today we celebrate knowing him, a year after his passing.

I'm actually encouraged that I was able to work for so long, nearly an hour! That's @ 50 minutes longer than when I began this year's work in early March. I'm pooped, and fine, if you're going to get technical about it, yes, I took one break. Okay, so I had a thought and came in to write and got a bit carried away, but I did go back! And the entire front looks like someone loves it again.

Steve is mowing (as I write) the back yard, the one full of small green trees that used to be called grass. A few years ago moss began to creep in - remember we live in "the wetlands." Last year we decided that 'earth knows best,' so I pulled any grass remaining in those areas and the moss is growing into a lovely carpet - one that needs no mowing!! For someone supposedly so smart, it sure takes me a long time to catch onto things.

I'd tell you about how I had to spend seven hours in the hospital emergency room yesterday and get two units of blood due to my total collapse and growing cancer, but right now I'm more interested in my garden. I'll be okay.

Oh, but my back is killing me from leaning over to pull those darn weeds. Leaning over to touch the earth used to be so much easier. At least I have my flowers, that grow up to touch me.

Get Real

This will be short. We attended an evangelical church for about 15 years. Good teaching, but the membership... well, it changed. We left last summer because we weren't considered conservative enough, didn't fit in, were looked at askance a bit too often, and found ourselves simply being quiet to avoid confrontation one too many times. That said, I think God is pretty darn radical. He sent His son to be birthed and raised by an unmarried Jewish girl, had him hang out with the dregs of society, then let him be murdered just as He was getting started. Yeah, that made sense. And thus He gave us a way to salvation. Real conservative. So who is it that doesn't fit in here?

Criminy, God is totally radical, and if you don't get that, then you have no idea who God is. Jesus, too, was a radical and didn't follow the rules. He made so many people mad, yet they were fools who really didn't know God. He is SO NOT what ignorant people think he is. I like Bill Maher, and I believe even HE is smart enough to get it. Someday.

Just Deal With It

I just got back from Bible study, and though it was good, with women I really like, one thing set me off. (I do have a reputation for going "off" at times.) The study book gave one example of a woman who was able to overcome disaster in her life, that disaster being a son with, yep, Autism. EXCUSE ME!? I was livid. Let me tell you how disastrous it is to have an autistic son.

At 21, he still enjoys going out to dinner with his Dad and me, where we eat, laugh and enjoy our time together. He does yard work for me (no, he doesn't like it and I pay him, but he does it) when I'm too weary to do it myself. Sam's wonderful sense of humor brings us laughter nearly every day, and sometimes his witticisms amaze us. He painted his sister's former room since I'm redecorating it as a guest room, and I couldn't handle that much labor. He always lets us know where he is, unlike most 21 yr. olds. He stays up practically till it's time to get up, but he never goes out late, leaving us worried. He uses bad language at times, but he has faith in God. Okay... to the boring point.

When asked, he said he wouldn't be "normal" even if given the magical chance to be so. He likes who he is. And so do Steve and I. Would we like some things to be different in his life? Of course. Do we have hopes for him that are unlikely to transpire? Yes. What parent wouldn't answer the same way? A lying one, that's who.

Sam has a Mom with cancer and says, "Just give me the facts and I'll deal with it." And he does. I have a son with Autism and I just deal with that. Life leaves no time for regrets. We're pretty happy in this house, cancer, autism and all.

WHAT MATTERS?

1st thought: Glenn Beck is a jerk. Ben Roethlisberger is a jerk. And I know I can be a jerk too. It's so easy to sit here and read stories on HufPo about them and think, "Gee, who are these idiots? I'm so glad I'm not in their lives." But someone somewhere loves them, right? - maybe even God? Someone probably thinks I'm a jerk too. Better for me to focus on my own shortcomings, and straighten out me. Let God handle it.

2nd thought: Why am I so depressed on cloudy days? The sun is always shining; we just can't see it when the clouds float in between it and us on earth. But I don't hate clouds; they can fascinate, and do change constantly. I know it's physical, more than emotional, but it still bugs me. And the darkness after sunset never bothers me, just the darkness of clouds. Weird.

3rd thought: Vanity is so shallow. Two days ago I went to the garden center to buy flowers. When I arrived, I looked down to see I was still wearing black socks, silver tennis shoes and short khaki pants. Ugh. What an idiot. What a dork. And I forgot my hat. I've lost half my thick hair to cancer drugs, and it's 80% white. Could I look older or dorkier? Memory dysfunction can be so embarrassing. Oh well, I wandered around and picked out my plants, hoping to see no one I know. As I was leaving, a young blond haired woman (30-ish) who works there walked by and said, "Weren't you here a few days ago?" I was. "Oh, well I noticed you have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen." She smiled and walked away. I sobbed most of the way home.

DON'T HATE THE HATER

Sorry about that last dreary posting. It was a bad day, much better now. Yesterday I had the chemo, went to bed by 9, couldn't sleep, came down to write on my latest book for two hours, went back to bed @ 3:30, finally slept, woke up at 6:30 anyway. Should be an interesting day. At least the sun is shining!

Our next door neighbor hates me. It's a long, weird, complicated story. The last communication was when I cut a massive bouquet of my blooming Hydrangeas and placed them on her porch as a gift. She didn't answer my knock. Next morning Steve found them splayed on our porch. I cried for a long time. Years later now, she despises me beyond sanity. We don't know why, only a guess. It helps little that she now speaks to only one neighbor, and that includes horrid comments about the rest of the newer neighbors. But I'm her prime target. And we live in such a friendly place!

I resist hating her back, and attempt to pray for her when I think of it. (Yes, I admit that some days I wish she'd just move.) I try to not think of the one who hates me, but what good is that? I see little things all the time I wish I could do for her, but no. How sad to have such hatred, especially when the hated one feels nothing like that. I've come to see her hatred as a gift, I suppose. It makes me realize how precious are our days, and that to not forgive slights is so bitter and wasteful. I find it easier to forgive others because of her, so I suppose I should be thankful for that ability she gave me.

We have a nice tree that is too close to her fence, with branches leaning over her yard. Nice tree, but I've decided it has to go. It might lead to problems, might damage her fence (which came after the tree by the way). But she might get angry at losing the shade. Sigh. I've decided to cut it down and plant a smaller flowering one further from our border. It will grow, and I hope that someday she likes it, and maybe me again too.