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I called my sister yesterday to discuss some difficult family news. Today I sent her a note with a more upbeat focus, and for some weird reason I ended it with "Happy March 29." I paused to look at that date and thought it looked odd. Then it hit me: Her birthday is March 28th! I'd called her yesterday and made her cry on her birthday! I'm such a jerk. Not that I told her bad news, but that I did it on her birthday without a word of acknowledgment. I'm such a thoughtless pig. Sorry, Honey.
She's actually not my birth sister, but sister-in-law sounds so formal, so cumbersome, so distant. But she's my sister all the same. Reneé is such an elegant beauty. I'd look up to her anyway, but she literally towers six inches over me. When we met, she had gorgeous, straight black hair. Now it's pure white, whiter than mine. Guess that's part of being a true Lyons. We all got that preemie white. Except she still looks only 40, even though she no longer has 4's in her age. Her white hair is stylishly cool and awesome. It's her crown of glory.
Reneé stands regally at 5'10" and moves like a dancer. She flows. Reneé gave birth seven times, and all the "kids" tower over me too. Well, I suppose the 11 year old still looks me level in the eye, but it's been awhile... who knows?
Reneé is now, and forever will be one of my dearest friends. We live over 1000 miles apart and have little time together, but it's there. That connection. We can walk into a room after months and months apart and pick up the conversation without missing a beat. We know the buttons to push, the buttons to never push. She saw me through my cancer 11 years ago. I was with her through her own son's cancer and passing. She'll be with me when the day comes for my own final call.
Reneé is my sister, my friend. I love her completely. And missing her birthday will be forgiven, I'm sure, because she loves me too.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Jesus Was a Jew
The Catholic church was started by a Jew. Seriously. Peter was a Jew and he started what became the Catholic Church.
Jesus was a Jew. His Mom, Mary was a Jew. All his disciples were Jews. His brothers and sister(s) were Jews. His earthly Dad, Joseph was a Jew. The earliest Believers who believed Jesus to be the Messiah and followed Peter's and Paul's ministries were (mostly) Jews. After some time passed, Gentiles were allowed to join them in worshiping the Christ.
So what happened? Why don't Jewish people follow Jesus anymore? Well, some do, we know that, but not on the whole. I'm not going to give a history lesson here. Better that would come from a Biblical historian, not me.
Just remember that Jesus mainly ministered to Jews while He was here. He did not minister among the Gentiles. I don't have real far to go with this train of thought today. It would just be nice if we looked around and remembered that the Jews in our neighborhoods, at our jobs, in our lives, are of the same blood line as our Lord. They are His chosen people. And he's not finished with their story yet. You can read that in the Bible.
Jesus was a Jew. His Mom, Mary was a Jew. All his disciples were Jews. His brothers and sister(s) were Jews. His earthly Dad, Joseph was a Jew. The earliest Believers who believed Jesus to be the Messiah and followed Peter's and Paul's ministries were (mostly) Jews. After some time passed, Gentiles were allowed to join them in worshiping the Christ.
So what happened? Why don't Jewish people follow Jesus anymore? Well, some do, we know that, but not on the whole. I'm not going to give a history lesson here. Better that would come from a Biblical historian, not me.
Just remember that Jesus mainly ministered to Jews while He was here. He did not minister among the Gentiles. I don't have real far to go with this train of thought today. It would just be nice if we looked around and remembered that the Jews in our neighborhoods, at our jobs, in our lives, are of the same blood line as our Lord. They are His chosen people. And he's not finished with their story yet. You can read that in the Bible.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
GOOD NIGHT - BAD DAY
Well, it's reversed itself. After sleeping soundly all night, (from 7pm to 7am) I'm "up". Except I'm really down. Down as in I'm depressed and feel like crap. This could be a cold, though I don't really feel ill. Or it could be the cancer. Steve refused to go to work until I promised him I'd not die today. He didn't think that was funny. In fact, I think he's calling hospice. They have my name and number...waiting for the day they're needed.
All I know is that merely standing up for five seconds is too hard and I don't have the strength to get dressed. I'm wearing a pull over cap because my hair is, well... ugly, and taking a shower just might kill me. I can imagine that a powerful blast of water (otherwise known as a trickle) might just knock me flat. Seriously, I couldn't handle a puff of air right now.
I know God loves me, but He's not cooperating. He knows how I suffer on cloudy days, and this one is a dark misery of dreariness. My SADD lamp is glowing nearby; perhaps it will lift me up.
This morning I remembered where I was last November. 48 hours from hospice I agreed to surgery, then suddenly I had months (maybe) to live. What has this extra extra five months given me? Aside from more time with Steve, Morgan and Sam, I mean.
Well, I've developed a friendship with Christa, renewed an old acquaintance with Larry, finished my book about Sam, spent more time with friends, gotten to know Kathy and Peggy who live on the other side of the world, cleaned up some of my garden, reconnected with our old friend Beth, talked with Teri after 42 yrs. of silence, seen a few nieces and nephews who live so far away, and simply lived. It's been worth it.
Old friends are due in from FL in two days. I hope I can handle that. If not, I can lie on the couch and we'll tell jokes. Pat is one hilarious woman, and it will be good to see her.
All I know is that merely standing up for five seconds is too hard and I don't have the strength to get dressed. I'm wearing a pull over cap because my hair is, well... ugly, and taking a shower just might kill me. I can imagine that a powerful blast of water (otherwise known as a trickle) might just knock me flat. Seriously, I couldn't handle a puff of air right now.
I know God loves me, but He's not cooperating. He knows how I suffer on cloudy days, and this one is a dark misery of dreariness. My SADD lamp is glowing nearby; perhaps it will lift me up.
This morning I remembered where I was last November. 48 hours from hospice I agreed to surgery, then suddenly I had months (maybe) to live. What has this extra extra five months given me? Aside from more time with Steve, Morgan and Sam, I mean.
Well, I've developed a friendship with Christa, renewed an old acquaintance with Larry, finished my book about Sam, spent more time with friends, gotten to know Kathy and Peggy who live on the other side of the world, cleaned up some of my garden, reconnected with our old friend Beth, talked with Teri after 42 yrs. of silence, seen a few nieces and nephews who live so far away, and simply lived. It's been worth it.
Old friends are due in from FL in two days. I hope I can handle that. If not, I can lie on the couch and we'll tell jokes. Pat is one hilarious woman, and it will be good to see her.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
BAD NIGHT - GOOD DAY
Yesterday was the best day of my life. Well, since last November. I woke up with NO pain, feeling energized and thinking, "Wait, was the past four months just a bad dream?" I was so busy and not hurting that I thought I'd morphed into another person. It was unbelievable. I took no pain killers, yet worked all day and felt good all day. Wow.
Then I went to bed last night. Thus, the dream ended. Linda the cancer patient with ongoing pain was back. I barely slept, woke up on and off all night in agony, and could barely move this morning, my heating pad and hot water bottle still on and under me. I felt so "old lady". By this afternoon I had done...well, nothing of any importance.
This afternoon I went out to run a couple necessary errands, telling Sam I'd be back in about 15 minutes. And before I knew what hit me, Linda the contented was back.
June at the bank told me how she loved helping Sam recently to set up some bonds. She adores him and helps him in any way she can. My work there took only moments, but the 15 minute visit was quite uplifting. My needy, handicapped, brilliant son is able to do so much more than I know. People adore him. So do I. Yes, my Asperger's son who talks to basically no one, told her about his plans for writing, made her laugh, and left her glad she'd seen him. He was... normal.
I then ran down to the library to pick up a reserved book for Steve and order a couple Anne Lamott books for myself. While there, I saw a former customer. She noticed me and we stood talking for half an hour. What a joy to see this woman after so long. She thought I looked great (yeah, stage 4 cancer is quite becoming) and wondered if I was well. Um... actually, I did feel okay at that moment. Hm, I actually felt rather decent. Whodathunk?
Laughing, I told her about the Nov. surgery, my life expectancy, my ongoing pain, my weakness, and my basically weird "I'm not dead yet" life. She said, "Well, you look healthy and sound great." And I believed her. She even asked questions about where I go to church, and since we were standing a short walk from the one we attend, I pointed it out. She indicated she's been thinking about trying one. What?! I go from being mostly dead to talking to people about going to church? Life is so weird.
Then I got gas for Sam's car, which I had borrowed, and came home. I was gone a whole hour. What?! I only went 6 miles! But I realized there are people I never see who do care, that Sam is not a little boy who needs me every day, that bad nights can lead to very good days.
That Sam scolded me for an hour upon my return for putting dental floss in his bathroom (don't even ask) is immaterial. He and his Dad are now moving small furniture out of the bedrooms into the library. New carpeting is being installed tomorrow. On life goes.
Then I went to bed last night. Thus, the dream ended. Linda the cancer patient with ongoing pain was back. I barely slept, woke up on and off all night in agony, and could barely move this morning, my heating pad and hot water bottle still on and under me. I felt so "old lady". By this afternoon I had done...well, nothing of any importance.
This afternoon I went out to run a couple necessary errands, telling Sam I'd be back in about 15 minutes. And before I knew what hit me, Linda the contented was back.
June at the bank told me how she loved helping Sam recently to set up some bonds. She adores him and helps him in any way she can. My work there took only moments, but the 15 minute visit was quite uplifting. My needy, handicapped, brilliant son is able to do so much more than I know. People adore him. So do I. Yes, my Asperger's son who talks to basically no one, told her about his plans for writing, made her laugh, and left her glad she'd seen him. He was... normal.
I then ran down to the library to pick up a reserved book for Steve and order a couple Anne Lamott books for myself. While there, I saw a former customer. She noticed me and we stood talking for half an hour. What a joy to see this woman after so long. She thought I looked great (yeah, stage 4 cancer is quite becoming) and wondered if I was well. Um... actually, I did feel okay at that moment. Hm, I actually felt rather decent. Whodathunk?
Laughing, I told her about the Nov. surgery, my life expectancy, my ongoing pain, my weakness, and my basically weird "I'm not dead yet" life. She said, "Well, you look healthy and sound great." And I believed her. She even asked questions about where I go to church, and since we were standing a short walk from the one we attend, I pointed it out. She indicated she's been thinking about trying one. What?! I go from being mostly dead to talking to people about going to church? Life is so weird.
Then I got gas for Sam's car, which I had borrowed, and came home. I was gone a whole hour. What?! I only went 6 miles! But I realized there are people I never see who do care, that Sam is not a little boy who needs me every day, that bad nights can lead to very good days.
That Sam scolded me for an hour upon my return for putting dental floss in his bathroom (don't even ask) is immaterial. He and his Dad are now moving small furniture out of the bedrooms into the library. New carpeting is being installed tomorrow. On life goes.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
SWINGIN'
Today I'm wearing a ponytail. I'm 60 and wearing a ponytail. Is that stupid? I don't think I look all that stupid. I'd estimate it's been over 20 years since I wore one. Oh, I pin it back into something somedays, but not one of those cheerleader type tails. This one swings. Cool.
I'm also drinking Ensure, and did glimpse some old woman in the mirror where I should have been, so there's no chance of actually feeling sprightly or young.
In fact, this week I feel so dang old that I could just lie down and cry. So weary, so sore, so tired of being ME. How long am I going to waste my time regretting the Nov. surgery, anyway? It's OVER, so get past it, Linda. Oh yeah, and you'd have died without it. Move on.
But there is this: I'm writing to an old friend on the West coast. How fun to reconnect with someone I'd not seen in over 20 years. Such sweet memories. And I still have the ongoing correspondence with a few "renewed" friends who live in "my" corner of Ohio. And I'm writing about "who I am" to a past friend's daughter whom I've grown to love in her own right. And there is the old friend in CO, and another in FL. And on it goes. Being "old" is so much fuller than being 16 and cute.
Well, assuming I was ever cute.
It takes a lot to be old. A lot of something I didn't think I had. Apparently, I do. The irony is that one cannot appreciate it until one is old oneself. In some ways, this is really hard work. In others, it's so much easier now. We get smarter, we get wiser. Those are not the same things, by the way. Young people can be smart. Old people are the only ones who can claim wisdom. Life leads to wisdom, if lived right.
It might be harder to climb the stairs, but it is easier to live with pain. It's harder to finish my chores, but it's easier to ignore things that don't matter. It's harder to remember everyone's name, but it's easier to talk to the ones who do matter. Shy? Not anymore. Afraid? Nope. Encouraged? Daily.
I think I'll shake my head a bit. Just to feel the swing.
I'm also drinking Ensure, and did glimpse some old woman in the mirror where I should have been, so there's no chance of actually feeling sprightly or young.
In fact, this week I feel so dang old that I could just lie down and cry. So weary, so sore, so tired of being ME. How long am I going to waste my time regretting the Nov. surgery, anyway? It's OVER, so get past it, Linda. Oh yeah, and you'd have died without it. Move on.
But there is this: I'm writing to an old friend on the West coast. How fun to reconnect with someone I'd not seen in over 20 years. Such sweet memories. And I still have the ongoing correspondence with a few "renewed" friends who live in "my" corner of Ohio. And I'm writing about "who I am" to a past friend's daughter whom I've grown to love in her own right. And there is the old friend in CO, and another in FL. And on it goes. Being "old" is so much fuller than being 16 and cute.
Well, assuming I was ever cute.
It takes a lot to be old. A lot of something I didn't think I had. Apparently, I do. The irony is that one cannot appreciate it until one is old oneself. In some ways, this is really hard work. In others, it's so much easier now. We get smarter, we get wiser. Those are not the same things, by the way. Young people can be smart. Old people are the only ones who can claim wisdom. Life leads to wisdom, if lived right.
It might be harder to climb the stairs, but it is easier to live with pain. It's harder to finish my chores, but it's easier to ignore things that don't matter. It's harder to remember everyone's name, but it's easier to talk to the ones who do matter. Shy? Not anymore. Afraid? Nope. Encouraged? Daily.
I think I'll shake my head a bit. Just to feel the swing.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Go Pirates!
Well, for crying out loud. Not the most fun thing to do, but when it makes me feel better, it's good. I got a package today. It contained a sweatshirt. A red one. A Perry Pirates sweatshirt. And it made me cry.
See, I was a Perry Pirates cheerleader for 6 years from 7th through 12th grade. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine wearing a school symbol some 42 years after graduation. But here I sit in my Pirates shirt. And I feel great.
Some of my blog readers are people who went to my high school. Over the past couple years, we have begun to correspond a bit, sharing thoughts, stories, memories, photos, and concerns. I don't recall how we even reconnected, but it's been so nice to "talk" with men and women who know me - or rather, knew me in my formative years - knew me as a teenager, not as a woman.
I've prayed for them, suffered with them in spirit over their losses, laughed at their humorous stories, praised God for their joys, enjoyed getting to know them as adults. And now this. That they would join together on my behalf to send me this remembrance... well, I don't know how to respond. It's unlikely I'll ever see most (or any?) of them again. Ohio is far away, and my travel is limited with health issues. But they are still beside me. I can see their young faces, although we all look different now. I look at their pictures, and in moments they grow younger before me.
Rick, Charon, Linda, Teri, Jerome, and outside of Ohio are Bruce and Ken. I know them; you don't have to. They all matter to me. Thank you my friends, whether you were in on the gift or not. Thank you for being here for me when I've needed you. Go Pirates!
See, I was a Perry Pirates cheerleader for 6 years from 7th through 12th grade. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine wearing a school symbol some 42 years after graduation. But here I sit in my Pirates shirt. And I feel great.
Some of my blog readers are people who went to my high school. Over the past couple years, we have begun to correspond a bit, sharing thoughts, stories, memories, photos, and concerns. I don't recall how we even reconnected, but it's been so nice to "talk" with men and women who know me - or rather, knew me in my formative years - knew me as a teenager, not as a woman.
I've prayed for them, suffered with them in spirit over their losses, laughed at their humorous stories, praised God for their joys, enjoyed getting to know them as adults. And now this. That they would join together on my behalf to send me this remembrance... well, I don't know how to respond. It's unlikely I'll ever see most (or any?) of them again. Ohio is far away, and my travel is limited with health issues. But they are still beside me. I can see their young faces, although we all look different now. I look at their pictures, and in moments they grow younger before me.
Rick, Charon, Linda, Teri, Jerome, and outside of Ohio are Bruce and Ken. I know them; you don't have to. They all matter to me. Thank you my friends, whether you were in on the gift or not. Thank you for being here for me when I've needed you. Go Pirates!
Friday, March 4, 2011
Mustang Linda
While in college at the age of 21, I owned a gold Mustang. It eventually developed body damage caused so many Ohio winters with salt on the roads. A section by the rear door simply rusted through. So, not having anything better to do, I decided to fix it. "Linda's Body Work Inc." I just looked up directions, bought the fiberglass, paint and adherent, then went to work. I clearly recall working on it in the parking lot outside my apartment, feeling so proud of myself. When I later showed my Dad my now "scar-less" car, he just looked at me, speechless. I'm not sure he ever actually believed I did it myself. But I did.
A couple years later, my battery went dead. You know batteries, those complicated boxes that are buried amongst the masses of technical, well... "things" under a car hood. Now, back in the early 70's in pre-emissions days, batteries could still actually be seen under the hood, and owners could fix them. So once again I looked up instructions, and did it myself. I recall a roommate's boyfriend walked by and stopped while I worked, speechless that this female would even try it. Car worked great after that. And that guy started to be nicer to me too. Treated me with new respect.
I had a flat tire one day during a trip to Ohio. Stopped the car, got out my jack and began to change the tire. Moments later a man stopped to help me. "No thanks, I'm fine." But his maleness couldn't let it go, so I finally let him finish. He'd have been crushed otherwise. Men.
Today I went out to help Sam install new wiper blades and add wiper fluid to his empty tank. He opened the hood, found the tank, poured the fluid. I watched. And on the blades, well, they're still sitting on the hood. Have been for over an hour. I can't make out the instructions and neither can he.
Of all the listed repairs, the blades surely have to be the easiest fix. Criminy. I'm losing it. But to be honest, no way could I still do auto body repairs, install a battery, or change a tire. Some things just have to go by the wayside. That I can still cook noodles will have to be enough.
Man, I loved that Mustang.
A couple years later, my battery went dead. You know batteries, those complicated boxes that are buried amongst the masses of technical, well... "things" under a car hood. Now, back in the early 70's in pre-emissions days, batteries could still actually be seen under the hood, and owners could fix them. So once again I looked up instructions, and did it myself. I recall a roommate's boyfriend walked by and stopped while I worked, speechless that this female would even try it. Car worked great after that. And that guy started to be nicer to me too. Treated me with new respect.
I had a flat tire one day during a trip to Ohio. Stopped the car, got out my jack and began to change the tire. Moments later a man stopped to help me. "No thanks, I'm fine." But his maleness couldn't let it go, so I finally let him finish. He'd have been crushed otherwise. Men.
Today I went out to help Sam install new wiper blades and add wiper fluid to his empty tank. He opened the hood, found the tank, poured the fluid. I watched. And on the blades, well, they're still sitting on the hood. Have been for over an hour. I can't make out the instructions and neither can he.
Of all the listed repairs, the blades surely have to be the easiest fix. Criminy. I'm losing it. But to be honest, no way could I still do auto body repairs, install a battery, or change a tire. Some things just have to go by the wayside. That I can still cook noodles will have to be enough.
Man, I loved that Mustang.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Oh Grow Up
The best thing to happen on mornings when I'm feeling lethargic is for me to read something that really pisses me off!
I try to not be arrogant, but perhaps if I was more idiotic it would be easier. Fact is, I'm at least average, and according to my educational experience and life itself, a fair amount above that. Brilliant I am not. However I read, something only 58% of Americans do. Sad, but true.
There are currently groups in ten states that are seriously so damn dumb that they're still trying to find out if President Obama is an American. Really? Most of them are Southern and rural (no surprise) but Connecticut and Maine? Unbelievable. First of all, his entire family of highly successful, highly educated people say he was born in America to an American, just as they were. Why are they doubted? Oh yeah, they're African American, still seen by these idiots as "second class citizens" who probably lie. Second, Hawaii has already shown documentation on numerous occasions that Obama was born there. No other candidate - ever - has had to prove citizenship. Third, if Obama was white this never would be an issue. Never.
Oh, and it might interest people to know that former Presidential candidate John McCain was NOT born in the USA. He was born in 1936 in Panama. That's not the USA, but for a candidate it's legal because it was on a military base. So being Black and born in Hawaii is out, but being born on a base in Central America is fine, as long as you're white. Oh gag me. Could it BE any more stupid? any more racist?
It is actually worse when people don't take a hard stand on this, but instead say, "Well, I'm not saying he's not qualified, but we should at least look into it." BULL! Wimps! That is damn well exactly what they're saying - He's not a citizen! Look into it! Idiots. (Michelle Bachmann, et al) It's already been "looked into" for over 2 years. Drop it already. In my entire life I've never seen such hatred for a president, all based on his race. I suppose it's no surprise. Many people still think Blacks cannot possibly be as smart as whites. Which simply proves that whites are very good at being idiots all by themselves.
I feel calmer now. I hate politics. Well, I'm not lethargic anymore.
I try to not be arrogant, but perhaps if I was more idiotic it would be easier. Fact is, I'm at least average, and according to my educational experience and life itself, a fair amount above that. Brilliant I am not. However I read, something only 58% of Americans do. Sad, but true.
There are currently groups in ten states that are seriously so damn dumb that they're still trying to find out if President Obama is an American. Really? Most of them are Southern and rural (no surprise) but Connecticut and Maine? Unbelievable. First of all, his entire family of highly successful, highly educated people say he was born in America to an American, just as they were. Why are they doubted? Oh yeah, they're African American, still seen by these idiots as "second class citizens" who probably lie. Second, Hawaii has already shown documentation on numerous occasions that Obama was born there. No other candidate - ever - has had to prove citizenship. Third, if Obama was white this never would be an issue. Never.
Oh, and it might interest people to know that former Presidential candidate John McCain was NOT born in the USA. He was born in 1936 in Panama. That's not the USA, but for a candidate it's legal because it was on a military base. So being Black and born in Hawaii is out, but being born on a base in Central America is fine, as long as you're white. Oh gag me. Could it BE any more stupid? any more racist?
It is actually worse when people don't take a hard stand on this, but instead say, "Well, I'm not saying he's not qualified, but we should at least look into it." BULL! Wimps! That is damn well exactly what they're saying - He's not a citizen! Look into it! Idiots. (Michelle Bachmann, et al) It's already been "looked into" for over 2 years. Drop it already. In my entire life I've never seen such hatred for a president, all based on his race. I suppose it's no surprise. Many people still think Blacks cannot possibly be as smart as whites. Which simply proves that whites are very good at being idiots all by themselves.
I feel calmer now. I hate politics. Well, I'm not lethargic anymore.
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