Home Again, Home Again Jiggity Jog

Even though I wake the boys at 6 am, we cannot seem to get going. It is well after 7 am by the time we have packed the car quietly so as not to wake anyone and filled the gastank at the local Sheetz station, grabbing some breakfast before heading out. Kiel takes a shortcut that takes us an extra hour to undo, but at last we are heading north in a furious attempt to beat the holiday traffic.

I have no desire to sit on the blacktop parking lot waiting for all the trucks and RVs and boat to clear. We purposely take Route 15, two entire roads over from the infamous beltway that I know will clog in a heartbeat. Even so, we encounter slowdowns until we have cleared Maryland and manage to get into Pennsylvania.

Once more we listen to the The Lost Books CD's, caught up in the suspense, the mystery, the conflict. At least it is not raining, as it did for the last leg of our trip down. Monsoon season, I think they call it. Navigation becomes especially demanding after dark.

Sugar is sad to leave such a fun place. She refuses to stay in her little carrying crate, jumping out at every opportunity. We muddle along, making decent time. I am tired though, and Kiel ends up driving the entire trip. We arrive in time to turn the car in just before the deadline. Tomorrow I must open the library and step back into normal routines.

I already miss my girls. Who will pat my cheek with sticky hands? Who will climb on my lap and let me kiss them while they squeal with delight about "sloppy kisses" and laugh so hard they fall over? Who will play hide and seek or dance in twirling circles while their beautiful dresses fluff out in swirls of air until they are so dizzy they can't stand up?

Oh, yes, I will miss DJ and Shannon too. But especially my darling grand daughters. Sigh. There is no help for it. I will simply have to visit again and soon!

Swimming

I resist the temptation to rouse the household in the morning. Let them sleep. I can work on my paper while I am waiting for people to wake up. The parrot screeches pathetically. The rooster is crowing. I can hear the ducks squawking outside. DJ has a mini farm. He has always loved animals, and now he cares for several goats, four horses, a myriad of fowl including all varieties of chicken, ducks, and guinea hens. Not to mention three dogs.

Sugar is in her element. She loves the company and roughhouses with Grace, one of the dogs. Chasing fowl is not up her alley though. She would rather run off if given half a chance. We do not let her off the leash. DJ rises first and makes blueberry pancakes with tons of bacon and eggs fresh from his hens. The girls love pancakes and bacon washed down with lots of juice.

Today, Kiel and Drew blow up their little swimming pool and the girls don bathing suits for a splash in the water. How peculiar that whoever built their comfortable ranch home installed an outdoors tap that runs hot water! We can make the temperature in the pool whatever it needs to be to jump in right away. No carting pails of hot water or waiting for the sun to warm things up.

DJ, Shannon and I sit in lawn chairs a safe distance away and watch the fun unfold. Kiel and Drew splash and squirt water and motorboat the girls swishing through the pool while the girls laugh and shout and jump. Pails get dumped, dogs get soused, the umbrellas we hold over our heads to keep the sun off do double duty. What fun!

Too too soon the sun is sliding down and we have to head indoors and change. Katie and Kelly cry. They rarely get a chance to play with such great friends out in their little pool. The sun and the fun tire them out and I barely have time to read them the Puff Puff Fish book before they are out. What a grand day. Little fingers with peeling nail polish curl around wet locks, little feet stick out from under the sheet. Bottles of milk fall untended to the side as the girls give in to sleep.

How short this visit has been. I wish we had more time to be together, but I will come again soon, dear girls. And when you get old enough to travel better, you can come see me! I kiss their sleeping faces so full of peace. Good night, sweeties.

Africa Zoo

DJ and Shannon have a family pass to the zoo in Asheboro, and we decide to make a day of it and wander about together. I am not sure I will last, but figure if worse comes to worse, I can just find a shady spot and sit while they wander.

We pack their SUV and off we go into the heat of a North Carolina summer. The drive takes about an hour and a half, and soon we are pulling into a crowded parking lot. We climb out already sticky with the heat and head across a high bridge overlooking a pond teaming with gigantic snapping turtles, huge lazy fish, ducks and geese. There are food dispensing machines that explain the size of the inhabitants, but we do not stop now. After we are done gawking at the lions and elephants and giraffes we can feed the turtles.

Whoever planned this zoo was totally in tune with both animal and human needs. All the paths are swathed in shade trees and smooth to the shoe. Interspersed with the various exhibits there are vendors offering cold water, Italian ice, smoothies. Benches are scattered about in convenient locations, and here and there a small building with air conditioning inside offers a reprieve from the heat.

First we watch the giraffes and ostriches. Kelly slips a quarter in the binocular machine to get a better view. Then we meander up the path seeing all sorts of African native animals. The chimps and gorillas are entertaining, but Kelly's favorite, and I have to admit, mine too, are the pink flamingoes - 16 of them standing about on one leg preening. What vivid color! What unruffled behavior. I am mesmerized. I am also tired and sit on a bench while the kids enter the bird sanctuary.

I join them after a bit, playing a sort of "where's waldo" game as we seek to discover all the various bejeweled fowl hidden amongst trees and bushes. Cameras all about us are capturing wildlife prolifically. Finally we run out of time. The zoo is closing. After a quick trip to the gift shop (I found wild animal sticker books for the girls), we tromp back over the bridge, stopping to feed the turtles and watch them lazily navigate towards the pellets we toss.

DJ has packed a picnic dinner, and we munch happily while Katie and Kelly feed the geese who guard the parking lot. Then back home. A day well enjoyed. I got to walk with each girl for long stretches of time. What a joy to have their little hands trustingly hold on to mine, to hear their chatter as they discover the animals, to get them refreshing ices to cool them down. Man, its pure heaven. This is a trip that will last in memory for some long time. I hope the girls will remember it too, even though they are so young.

Road Trip

I haven't seen my darling grand daughters in a whole year. I made a special trip before I started the last round of chemo and radiation because I had no idea when I would feel up to traveling again. I had meant to go at Christmas, but couldn't swing Dad's funeral and a long trip, so I waited. But now, at long last, the stars have aligned properly and I am taking the holiday weekend to go see my sweeties.

Drew and Kiel and I are renting a car to drive the 12 hours south, and since we don't agree on music, we always listen to a book on CD. I scour the Rochester area public library holdings to see what might hold our interest for 24 hours of in-car driving. I check out a number of items to test them out, but I know after a short listen that it will not have universal appeal, and I am determined NOT to repeat last year's fiasco of listening to the Boneman's Daughter. Yuck.

I cast about on the Christian booksellers website and in various bookstores, but I do not find anything that seems to work. Finally, I visit the little Gates library which is closest to my house and peruse the children's audio books (who knew!) to see if there are any available Odyssey books. Those are interesting and acceptable, even if a bit childish. But all the online records that list holdings for this set indicate that they are checked out and likely to be stay that way for a long time.

I discover in the youth section a series of books by that same author who wrote last year's disgusting tale, Ted Dekker. I pass by, hoping for something by someone a bit less grotesque. Still, I keep coming back to the set. I tilt the first volume off the shelf and read the blurb. Interesting story. Maybe he is not so graphic for a youth appropriate resource. Well, both boys really liked last year's book. I suppose I will just have to endure more grit.

We get a late start, trying to pull everything together. Finally we are on the way, Sugar and all - her first long road trip. Finally we are beyond the borders of Rochester, heading south on 390. I pop the first CD in, wincing. Immediately we are transported to a land and a time of enchantment and conflict, but not yukky grossness. It turns out to be an engaging story that keeps us riveted through the next 5 states right up to the very doorstep of DJ's house.

I sigh in relief. Good choice! Perhaps the trip back will go as fast.

A New Ob/Gyn

Same old schtick. Need a doctor? Go fish! My primary doctor encouraged me to get an annual ob/gyn check up, just because one should not let these things go. She gave me the names of five different practices with doctors that she felt would be appropriate for my situation. I call all of them, and only one might be accepting new patients. But their quota is full for this month and next month's calendar isn't open for booking yet. Call back.

We go through that routine for 3 months in a row. I mention each time that I am a cancer patient and am concerned to make sure the cancer has not spread (not that I am truly concerned because I expect anything amiss would have shown up on the myriad tests I have done on a regular basis). This does not move anyone to help. My name has been on the waiting list, but somehow by the time I return their call they are booked, too bad.

I admit I am a bit short with the receptionist this last time around. Booking is now out to August which is not open yet. . . right. Once again I explain my situation, expecting no real assistance. I am surprised when she suggests I try a different clinic, one she used to work for, one she thinks is actually taking new patients because they just got a new doctor. OK, I sigh. I'll try.

I hang up, depressed. The effort to look up yet another number and begin this ridiculous routine in another place feels overwhelming. Is it really all that necessary? Maybe after lunch I will look into it. My phone rings. Hello? It is the receptionist who had made the suggestion. She called the office she suggested and explained my situation. They will book me if I call now - here's the number.

Shock! Amazement! Someone who is caring and helpful! I thank her profusely and call the number. Yes, they can see me next week. I will LOVE the new doctor. Everybody loves her. She is great and popular and an excellent doctor. Unsolicited recommendation from a nurse? Well, thank my lucky stars!

When I see her, I understand. She is upbeat, helpful, informative, understanding. She looks at my record, gets the picture. Her exam is thorough. But once again, I am asked if I have had a hysterectomy. No. I am pretty sure I would have known if anyone along the way had had to remove my uterus. She reexamines. No, she cannot feel anything resembling what should be there. That does not stop her.

She explains that sometimes during radiation, the treatment causes the uterus to stick to itself front and back, then shrivel like bacon fried crisp. Its entirely possible that I am damaged in this way. She asks if I would be willing to let her send for the records from Illinois. Yes, let's see what all has transpired here. Otherwise though, I am in great shape. She will see me next year.

Huh. More stuff to think about. If anyone ever had the total picture of the damage possible from radiation and chemo, they would run screaming. I also now know that the peripheral neuropathy, the muscular atrophy, the fatigue are side effects of radiation too that will probably last my life time, whatever that may now be. Its too depressing to wander down that road. I'd rather live in my naive little bubble thinking that I have an actual chance to return to some near-normal state.

Look on the bright side. I now have an intelligent and interested new doctor who can help me deal with whatever new bump crops up along the female health vein. That's a definite bonus.

Summer Snow in the Moonlight

It's magic! I return home from work well after 9 pm. I step from the car onto a sidewalk swirling in white fluffies. Cottonwood dander rises in slow motion, like fog from some stage machine. The full moon bathes the swirling white masses in eerie shininess, lending an air of otherworldly unreality. Flakes of cottonwood fluff fall from the air continuously, sifting ever downward. I am inside an enchanted snow globe.

I breathe in deeply, straining out the fluff with my fingers. Ah, evening! What a strange smell of dead seaweed, farm manure, damp grass, and rotting fruit. The air is robust with promise of fall harvest. I shiver ever so slightly even though the temperature is comfortable. A slight breeze ruffles the new leaves about me whispering of good things to come while brushing against memories of wonderful times in summers past being outside in the evening.

Memories!

On the lawn in front of the Stewart's house in Fort Covington, we neighborhood kids played a last round of hide and seek. Jimmy was calling "alle, alle, oxen free!" and the Hunter girls giggled as they raced to the gigantic oak tree that served as home base. Peony bushes nearby nodded off to sleep, spraying the air with a light fragrance and shaking of the myriad ants who nursed there during the daytime.

On the sidewalk in Johnstown, we kids lit black snake fireworks, ooohhhing and aaahhhing over the squiggly clumps of black ash that wormed their way out of the little cubes. Peter pops caps on the sidewalk, leaving black splat marks where the butt of the cap gun hit the pellet tape. Kids from the house on the corner with the big white dog ride past on their bikes, talking loudly, cards clattering against the spokes.

On the Houghton campus, we Gayodeo girls, tired of studying, wander to the quad, kick off our shoes and turn somersaults on the dewy grass, laughing and playing tag until the mosquitoes drive us down to the snack shack for pizza and Cokes.

I kick at the cottonwood fluff and gaze at the full bursting moon. It is a wonderful evening. God sure made an enticing world for us to live in.

Retreat!

For the first time, the entire Library goes on retreat to the Meridian Center. Three years of learning to function in the new building has brought us to a place far different from the one in which we entered our endeavor.

In the trauma of being reborn, we needed to learn to function independently of each other, our offices now separated by great distances, no longer huddled together in the same shared space. Our collections spread out into the birthing space in sometimes mixed up ways that we had to straighten out.

As we grew into the building, we discovered that our actions were not independent, but every action had a ripple effect in everyone else's work. We had to learn how to walk all over again. Now as separate entities, we learned to work together as a team, all the while maintaining an acceptable level of service and functionality. Not everyone knowing everything, but everyone aware of how their expertise will impact other areas.

We have done our work well. There have been frustrations, but we are coming into our stride. Our strategic planning has provided avenues of continuance. But there are rough edges. We are not all in the same place. We still have a few growing pains to conquer.

So we step aside to reflect, to think about how we are functioning now, so far afield from where we were. We invite some consultants to help us see ourselves, show us how we are interacting, where we can do better, where we are missing the mark. We learn more about ourselves, about each other.

I am fascinated by the conversations, surprised at depths I had not yet discovered in my colleagues. It is a good day. Not about goals and statistics and projects. Just about being knit together better. I come away with a renewed respect for my fellow laborers. I am pleased to be part of this team. We have come a long ways, but we are not ready to sit back and bask. It is encouraging.

Early to Bed

The day has been full. Work was good. No seminary class tonight - I am excited to be able to be home for a change. Drew and I get a movie to watch. But after we eat, I am suddenly done in. Just when I was congratulating myself on the low impact of the chemo and the benefits of the Vitamin B12 shots. Suddenly I know that I must go to bed. Now. It is not quite 8 pm, but there is no help for it. I need to rest.

I count on my fingers. 8 to 9, 9 to 10 . . . until I reach 6am. It will be a full ten hours of sleep. What if I sleep for a few hours, then wake up and can't get back to sleep? It will throw my schedule off. And tomorrow I do have an evening class. Ah, well.

I brush my teeth, wash my face, slather lotion on the dry skin of my arms and legs, slide into my summer jammies, and curl up in the middle of my cozy mattress, stretching my spine and crossing my arms across my shoulders. Oh, wait. I forgot to read my Divine Hours. I turn on the light and reposition my glasses. Almighty God, grant me and those I love a peaceful night and a perfect end. Amen.

I close my eyes against the bright sunshine pouring in my window. I shut out the squeak of the toy Sugar is playing with. I tune out the movie Drew is watching. God's peace envelops me. I drift off, dreaming of beaches and oceans and birds singing.

Lilac Festival

Every year Drew and I look forward to the Lilac Festival. It started out as an interest in the jewelry vendors and quickly spread to the joy of getting outside after a long cold winter, letting the sun warm your face, inhaling the fragrance of the spring flowers.

This year the lilacs had mostly peaked before the festival, and Drew and I had drunk them in weeks ago (see the Highland Cotillion). The draw to be outside is irresistible, and I coax Kiel from his bed and wait for him to pull on a shirt before we head out. The weather is perfect, neither too hot nor too cold. I thought we might miss the majority of the crowds and vendors because today is the final day, and the afternoon is half spent.

No, there are tons of people milling about. The loud music and penetrating smells of food grilling permeate the hillsides and waft for blocks. We park with dozens of other newcomers and drag Sugar through the crowds, gawking at the booths of handmade goodies, sniffing the onions and peppers searing and Kettlecorn popping, dodging strollers and other dogs. There is so much going on around us we enter stimulation overload.

True the flowers are spent, but the trees are leafing out. The lilac bushes still sport rust colored blooms, so out of context with the bright balloons and hats and carnival gear. We walk and walk and walk, barely able to stop anywhere, pushed along by the flow of humanity that sucks us into its vortex. I finally can take no more. We head higher on the hill, away from the food stands and musical acts until we locate a bench in the shade welcoming us to step aside and be still.

There Sugar and I split a bottle of water, she lapping frantically from a puddle poured into the palm of my hand, while the boys devour fried dough. We watch people strolling past. Here a pair of lovebirds holding hands and whispering in each other's ears. There a family with two young children running about tiring Mom and making Dad laugh. Now an older woman in a wheelchair pushed by daughter while son in law retrieves redhots for a post lunch repast.

Sugar prances about, straining at the leash to lick the hands of the children, whining to go nose to nose with the terrier who is trotting by. Finally she lies down beneath the bench, panting, her head following every little movement about her. And so we sit quietly, like our family used to sit in lawnchairs on Gramma Appleby's front lawn after dinner, just watching the world go by.

Fascinating. Difficult to tear ourselves away. Finally we do though, heading home tired but happy. Better than a movie, I'm thinking.

Cleaning House

It's infectious. The paper sorting I started yesterday kicked off a whole room sort today that bled over to my office. I plowed through closets, drawers, boxes of stuff, suitcases - all the little squirrel holes where I end up stuffing things to look at later when I have more time to consider what to do with them.

Lately I want simplicity. Why have three different types of baking pans when one will do? Why keep an extra two sets of measuring cups? I don't need them. I guess I have finally figured out that the more stuff I have, the more time I get to spend keeping it all in line. Not for me. I am weeding out.

I am at my worst when it comes to music, both printed and recorded. I own way too many scores and CD's and I justify it by telling myself that as a conductor, I might need those unsung scores and unlistened to CDs someday. And maybe I will. But isn't that what libraries are for? To keep collections of things in case someone needs them?

When I am in this sort of mood, I encourage myself to go through things with a savage relinquish agenda. I weed everything that I know perfectly well in my heart of heart that I will never use. Then I go back through and become even more strident. Not a favorite composer? Ditch it. Not a text you are enamored of? Let it go. Too bland a melody (even Bach has some of those!)? It goes.

What ever I keep has to be the most moving, striking, wonderful music. Otherwise, forget it. And if I can have it digitally, I ditch the paper or physical version. My ultimate goal? When I am old and ready to leave this world, my children will not have to be burdened with anything other than a suitcase of clothes to take to Sal's and a few thumbdrives of stuff nobody cares about but me.

Today I make a dent in my pile of stuff. It is a good dent. I have a long ways to go. Now if I can just manage to resist buying more, I will be golden.

Recovering

Ugh. I wake up nauseous. I feel wrung out. I was hoping the chemo would not hit like before. I will have to stay home and ride it out. No sense going to work if I end up running to the bathroom all day. I go back to bed discouraged. This darn crap will not leave me alone.

By ten am, I am feeling better. I watch a movie and throw the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. My energy is not dragging the bottom of the barrel and the nausea is lifting. By noon, the worst is over. A far sight better than the three day devastation of the R-CHOP and the week recovery time. I consider going to work, but we get out at 3:30, so I decide to just rest more.

I sort through some paperwork in my bedroom, trying to clear away the accumulated clutter of the past few months of dysfunctionality. Might as well see if I can at least organize enough to find things when I need them. I take my time, sitting on the bed and making piles. Three huge bags of garbage later, I can see the dresser top and the filing cabinet now shuts. I know where to lay my hands on things I might need.

It feels good to make some progress. Even if I did lose a day at work. Maybe next time I will be more prepared and can manage the chemo side effects better. Besides, by then I will have had three more Vitamin B12 shots! Maybe it won't even be this bad!

Maintenance Chemo

How strange it seems to be heading out for chemo once again. True, I will only have to do this once every three months. I am used to doing all sorts of preparation with Prilosec and stuff. This time, I won't even see the doctor first. Just head right to the infusion center. Not even a blood draw. And only one chemo, not five. It should be a piece of cake. No big deal. Just a little chain rattling to keep the gremlins at bay.

My nurse is one I remember from before. She remembers me also. She brings me the usual little plastic cup of pills to premedicate against allergic reactions. I swallow them with my iced tea. Blood pressure, within normal ranges. She accesses my port. We are set to go as soon as the premeds take effect. I am in good spirits and have brought a book on CD to listen to.

Suddenly, the drugs begin to hit. I am groggy, dopey, headachy. Blah. I forgot this part. It will pass though. The nurse returns with IV bag to hang. 50 drops per hour. Not so bad, I tell myself. I chat with the wife of the man in the next section. He sleeps mostly. I exchange pleasantries with a young girl nearby. I run to the bathroom a few times (iced tea always does that to me).

After a half hour, we try upping the drip to 100. Immediately, my feet and legs begin to feel numb and prickly. We drop back to 50. Sigh. This is going to take all day. I never could tolerate the Rituxan well. After several unsuccessful attempts to up to volume, I remember that when I got the Bexxar, it was less symptomatic if I was getting saline solution simultaneously. The nurse is debating whether to give me more decadron or maybe IV benedryl. I don't tolerate the benedryl well.

She agrees to try the saline solution. She hooks it up and pushes up the speed. Minimal reaction. She ups it again. I am holding on OK. We eventually manage to work it up to 300 drips per hour. The headachy drowsy dopey feeling has cleared. The numbness is barely perceptible. I complete the assigned dosage at 5pm. And I can walk out under my own power just fine, thank you very much. I drive myself home.

Yes, if we do the saline solution each time, the impact of this will be minimal in discomfort, maximum in abeyance. I can give up a day here and there for four years to make sure I stay cancer free. It will be OK.

Vitamin B Shots

Last Thursday I had a voice mail message from my primary doctor asking me to call. When I returned the call, they were on lunch break and the answering service was on. In the flurry of getting ready to go to Mom's, I forgot to call back. Imagine my surprise when I got a letter from my doctor on Monday informing me that my Vitamin B levels are too low and that I need to come in for shots.

They explained that they had tried to call me but didn't get through. Still, a letter! I am impressed. No second call. No email. No lack of follow through. The doctor sent a letter, personally signed. Wow! I called. I made an appointment.

The nurse explained that what I have is called pernicious anemia. No wonder I have been feeling tired! It could also be what is responsible for the numbness and tingling in my feet and legs. What caused it? Could be anything from the chemo to the radiation to the bone marrow involvement of the cancer to taking the Prilosec for ten months to the damage done to my small intestine during my initial cancer.

No matter. There is a treatment! Monthly shots. Perhaps for the rest of my life. Time will tell. I recall when I was having babies and complained of tiredness one of the doctors back then gave me a Vitamin B shot. It was like a does of pure energy! Of course, I only got two in my entire life. So I expected instant zip.

No, nothing like that developed. I did sense a somewhat better stable level of strength, but nothing like a shot of caffeine or anything such. Perhaps I am so low in B12 that it will take time to reap the benefit. One month at a time. And one piece of the puzzle at a time. This is a good one to discover though. I am grateful for the shot!

Out to Lunch and Other Places

One of our staff members completed her Master's degree - yeah! It's not easy juggling a job and assigned readings and papers and everything else. Plus this year we lost a staff person in Public Services and reconfigured the entire department so that everyone had to learn a new position. But she did marvelously well. We were all so proud to hug her as she walked across the platform begowned and capped.

The entire Library took her to lunch to celebrate. We gathered at the Friendly's on Lyell Ave in a side room where we pushed tables together to form one big family style space. How wonderful it was to gather with no agenda other than to celebrate! With the semester safely ended and summer projects underway, we kicked back and munched our salads and sandwiches happily, chattering away about everything and nothing.

As I glanced around the table, I was struck by how close we have all become. Moving into a new building, finding ourselves in foreign waters, working together to keep afloat in hard times, having each other's backs when the workload increased - in three short years we have become tightly knit. Family.

We are indeed a very exclusive group brought together by common activity. We have birthday parties and holiday gatherings just like any other family. And now we add a second graduation to our list of accomplishments. Soon we will go on our first full library retreat, taking time aside to see where we are, how we are doing, reflect on the last whirlwind three years.

It's nice to have a second family. How rare to find in your workplace a family you enjoy being part of. So many work environments are hostile, demanding, brutal, uncaring. Not this one. Sure, we all have our little foibles and rough edges, but we get along well. At least, I hope the others feel as at home as I do.

That comfort is working itself out in the way I decorate my office. I am really make it my own space these days. I have never done that before. My offices were merely places to work out of and I took whatever I found there and arranged it so I could work comfortably. But here I have moved in. Is that a bad thing? Am I becoming too ensconced? My fear is that I will want to stay when my work here is done and my path should lead elsewhere.

Perhaps the unwillingness to put down roots came with my Father's job taking us somewhere new every five years or so. Never get used to anyplace. Never let your heart connect on a deep level. Always guard against wanting to settle in. I have some work to do to get over that. Some of my siblings reacted to our childhood journey by settling in and refusing to budge. Not me. I learned to stay loose. Now, I am learning to connect and stay put! At least for awhile.

Last Class of Spring

I wake today remembering that it would have been Dad's 86th birthday. All day, little snapshots of things my Dad did come floating to my mind. I rise early, open the library, thinking about Dad's huge collection of books, rightly termed his library. He was an avid reader, and not just theology books. I think he missed his true calling, that of an inventor. He loved mechanics and engineering and idea driven conversations.

I try to catch up with library work, having missed last Friday. My desk is piled with things that I need to take care of. So many summer projects! The day flies by, and I head over for my last class in Pastoral Care. I have much respect for our professor. She is truly amazing in how she takes care of people. I am not at all sure I could ever deal with all the things she routinely handles. People have messy lives. It is not easy coming alongside stubborn and sinful creatures while they shoot themselves and then whine about the pain.

Our professor brings to class a feast! Cupcakes and strawberries. Big juicy sweet strawberries. And bottles of fresh water. Sooooo good. We pack a ton of notes and discussion into our last few hours together. She has been extremely generous in sharing resources with us, in being totally frank about what we are likely to encounter. About how and where we can reach out for assistance when we are facing problems bigger than a simple conversation and prayer can deal with.

There is much to think about. I wonder how my Father handled all these sorts of situations. I know he must have encountered many of them in his decades of pastoring. It matters not whether you are in large church or small, in town, village or big city. People are the same everywhere. You can get into trouble no matter your environment. It is the heart that drives the life situations.

It has been a long day. Tomorrow will also begin early. I drive home ready to hit the sheets. As I read my Compline devotions, I find myself hoping that I will not be called upon to deal with some of the sorts of situations we looked at in class. It will take more grace than I have ever seen. What on earth am I getting into?!

Resting Up

My little trip out to Mom's meant that I didn't get to write the two papers I need to complete to finish my seminary spring courses. So today, after church and chime choir practice, I head to my office, knowing that if I go home, I will end up napping. I settle in and get to work. First, the shorter paper, a happy meditation appropriate for a wedding.

I select a Scripture passage about a three fold cord not being easily broken, and weave a little object lessons about how each cord is different, bringing different strengths and weaknesses into the equation, but how the third cord ties them together, intertwined so that they work together. Probably not the best wedding sermon ever created, but I sort of like it. Besides, I am still a bit burnt from my own marriage to be very encouraging to others taking that plunge. Good thing I am not going into full time pastorate duties!

And too bad I didn't have the kind of premarital counseling they offer these days. That might have been enough to keep me from getting married! Well, proof and print and on to the next paper. This one is more daunting. I have been picking away at this 10 pager for weeks, unable to find the right approach. After about an hour, I get at least a skeleton of what I want to include and in what order, then spend the next two hours fleshing it in.

It still isn't exactly right, but I am tired. I throw in the towel with Dad's favorite saying - it's good enough. Not totally reflective of everything going on in my head and heart, but it will do. I email it to the professor with my apologies. But it was so much more important to visit Mom than to spend the weekend writing.

At long last, at 6pm, I am done. I head home, knowing I will not stay up for long. Monday is a full day and it starts early since I open the library at 7:30 am. What makes me happy though is that I have been able to do all the things I wanted to do this weekend without collapsing. I am truly getting stronger and more able to take up life. This is good. This is very encouraging.

Visiting the Cemetery

Jael had not yet been to the cemetery where Dad is buried. We decide to take a field trip, stopping at Agway to get a red geranium, Gram Appleby's favorite flower. Mom packs a trowel, grass clippers, knee pads, a jug of water and a pail. We head out.

There is a gas leak along the Northway, and we are detoured through town, taking hours to creep along the crowded streets. We finally get clear of the traffic snarl and navigate toward Albany Rural Cemetery. Lots of well known people are buried there - so many that they give tours. But we are interested in only the Appleby family plot, #200. My own little 6' x 3' piece of land is nearby, there being no room in the family site to squeeze one more person.

After several missed turns and false directions, we find the right place. The government has placed a lovely bronze plaque on my father's gravesite in honor of his military service. It's very becoming. We check the family headstone to see that Dad's death date has been chiseled in properly, and it has. Then we plant the flower, cut the grass, trim the frazzled bushes, and chat about who is where.

I wander over a hundred yards or so to find my space. Jael comes to look as well. I try to talk her into getting a space there before even the few little unclaimed spots are snapped up. She is not ready yet to think about such things. We take pictures of the plaque and the marker and the newly planted flower. Jael's camera is on the fritz. Mom's works just fine, and I use my phone.

Afterwards, we head to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch on the patio where the wind is a bit too frisky for comfort. Its a beautiful sunny day with summer blue skies though, and we don't mind a bit of wind. We are like three best friends on holiday. The time melts away. When at last we return to the quaint A frame in Lake George, the day is spent. We are tired, but satisfied that we have done what was needed. Dad is safely tucked in and we are free to move on.

As for me, I have to drive home in order to be in church for Sunday service. But it will be a pleasant drive. Much has been accomplished. My heart is filled with comfort. My book on tape is entertaining, and I glide along, happy that I was able to manage all on my own. Happy Birthday, Dad. I know you are in a wonderful place. Love ya, and don't worry about Mom. She is doing great.

Driving to Mom's

I missed Mother's Day. Dad's birthday would have been this coming Monday. I haven't been out to visit Mom since the funeral. I decide that this weekend is the right time to go, and am happy to hear my sister Jael is also coming out for a few days. I haven't seen her since December either.

Neither Drew nor Kiel can get away. They are working. I get to have some alone time - how amazing is that! I have no particular deadline to meet. I can take my time, drive at my own pace, take care of some things I have also needed to do, and arrive whenever. I plan my itinerary happily. First, I rent a car, then load up.

One praying angel to place on Michael's grave (I haven't been to his gravesite in over two years). Two sets of books on tape to keep me entertained while driving - one for the trip out, the other for the drive home. The library had a ton of interesting things, including a Garrison Keillor novel called Pontoon. Suitcase. Paperwork for meeting with the Jairus House consultant. I am so excited to be moving forward on the 501c3 venture. Don't forget the instructions to Mark's new place. I am looking forward to seeing my grandson, who has grown considerably since last we met.

The drive is pleasant once I got beyond Rochester's fog. I set the cruise control and laugh at the ridiculous antics of the book on tape. I stop now and again to stretch my legs. In no time at all I am exiting at Amsterdam and driving across Route 67 towards the little Milton Cemetery. Then a not so quick spin through Saratoga to the new library for my meeting. It goes very well and I am heartily encouraged.

Soon I am sitting in Mark's lovely living room playing with Ramseyes and chatting with the kids. I grab a quick lunch (complete with a Martha's soft ice cream!) before heading to Mom's. The Lake George area is in full summer mode already. Tourists clog the streets and the troopers abound along the Northway. I chug up Bear Mountain, searching for the familiar driveway now hidden behind a new monstrosity of a summer house someone plunked down.

It feels good and strange to be at Mom's. I half expect to see Dad appear from down cellar where he usually was working on a sermon. But no, my brother now sits in Dad's chair. The new addition is coming along nicely, the skylights opening up the A frame to let in lots of light. Mom is sorting through stuff, lightening the load, cleaning out closets.

We chat for some time before I head to bed, only to hear my sister arrive and tromp back to the living room to catch up with her. Its nice to be with family when I am out of Mom mode myself. Seeing everyone is like slipping into a comfy sweater and feeling cozy. I definitely need to do this more often! Hugs all around.

Kiel's B-Day

Today Kiel is a quarter of a century old, as he puts it. He sleeps in. Good way to celebrate. We will do cake later, and for his gift, he wants to go to see a movie at the theater. I am happy to provide that. Nice.

It has been a year of struggle for him as he tries to figure out how to deal with his sleep issues and hold his academic career out of the fire. He met with an advisor yesterday who finally brought things into clear focus. He is relieved to see the light at the end of a long tunnel. I am still holding my breath. I want to see it unfold before I trust that the answer is found. Sceptic!

I think, what will this boy like? I wander about in stores looking for something that will catch his attention. I read a hundred cards before I find the perfect one - it offers fifty bucks on the front cover, and when you open it, a picture of chickens and the sound of "bucks" - I stand there and count them, and yes, there are 50! It's perfect. I slide the money for his movie inside. I know he will chuckle over it.

The cake for this boy? Lots of color and goo. I find one plastered with frosting balloons of all hues. Just right for him. It will be a good day. If I had my druthers, I would buy him a new car. His is still beaten up from his accident last winter. But I don't have that kind of cash. Besides, if he gets everything handed to him, how will he ever know how to do for himself?

We all return home after 9pm. Kiel has the cake first before the pork chop dinner. Then gifts. The card is a big hit. We laugh. It is a small present, but we are in a good place, all of us. Joy comes in many sizes and today's was packed with love. Happy 25, dear boy.

Colonoscopy

Last time I had a colonoscopy, it was at Strong Memorial. I was crowded into a hallway of patients separated by thin curtains. The passageway was a high traffic area, and you were escorted to your spot, quickly settled in, then abandoned until your number came up. Less than a pleasant experience to say the least.

This time I was scheduled at a brand new facility, opened last August. What a delight! I was dropped off at the front door, just a few steps from the check in desk. The waiting area was pleasant with lots of windows and a hostess center offering free coffee and tea and vending machine fare. There were current magazines and three - count them, three - staff making sure everything was taken care of.

I was taken back right on schedule where three - yes, three! - nurses met me and assisted with vitals, port access, explanations. Everyone was happy, friendly, and calling me by my name. How wonderful! No one was hurried, stressed, overwhelmed. A patient dream come true. This new center does surgeries and outpatient tests of many varieties.

They wheel me to the procedure room where I greet my doctor. She is pleasant and comforting. We will be done in less than an hour. They take a time out to check everything for a final time. Name, date of birth, type of procedure, reason, forms signed, good to go. They push the first round of meds and tah-dah! There before me in living color, my insides.

It looks good to me. They pause at the J pouch scar where my talented surgeon had performed miracles, exclaiming over his handiwork and excellent craftsmanship. Its still great. No need for more drugs, I am tolerating well. And, yes! I pass with flying colors. NORMAL! I get to graduate. Hallelujah.

I am in recovery sipping apple juice and munching Saltines - a royal feast after a day and a half of fasting. They hand me color pictures with my discharge papers. A red letter day for me. I will see my rectal oncologist in August for the final release. It has been a long time coming and is so welcome I cannot tell you. Victory is sweet. Yahoo!

Prep Day

Sometimes I think I will never be free. Even though I am relieved of the main cancer concern, the follicular lymphoma, I still need to wrap up the rectal cancer followup. My rectal oncologist promised that once I have this next colonoscopy and its clear, she will release me and pronounce me cured of rectal cancer. Yeah!

Having had ten or so of these delightful procedures, I am not looking forward to today's prep. The worst part is having to drink gallons of yucky stuff. OK, not gallons. Just 64 ounces of slimy diarrhea inducing gunk. It takes so much time to down it, and then of course, the inevitable time spent getting rid of it. Sometimes explosively, if you get my drift.

I don't think I have it in me to go through this one more time, even on the promise of release. I finally ask the good Lord to help me. I have procrastinated long enough. I mix the dry white powder crystals in half the necessary amount of water. Refrigerate. Bad enough cold, but horrid warm. Every half hour, I mix equal amounts of slime water and white peach cranberry juice. The tartness of the cranberry cuts the taste.

Bottoms up - count the number of swallows to down 8 ounces. Usually takes me two breaths to get it all down. Then the shudder part and a quick mouthful of Jello - nothing red or purple if you please - to kill the taste. Yuck. But I am surprised at how quickly time passes. I went to the downtown library and rented an armful of old movies and TV shows to keep my focus on something other, and the ploy works.

I tuck a towel over my bedsheets - these preps can be rather unpredictable - and settle in for the night, sleeping intermittently. I sense God's presence and assurance. All will be well. Not to worry. The worst is over now that the prep is complete. Tomorrow will go smoothly.

Oncologist Report

I try not to kid myself. I am anxious to hear what my oncologist has to say, and also half scared of finding myself facing more treatment. Naggling in the back of my mind is that mysentery mass they saw on the last CT. What if it got bigger? What if I am one of the unlucky few whose freedom from symptoms doesn't alot even 2 years? I refuse to allow myself to think these thoughts, but they hang over me like a dark cloud.

Stop being silly, I tell myself. If they had found something they would have called you and gotten you in sooner. You are not in pain. You are feeling better every day. So. You will assume that its all good and stop borrowing trouble. I know the truth of that. I shake off the negative thoughts as best I can and go calmly about my morning business. I can't concentrate though. I had best fuddle around with inconsequential stuff so as not to make any huge mistakes while I am so distracted.

At last 2pm rolls around and I take my leave of the library, driving the familiar route down 390S to exit 17, winding up to the top floor of the parking ramp, taking the elevators down, marching the long hall to the cancer center. The doctor is running late. Great. More waiting. She is almost an hour behind. OK. I move to a seat near the windows where the sun is shining warmly on an overstuffed comfy chair, curl up as best I can, and close my eyes.

I soak in the warmth, pretending to be on vacation at a beach (that reminds me, I need to make reservations at Hamlin Beach State Park). I appreciate being able to sit unencumbered and enjoy life. I tune out the chatter of people coming and going until I am at peace. Take your time, dear doctor. I am enjoying the sun.

Occasionally I open my eyes as new patients arrive. I am struck by how many people are accompanied by someone else. An elderly woman with her elderly husband. A young woman with her sister. A middle aged man with his daughter. A mother with her son. This is unlike the infusion center. More people in the infusion waiting room are alone. Here I am the only person who is unaccompanied. Its OK though. I have lots of help when I need it, and I would hate to bore someone with a long wait.

At last they call my name. I follow the feisty nurse to an interior room for more waiting. The oncology nurse pokes her head in the room to see if I had my labs done. Oh, yes. You have a port. Let me get a kit and draw blood now while you are waiting for the doctor. I meet the new intern. He looks exhausted. I wonder if he has slept recently. He asks lots of questions, and together we look at the recent scan.

No sign of cancer in your bones now. No sign in the bone marrow. The mass in the mysentery area has shrunk. That's good. No other new sightings. How do I feel? He is not even a bit concerned for my prognosis. I am normal to him. Not worth wasting his time on. Where are the challenging cases? his attitude seems to say. I smile broadly. Good!

At last the doctor comes in. She smiles. Its all good. She calls the treatment very successful. No one says cured. No one says remission. But very successful I will take. The worst is over, and hopefully for a long time. I start my maintenance chemo next Thursday. Once every 3 months for 4 years. That will keep the boogie man cancer at bay. Its good!

And the doctor says, with my permission, she will go help someone who really needs it. I bless her and head out myself. Smiling. Free! Yup!

Snow Kidding!

I wake in the middle of the night and peek out the window while Sugar snores peacefully in her tent. The ground is white and I think it just the moonlight playing tricks. Maybe the cottonwood tree burst into bloom and shed its spring fuzz when I wasn't looking. I pick up my glasses for a closer look and am dumbfounded. This can't be right.

I pad silently to the kitchen, stumbling over a pile of shoes abandoned near the front door. I peer again into the moonlit night. I am right! The car windows are covered with an inch of snow! I shiver and bolt back to my room, diving under the quilts and snuggling them warm about my face, shivering repeatedly until the air about me warms up. Oy! I thought we were done with winter.

I realize that I need to turn the heat back on or I will not want to hie myself from my cocoon in the morning. Maybe if I am quick about it the bed will still be warm. I slide carefully from beneath the covers and zip into the hall, flip the switch and climb back in bed as fast as I can. Yes, the flannel sheets still reflect my body heat. I pull my hat down over my eyes and cross my arms over my shoulders, rocking back and forth until I warm up.

I awaken at 5:45. Perhaps it was a dream. The room is comfortable. I stretch and wander into Drew's room to see why he has not turned off his alarm. Brrrrr!!! His room is a refrigerator. The window is open! I quick shut it and jump back in my own warm bed. I can see by the light of day already shining that snow was not a dream. It coats the branches outside my window, mindless of the greenery already budding. The lawn is plastered in white. The air is peppered with white flakes. This will not pass quickly. Phooey.

Snow in May. Snow for Mother's Day. Snow too early for winter. Or is it too late? No matter. I shall wrap in sweaters and my leather jacket to venture forth. I refuse to get my winter coat out. I have no intention of encouraging winter to return!

Baccalaureate

How exciting! This is the first year I will be able to attend the baccalaureate services before graduation. How wonderful it is to congregate in the education wing hallway with fellow faculty, all of us decked in our robes and mortarboards, our hood colors flying, so official looking. The color for Library Science is yellow, for music pink, for theology, scarlet. I love marching in graduation. Now I will be able to take part in the service celebrating the students and their lives of learning.

The service is well attended. Parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends fill the pews to overflowing. We sit on the platform in the choir space and face the graduating students in the center sections. It is a momentous occasion. For some families, it is the first time anyone has graduated from among them. For others, it is the last child of several. The women have paid careful attention to their outfits beneath the black robes, stellar shoes, perfect hair and makeup the only visible signs of their hard efforts.

Together we sing hymns, hear Scripture, laugh at the speaker's jokes, acknowledge those who have merited special recognition. Not a wedding. But just as important, this passage from semi-independent to full adulthood. They still look young, innocent, naive. But they are not. They are ready. They will do well. It makes you proud and humble and hopeful to see these fledglings leave the collegiate nest and strike out on their own. If we have taught them well, the world will be a better place. May it be so.

Sister School Stuff

When I first came to Rochester, the high school Drew enrolled in was experiencing cutbacks. They had to lay off the librarian, and the oversight for the collection of books fell to a parent who had been volunteering in the library. When she could no longer help, the doors were closed. Imagine a high school without a library! Imagine an elementary school with no library. Tragic.

I had mentioned to the new principal that I would be willing to help, and he gave me the go ahead to do what I could. After pulling together a committee, we put the books back on the shelf in proper order, cleaned and painted the room, washed the windows, cleaned the carpets, and solicited help getting things cataloged that had arrived. The parent who had helped before was hired on a part time basis to keep things going.

But it was clear that without ongoing support, the tenuous beginning might melt away. So our library made a decision to adopt the Finney Library as our sister institution. We have offered library instruction and research training in our instruction lab, investigated ways to fund their online catalog expenses, earned free books for them through our annual Scholastic Book sale, and tried to assist in whatever way we can.

This month we solicited, from various offices here at Roberts, donations to put in a backpack which will be sold at the Finney fundraiser auction. People here are so generous, we were able to send two backpacks filled with Roberts paraphernalia, each worth around $100. I packed them up today and carted them home to send them off with Drew. I really enjoy helping out. Sure hope we can continue to extend a helping hand to keep those doors open.

Still Crazy Busy

What is going on??!! This is nearly the last day of the semester and we are still super busy. Usually we get a nice slow down during the final week. The weekend is hectic as students finish papers and study groups meet. The same for Monday, but after Tuesday, we usually dwindle to a handful of students who still need to finish. By Thursday only a few remain.

Not this year. We have been going full bore all of last week AND this! Here it is Thursday and the library is packed. Small groups huddle around coffee tables, deep in conversation about whether the professor will ask some question on the exam. Every computer station is occupied by students half buried in books, papers, notebooks and backpacks. No games or facebook are in sight. This is serious stuff.

True, the exam schedule is more evenly distributed throughout the week. But by now we should see a certain thinning out of at least undergraduate students. Many graduate programs are still in session, their finals not happening for another week or so. We will hardly catch our breath and fold away our caps and gowns before jumping into the summer session on Monday.

Its a bit unsettling, this constant rising of the semester workflow. Staff need some time to breathe. Already we have our summer projects planned, our student worker schedules set, our areas assigned. We were hoping for a few days to chill and just catch up, but at this rate there will be no downtime. Ah, well. I can't complain. At least we don't have to make any cuts this year. That's a good thing. I'll take busy any day of the week.

Honoring Faculty

"Are you going to the retirement event?" "Yes! Want to walk over with me?" My colleague and I head toward the Cultural Life Center where we find, in the atrium, a feast of fingerfoods including a chocolate fountain into which you can dip assorted fruits, pretzels, and cubes of angel food cake.

The space is abuzz with excitement as faculty gather to honor two of their own. Again this year I impressed by the accolades and jealous of the lifetime of accomplishments. I haven't even lived in the same city for four decades straight much less worked for the same institution. Of course, I wouldn't necessarily trade my adventures and exploration for their stable and familiar environment. Or the friends I have made along the way.

I have thoroughly enjoyed being immersed in new cultures and climates. Still, there is something to be said for continuity. It takes such a long time to really get to know how to do your work well in the specific environment you find yourself. That is, if you manage to not get stuck in a rut!

The accolades accorded to this year's honorees are intriguing. I would love to get to know people of this caliber better. A renaissance man who spoke to our seminary cohort, aka an Anglican priest. A Biology teacher who took a group of students to the Galapagos Islands one summer, aka a pastor's wife.

Though they are retiring, they will be around. Make a note. Ask to have lunch with them, just for conversation sake. Wonderful things can come of casual chat. Open up new worlds through another's eyes. Fabulous. Let's just hope our new hires are as amazing as our retirees!

Bye Bye Wisdom

Kiel had all four wisdom teeth pulled. I smile indulgently as he assures me he is perfectly capable of driving himself there and back. After all, they will give him some lidocaine, what could be so difficult?

I got a cute text from him after the event. "All done. lybbn" (his code for love you, bye bye now). Twenty minutes later I get a call from Drew. He and Kiel are at the pharmacy filling Kiel's prescriptions. Kiel is desperate to take something NOW for pain since the lidocaine is wearing off, and he is not sure he will have enough money if the prescription is expensive. I instruct him to ask the pharmacist to sell him 1 pill and I will come in later to purchase the rest.

Now the moaning begins in earnest. This is definitely not what he had in mind. He really thought that the whole thing would be easier, despite watching me go through 3 separate occasions of tooth pulling and recovery. This is a far cry from what he anticipated. Oh, if only I could take the rap for him, I would. But he will have to get through this himself.

When I get home, he is sitting in a chair sipping soft stuff and singing the praises of Vicodin, the wonder drug of choice. He barely talks so as not to move his jaw, but he is in better spirits. The next week is a mixture of feeling better, feeling worse. While his cheeks didn't really swell up, the side with the most stitches is taking its time healing. He nurses it along, wishing for the healing to hurry up.

Everyone around him jokes about his loss of wisdom, but in truth, he has gained a great deal of experience and with that, wisdom in how to handle these sorts of things. Rough knocks, but unavoidable. Hopefully he will feel better soon.

CT Scan

Usually my scans happen earlier in the day, but I have no control over when these tests get scheduled. Sometimes they don't even tell me when they are coming up! 4:30 pm. I wonder if I will have time to complete the scan and get back to campus in time for my evening class at 6 pm. Especially if they are running behind. Well, there is no help for it.

Traffic isn't bad getting there - everyone is headed the opposite direction, away from the medical facility. Science Park is easier to get to, and parking is not a long term assignment either. I pull up in one of three empty spaces right in front of the door to the Imaging Center. I smile as I fill out the usual form. The receptionist now hands me a "courtesy copy" of my previous visit so I can just copy stuff. No need to look anything up.

I watch the news for a few minutes before they call my name, and a sunny tech named Gloria leads me back directly to the scan room. No reason for me to be seated first in a side room. No IV, no gloppy stuff to swallow, no radiation. This is just a straight, simple no contrast scan. I suspect they took me in ahead of a few others because this will be so quick.

Gloria glances at me, asks if I am wearing anything metallic, and nods when I say no. I am an old hand at this game. I learned the rules ages ago. She places me on the machine's tongue head first. This is different. I usually go in feet first. Zip, zip, whirrr, whirr, in, out, again, farther in, out, done. There's the exit. Bye.

It goes so quickly that I have plenty of time to stop at Panera's for dinner before I head to class. Nice. But something about the scan has scrambled my head. First task in class is to write out our memorized Scripture. I knew it cold going into that donut machine, but now I am struggling to catch the right words to put down. I have the sequence right, I can see the darn word on the printed page from which I memorized it. I know the first two letters and the intent of the word, but I cannot for the life of me get that word into my conscious mind and out onto the paper.

I select the closest approximation I can come up with, knowing full well it is not right. Sigh. I haven't had one bit of chemobrain that I have be aware of since the treatment. But this. This is definite chemobrain. I am frustrated. I wonder if chemobrain has been evident elsewhere in my work. Darn. I will have to run a diagnostic on everything I have touched recently. Rats.

I turn in my paper and look for the two words I could not recall. Yes, there they are. Close to what I put down, but not exact. Well, what's a few demerit points among friends? At least I retained the meaning if not the perfection.

Before when I had chemobrain, it was evident and part of the general dysfunctional fog of ineptitude I was experiencing. It has been 8 months since my last chemo. Odd time for it to hit. I wonder if its part of this sort of detox I seem to be experiencing? Along with the leg neuropathy and exhaustion. Could be, I suppose.

At least its not bad, and I am over the treatment, so hopefully this will pass quickly without further incident. We shall see.

Paper Writing Blues

We have this assignment for our Pastoral Care class. Write an order of service for a funeral, and a 5 or 6 minute meditation for people attending the funeral of a loved one. I have attended many funerals, most recently my Dad's. Wouldn't you think I could put something together easily?

Well, the order of service went well. I just pulled together what I would want for my own service. But the meditation part. Goodness. Where do you begin? What do you say to people? Of course, if this were a eulogy for a specific person, it could be crafted to fit the circumstances. But to just write something, well, not so easy.

Pick a text and speak from that. But everything I selected was so dark and depressing. Or too bright and cheerful. How difficult it is to get just the right mix of sorrow and hope. I wrote, scrapped, wrote again, scrapped again, ad nauseum. I tried reading a few out loud and I was depressed hearing myself. Boy, what a challenge. I have great admiration for those who do this all the time.

After a dozen attempts, I finally managed to get a direction that worked OK, and though not my finest work, it will just have to do. I never thought 5 minutes could be so challenging. At least I got a nice service order to use myself whenever the time comes. I will put a copy in my black briefcase with all the other necessary papers. Hopefully, someone will remember its there!

Im-PORT-ant

My port has been bothering me of late. It tugs and pulls against the muscles in my shoulder and sometimes causes spasms. When I am walking Sugar, I often have to hold my hand over my port to ease the aching. I hope it isn't giving out. I wonder if ports rupture? Could I bleed to death before anyone could intervene? Sure hope not!


I run my finger around the circular hard edge with the three prongs sticking up, and I remember. Dad had a port. How vividly I recall a conversation with my Father. The doctors had suggested he have a port installed to make things a bit easier for him. Mom asked me what mine was like, and I drew aside my shirt to show them. Piece of cake, I told them. You will love it. So Dad had one put in.

Now as I touch my port, I think about Dad's port. I have never made that connection before. None of my siblings share this commonality, this concrete touchpoint that reaches deep into my heart. I never got to see Dad's port, and he didn't use it much. I wonder if the undertaker was surprised to discover it and what he did with it when he was preparing the body. Morbid thought, I tell myself, shaking it off.

I think about the last time I saw Dad. As I said good-bye, I kissed the top of his bald and age-spotted head, smiling at how far his ears stuck out, all Yoda like, patting his shoulder in a semi hug. It was a good visit - long overdue - and a gracious farewell. I think we both suspected it would be our last time together.

I can see him in my mind's eye as he sat in his chair, his eyes searching mine, his once energetic frame sagging wearily. How glad he must be to have shed his tired tent and be clothed with immortality. I am not ready to join him quite yet. Someday. But for now, I am happy to think of him, glad that something as simple and lifegiving as my port reminded me of how important it is to remember my Dad.