If you have a dog, you soon meet other dog owners (sort of like with children, you get to meet lots of parents). Early in the morning, one of the joys of Sugar's jaunts is being able to greet friends and not-so-friends. We have gotten to know a jittery collie who prances nervously and a nonchalant golden retriever who is generally sporting a Frisbee. There are a few smaller dogs we occasionally encounter who will allow Sugar to sniff hello, and lots of bigger dogs that set her off on a frenzy.
This morning, we were fortunate to see the collie, the retriever, and a small brown poodle. Sugar gets so excited she is hard to hold back. She leaps and whines and sniffs the air excitedly. She is as eager to greet the owners as the dogs, and all the women (!) make a big fuss over how cute Sugar is while their dogs looked on, bored.
On the way back to our apartment, Sugar also discovered an uppity cat curled on the window sill of one of the lower apartments. The cat stared at Sugar's antics with great disdain, then lazily and with no show of emotion, batted the window and slipped away under the blind out of sight. Sugar ran in circles for a few minutes, then was off chasing a squirrel.
I am sure Sugar was thinking about how grand the day had begun. I wonder if I will encounter my own 3 friends and an enemy and have as good a time doing so today. One thing I am sure of - its likely I will end up chasing squirrels myself!
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Christmas Star
I have longed for Christmas to come early this year. I am not sure why I want it to be Christmas this soon. Maybe because this has been a demanding year. Maybe because I am tired of battling cancer. Maybe because I am getting old and I need to regain a touch of my childhood. Whatever the reason, I long for some time to curl up in a cozy cocoon of blankets and not do ANYTHING. No schedules, no deadlines, no demands from others. Just peace and quiet. Silence and comfort. Recapture that magical moment when I was a child when the world stood still for my beating heart in excited anticipation of joy and laughter.
To that end, I am beginning to look for signs of Christmas. They are all around me. Today I discovered a pumpkin vine in full blossom. The bright yellow flower was the shape of a perfect star - the star of Bethlehem. Filled with light and vibrancy. Anticipating a special event. I stand admiring its beauty until Sugar begins to whine with impatience. Christmas is coming. Yahoo.
And I move on content in the knowledge that Christmas can be whenever I need it to happen. Like today.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Cancer Support Group
I have thought about going to the cancer support group at Peace a number of times, but they meet on Wednesday nights when I am usually at the reference desk. This semester for the first time I am not working nights because of the shortage of people for the circ area. So it occurred to me that I should take advantage of this. It won't last - maybe not even for the entire semester since I may end up back at reference once we hire a new person.
I find my way there, and am warmly greeted by people I mostly know. We pray, then watch part of a video that I already own (Psalm 23 for Cancer Patients). We divide into patients and care givers to reflect on what we have seen. After introductions, we patients share our experiences a bit. Some are new to cancer, some like myself have been at it a long time.
A few cry openly, pressed by their experiences. Some try to laugh it off. Others are quiet like myself (and I am not usually one of the quiet ones, as you know). None of us pretends to know the answers. All of us want to encourage others as best we can. It is clear we are a fellowship of kindred spirits who, like it or not, are walking the same path.
I have never found support groups to be helpful before. Usually they are sessions of weeping and wailing that wallow in the muck and make no progress. Or they are filled with advice that, while well meaning, is not helpful. But tonight is different. I can just sit and allow myself to feel the full extent of what I have had to go through without needing to "make it better."
We have so few places where we can lament without making others feel bad. This is one rare opportunity to let those feelings surface and be voiced (aloud or silently) as we stare at each other, battle wounds and all. We remember having no hair like one woman, or thinning hair like another woman, or aches and pains like one of the men, or fatigue to the point of just focusing on breathing, like another person. We know what that is like.
And we give each other permission to cry about it. The counselor sitting with us has had cancer herself. She knows the importance of acknowledging the crap. She does not tell us any magic formula for learning to be happy despite the pain. This is good. I can't do this with friends who don't know what cancer is. They want to make me feel better. I sure can't do this with my children. They don't want to think about it. I can no longer do this with my Mom because she has retreated into her own world of pain. If I mention it to a doctor, they send me for tests.
So this is welcomed. A place to just feel bad for awhile. To raise our fists in the air and say "this stinks." And know that someone understands that. We do not wallow in it. We do not pull ourselves up by bootstraps. We do not DO anything. We just are. We are honest. And that is good.
I find my way there, and am warmly greeted by people I mostly know. We pray, then watch part of a video that I already own (Psalm 23 for Cancer Patients). We divide into patients and care givers to reflect on what we have seen. After introductions, we patients share our experiences a bit. Some are new to cancer, some like myself have been at it a long time.
A few cry openly, pressed by their experiences. Some try to laugh it off. Others are quiet like myself (and I am not usually one of the quiet ones, as you know). None of us pretends to know the answers. All of us want to encourage others as best we can. It is clear we are a fellowship of kindred spirits who, like it or not, are walking the same path.
I have never found support groups to be helpful before. Usually they are sessions of weeping and wailing that wallow in the muck and make no progress. Or they are filled with advice that, while well meaning, is not helpful. But tonight is different. I can just sit and allow myself to feel the full extent of what I have had to go through without needing to "make it better."
We have so few places where we can lament without making others feel bad. This is one rare opportunity to let those feelings surface and be voiced (aloud or silently) as we stare at each other, battle wounds and all. We remember having no hair like one woman, or thinning hair like another woman, or aches and pains like one of the men, or fatigue to the point of just focusing on breathing, like another person. We know what that is like.
And we give each other permission to cry about it. The counselor sitting with us has had cancer herself. She knows the importance of acknowledging the crap. She does not tell us any magic formula for learning to be happy despite the pain. This is good. I can't do this with friends who don't know what cancer is. They want to make me feel better. I sure can't do this with my children. They don't want to think about it. I can no longer do this with my Mom because she has retreated into her own world of pain. If I mention it to a doctor, they send me for tests.
So this is welcomed. A place to just feel bad for awhile. To raise our fists in the air and say "this stinks." And know that someone understands that. We do not wallow in it. We do not pull ourselves up by bootstraps. We do not DO anything. We just are. We are honest. And that is good.
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