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Do you care?

For someone else, that is?

Actively, like for a child or parent or ailing spouse?

My husband does.

He cares for me. He has become the chief cook and bottle-washer around here. Not to mention aching-back rubber. (He tries not to rub me the wrong way!)

He soothes me, coos to me, woos me, and tells me he will take good care of me. Since he can’t “fix” my condition, his new mission in life is to give me the best quality of life possible.

But who cares for the caregiver?

In my weakened condition, it is incumbent upon Mike to take care–great care of himself. And he does.

How?

Seriously, by letting his hair down:

Because I Care!

Letting one’s hair down once in a while helps. It helps to keep one’s head on straight. Well, as straight as can be expected in the topsy-turvy world of care giving.

But there is another way a caregiver can refresh himself when times get hair-curling. That is to refresh with a friend: (Hi, Ron)

Refreshment!

and then take a bath and read a good book at day’s end:

Living The Sweet Life!

Ahh…life is good.

And the next day, when the mission of giving is once more undertaken, the load is lightened. Lightened enough that the caregiver can once more give to his beloved one of life’s most precious gifts:  a reminder that life is not to be taken too seriously–especially when it seems like life is no laughing matter.

Because it is! 🙂

Classmates have class!

At least mine do.

When Ken Brown sent out the notice that he and Mike Deay would be performing at the Grape Escape (in Redding) May 10th, I so wanted to go and watch them sing. Or should that be listen? Anyway, I wanted to be there, front and center. They’re two gifted musicians who have that twisted sense of humor that keeps things hoppin’.

Unfortunately, however, their performance isn’t scheduled to start until 7:30 p.m.

Normally, evening hours don’t present a problem for people. That is, of course, unless they are working night shifts, two shifts, or “shifty” shifts. Or, as I have found out, unless one has a malady that zaps her energy. I fall into that latter category. Without a three hour nap, I’m good until about 4:00 on my good days. With a nap, I can function until 7 or maybe 8.

So, regretfully, I told Ken I wouldn’t be able to make it.

Guess what his reply was?

No, really, guess–take a moment, because this is where he melted my heart. (He did that in high school, too, but that’s another story.)

He said, “Then Mike and I would like to come do a performance for you. How about Friday afternoon?”

I swooned.

I accepted.

I would have jumped up and down except for this tender belly!

So, come they did, and they made their music, shared their laughter and struck the core of me with their golden chords.

Ken & Mike at the Mikes

For you see, for someone who has a debilitating disease, whose life activities are dropping away one by one and sometimes two by two, who doesn’t have much to offer anyone anymore, it is indescribable what it means to have others give of themselves. Yet, the story must be told, as there are so many people who don’t know what to say to me or what to do.

The answer is simple. Be who you are! Anything less than that is a lie, and I don’t have time to waste.

Drop the shoulds, the coulds, the woulds.

Bring me who you are.

If you want to cry in front of me, because of me–cry. I’ll join in.

If you want to tell me about your hurts and disappointments–tell me. You will not add to my burden.

If you want to tell me about your successes and joys–tell me. I will not feel bad that you’re happy. I will be happy, too.

If you want to ask me questions about life–and facing death–ask. My wisdom is yours.

If you want to be invited next time Mike and Ken come to my house to give of themselves–let me know. They are a class act.

Thank you, Ken. Thank you, Mike.

You will never know how much your giving means to me.

By the way, those tears you saw running down my cheeks as you played were not because I didn’t like your music.

They were because I love you!

Hmm…..

What if you had a choice to make?

One that could extend your life or one that could shorten it–immediately?

Sound like an obvious choice to make?

Not so–not now, for me at least.

Now, as I examine my current life situation, I find that wrapped within the outer coating of that question lies the inner question, the question that begs an answer each and every day and has begged one since the day I first became aware of choice.

That question is: How do I choose to live my life?

If taking chemo and feeling crummy means a longer life,

while taking less chemo and feeling better means living life,

which do I choose?

I choose life!

Some days that choice will look like being sick in bed due to chemo effects.

Some days that choice will look like leaving pills behind so I feel well enough to do activities I love.

That happened last Wednesday.

Susan Greaves, one of my favorite artists, demonstrated plein air oil painting (painting on site) .

Susan Greaves–What a Site!

She painted and I loved. Loved that I could be there. Loved that others in class loved being there, too. Loved that Susan is willing to share herself with others. Loved nature. Loved being alive. Loved.

As for making that final choice about chemo, I am not ready to give it up yet. The new drug is harder, but who said life is easy? The pills are easier to swallow, but when their taste becomes too bitter, I ease up. I’m not recommending any other cancer patient do the same, I’m just saying…for me…

I choose to live until I die.

And if that results in a little beauty and love along the way, then I say, “Bring it on!”

Shared Beauty!

One day.

That’s all it takes.

On Monday I drove past a manly oak. He was standing bold and proud in his nakedness, back-lit against a slate gray sky.

“I want to paint him,” I thought, “just as he is–without adornment.”

But I did not stop to take a photo.

Tomorrow….

Tomorrow came and I went–with my camera.

But he had veiled himself.

Fingerlings of leafy spring had flourished from dusk to dawn, shrouding his physique like a shy bridegroom on his wedding night.

Beautiful?  Yes, this, too.

But the purity for me had been masked.

In just one day.

Manly Oak

Breaking bread with loved ones probably dates back to the time bread needed to be broken!

I mean, really, how did primitive man (or more like woman–ha ha) figure out how to pound wheat into anything that could pass for bread? Heck, for that matter, how did she even find wheat!

Primitive Man!

These questions are both worth pondering–some day.

For today, however, I want to ponder this question: How can I get my husband to add sesame seeds atop his bread?

It’s not like I haven’t tried: hinting, suggesting, urging, cajoling.

But who can complain? (Besides a well-seasoned wife, that is. :-))

My husband bakes bread!

Breaking Bread!

And then he breaks it–with Loved Ones. (Hi, Pamela)

What is it about that creative urge that lies deep within us?

Where does it come from? Why are we driven to express it?  And why, oh why, are there still some of us who continue to insist we are not creative? Balderdash!

If one can imagine, one can create.

Skills may be lacking, but not creativity.  So quit your sniveling and express your Self. Just imagine it–it’s what the world wants from you. It’s what we’re all waiting for.

And what is it about that longing to connect with others? Sweet, isn’t it? The best, really.

So, may your day today be filled with creativity and connection.

I know mine will.

And if I’m lucky, really lucky, my husband’s day will be filled with loafing around.

Creatively, that is!

Mike Loafing Around!

Are those sesame seeds I see?

Golden Gate Bridge

Somewhere within that misty shroud lies a mystery.

A mystery as old as mankind.

A mystery large enough to envelope us all.

A mystery for which there is no answer.

A mystery I am attempting to solve.

Somewhere behind that misty shroud points the way to answering my question:

Is it my time to die?

Mike and I drove to San Francisco last week for my latest medical appointment. I had been experiencing symptoms that suggested time might be drawing nigh.

As I looked at the fog-veil masking the city, I wondered what news awaited me there. In this moment, it was still a mystery….

Dr. Baron greeted us in the waiting room and led us down the hall to his office.  He seated himself at his desk before scanning the results of my CAT scan.

“Well,” he said, looking at us, “Your cancer is growing, but just a small amount. Nothing to be concerned about at this point. I’ll show you how large the tumor is.”

As his fingers displayed the size of my tumor, I shrank back in the chair.

The oncologist continued, “But the cancer has not spread. That’s the good thing. This isn’t an “A+” report, it’s more like a “C+”. At least it’s not a “D.”

I had to agree.

We also agreed to set up a different chemo regimen and to schedule a follow-up visit for June. He gave each of us a warm embrace. Mike and I left his office quite relieved.

June!

How sweet is that.

It is not my time to die.

Mystery solved?

No.

That answer remains in the hands of my maker.

Simple pleasure?

Yes.

Isn’t life itself life’s simplest pleasure?

I hope you are enjoying yours as much as I am enjoying mine–don’t wait until your time might be drawing nigh!