Cancer card

Drums beat incessantly in the back of my head, it was coming.  I looked down and felt the soft pink flesh of my belly where it had peeled back, revealing the black dark crusting from my gut.  There was no blood, no remorse.  Now everyone could see.  I pulled a crisp white shirt on and buttoned up the front covering the gaping wound. An empty cavity was all that remained, my heart, my feeling were gone.  I felt the cold wind blowing through me as I walked, drums beating.  I felt my legs trembling as my feet trod on the icy ground.  I rounded the corner, the end in site, I was not going back.  I smiled to those who knew no better, knew no end.  The sun shone on their heads and gleamed, the blue skies reflected in their eyes.  I turned back and faced my path, dead ahead.

Who Am I?

Serious Thoughts, Serious Racer

“Who am I?”  she said.  “Are you lightening??” I said.  She shook her head no.  “Are you Wall-E”??? I said.  She shook her head no. ”Emma?”  Again no. ”Give me a clue,” I said.  She stared at me blankly. 

I was exhausted, my fascination with the fantasy world and her rapidly changing avitar was running low.  I was tired of being Mater, towing every idyllic daydream around; tired of being Eeeeva, forcing green things down after I was long since full to coax a few fibrous morsels into Wall-E. 

 ”Who am I?”  She said again.  I glanced at her staring blankly at me, hollow eyes, as if she was truly waiting to assume a persona once dubbed.  “If you don’t know who I am, I’m nobody,” she said.

 ”Ok” I said. 

“I don’t want to be nobody” she said.  

No, I thought, that doesn’t sound healthy, unsure of how to end this cyclic ruse.  Was she truly being metaphysical or was she as bored of her favorite characters as I was.  Maybe she had tired of being the fastest race car, always on top, self absorbed and brash.  Maybe she had  tired of being the old, rusty robot, best friends with Beetle,  searching endlessly for love with someone out of his league.  It made sense really, neither of these characters stripped down were very appealing to me. 

I gave her a big hug.  “Do you need some attention?” I asked. 

“Who am I?” she answered, staring back at me blankly.  “Well…I’m Mater” I said with a sigh, “so…you must be Lightening”.  She frowned.  “Lightening McQueen” she stated bluntly.  “Of course”. 

Thank goodness, our personality disorders had abated. I towed her off the chair and into my lap for a big hug.  She wriggled away and jumped down racing off.  “Who are you Mommy?”  she shouted. Don’t confuse me I thought, I have enough trouble figuring that out on my own these days.

Love of leaves falling

Pat, pat pat.  He trod down the walk, feet rustling the leaves.  He stopped to look up at the sky as a few sparce rain drops splatted him in the face.  Hand out stretched, he turned slowly, then looked back and me and smiled slyly.  Pat, pat pat, the wind ruffled his white blond hair as he cooed, brrrrrr, cold.  He stooped and slowly, carefully bent down to admire a stick, turning it over in his chubby little hand, feeling it, examining it, tasting it.  I watched in amusement his fascination with the mundane, it was inspiring really.  Why couldn’t we all have such appreciation for the beauty that surrounds us, the sights, the smells, the sensations.  He giggled and displayed a toothy grin as he shoved a handful of dirt into his mouth.  We’ve learned… I suppose that’s the word for it… discovered that dirt tastes metallic, gritty,  sticks are common, and rain… a nuisance.  We know that rustling leaves will be there day after day, autumn come autumn.  Or will they?  I paused, breathing the cool air, listening to the polluting sound of the whirring leaf blowers as neighbors raced to eliminate every leaf before the rains turned them into a soggy,  smothering mess.  Perhaps if we appreciated the little things more, we could be more assured they would be there for the next little one to explore with wonderment.   I turned back to my explorer and gave his big, squishy, muddy cheeks a giant smooch.  He smiled, blue eyes twinkling. I grabbed him and we rolled in the leaves laughing.  Lucky for me, his fascination, his joy was infectious.

Ride on, and on and on

Warm autumn sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, splashing across the road.  I gripped the handle bars tightly and stood, rear off my seat.  The wind whipped my hair as I sailed down the steep hill.  Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

As usual, I was a little afraid, screaming down this rough paved road, narrow as it was, but always had a smile plastered across my face.  After the long push up, up, up, and up….it was elating to cruise faster than a speeding bullet down, down, down the hill.  Today was no different, I was like a kid on a big wheel, speed, speed and more speed.  I knew these golden days would soon come to an end, their hazy counterparts would be greeting us morning after morning all too soon.  I closed my eyes and soaked it all in, the sweat from the ride drying quickly as I coasted down the hill.  I gazed out across the valley, red and white barns dotting the rolling country side to my left, breath taking Mount Hood out to my right.  I could have been dreaming, it was that good.  Alas, even dreams have to end, and, as we live high atop a steep steep hill, reality struck in…into my thighs that is, all too quickly.  Burning as I made the final push, they were screaming at me to stop, turn back, cruise off into the sunset, but, unfortunately, I had to go home.  Push, pedal, push, pedal, I coasted into our drive, panting.  Exhausted, elated.  I could not think of a more wonderful way to spend an hour, (or had it been two?)  on a late fall day.

40 Hellos

I gave her a giant hug then sat on the front porch and watched as she drove away.  This was one of many times I had had to say goodbye to her.  Though it was getting easier, as I became ever more independent and mature, now with my own husband and children to care for, I always had to choke back a little bit to get the farewell greetings out.  I missed her, as much now, today, as I did when we were little and she would leave. 

She was my older sister, nurturing, protective, motherly; holding me in her lap as a baby, letting me snuggle in bed with her at night when we were young, calming my fears. She was my confidant, my ally, my partner, my best friend; letting me tag along with the big kids through the jungle, passing me raisins during nap time, swinging in hammocks together, telling me her deepest secrets …and not laughing at mine, most of the time.  But she was more than that. 

One of five girls, she, the oldest, was like a mother to me. I looked up to her and she never let me down, always beautiful, knowing, stylish and cool.  I, being somewhat mousy and shy, clung to her spirit and yearned for her affection.  

I stood at the school bus stop, waving her on, pretending to be happy for her, as she left me for her first day of school.  Even then, as she boarded the bus confidently, I knew I wanted to be like her, and yet, inside, I also knew, I never would.  She had a spirit that led her knowingly along.  She was not afraid… or at least, did not show it.  She held her head high, poised, her long brown hair hanging neatly down her back.

When she left me to head off to Germany, she was only 7 years old yet already bold and independent. She was sad to leave, but you could see the strength in her beautiful, almond-shaped, hazel eyes. She returned, after braving a summer in a foreign school,  worldly, fluent in German. 

Heidi was more out going than I, spending a year abroad as an AFS student, rather than a mere summer.  I know I was very sad when she departed but this did not seem to impress me.  I do remember the day she returned however.  I was hiding in my room, afraid she would have “forgotten” me, when she came into my room and embraced me with a warm Australian woolly hug.  The year abroad had changed her, but she still loved me.  She brought me a small Australian bag that I kept for many years until it was worn, hanging on to the part of her she had given me.

She left me shortly thereafter to go to college.  I sat in the back seat of the car, watching her skyscraper of a dormitory on the UT campus.  It grew smaller and smaller out the back window as we drove away.   I could not believe we were leaving her there, alone, to sleep in that place. My armour, my guide, my friend was gone.  It would be infrequent that I would see her, but I always looked forward to when I did, and hated to say good bye.  

I had the fortune to spend a year during college in Austin with Heidi as she worked and studied hard to be accepted into graduate school.  We would go walking together once a week around Town Lake, sharing our thoughts and hardships… it was always one of my favorite times of the week. 

My sister was ever one step ahead, paving the way for me, ready with advice on how to succeed.  And succeed she did.

As an unrelated aside, (…and I say unrelated because it was her dedication that helped her to succeed, but it is so much a part of who she is, I find it hard not to mention…) she always looked the part, as if she had stepped off the page of a Vogue magazine. It came natural for her. Her couture arrangements struck me a bit strange, though well put together, until I would see them months later on a famous model and wish them for my own. 

With this innate sense of style at her back, she worked very hard, and earned herself a position at the prestigious Columbia Business school. 

I remember the day I sat at her graduation, watching her accept her degree.  I was so proud of who she had become, so afraid of who I would be, so enchanted by her drive, and so sad that she would soon be leaving me again for a coveted job with Franklin Templeton. 

I think back now on each of the times she “left” me, and sad as I was, it always helped me to grow. 

With each good bye, she was following her heart, her dreams, taking on new challenges and using them to better herself.  With each good bye, I became more independent, more charismatic, more bold, defining myself as my own individual.  She, knowingly or not, left me with a piece of herself each time, something small that I would hold and cherish.   

It was not long after living in Florida that she phoned me and announced her resolve to marry a man she had her eye on.  I did not doubt for a moment that she would, that he would fall readily for her charm… every boy did… a quick glance of her bold green eyes, a flip of her silky chesnut brown hair, her curvy hips, contagious laugh and quick wit… it was all they could do to keep them selves from her. I was very happy for her, but also sad, that she would be moving on yet again. 

It all sounds very selfish of me I know, but I missed her.

She blossomed with Niels and became a beautiful mother of three amazing girls of her own, giving them the same love and guidance she had given me. 

I missed her.

I have seen my sister many times since then, at least once a year, and every visit reminds me of why I love her.  Why I always looked up to her and wanted to be like her.  It reminds me of why I miss her so much, and why I don’t want to say good bye.  But in the end…I do… and I cry.

Every once in a while, you find the perfect card that says what you are thinking… or wished you had. 

“When I was a little girl, my sister was my best friend.  Thank goodness I get to keep her for the rest of my life. “  

Thank goodness I never really have to say good bye.

 I hope in the next forty years that our good byes will become fewer and our hellos more frequent,  that our friendship will always continue, and that the joy we shared in our youth will prevail as our bodies grow old.

Have a good Wish!

I stood motionless at the counter as she raced around me, a little tornado, reminding me of someone else… myself.  “Wait, wait, wait!”  she exclaimed as she hurriedly grabbed assorted items and put them in a brown paper bag.  She had discovered the utility of brown paper bags only just yesterday and was thrilled.  She reached up and put two bags in my purse.  “These will help you at work today,” she stated, beaming.  She smiled at me, satisified that she was letting me go in good stead. “Have a good wish!”  she said, giving me her signature send off. 

I went out the door, my heart filled.  It had been a long, trying week, both physically and emotionally, but she was there to take care of me.

We snuggled in bed that night, reading stories, giggling at the silly sayings.  “I want another mother” she said, mimicking the mouse that, upon asking for “another” kiss, had multiple other mothers come to bid him good night.  “You want another mother?”  I said.  “No, just you”, she said, giving me a big kiss.  “I miss Daddy” she said.  “He’s fun” she said.  “me too” I replied.  “I love you too though” she said. 

I left her room warmed by her gentle, honest love.  At the ripe age of two and three quarters, she was already taking care of me. 

I opened the paper bags at work and smiled at what she had given me: half a plastic egg filled with silly putty, a pipe cleaner and foam for a “project”, a plastic giraffe, a heart shaped ring, a plastic bag from the newspaper to “hold my important things in”, and a plastic lynx.  I carefully closed the bags and put them back in my purse, smiling. 

 They did help me at work today, I thought, every single one of them, and so did my “other mother.”

Torrents

As I stood in the sunlight, the rays warming my face, I could sense the winds coming. Their hollow rush rifled through the trees, sending their leaves scattering to the ground. I pulled my sweater tighter around my waist, hugging myself with my arms, but it was no use… they would not stop the winds… they would not comfort me. I turned to head for shelter but the winds howled around me, barring my path. I called out for him, begging for him to bring me inside, to shelter me with an umbrella, but he did not answer. And then it started. The rain spattered slowly at first then poured down around me beating my head and arms with its icy sting. I stood there, head hanging, letting it splash off my neck and run down my back. Thunder rolled and lightening cracked across the sky. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the clouds broke, and was I left, standing there. A large puddle covered my feet, my clothes stuck to my skin revealing my thin hips and chest. The rain had stopped, but no matter, I remained wet and it would take a long time to dry.

Miss Tiger

The sun shone brightly on the greens, a crisp, 80 degree Oregon summer day.  The breeze gently cooling the back of my neck, I squinted as I stood beside him.  His hair had greyed since we met, but his shoulders remained strong and his blue eyes soft.  He was wearing the new golf shirt I purchased, though not in his taste.  Whoosh… the ball rocketed past me on a straight and narrow path, down the fairway 200 yds to land 6 feet from the hole.  He grinned. 

He was not a boisterous man, rather humble, modest; but, I had learned the subtleties of his moods.  Today his lie had been off to the left, to the right, but this, this was good, this was great. 

I smiled and turned to duff yet another ball.  Unlike him, my game had peaked at the second tee and was now barrelling rapidly down hill as fatigue chased me on the back nine.  However, my first private lesson behind me, my drive was definitely on the up swing.  Even I had pounded out a few cruisers today. Though, as always, I made an even trade; distance at the expense of my short game, picking up a putt here a putt there, chipping back and forth across the hole… ever closer, never in. 

Today had been unusual however, not only were we out playing together, the children tucked safely at home for a nap, we were in for a little twist. Having missed our planned playing partners by showing up at the wrong course, we were paired with two, not just one, other women singles.  What were the odds.  Sue, an older asian woman, cheered us on with lofty jeers. “Mr Tiger!” she would call out, as my husband plopped yet another ball easily into the hole for birdie.  Cheryl,  more quiet, was reserved, yet out to play.  “Are you a professional athlete?” she asked me, “no, no” I replied, nearly choking on my water with laughter.  She obviously had not seen me play when she hastily made this conclusion… 

 It must have been my outfit… cute, crisp and confident… great shorts. 

Regardless, I think our trio threw my “tiger” for a little loop.  I don’t think he had been heckled by three women on the course before.  In the end, he pulled through in his usual fashion, the sleeper, the ace in the hole. Showing up with beat up clubs, old shorts and socks pulled to the mid calf, he could wrangle a few bucks off most smug players.  Course, he had cleaned up his act a bit, sporting new Mizunos, shorter socks, and his new shirt; still, as he pulled out his 1980′s driver, so small it looked like a fairway wood, a hush would fall over, maybe even a snicker would trickle out,  followed hastily by a “wow!”  from the women as he sent his ball soaring. 

I don’t think I’ll ever tire of watching him play… or of trying to play like him, so even keeled, so consistent, so humble.  Hopefully, he won’t tire of watching my attempts, so flustered, so annoyed, so vocal.  It was fun though, seeing his face when the women stepped up, having the tables turned for once.  I don’t think we really ever made him nervous, none of us being very good, but it’s kind of fun to pretend.  Grrrr.

Peach Berry Skies

I looked out at the grey skies hanging over our house, the air cool on my face as I stood in the doorway.  It was a pie day.  I closed the door and sulked back to the kitchen, the warmth of the oven pulling me in.  Sweet fruit aromas wafted from the oven, the sticky juice bubbling over, sizzling as it dripped down.  The crust was taking on a beautiful golden hue as it basked in the oven’s rays. 

I pulled the pie from the oven watching the steam rise from the center poke holes. 

I sat next to my dull day prize, lazily reading quips from the paper. 

I tapped my fingers impatiently as I sipped my afternoon tea. 

I could wait no longer. 

I cut a huge swath from the pie, holding my breath to see if it was too dry or too runny.  Breathing a sigh of relief, I carefully placed the soft centered piece, still intact, on my plate, the berries just barely oozing out the sides.  Spoon in hand, I gouged a huge divet from the “hogs and dogs” vanilla and watched it slide to the side of the plate as it melted.  Nervous about the peach berry combo, I took a small lick of the filling…juicy, tart and sweet.  The buttery crust held up to the juice but melted in my mouth at the end of the bite…mmmmmmmmmm.

What are you humming about? my husband asked.  I snapped to and looked at the three hungry faces staring at  me.   I looked outside, still grey.    Freshly picked raspberries, blue berries and black berries were tumbling out of a large bowl; fragrant peaches were stacked high on the counter.  It would be a scrumptious pie day.

Remains of the Day

Life at the zoo

We trudged back to the car, one asleep in the bjorn, one dragging her feet, two whining for snacks, and three perturbed by the others.  It had been a long, though entertaining, morning at the zoo.  I, like many other fortunate individuals, did not have to work today.  It always surprises me how many people do not have to work, moms, dads and grandparents included.  Regardless, we arrived at the zoo shortly after the gates opened, along with the herds of others, eager to catch a glimpse of the wolves, the cougars or the sun bear.  We had to settle, as usual, for the reliables: the wart hogs, the bald eagles, the bats.  I am coming to find that my favorite animals are not necessarily the ones I find most interesting, but the ones that are always available.  Like many aspects of society, we want to be able to have or get or see what we want when we have the time.  This sent my brain on a path of unpleasant thoughts about my experience at the zoo.  I was saddened by the pathological dance of the polar bears and the greenish discoloration of their fur, which my 8 year old niece reported was a fungus.  I was disheartened by the mottled appearance of the penguins and disgruntled by the ever under construction monkey exhibit.  It seemed all ever more apparent through the eyes of my sister, here from New York to visit.  I had always thought our zoo to be well layed out, in tune with the surroundings, friendly to it’s inhabitants, but today, it seemed, well, like most zoos, sad. 

I thought what it would be like to live in a cage, unclothed, and have people gawk and hoot and holler at me, watch me copulate, clean my self, and defecate.  I wondered if this was what prison felt like, a place for “animals” injured, damaged, unable to survive amicably and safely among their own kind.

We decided to board the train.  We took the pleasant journey to the rose gardens and playground and back.  Picnic in the park, cool breeze, warm sunshine.  I forgot about the incarcerated.

“Help, help, Mommy! I’m in a cage” my daughter was exclaiming from behind the jungle gym rail.  “Oh, may I help you out?”  “No, I like it in here” she said matter of factly.  Could that be, I thought?  Did the animals appreciate the chance to survive that they were given, did they enjoy their surroundings, enjoy the attention?  I looked at the bear walking back and forth in front of the window, over and over and over.  Impossible.  They knew they were trapped.

It’s almost time to renew my zoo membership, and I’m sure I will.  Sometimes, I feel like my house is a “zoo”, so why do I come?  My kids love the zoo and it is important from an educational standpoint.  Or is it?