Breakfast with the Sistas

A rainy Sunday morning--started the day the second-best way, over breakfast with the Breast Cancer Sistas, Tanya and Debbie. Oh, the things we talked about...

Bret Michaels and his band Poison, Pearl Jam and Bon Jovi, Magic Hat beer and waffles at a Vermont bed-and-breakfast, how much we love/hate our jobs, someone's fear of needles, the high cost of commuting from Nashua to Peabody, second-hand smoke showing up in a blood test, and deciding (at least I think we did) that the term "survivor," when tagged onto "breast cancer," is now an OK thing to call ourselves.

We met last summer in a breast cancer support group. The group facilitator called us "survivors" at the first meeting and we all (about 10 women) agreed we disliked the term significantly. As I recall we didn't come up with a better term. Maybe we did, but honestly, my memories of certain aspects of that slice of my life aren't as sharp as they could be. Maybe that's normal, I'm not sure, but whatever it is, it's the way it is.

I remember having breakfast with Tanya way back at the beginning of the adventure (I use that term very loosely), and our at-the-time lofty goals. We were going to save the world. Start a support group (better than the one we were in), reach out to patients (faster than anyone reached out to us) and give them a place to network with others and find the answers to all of their questions (questions we asked and to which no one could/would give us a straight answer). We were going to help their families (because no one out there was supporting ours) and give patients' spouses and significant others and kids and loved ones a way to work through the tough times that were coming and come out on the other side feeling as whole as possible (because there wasn't anyone who did that for our loved ones).

Looking back, I think I worked hard to live in the moment and be involved in what was happening and connect as best I could with the medical team. I tried to understand what was happening and be patient with myself as I tolerated treatments. I didn't look ahead or anticipate what was next. OK, I counted days, counted down treatments, but I didn't look too far beyond where I was, because I couldn't see myself moving beyond where I was. I expected my life to stay foggy and my head to remain somewhat disconnected.

And when the treatments were finally over, the fog started to lift a little, and slowly, things started to return to more of a normal than I'd thought possible. And now, I want to put all of it as far behind me as I can. I don't want to think about it and I really don't want to talk about it, because to do those things is to live with it. I'm tired of living with it.

(And here, respectfully, is where I have to say that I know I got out of it pretty damn easy and that I'm very lucky. I know that. I won't forget that, ever.)

I had a meeting with a coworker last week, someone I don't work too closely with and really don't know. She asked about my hair (which is growing in tight curls--I feel like a poodle). She asked if it had been curly before it all fell out. I told her no, it had been fairly straight.

She said her mother is on her second go-around with ovarian cancer. Had it, did chemo, lost her hair, and thought she had turned the corner. The cancer came back, and she signed on for a clinical trial. After six months (and losing her hair again), her docs have decided the trail has done absolutely nothing, so she's about to start another six-month trial.

Hearing things like that make me stop and think. What I usually shake out of one of those mind sessions is that I really want to put this all behind me. Pack it up and put it away. I'll take it down when I have to deal with it, and if forced to, will open up the box, put everything on the table and live with it again--if I have to.

Sometimes it's all w-a-y too much to think about. So I don't. Until I have to, and right now, I don't have to think about it. So, I won't.

Vacation starts at 5 p.m. tomorrow.

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Who can sleep?

It's approaching 3 a.m. and I'm beyond furious to find myself awake. There are a lot of thoughts rattling through my head and none of them will calm down enough to let me sleep.

Between being excited about going to Switzerland and balancing that against growing guilt about going and worrying about what's happening at work, it's wonder I haven't turned into a raving maniac.

Work ran late today, I was there until after 7 p.m. working on a major proposal that was up against a deadline. It's not my project; the coworker on the project had concert tickets for tonight and I offered to stay so she could be on her way. Oddly, she was off to a Bret Michaels concert at the Hampton Beach Casino--the same concert PJ went to tonight. Another reminder of either how old PJ is or how old I am.

I really didn't mind staying because I know that the coworker would do it for me in an instant.

So, it's May 1 (no, wait, now it's May 2) and the department is still without a manager. I told them back in January I didn't want the promotion, and I'm still doing two jobs. Manager candidates have come and gone, the latest one just yesterday. She lives in Rochester, NH, a 1 1/2 hour commute each way. I have not hope it will work out. We have someone who I'm not sure can cut the work, and others who I'm not sure want to be there. My boss isn't going to be around much longer (pregnant with twins) and once she's out of there, it's just going to get worse. Even if they hire yesterday's candidate, there isn't enough time to train her to be ready to step in and be the effective manager we need her to be. I'm going to have to train her, which means more time lost doing my own work.

The pressure is so constant and I just don't want to deal with it any more. I just want to go away and sit in the quiet and not talk to anyone and not have to make any decisions. I want to start doing something and be able to see it through to completion without having to fight fires and solve problems for other people.

Going to Switzerland is something I've been wanting to do for along time. I'm not sure it's going to give me the decompressing get-away my head needs, but at least it's out of the office, out of town, the county, the state, the country, off the continent and into a new hemisphere that assures that the office won't be able to find me.

I haven't left yet and I'm already worried about what I'm going to be hit with then I return. Isn't that encouraging? Try sleeping on that. I was an idiot to have a drink when I got home tonight. I should have opted for a sleeping pill.

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Date Night and the Level 3 Sex Offender

It's Tuesday, and that means it's Date Night. As is usual and customary, Dave and I found ourselves at the bar at the 99 in Wilmington. It was just another Tuesday, until the Level 3 Sex Offender (L3SO) walked in.

Apparently he comes in often and is usually chased away by patrons who make his presence known to other customers. Between the wait staff and other patrons, it was clear L3SO didn't have too many friends in the place. He was with a woman who claimed that her mother and her children have tried to tell him of L3SO's past and she doesn't believe a word of it. She got into a verbal exchange with a man who tried to urge L3SO to take his business elsewhere. Once word about him circulated around the bar, no one could keep their eyes off the man.

We came home and found the man on the Web, along with way too many others like him. He committed his crimes in 1987 and 1995, and carries the L3SO designation. The Web site goes on the say that he is at a "high risk to re-offend and the the degree of dangerousness posted to the public is such that a substantial public safety interest is served by active community communication."

Hence, people like the man at the bar who "invited" L3SO to move along take every opportunity to point this man out when he encounters L3SO in public. That's why the waitress who saw L3SO in the lobby waiting for a table told him, "You better not sit in my area, I won't wait on you."

Has he paid the price for his crimes of 12 and 21 years ago? Should he be able to sit in a family restaurant in peace or wander through the aisles of a store populated by families with children without fear his past will be pronounced to anyone in earshot?

It would make an interesting debate, but one that had no place at the bar at the 99 on this night. There wasn't anyone willing to take the unpopular side of the argument, even for the sake of the argument.

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Tips for Wives and Husbands

My latest issue of Vanity Fair included an article of “Don’t” tips for husbands and wives. According to the article, the lists were published almost 100 years ago. The books are being reissued by A&C Black, Ltd. I may have to buy the pair, if just for the laugh. I’ll let you decide whether you’ll want copies of your own.

Go head, click through!

Don’ts for Wives

• Don’t expect your husband to be an angel. You would get very tired of him if he were.
• Don’t let him have to search the house for you. Listen for his latchkey and meet him on the threshold.
• Don’t let your husband wear a violet tie with grass-green socks. If he is unhappily devoid of the color sense, he must be forcibly restrained, but don’t be sarcastic about your husband’s taste in dress.
• Don’t try too hard to regulate your husband’s pleasures, and don’t be jealous if they don’t always include you.
• Don’t try to excite your husband’s jealousy by flirting with another man,. You may succeed better than you want to. It is like playing with tigers and edged tools and volcanoes all in one.
• Don’t bother your husband with a stream of senseless chatter if you can see that he is fatigued.
• Don’t forget to wish your husband good morning when he sets off to the office. He will feel the lack of your good-bye kiss all day
• Don’t moralize the way of winning back the love that seems to be waning. Make yourself extra charming and arrange delicious dinners which include all your husband’s favorite dishes.

Don’ts for Husbands

• Don’t be surprised, or annoyed, or disappointed to find, after treating your wife for years as a featherbrain, that you have made her one, and that she fails to rise to the occasion when you need her help.
• Don’t slouch. No one who cares for a man likes to see him acquire a slouching habit.
• Don’t forget that character is more important than genius. If your wife is a true woman, don’t worry about the rest.
• Don’t scowl or look severe. Cultivate a pleasant expression even if nature hasn’t blessed you with one.
• Don’t drop, when alone with your wife, the little courtesies that you would offer to other women. For instance, always get up to open a door for her, as you would for a lady guest.
• Don’t insist on having the last word. If you know when to drop an argument, you are a wise man.
• Don’t argue that a new hat isn’t necessary because there’s nothing visibly wrong with the one she is wearing; you probably have forgotten that this is its third season, but she hasn’t.
• Don’t give up cricket, or football… or whatever outdoor sport you have been accustomed to just because you are married. Athletics will keep you from becoming flabby.
• Don’t selfishly refuse to go out in the evening because you have been among people all day. Remember that your wife hasn’t and a change is good for her.

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About Saturday, the "Living Prayer" Garden and the Boston Marathon

I didn't think the work week would ever end. Once again I spent more time solving problems and fighting fires than I did doing my own work, and as a result, I "look forward" to giving my Sunday to the office. I really don't mind (too much), and I have to pay a bit of a price since I plan to get on a plane in 10 days and disappear for a while!

(Go, there's more...)

I got an e-mail from my friend Joe last night. He and I are high school friends from another lifetime. He and his family live in Western Massachusetts, so we haven't see each other in too long time but we stay in touch.

Last night he sent me a couple of photos of a garden his wife Kathy is creating. I hope you'll recognize that she has developed a pattern in the shape of a ribbon, and she's planting white, pink, and blue flowers in the different sections. Here is Joe's message:

This is a preview of what's to come. Kathy is growing a "Living Prayer" here. The flowers are:
Carpet of Snow (white) Alyssum for the white ribbon
Rosie O'Day and Royal Carpet (pastel and deep pink) Alyssum for the pink ribbon
Blue Lobelia for the background


She's going to put a lot of names in this. Our sister in-law Karla and yours are the first ones to go in. Both of ya's have been through the same ordeal. Now all we have to do is keep the dogs and cats out of it along with the neighbor's kids!

I can't wait to watch Kathy's garden grow in. I asked Joe to send me photos as it grows in, and I'll share them here for you to see.

Along with this wonderful gift came another this week. Last Monday was the 112th running of the Boston Marathon, an event that has become a huge fund raiser for cancer, lymphoma, and leukemia research, and many, many more.

Last weekend, PJ heard from her friend Tim Smith, who was running Boston (for I believe his third time), and he dedicated one of his miles (#14) in my honor.

I was beyond words at this kindness. To find myself enveloped in that love along with people such as Jane Nitchie, Barbara and Harry Cook, and all the others, made me cry. I hope you'll go to Tim's blog at www.bostonbound.org/smith/ and read about his special journey.

And with that, I'm off to tackle Saturday. I need to get an international driver's license today so I can legally be a menace on the highways and byways in Switzerland. It's not a bad thing to have even if I don't drive. I realized a couple of days ago that my Massachusetts license and passport bear "old" photos of me with my former head of hair. I don't look like that any more!

Cheers!

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Where does the time go?

In 13 days I'll be in Switzerland, assuming the planes are flying and I can motor up to to the jetway. I'll try not to be too obnoxious about it between now and then.

I'm in the middle of one of those awful stretches of insomnia. Nothing seems to help except a sleeping pill, and I don't want to get hooked on those. Life is pretty good on all counts these days, even work, so it's not a stress-related thing. Just life, I guess.

PJ is off living on her own (sort of), she's house- and puppy-sitting for a friend and enjoying being independent. We miss her terribly, even though we see little of her when she calls these walls "home."

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Fiesta de la Sanford

Off to Maine on the Amtrak Downeaster (have you seen the price of gas?? Holy crap! $3.35 a gallon!). Spending the night at my mother's in anticipation of her open house tomorrow. If you'll be in the neighborhood, ring my cell and we'll talk you in.

Type rest of the post here

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Thoughts while, well, while thinking

Someone has taken to posting statements in the bathroom at work, statements I think are supposed to be of an inspirational nature.

The latest offerings are these two:

"Eduation is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance," and

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."

Call me a killjoy, but I have a minor problem with this. For one thing, I wonder who has time to search for these words of wisdom, type 'em up, print them off a color copier, and hang them in the Ladies'. If there's someone out there with that much free time, I'll be happy to share some items on my scheudle that have been languishing since April 2nd.

And while I'm all for loving and being loved, I can think of a small handful of things that are right up there on the list of the greatest things I'll ever learn. Here are a few:

• Breathe. If you don't, you'll die.


• Don't put anything in your mouth that you don't intend to swallow and use for fuel. Before you become all silly and giggly, I add this one in honor of a coworker who spent a recent unpleasant evening in the local ER with her young son who had swallowed a coin. Following multiplpe rounds of x-rays, exams, blood tets and such, he was discharged with instructions to come back the next day for more of the same (to check for movement of the coin). The next evening she caught him with a bottle cap in his mouth. I laughed my ass off listening to her tell the story, and I'm certain it was so amusing only because it wasn't my child.


• Take time for yourself. If you don't, you won't be much good to anyone else. Don't wait until the time is right because it probably never will be the right time. Work is the usual screwer-up of "me time."


• Be nice to others. Being nice gets paid back at least double.


• Be willing to go next (as in let someone go before you). Go where? Doesn't matter. Onto the on ramp. Up to the counter at the bank. To the checkout line at the supermarket. Through a door. It's another way you can be nice.

Can you think of a few more? Share them with me and I'll post them and maybe give you credit.

Sorry, that's not being nice. I will give you credit.

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Maple syrup and prepositions

I was going to blog about poor grammar and bad sentence construction but I'm holding back because I don't want to come across as a snob. I'm the one who hollers at the radio and television at the mis-use of the English language for the alleged sake of breaking news. I cringe at the "12 items or less" signs at the supermarket and big box stores. I detest the apparent delight people take in writing sentences that would make better paragraphs.

Gawd, you'd think I think I'm perfect.

(This time there really is more to read. Go on, click through!)

This all started to fester yesterday when Dave and I took in the breakfast buffet at the Sheraton Colonial in Lynnfield. I walked through the buffet line behind a woman who looked familiar. It look me a few moments to realize it was Nancy Kerrigan, the former Olymnpic skating champion, famous for her knee's run in with Tonya Harding's henchman, and Kerrigan's pathetic "WWWWWhhhhhyyyyyy?" bellows, which were made famous (infamous) on an ESPN's readers' list of the worst sports scandals (#7).

{Ah, hello! talk about a run-on sentence...}

Anyway, there I was, not giving an inch to the argument she presented that the maple syrup (in the middle of the buffet line) should be NEXT TO the French toast (which was at the end of the buffet line). Dear me, I thought, if that's worth picking a squabble over, what must she be like if the kids don't pick up their socks?

I couldn't resist hitting the Internet when I got home. I had questions that demanded answers (such as, wasn't her husband married to someone else when they started dating? No, apparently. Apparently.) I toured her Web site and concluded that she really, really needs to hire me to rewrite the content. Really. His site too, for that matter.

So, that's it. My little rant about the sad state of the English language. Please remember that prepositions are words you shouldn't end sentences with. The punctuations goes inside the quotation mark. (Example: "I wouldn't kid you about that," she said.) Re-read your sentences. If you have to stop and take a breath before you get to the end of one, it's too damn long. Employ some punctuation.

And for God's sake, use your directional signal when you change lanes.

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Chuck likes my new "do"

Went out to dinner last night with our friends Chuck and Gail. Hadn't seen them in a while... he says I look like a Chia pet... He didn't say which one. There's a frog, a pig, a clown, a lamb, a puppy, a bunny, and a turtle among others.

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