Two days ago my Granny Crowe would have turned 101 years old if she were still alive. Although Granny left us before we were ready, she left her family an unshakeable legacy of love.
When I was a girl, on Saturdays my family would drive to Granny and Pa’s where my sisters and I would play with our cousins. We would run around outside and do who knows what, but we had fun because we were at Granny and Pa’s.
My most precious memory of going to Granny and Pa’s was how special I felt in the middle of that grand group of cousins. Granny had a gift for making people feel like they were precious and exquisitely loved. Among the murder of Crowes, I was an insignificant pipsqueak. I was born with crooked feet, a speech impediment, and brown eyes. I was the second of four girls and there was nothing significant about me except for one thing: most of the Crowes had the most beautiful blue eyes.
But not me. My eyes were brown. Over the years they have lightened up to a more nondescript color, but when I was a girl they were most definitely brown. Granny made sure that having those brown eyes made that crooked footed, tongue-tied little girl feel special. I believe Granny made each of us feel that loved and special, even though there was a great bunch of us.
Nothing made me know I was loved quite like being drawn to Granny’s breast in a hug so deep I could almost feel her heart beating. Granny’s love flowed into me through her sweet embrace and touched me to my soul. I knew I was loved deeply.
Granny and Pa’s legacy lives on. Recently, one of my Crowe cousins hosted a family Christmas party. I was excited to see pictures of the event via Facebook. I marveled at the number of people attending the party and the smiles on their faces as they enjoyed being together as a family during the holidays, just like we loved going to Granny and Pa’s on Saturdays. Those pictures reminded me of how Granny left an unshakeable legacy of love in the heart of more than one little, brown-eyed girl.
Best-laid Christmas Plans Derailed by Family Illness
The best-laid Christmas plans derailed due to unexpected family illness. While on chemotherapy, I maintain a quiet, sequestered life to protect me from the risk of infection. Once I realized my chemo schedule would leave me free the entire week of Christmas, I made plans with family to spend the week at my elder sister’s home and go across town to my parents’ home for various activities, including gift opening and Christmas dinner. I anticipated this special time to enjoy with my loved ones. Little did I know a severe, highly contagious virus would sweep through the household, resulting in our best-laid Christmas plans derailed.
Annual Tradition of Admiring Christmas Light Displays Was Missing a Few Important People
Early in the week, it became apparent that sickness had hit my parents’ house. First one, and then another fell ill with a nasty respiratory virus, making it imprudent for me to be in close contact with my dear family. Thankfully, my sister’s family across town remained healthy, so I stayed nearby with the hope that the virus would pass quickly.
We had also all joined in a family meeting using Skype early in the week, so I began to think about Skyping with one sister who could not be with us for Christmas for gift opening. It seemed to be the next best thing to being there.
As Christmas dawned, family members were still ill, making it impossible for me safely join them for our planned celebration. So, we cooked dinner in separate kitchens across town, transported dishes for Christmas dinner and gifts, and then logged into Skype so that we could watch as gifts were passed around and opened.
Although I did not get the hugs I normally enjoy while home to visit, amazingly, the joy of Christmas surrounded us and we were able to watch via Skype as each one peeled back wrapping paper of carefully selected gifts. Skyping made us slow down and focus on each individual family member, appreciating the joy of receiving a well chosen gift and the resulting gratitude expressed. And, we sent one another air hugs and other expressions of love through cyberspace.
While we had seen our best-laid Christmas plans derailed, we still savored a delicious, potluck home-cooked Christmas dinner and celebrated this special time together through the miracle of modern technology.
When I first met with the oncologist about my impending chemotherapy regimen, he told me that most people do not lose their hair on this chemotherapy. Only about 15% would tend to bald. He emphasized that my chemo is a medium sort of chemo, which would not be too onerous. Unfortunately, several weeks ago I noticed I was losing hair on chemo.
All of a sudden, my hair started ending up in my mouth, in my food, all over my clothes and the floor. It was coming out in my comb and brush, lining the sink and the tub whenever I was near. Even the dust bunnies that accumulate on my hardwood floors are now somewhat blonde like me.
Since my oncologist had assured me I would not lose my hair, I was alarmed thinking that I was going to be bald. This was not supposed to happen to me! I was not supposed to be losing hair on chemo. Chagrined by my vanity, I felt doubly grieved: first, for losing hair on chemo and second, for feeling so mournful about my hair loss.
One day, I awoke with such terrible bed head that I had to rejoice that I still had enough hair to support this amazingly, ratted mess. The silliness of my appearance and the sheer volume reassured me. And, after all, hair grows back, and thankfully mine normally grows quickly.
As my hair continues to thin, admittedly I still struggle with how cancer and chemo have changed my life. I wasn’t supposed to be losing hair on chemo, but in my imagined version of my life, I wasn’t supposed to have an aggressive, fast growing cancer before I turned 50. I wasn’t supposed to have a port infection, either. Perhaps finding myself the exception to these medical statistics should make me feel exceptional, a stand out from the crowd. Still, I would settle for not being such a medical exception, unless it is to never have cancer again–in spite of the statistics.
Soon after receiving the news that I would benefit from chemotherapy, I began to research chemo and learned I could make the cancer detour easier on myself if I learned what should go in my chemo bag.
I found numerous posts on Pinterest about chemo bags. So, with the help of my family, I put together the biggest chemo bag I have seen in the chemo infusion room. Each chemo bag is unique to the patient, but there are certain things I have found help make time in the infusion room more pleasant.
My Chemo Bag Essentials
Family members have contributed to my bag. Because I get cold in the chemo room, I take a fleece blanket that my mother made me to keep me warm. Coffee Beans, the Build-a-Bear my youngest niece made me, keeps me company and has come close to celebrity status in the infusion room. Comfy, red sequined slippers from one sister keep my toes warm and pillowed. Encouraging words on smooth stones from my oldest sister and a friend remind me to have hope and to just breathe.
A few other things I include are reading material, music, snacks (especially saltine crackers for nausea and hard candy to mask the taste of saline when the port is being flushed or disagreeable medications start flowing) or a healthy lunch. I also take a journal and pen, art supplies to draw or color, hand wipes and sanitizer, and a mask so that I can go to sleep when the meds start to make me sleepy.
If you are wondering, “What should go in my chemo bag?” or have a friend asking that question, then I hope you find some of my thoughts helpful. Many have shared suggestions for how to prepare for chemo so you can easily find resources to support your loved one or yourself on your cancer detour. These resources have shaped how I decided what should go in my chemo bag. If you are on Pinterest, you may check out my Cancer and Chemo Board for some ideas I have found helpful.
Coffee Beans, the Build-a-Bear my youngest niece made me.
Other Chemo Essentials
Two things I always try to take to chemo do not fit in my bag: a positive attitude and a smile for the courageous patients around me; the compassionate caretakers who do all they can to help me to be well; and kind, efficient office staff who ensure my care runs smoothly. I believe those two things might be the most important of all.
Along with watching predictably saccharine sweet holiday movies, baking Christmas treats, and wrapping presents, driving around looking at holiday light displays is one of my favorite seasonal pastimes. Each year, I drive out in search of new neighborhoods with creative expressions of seasonal cheer. Although it would be impressive to say my annual wanderings are researched thoroughly and plotted unfailingly, my navigational weakness means that more often than not I chance upon newfound delights by mere serendipity or the happenstance of taking a wrong turn.
This year, I stumbled across two delightful, though very distinct, displays in my wanderings. My first find featured the mature trees lining a lovely neighborhood lane. Although some of the homes were tastefully decorated, the highlight of the block for me was the light-wrapped tree trunks lining the street. Even houses that opted out of house lights had a wrapped tree near the street, creating a unified theme. The lighted trunks created a simple, but breathtaking effect, transforming the entire street with the magic of the season.
The second find was an individual house on my drive home from the grocery store. Driving along a residential street after an evening stop at a nearby store, I happened to notice lighted windows in a house and upon closer inspection noticed the windows were filled with scenes created using different kinds of holiday dolls.
Although the photos I snapped do not do justice to the seasonal whimsy displayed in each tableau, the essence of the holiday cheer captured in these window vignettes inspired me with the childlike wonder I associate with Christmas. Each window features a different theme, but with equally delightful results. I drove away from the house feeling cheery with childlike wonder inspired by the seasonal display.
While tinsel and colorful displays of lights do not capture the heart of the season, I found they can bring cheer and delight to the harried shopper trying to cross one more thing off of detailed wish lists. In those moments of pausing to listen and look around, I somehow find time and space to celebrate and commemorate Advent.
In these busy, task-filled days, may you find quiet moments of peace, joy and celebration.
Although my Christmas tree has been up and decorated for over a month, the busyness of the season has kept me preoccupied and in seeming perpetual motion–up until a couple of days ago. This celebratory weekend started off Friday with a favorite of my Christmas Traditions: an evening with a play and sing along of Handel’s Messiah in exquisite Memorial Church at Stanford University. The grandeur of the historic church as melodic voices raised the unequaled notes of Handel’s masterpiece.
Saturday, I finally settled on a recipe for the school potluck get together and went off to the grocery store. The funny thing is that I didn’t realize a parent of a child I have taught checks at the grocery story where I sometimes shop. Much to my consternation, when I got to the checkstand I was greeted by name before I even provided any form of payment with my name on it. At that point I realized who was going to ring up my purchase. Knowing somebody there helps me feel more like I am part of a community and not just an insignificant digit after the decimal point on the population sign of the third most populated city in California.
Once I had the groceries, I just needed a mini muffin tin to make the Spanakopita Bites I had settled on for the potluck. I tried to pop into a couple of overcrowded stores with ridiculously long lines of customers waiting to check out, I decided I would improvise somehow. Since I have lived this long without ever needing mini muffin tins, I realized it would have been a frivolous purchase. Instead, I chose to go with spanakopita cups made in regular-sized muffin tins and after my experience layering and buttering phyllo dough before adding the filling, I am certainly relieved I hadn’t purchased mini muffin tins. I doubt I would have made it to the get together. It would have taken forever. As it was, I was just a half an hour after start time, but still well before about half of the other attendees. It was a fun evening of chatting and talking about our upcoming break.
After cleaning up the dishes remaining from making my holiday Spanakopita Bites, which seemed like it took forever, I made a midday meal, creating even more dishes.
I geared up to make a holiday dessert for another upcoming get together. As a girl, one of my favorite Christmas traditions was making Christmas cut out cookies. Although she usually mixed up the dough, my mom would marshal my three sisters and me into the kitchen to cut out, bake, and decorate gingerbread and sugar cookies. My warm, happy holiday memory of cookie making is one that has persisted and a tradition that I have duplicated over the years. However, for the past couple of years I have lived in a house with a very small kitchen that was not at all conducive to cooking. Now that I have moved into a home with a spacious, newly remodeled kitchen, my joy in cooking and baking has resurged. I find it satisfying and relaxing, kitchen clean up notwithstanding.
Just as I was getting organizing things for baking cookies, a friend unexpectedly popped over. We had a makeshift dinner and then after a quick run to the store for essential ingredients for gingerbread, began mixing up cookies. Just like when I was little and my sisters and I all worked together in the kitchen, my friend measured out the dry ingredients while I creamed and mixed the rest. We each took a turn mixing the two together and when it was divided and wrapped for the refrigerator, we whipped up some buttercream frosting for decorating our spicy little figures before settling in to watch a Christmas movie while waiting for the dough to chill.
After waiting as long as possible in the face of the enticement of spicy gingerbread, we went back to the kitchen and armed with our own rolling pins and bits of dough, we started rolling and forming our Christmas gingerbread cookies. As I rolled and cut the dough, I thought about how long it had been since I had made Christmas cookies and then suddenly got caught up in the joyful rhythm of rolling, cutting, and placing cookies on my quickly filled baking sheet. Before long the cookies were out of the oven and cooling on a wire rack. In the meantime we mixed color into bowlfuls of frosting and began assembly pastry bags for decorating our gingery shapes. Anxious to begin, the first too-warm cookie caused the frosting to run. So, I slowed down and let the rest cool a little more before deciding how to decorate each one.
In spite of the fact that I ended the day just as it started–with a sink full of dishes to be washed–I have a deep sense of contentment and accomplishment. Although I have few baked cookies left to show for my efforts, I am filled with the joy of sharing a simple holiday tradition, inviting someone to share my kitchen, and devouring decorated gingerbread cookies and icy glasses of milk in wreath-decked glass holiday tumblers.
A Turkey Trot of a different sort. Like everything this year, even the Turkey Trot was a little different. Over the past few years, I have participated in the Turkey Trot with my older sister. Running the Turkey Trot with my sister has become a delightful tradition that I have come to anticipate each year. Unfortunately, for the past two Thanksgivings I have been unable to be with my sister and have missed our festive Thanksgiving morning excursions.
This year, on the day after Thanksgiving I had my own little Turkey Trot. While driving down a residential street in a Bay Area city, I caught a glimpse of the unmistakable profile of a female turkey lounging on the grass next to a parked car. Incredulous that the feathered creature had survived our day of giving thanks, I quickly pulled over so my passenger and I could jump out to see this surprising city dweller.
The turkey was still on high alert, so it took off at full speed. I was amazed at how fast a turkey runs. While not exactly a roadrunner, the bird made good time and ultimately escaped our attempt to box it in. In spite of the turkey’s hurried escape, it was quite an enjoyably unexpected escapade.
Ironically, a couple of hours later as I traveled down the same street I spied a beautiful, fluffy black and white-haired creature scurrying across the street and onto the lawn of a well-populated housing complex. With tail held high as it scuttled along, the creature quickly disappeared without me becoming even the slightest bit tempted to pull over to investigate more closely.
Later, I realized my drive down the same street might be somewhat of a metaphor for life. Sometimes a turkey in your path can be easily driven away and other times just staying the course can help avoid a real stink.
Making political phone bank cold calls was never something I envisioned doing. As an introvert, the thought of talking to some unknown person on the other end of the line was a rather daunting prospect. However, recently, I became part of something I normally avoid: political action. In part because of the extreme polarization of the political system in the United States and also due to my experience living overseas for a number of years, I normally avoid discussions about politics and do not really engage with the process except for getting out to cast my vote and proudly wearing my “I Voted” sticker. However, a couple of the races in the recent elections in California had the potential to impact my life in rather significant ways. Consequently, when volunteers were requested for precinct walking and phone banking, I realized I needed to be involved and participate in a phone bank for a local election.
Contrary to my expectation, phone bank calling was virtually painless. I found it was relatively non-threatening. Most people let the unrecognized phone number I was calling from go straight to voicemail, but a few kind souls took a couple of minutes to listen and a few agreed to consider voting for the candidate I supported. Others said they had already voted. Still others said they have moved and not eligible to vote in the school board election or simply were not the person I thought I was calling. Gratefully, not one of these wary voters was rude or slammed down the phone in my ear.
After a while, I found the calls to be more of a challenge and less of a threat. In fact, I was proud of becoming more natural with the script and making it through my entire list of telephone numbers in the two hours I spent calling.
Unfortunately, my effort turned out to be in vain. The candidate I supported lost the election. But, I think I may be hooked on making political phone bank cold calls. And who knows, maybe I will even take a summer job as a telemarketer!
Having technology on tap can make life very much convenient. They say when it rains it pours and in recent months I have found it to be true, especially in the case of various kinds of technology that have become quotidian necessities. But my non-relationship with technology needs a little bit of background. Over the summer, I moved from a quiet cottage to an apartment in a remodeled Victorian on a well-traveled street in the third largest city in California in the heart of Silicon Valley.
Soon after moving, the screen on my trusty laptop went a pixelly green and then black. Absolutely nothing. Although I am not a hardware savvy, I could tell the screen was at the end of its life of useful function. So, I put it away and just pretended it did not exist for a couple of days. After letting it rest, I again tried to boot it up and got the same blank response from the display. When I had done this a couple of times, I slowly awoke to the reality that this computer needed some serious attention. However, as I was still in the throes of moving, I did not have the time or energy for it at that moment.
Busily settling into my new-old home, I was intent on finding just the right spot for each thing, and in many cases the right spot was the Salvation Army donation center just a couple of blocks away. However, in the process of moving furniture around late one evening, I ended up with my well-used and fairly elderly tablet falling about four feet and landing with a resounding boom from the impact of its metal cover against the historic hardwood floor. At first, it went all red and white stripes and black screen that were sometimes scrolling and sometimes static. In one moment of thoughtlessness, I was not just down one laptop, but one laptop and one tablet!
The good news is that I was busy unpacking, cleaning, and settling in. As a matter of fact, I was so occupied with pressing household tasks that I practically quit eating. While it was a pleasant surprise to accidentally lose weight, that is a subject for another day.
For a few days or maybe a couple of weeks, I didn’t miss my ailing technology much at all. But, as I settled into my new-old home, I found that not only were my laptop and tablet kaput, but my cell phone received an inconsistent and weak signal and my little television did not receive even one local station!
By now, I felt like things were getting out of hand! With life readying to move into high gear, I decided to take my laptop into a nearby repair center to ask what it would involve to repair or replace. After a big move, my budget for replacement was non-existent, so I hoped for a simple, economical repair. The tech at the service center confirmed the display that was in fact faulty, not the hard drive or motherboard or anything related to information processing. However, it would still cost $500 to replace what I call the screen. I suppose the screen is pretty important since the display of data on the computer is indispensable. Well, I already knew I could buy a new tablet for $500, so I simply had to decide which option would work best for me.
In the meantime, with desperation for technology and the ready connection it brings to people far away starting to set in, I decided to look into tablet repairs. Since the aging tablet was no longer under warranty, I learned the cost of the repair would be as much as a new tablet. Armed with the knowledge that the tablet was not worth fixing, I conveniently started gently and strategically banging it around trying to get something inside it to reconnect and give me a decent display. Finally, one of my frustrated taps against a solid surface resulted in a grainy, green pixel display. I was over the moon. Finally, I could reconnect with the 21st Century world! My tablet green pixel display tablet went with me everywhere and before I knew it, I had knocked it off of a counter and it had landed glass face down on the stone tile floor. With apprehension, I picked up the tablet and held my breath as I turned it over to look at the display. Not only was the picture still discernible, but it was the clearest display I had seen in months!
The good news is that tablets provide much of the functionality of laptop computers, so there was a lot I was able to accomplish with my trusty old tablet. Life went on and I developed a new normal as I limped along with the combined efforts of my resurrected tablet, an old, fossilized laptop, and a hare-brained mini notebook. Each one provided a slightly nuanced function in my newly emerging technological world. Somehow, it worked. It was neither efficient nor enjoyable, but it worked and life moved along–tediously, but at least we were moving along.
After more than two months of making this tedious ensemble of technological wonders work, I found a shop, Friendly Computing, in Redding where I could have my laptop repaired for less than half of what it was going to cost in the third largest city in California. Although I had to leave it there and return to life as I know it in the city, over the weekend I was reunited with my laptop and its beautifully crystalline display.
Suddenly, life is quite a bit less tedious and infinitely more clear! Now that the majority of my productive technology is back in working order, perhaps I will find the desire and creativity to solve the issue with my lack of television stations or maybe I will just give the television a good tap!
One of my early childhood memories is going to a Little League baseball game with my grown up first cousin once removed to watch my second cousins play ball. Since the memories of the very young seem to be more impression and sentiment than fact and precision, I do not remember the details of why I was the only out of my three sisters who went, but I have a vague impression of watching little people move around out on a diamond and enjoying a grape flavored lollipop. Somehow this mere impression of an experience left a tally mark on the positive side of life experiences. So, when a friend asked me, a person wholly indifferent to professional sports, to go to a local professional baseball game, I unhesitatingly agreed.
Out of all of the organized sports in the world, I probably understand baseball the best. It is not nearly as distracting as football or basketball. For me, there are four people at the most that you really have to pay attention to at one time, and that is only when the bases are loaded. Just narrowing the field helps me focus on where the action is going to be so I don’t miss out on the exciting stuff people are going to be reporting about on television afterward.
Without knowing much about what I was getting myself into, I checked the weather and made the appropriate preparations I thought would make my game viewing a comfortable experience. My general impression before arriving at our seats was that we had special, reserved seats and wouldn’t spend the evening fending off the crowd, the vendors, or team fanatics. To anyone with knowledge of sporting events, the term “club suite” will mean much more than it did to me until we arrived. Not only was the club suite located almost perfectly behind the catcher (which even I could figure out provided a wonderful view of the game), but it was also a very nice glassed in box with theater style seats, a mini sink, a hotel room-sized refrigerator stocked with soft drinks, and plentiful catered game appropriate foods.
The entire evening was a delight! The only negative thing I might say is that I picked the worst time to leave the game and missed the only ball knocked out of the park all night. Murphy’s Law. I console myself with the knowledge that the homer was for the visiting team, but admit I still would have liked to have seen a professional ball player knock it out of the park in person.
However, this small disappointment was insignificant in the overall excitement of the evening. Jumbo hotdogs with condiments galore; wonderfully well-mannered suitemates; and an exciting baseball match made for a happy memory of a lifetime.
I may not have left the game with the taste of grape lollipop in my mouth, but even though I am not a true sports enthusiast, I left with the happy memory of another well-enjoyed and sweet baseball game experience.
