Timing is Everything

If you regularly read my blog you know that my commute to work takes me about an hour.  I’m going to tell you about this morning’s drive.

Fruitville Road is very long and covers quite a bit of distance.  It starts at the west end of Sarasota where it is a whisper away from the Gulf and runs straight through  to the east end where it almost comes into contact with a different county but doesn’t quite get there.  Each end dead ends into a major road.  Driving West to East, once you cross under I-75 the landscape changes from city to country and the scenery is beautiful.  Wide open fields, cows, donkeys, horses, and goats are all a part of the roadside show.  I fantasize that I live somewhere along the way in a big house set back from the road and my only job for the day is to take care of it and my animals.

This morning was like any other.  I gave Poppy his treat to distract him from me leaving the house; I locked the door, got in my car, and made my way to Fruitville Road.  About 10 minutes later, still on Fruitville in the city of Sarasota, I noticed a school bus in the far right hand lane with its yellow lights flashing.  “That’s odd,” I thought.  In the almost three years I have been making this commute and all of the different times in the morning I have done it, this has never happened.   The bus’ lights change from yellow to red and the “STOP” sign swings out from the bus’ side.  I can now see a little boy running down the sidewalk to the stopped bus.  The little guy was late and the driver was outside of the normal routine to pick him up.  Question resolved.

The bus then cut across all three lanes to the far left turn lane and the incident was forgotten until about a half an hour later.

Once Fruitville Road is no longer a part of the city proper, it goes from straight to winding and changes from six to two lanes.  I had my windows open because after the long and very hot summer it was finally cool enough to do so.  The breeze whipped my hair around as it blew through the car.  I was loving it until I drove around one of the bends and saw a car in my lane coming towards me.  It was passing in a clearly marked no passing section of road.  “Holy fuck,” I said out loud as I gently applied the brakes and started to point the car towards the shoulder.  I looked in my rearview mirror to check on the actions of the driver behind me because I didn’t feel like getting rear-ended, either.   I could see he or she was slowing down, too.  Looking ahead again, I figured that the oncoming car’s driver must have stomped on the gas as it moved like hell passing the vehicle in front and then flew back into its lane. 

Now I was talking to myself.  “Well.  That was exciting!”  I pulled back into my lane and sped back up to the 55 mph speed limit.  Mind you, as hair raising as it was, it took seconds to take place.  Once again I checked to see what the car behind me was doing. Apparently they were more effected than I at the prospect of a head-on collision because it took them much longer to move from the shoulder of the road back into our lane.  Even when they accomplished that, they were driving much slower. 

Now I ask you - what if that little boy wasn’t late for the bus?  What if the school bus driver thought too bad so sad and decided to teach the boy a lesson about being on time and not make an extra stop to pick him up?  That probably ate up the same amount of time it took for the crazy driver to successfully complete the illegal pass without taking someone’s life.

Once again I and those around me were saved from something that could have ended up badly.   I bow my head and thank the Universe. Timing is everything or is it Karma at work?  Some would say it was a wonderful gift of coincidence.  Others would give God the credit. 

To quote the song written by Pete Seeger and sung by The Byrds "Turn! Turn! Turn! (to Everything There Is a Season)" which is based upon a passage from the Book of Ecclesiastes:

To everything - turn, turn, turn

There is a season - turn, turn, turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep

I think it simply was not time for it to happen.  

New but comfortable

I've started to carry a  little notebook (3.5" x 7") with me.  It is 1/2" thick and fits in my purse.  It closes with a magnetic clasp and I got it on clearance at Tuesday Morning.   I love its size, its shape, and how it feels in my hands.  Because the pages are sewn together at the spine, it lies flat when opened.  Here is a picture of it:

My little notebook

I am keeping it near me at all times so that when I have an ah-ha moment I can write it down.  I also am using it to write some pretty personal stuff, which is better than keeping it inside.

I went to my first Book Club meeting this past Saturday.  It was fun!  I was among a bunch of people that were like me and this introvert was comfortable.  I left feeling energized instead of drained and that is unusual and exciting.  When I got home, I immediately ordered off of Amazon the next two month's books.  I didn't do it prior to the morning's meeting because I wasn't sure I would like it and want to return.  The October meeting is on my birthday.  A gift to myself.

I wasn't the only newbie there.  The majority of people attending were new to the group.  I paid my $5 annual dues on faith that it wouldn't be wasted and if so, oh well.  The group was composed of 2 men and 15 women.  One of the men who came in late and I think just did it on a whim because I caught him peeping at us from the conference room door window, was well spoken and had good points even though he hadn't read the book.  The women were interesting and thoughtfully expressed themselves and their points of view.

It was refreshing to discuss opinions without arguing which one was right or wrong.  The leader of the group kept us all on point and it made reading the awful book selection worth it.  It also showed me that I am track.  I always loved reading (Thank you to Lucille Stark my 1st grade teacher) and so do the others in the group.  It was like I was with my own kind.  I don't care if that sounds weird because it is the truth.  I am an egghead, coo coo kachoo.

  

Finishing this is like trying to get the last bit of gum out of my hair

At first it was a bright shiny pack of gum and I thought how wonderful!  I wanted to try each flavor and took my time unwrapping each stick.  With excitement and anticipation I opened my mouth welcoming each new delight not spitting out the old.  

Eventually I had a huge wad of gum in my mouth that, as time went on, became harder and harder to chew.  Then the taste that initially was so special started to fade away until I grew to dislike the taste of the mass in my mouth. 

I could no longer talk around all of the sticks of gum in my mouth so I opened wide and pulled the lump out.  My jaw hurt but having the space back in my mouth was glorious.  I rested.

I flicked the ball of goo into the trash can but some of it stuck to my fingers.  I worked hard to get it off and when I swiped at the sweat on my forehead some of it stuck to my bangs. 

I rubbed and rubbed and worked at the gum on my fingertips until each little fragment was in the trash.  I looked in the mirror searching out the last bits stuck in my hair.  With a gob of peanut butter I worked on loosing the final speck of gum.  When it finally detached from me, holding it in my fingers I stared at it remembering how good it tasted when I first popped it in my mouth and how glad I now was to finally be rid of it. 

I flicked that in the garbage, too, and turned on the kitchen faucet to wash my hands of you.

Go Play Outside

My neighborhood may be the home of the working poor, drug dealers, and people just trying to make it through life but tonight I had a smile on my face because I live here.  It is also proof that time presses on whether we like it or are ready for it.

A retired policeman used to live kitty corner to me on the right.  I noticed what I surmised to be home healthcare workers come and go.  Then I saw what looked like family members buzzing about the house and his yard and figured the old man either died or they moved him to a nursing home or hospice.  Eventually younger people moved in and I lost track of who was permanent and who was transient.  After a few months I saw regulars and they included children.

A man in an electric wheelchair used to live kitty corner to me on the left in the front apartment of a house that had been divided up.  I hadn't seen him around in awhile then one morning when I was taking Poppy out I saw the landlord and some other folks taking things from in the apartment and putting them in the front yard to sell.  The landlord told me the man was very sick and in hospice with no prognosis of recovery.  Soon after new tenants moved in and they included children.

Now there are 5 to 6 kids all around 5 to 7 years old living across the street and they play outside together.  Tonight I heard different little voices counting backwards from 10 down to 0 and I figured they were probably playing Hide and Seek.  It made me smile to think that they were enjoying the same game that kids have played forever but now less and less since technology has advanced and become integrated into our lives.  I heard my childhood in their loud voices as they bickered with each other and yet kept counting and playing.  I am sure they don't have their own computers or cell phones.  They have each other and their imaginations, just as I and my friends had.  They don't have play dates.  They just walk down the street and knock on the door or join the kids already outside.  Occasionally one of the parents will step outside and look to make sure everyone is accounted for.  I know all of this because I walk Poppy.

It has been a long time since I have heard children playing childhood games outside in a neighborhood and damn if felt good.  My heart is a little happier because of it.

Musings, not necessarily amusing

I know this picture is lacking but bear with me.  These two are sold together in one package and I have to admit I was drawn to it because of the little bitty sidekick that handily fits in my purse.  I am also attracted to them because they look like teeth.  No, they aren't floating in mid air.  I took the pic on a glass topped table.  Please note the window display on the back of the large container of dental floss.  It is so that you are able to see when you are in danger of running out and it is time to go to the store to buy more dental floss.  Do you think I utilize this wonderfully helpful concept the package maker devised or do you think I ran out of dental floss tonight?  If I ran out of floss tonight then how did I take this pic?  Brand new package I bought and then stored for such an occasion, suck-ah!

Now that I have that out of the way, I want to know if people who need people are the luckiest people in the world then what about people who don't need people?  The lone wolves.  The ones that find neediness about as comfortable as wearing one of those itchy wool sweaters that you swear if you had to you would rip it off of your body even in public just to find relief from the hell it creates.

Lastly, do you ever find the conversation you have in your head is more entertaining than the one you are having with an actual person?

Are you ready to get out of my head now and go back to yours?

Whose Fault is it Anyway?

While at the beach this morning I noticed two paddle boarders in the distance.  A man and a woman.  I wondered again if I could do that.  It looks like fun.  After a while they took a break and walked their boards along the coastline on their way back to their starting point.  While lying on my towel, I heard a piece of their conversation.

Woman: "I used to think people were inherently good and now I don't believe it."

Man: "I think it was Aristotle and someone else who said, 'Does man corrupt society or does society corrupt man?' I think Aristotle said that and then someone else," he repeated.

It was quiet for 1/2 a minute as they passed by and then:

Man: "You have to look at the animal kingdom for the answer."

I no longer could hear their conversation and they got back on their boards and paddled away.

I started to think about what the man had said about the animal kingdom and in order to draw a conclusion to the argument one must look there for the answer.  I disagree.

There is no corruption in the animal kingdom.  The animals just are.  They are themselves.  A big cat doesn't debate chasing down a gazelle for a meal.  It isn't right or wrong.  The cat doesn't feel regret or remorse for his actions.  The cat's thought processes are limited to survival and procreation.

Man understands the concepts of good and evil.  Man understands what it is to inflict pain.  I don't deny animals feelings but they are basic.  The idea that we should look to them and how they live in  order to decide whether man corrupts society or does society corrupt man is flawed.

In order for society to be corrupted it would have, at some point, been without corruption first.  How would society become corrupt?  Man.  Man is capable of manipulating his surroundings for better or worse.  It is instinctive and man chooses how to act, how to behave, and what to produce.  Just as a baby automatically reaches for his parent for protection and love, so is man's sense of right and wrong, unless one is a psychopath but that is an aberration from the norm so not a part of this argument.  Man's decisions shape society.  What happens next is up for grabs.  Do I want to pick a flower to give someone joy or pick a fight to ruin someone's day?

We are the cause.  Society is a reflection of our decisions - corrupt or clean.

Drunk Bees

Apparently wasps and bees get drunk.  I recently tried helping two bees, at least I think they were two different bees as these were two different walks but how would I know?  Both had been on their backs, their little legs and wings were frantically working to turn them right side up but they just couldn't do it.   Once turned over, the first once I happened upon walked with no problem so I moved on.  On my next walk, after being helped to his feet, the second one I found wobbled about for a few seconds and landed on his back once again.  I gave up on him.  He needed to sober up.

I've tried being a friend to human alcoholics, too.  I didn't grow up with alcoholism in my family but apparently other forms of abuse create the same results.  I like to think I've grown, learned, and broken the pattern that held me captive.  I haven't lost empathy or sympathy.  What I've lost is the need to become embroiled.  

Off to the beach for some water therapy and then I have my massage with Eric later this afternoon.  Not everything in my life is perfect, but it is pretty damn good.

One more thing.  I like to think that being cynical and realistic is not the same as being pessimistic.  Just something that has been on my mind.  I'm also out of bread.

Wait. How old are you?

My mother is 79 years old.  This coming January she will be 80.  She still drives, still cooks, still cleans, and is able to take care of her two dogs and walk them regularly.  My mother doesn't act or look her age.  This holds true when it comes to men, too.  "I know he likes me."  "I could tell he liked me."  It doesn't matter if the guy is 25 years old, single or married.  It doesn't matter if he is 50 or 65.  In my mother's mind she is still the belle of the ball and the life of the party.  Men find her fascinating and that, my friend, is her reality.

Apparently she has been learning some new slang as the other day when I was talking to her on the phone on my drive home from work she was telling me about some man she talked to somewhere.  I don't remember the details but that isn't the part of the story you need to know.  In her mind, he was enamored with her and she said, "I would do him."

Last Sunday morning I was over at my mother's house having my weekly visit.  I was requested to get there within a certain time frame as she had a neighborhood party to attend later that afternoon.  The way it works is each neighbor takes turns hosting and everyone on the street is invited.  My mother decided she is never going to host but periodically she does attend these gatherings.  One of the reasons she moved into this new development was because they represented themselves as actively providing social events within their community.

My younger sister, Eve, dropped by and it is always a treat to spend time with her, too.  The three of us were sitting on bar stools belly up to the kitchen island gibbering away when my mother announced that she bought a new top for that afternoon's party.  She said, "You know how I hate to shop," as she jumped from the bar stool and walked to her bedroom to get this new top we had to see.  Eve and I looked at each other. "Hates to shop?"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Oh."

Mom walks out of her bedroom with a sheer black lacy top.  Eve and I are speechless but we manage to oooo and ahhhhh over it because it is very pretty.  Eve then states the obvious.  "You know you have to wear a camisole underneath it, right?"
"What's a camisole," my mother asks irritated.
"Like a tank top," Eve says glancing my way.
I chime in, "Yeah.  They have spaghetti straps."
My mother is even more irritated.  She's the mother, after all.  "I don't need one."
The battle is on.  Eve and I are now talking over each other trying to convince my mother she absolutely cannot wear that top without a camisole underneath.  My mother's answer?  "I tried it on in the store and it looked fine."  "I have a black bra.  It will be fine."  To which Eve asks, "You have a black bra?"  To which my mother answers, "Yes.  I have two."

That shuts us both up for a second as more questions and weird thoughts dance around inside both of our heads.  We manage to bring ourselves back on point to the emergency we are trying to fend off.  My mother finally acquiesces and goes to the hall mirror to try on the shirt to prove to us we are wrong.  She whips off her current top and lo and behold, she is wearing a black bra.  The sight is a little unsettling.  She then pulls the new top up over her head, fidgets with it as she regards her reflection in the mirror, and walks back over to Eve and me.  Eve says, "See?  You can see your stomach.  You have to cover  your stomach."  That was a very polite way of saying, "Mom.  You are clearly almost naked right now and you CANNOT go out in public dressed like that."  I am nodding and agreeing.  My mother looks down and finally cannot deny or defend any longer.

"Where do I buy a camisole?"







  

Removing Attachments

"The healing is then your job, instead of becoming offended by these deep soul divulges; you dive deeper into the relationship with yourself (not fixing the other person) to see what the root of the pain is from. It is also your partner’s job to do the same."  To read the whole article copy and past the link below into your browser:

http://thespiritscience.net/2014/07/26/how-to-remove-attachments-to-past-relationships/

I was in the same type of relationship the author describes.  It was the best and the worst.  It was the brightest and the darkest.  He and I both felt an immediate tie to each other and we never permanently let go through the very high ups and the very low downs.  I never felt love for another deep inside my soul as I did with him.  I never knew such profound peace and complete pain with another human being.  He and I were mirrors for each other.  So many times we reflected back the good and the bad.  Because of him, I became the true me.  Because of him, I changed my life's path by becoming honest with myself and chipping away at the caked-on blinders that inhibited me from really seeing.  My life is so much better for having known him.  

I learned a great deal and for that I am deeply grateful to him but I had to cut the cord.  The pain of breaking it off with him was phenomenal and more intense than I had ever experienced.  It would flood my brain, burn my soul, and cause me to feel physically depressed.  I can understand why, as the author noted, some turn to drugs or alcohol to numb the pain caused by it.  The agony was crippling at times and there was no question that I had to free myself from it.

I didn't cut the cord the way described by the author but it was a conscious effort for me and on multiple occasions I had to stop what I was doing to reject his psychic reaching out to me.  I had learned what I was meant to know and even though the relationship had been pared down to friendship, it still was poisonous.

I am finally not angry with him anymore or feel hurt when he crosses my mind.  Not that long ago I found that I could wish him love and wellness.  I want him to find peace because he deserves it and needs it.  Just not with me.

Sucker Punch

Insanity holds hands with hopelessness
And they dance inside my head
Prancing on reason and
Twirling on logic
They spin and twist and jump up and down on my brain.

Inwardly manic; Outwardly calm
Do you ever feel you are crazy the same way I do?
Emotion is driving the car next to the edge of the cliff
Logic is asleep in the trunk knocked out by a sucker punch.

Vanity

And when you look up at the stars, what do you see?  Do you see unending galaxies and universes and lives that are lived far far away?  Do you see your destiny?  Do you see that you are a mere speck, a teeny dot on a small planet?

I used to fly to Florida on average 2 times a year.  I miss it, in a way.  It was a luxury.  I could get away from the usual and be free.  Part of what I miss seeing is the earth from above.  Above the clouds.  Above the weather.  Above daily cares.  There is no turbulence at that height.

Life's perspective is different from above.  No streets.  No people.  The first time I watched the beginning of the movie Contact, I held my breath.  At least it felt that way.  I watched myself pulled backward further and further and further away from Earth my perspective changing and my mind forced into continually adjusting.

We are so small and look at the havoc our small selves are able to create. Horrible atrocities are manifested in the name of some god.  Why is it easier to live in fear than walk in love?

I have theories but no answers.

Slow down.  Take the time to drift up.  No matter what life is like now, it won't always be this way be it better, be it worse, or just different.  All you control is what you do now.  When you make peace with that, your perspective changes.

The Best Cancer to Have

This past Saturday my mother and I spent the afternoon together.  We decided we would catch a movie and then an early dinner afterward.  We both ate breakfast but skipped lunch and met at the theater at 11:30 for a 1:35 showing to buy our tickets early and shmy at Tuesday Morning first.  (It's a Yiddish word.  Look it up)

We sat on the phone earlier that morning while I went online to see what theaters were playing what movies.  My mother won't see any movie that has aliens, monsters, or men at war.  That limited our choices.  She likes schmaltzy love stories and with a few exceptions those usually make me want to barf.  We narrowed it down to one film we both wanted to see - "The Fault in Our Stars".

I knew it was supposed to be a movie that you either needed a to bring a box of tissues with you or grab a pile of napkins along with your popcorn.  What I didn't know was that the heroine of the movie had thyroid cancer that had advanced to her lungs and her prognosis was sketchy.  This tidbit of information assaulted me quite early on in the film and it was as if I was punched in the solar plexus.  I gasped.  I needed air.  I felt claustrophobic.

I was still in the miasma of the unknown waiting to hear if one of the lymph nodes left untouched by my last surgery was cancerous.  It was a hard movie for me to watch but I was very glad that that was the cancer she had.  Thyroid cancer has been minimized by most of the medical community for way too long.  "It's the easy cancer."  "We have thyroid replacement drugs and you won't even know you don't have a thyroid anymore."  I call bullshit!

I am not going to play my tiny violin.  I am not going to whine or stand on a soapbox.  I hope this movie makes people wake up to the fact that thyroid cancer shouldn't be patted on the head and told to be quiet.  It is important to also note that other types of cancers were represented in the film and not just the one that has pink ribbons or football players wearing pink athletic shoes.

This morning I am still feeling like a bird let out of a cage no longer trapped.  It is good to be free.

And the Results Are..............

No Cancer found in any of the biopsy specimens!

Tip one back and celebrate with me.  The clock has stopped ticking.

The Tide

It is August.  Over half of the year has passed.  I am at the beach cursing that I don't have a pen and paper with me.  They are back at the car in my purse in the trunk.  I am trying to not to think about the results of the biopsies but I can't stop from doing it.  Don't think about a ballerina dressed in pink riding on the back of a circus elephant.  See?

I grab my car keys and hike back to the car.  I really need to write.

When I got to the beach at 9:30 this morning it was sparsely populated.  That's how I like it.  The wind is blowing hard and I like that, too.  As I get closer to the water, I can see that the tide is coming in as the waves crash to the shoreline.  After setting up my blanket and bag, I slather on sunscreen including getting as much of my back as my fingers can reach and I am sure I have left white globs of goop back there.

The sounds of the beach fill my ears.  Waves, birds.  The water is warm enough to walk right in and as I do I am tossed about.  Waves hit me and spray my face.  When I lift my feet off of the bottom I am carried by the tide southward so periodically I have to fight my way back trudging against the current fish swimming ahead of me trying to stay out of my way.  Sometimes I face the shoreline and watch it pass by fast enough it seems as if I am in a car.  Sometimes I drag my feet in the sand to slow the driving water.

Crash into me!  Crash into me again!  Make me keep my mind on now.  I don't want to think.  I just want to be.  Sea salt is in my mouth and I taste it when I lick my lips.  It gets in my eyes and the burning doesn't last long.

Hit me some more!  Drop me low and then pick me up and carry me away.  Floating up and then pressed down.  I stand in front of walls of water topped with froth and enjoy the impact that is so strong I walk backwards.  Tire me out, please.  I need peace and if it means standing here in your strength being knocked around for an hour then I will.

I finally am tired enough and peaceful enough to leave the water.  The beach is inhabited by more people and I know I will want to leave soon.  White powdered sugar coats my feet and ankles as I walk back to my blanket.

At the End of the Day

Drawing the blinds
Turning down the bed
Cold soft sheets

Sitting on the edge
Swinging legs up
Feet under sheets

Pushing body under
Lifting bedding up
Head on pillow

Looking at the ceiling
Covering face with hands
Dark room now

Turning on left side
Hugging one pillow
Eyes are closed

Breathing evenly
Dreaming commences
Brain at play

Yes, Again

Dr. Lupo is always late to his appointments.  I resigned myself to that fact when I first starting seeing him.  On the other hand, he never rushes in and rushes out.  He spends as much time with you as needed and you never feel like you are a pain in the ass to him.  He is slightly built with sharp features and a sharp wit.  Here is the doctor that watches me for signs of cancer and he always has me laughing.  An office visit with the potential of feeling like a wake is instead filled with his bright personality that doesn't allow the darkness to squeeze itself in.

I have answered all of the required questions and filled out the forms on the clipboard.  I've been weighed and brought back to one of the exam rooms and told it was a temporary pit stop because I will be moved to the room with the ultrasound equipment shortly.  While waiting, I read my book and it helps me remove myself from the current situation, but not for long.  I reach over to the left side of my neck with my right hand and find the nodule.  OK.  It's still there and I didn't imagine it.  It hasn't miraculously disappeared.  I am right to be here.

The nurse comes in, retrieves me, and we walk to the exam room with the ultrasound equipment and I am told that Dr. Lupo will be in soon to see me.  We all know it will be more than a few minutes so I hunker down again, find my place in the book, and continue reading.

There is the quiet knock on the door and in walks my doc.  I once again notice his black hair and slender fingers.  His smile softens his features and puts me at ease.  I do believe he must have changed barbers or hairdressers because I really like the way his hair is cut but I don't have the nerve to broach the topic.  It would probably come out all wrong and then I would be stepping all over myself trying to dig my way out of an increasingly embarrassing situation.

He thanks me for being there.  Say what?!  You heard right, sister.  He thanked me for coming in.  I try to turn it around and I thank him for making room for me today.  He laughs it off and says, "With your history I said bring her on in.  We'll take a look at what the problem is."

I show him where the nodule is located and he palpates it.  He doesn't think it is a lymph node but lets get the ultrasound going so we have more information.  I move to the table and lie down.  We get under way and he's thinking out loud and tells me so.  I tell him I would rather hear that than nothing.

There appears to be blood flowing through it so he suggests a fine needle biopsy.  I've been through those before and they are far from enjoyable.  Like another solar system away from enjoyable.  I would say galaxy but that would be pushing it.

He gets his nurse in the room and jokes are flying and I can't help but laugh which gets his nurse quietly giggling.  Ice is the numbing agent as the lump in question is close to the surface.  First needle, second needle, third needle.  Done.  I take in a deep breath and let it out.  Dr. Lupo comments, "Well, she's still breathing."  He gives me ice wrapped in gauze and tells me to hold it there while he and his nurse exit.

When they return Dr. Lupo isn't smiling.  He looks worried when he tells me that it is in fact a lymph node and he wants to take one more biopsy and this one will hurt more than the others.  When he left it was to look at some of the material under his own microscope and that is what he discovered.  It is lymph tissue.

I put on my life jacket because the waves have started to crash into the boat and I'll be damned if I am going down.  Ice, needle, pain, done.  Doc then tells me it hurt more because it was a larger gauge needle to get more tissue but he didn't want to scare me.

I will hear something in 3 to 10 days.  If the results are conclusive, it will be closer to the 3 days.  If more testing is needed it will be closer to the 10 days.  His office will call me and either give me the news over the phone or ask me to come in.

In my head there is now a clock with a countdown.  The only time I don't hear it ticking is when I am asleep.  

Not Again

It was just another morning at work.  Pete, the maintenance man extraordinaire, and I were talking while he was collecting the kitchen garbage to be hauled out to the street for pick-up.  I have no idea why I did this or what prompted me to do it but without thinking I reached up with my right hand to touch a spot on the left lower part of my neck.  I felt a small lump.  A nodule which shouldn't be there.  WTF.  I kept my finger on it and asked Pete, as he was walking the garbage to the front door, if he would take a look at it.  He said "Sure" because that is the kind of guy Pete is.  We got close to the window and I took my finger off of the spot.  Pete said, "Yeah.  I see something.  You can see it.  It's a little lump."  To which I replied, "Is it under a scar?"  Pete said, "No."

I thanked him and said out loud to no one that now I had to call my doctor.

I don't want to go through this again.

I walked into my office, grabbed my purse, and pulled out my wallet to look for my endocrinologist's business card.  I was panicking.  My emotional response was immediate.

Felicia, one of my co-workers fantastico, walked over to my office and stopped at the door.  I told her what was going on and yes, I started tearing up.

I don't want to go through this again.

Felicia is an excellent listener.  When I apologized for my obvious loss of control of my emotions, she said if it were her she would be doing the same thing.  I shouldn't worry about it.  She didn't pepper with me with questions I couldn't answer but instead let me talk and made it clear to me that she understood.  She was supportive without going overboard and didn't fall apart with me.

After digging around I had to admit to myself that I didn't have the doc's business card so I went online.  Through all of this Felicia stood by until I picked up the phone to call his office.

I feel better because of Felicia.  I don't know that I will have to go through this again.

I got through to the office and after explaining the situation to the woman that answered the phone she passed me on to my doctor's nurse, Melissa....I think.  I am so bad with names.  She pulled up my chart and started asking me questions.  What was the size of it?  Where exactly was it located?  In order to answer that question I had to walk to the bathroom and look in the mirror.  I kept leaving the bathroom and she would have another question and I kept having to walk back in.  We ended up laughing about it because she could hear me opening the bathroom door over and over.  She tried to catch Dr. Lupo (yes, like the wolf) between patients but wasn't successful so she said she would have to call me back.

Felicia staunched the emotional bleeding some more simply by listening to me as I tried to busy myself as I waited.  I didn't know if Dr. Lupo would see me or if he would send me to my primary care first.  After a few minutes she and I went back to our respective offices.  It wasn't too long a wait when my cell phone rang.

Hope.  Please good news.

It was the original woman that answered the phone asking me if I could come in at 4 pm as Dr. Lupo wants to see me and perform an ultrasound, too.  Felicia had walked to the door of her office and was looking at me.  "Yes", I said.  "I can come in at 4."  Felicia nodded in agreement.  The woman reiterated it was today at 4 pm and I reconfirmed.

The Definition of You

Cancer walked me through 2 surgeries and 3 radioactive iodine treatments.  It grabbed my head and forced me to look at death and ergo to look at life.  In 2011 I physically changed my life by moving to Florida from Maryland.  In 2014 I am making internal changes.

As we all know, my mother is 79 and this coming January she will be 80.  She has talked about death and heaven and what do I believe?  We've had this conversation a number of times and I say the same thing to her each time.  We are a soul, or spirit.  We need our physical body in order to live in this plain.  When our physical body dies, we move from this plain to another one and we continue on because we are not our bodies.

I was at Petco this morning picking up canned food for everybody - Senator, Trixie, and Poppy.  Because Poppy has food allergies, I have to buy him the expensive brands that don't have grains and a lot of ingredients.  Senator and Trixie think the cheaper the food the better it tastes but I am careful about their diets, too.  By the time I get in line to pay I have about had it with the whole shopping process.  Even though I have breasts and a uterus I don't like to shop.  I got to the only register open and I am happy that I am next in line until I see the cashier is in the middle of some kind of refund/rebate/difficult customer process and she is working methodically but feverishly as the line behind me grows.  I put on my Zen cap and decided that I would remain calm.  My getting irritated was not going to change what was happening.  It would only make things worse.

When I am forced into a situation like that, I look around for things to occupy my thoughts.  I realize that the man in front of me with his hands on the cart was huge.  He was possibly 6 1/2 feet tall and his biceps were the size of my thighs.  His skin was taught and I could see where it had to stretch around the huge muscles.  His back was broad and he had stubble on his legs from when he last shaved them.  He was obviously a body builder.  I looked at his hair and I saw a lot of grey.  He wasn't a kid and it was evident he had been working on his physique for some time.  A woman walked in the "out" door and stood in front of the cart.  She was maybe in her early 40s and she was with him.  She looked intensely at his face as she scanned it for queues.  I could see her eyes take him in and calculate his mood.  I wondered if his size and build made her feel protected or if it intimidated her.  I wondered if I could be with a man that looked like that and I decided I couldn't.

He created his appearance to communicate something.  He was his own artwork.  He was better than Michelangelo's David because he was not a statue made of stone.  He was man.

The only part of his face I saw was his profile when he looked at the cashier.  Otherwise he was looking straight ahead.  When it finally came to pay, both he and the woman reached for their respective wallets.  His was a money clip and even though he pulled money from it it was like he was moving in slow motion.  He was actually waiting for her to step in and pay, and she did.  It made me wonder about him some more.

No matter what he does to his body it is his soul, his spirit, that ultimately defines him.  What he does with his life, who he has touched, how he as loved, and if he has helped or hurt - these are the things that matter.  I am asking you to look beyond the body and see the person that inhabits it.

Internet Rant!

I don't usually rant but I have been thinking a lot about how the internet has changed our lives and who we are as people.  Unacceptable behavior used to have consequences because it was person to person IN person.  Now everyone has keyboard courage and being a dick is easily accomplished with a few key strokes.  There is very little personal responsibility because it is so easy to get away with acting like a pile of rubbish stinking up the places you enter.  We have lost empathy and instead have reverted to simple primal behaviors.  Men beating their chests with their fists and women being able to behave badly and not be embarrassed by it because they cannot be seen.  There is damage being done, people.  These aren't victim-less crimes.  I read news stories online and want to rail against the ignorant comments full of judgment from people that think it is part of their entitlement as a human being to criticize others while they stand in their smelly shoes and don't think they stink because they can no longer smell their own rottenness.  Our cores are drying up and turning brown and ugly.  

On a lighter note, I accidentally burped in my dog's face the other night and all he did was sniff the air.  Only dogs would find a rude burp full of interesting information.

Match Me Up!

Over the 4th of July weekend I joined eHarmony.  It was free so I figured what have I got to lose?  As it turns out, I have lost some money and some contentment.

I ended up shelling out some cash because otherwise I could not see my matches' pictures.  What the hell?!  How would I know if I am reading information about a Boris Karloff lookalike or Ryan Gosling's twin?  Looks aren't everything but they are something.

My next question is...can these men really be this active?  They play golf and tennis and that is when they are not kayaking or working out.  They are sailing and fishing and that is after they have just finished riding their motorcycle from coast to coast.  They love day trips and jetting off to Europe is a terrific getaway.  I know I am introverted and that kind of curtails activities that involve a lot of other people, but this all is making my head spin.  They love to make everyone laugh, they are great with their finances, and if they weren't so busy making their nearly adult or adult children the center of their attention they would have already cured HIV.

When I finally walk in the door after a long day at work and the commute,  I am greeted by the two cats and the dog.  I pick up Poppy who is hopping around wildly and while I am being treated to kisses, kisses, and licks I more often than not make a straight path to the bathroom where Poppy is put back on the floor.  Having finished taking care of me, I take the Popster for a walk.  That takes about 20 minutes.  Once back in the house, all of the critters are fed.  After that, I do whatever cleaning up is needed and then I think about dinner for myself.  Maybe I can start to relax between 7:30 and 8:00 pm.  I am exhausted and just want to put my feet up.

On the weekends I am running errands, doing laundry, cleaning the house if I can motivate myself, and giving some time to my mother.  There are pockets of time for the beach and a movie.  Maybe here again I run my life differently because I am an introvert.  I have to have down time.  I can only recharge that way.  If I could find a friggin dominoes player I would love to do that but there aren't any dominoes groups that I can find and I have looked.  What is my passion, you ask?  Writing.  I love to write.  Now there is an activity everyone can enjoy doing together.

So, back to these men.  When I have talked about this to friends and relatives they ask me if I really think they do all the stuff they say they do.  Just because I am an honest person doesn't mean everyone else is and I so often forget that.  It is not surprising to me that just one man since I joined that holiday weekend has contacted me.  At the same time, it was stressing me out!

Phooey on that.  I am so Type A and goal orientated that I had to take a step back and force this into perspective.  If no one reaches out to me, then so be it.  If no one gives me an online smile back to the one I send, then...so be it.  If I never meet anyone through this mother effing website, then so be it! 

Intervention

I do a lot of driving because I live so far away from where I work and because I am the only employee that lives in Sarasota or "in town" as they Myakkans would say, I usually am the one that runs errands.

Last Friday afternoon I was doing just that.  I had left work early as I had an appointment to have some blood drawn for medication level testing.  My first stop was the accountant's office to drop off June's books so that they could work on them.  I had run my distance and I was passing the baton to them.

It was a typical summer afternoon with plenty of rain, thunder, and lightening.  For those that have never experienced one of Florida's summer afternoon storms, they are torrential.  There is no soft pitter-patter of tiny droplets that dance from the sky and land gently to the ground.  These are fierce globules of water that have formed gangs and race to the ground to pummel it.  It comes down in buckets; it comes down in sheets.  A film of water forms on the surface of roads daring drivers to hydroplane.  It was raining like this on my way to the accountant's office.  I arrived there safely, said hello, dropped off the thumb drive, and left.

When an opening in the traffic allowed, I pulled back into the 3-lane road and found a good spot in the middle lane.  It wasn't raining as hard as it had been just a few minutes ago and I could comfortably set my wipers to lazy intermittent.   I saw up ahead that the traffic in the right lane stopped to leave a space for a driver to pull into.  Instead, this crazy man who apparently does not cherish life whipped out from in between the cars and drove across my lane and the left lane of oncoming traffic. As I looked in my rear view mirror, all I had time to do was break hard and hope that I wasn't rear-ended .  That shouldn't have been my only concern because suddenly to my left I saw a white car that must have been going faster than me and unlike me didn't have the warning of a possible situation.  As I watched the white car slide closer and closer to my beloved Taurus, I was waiting to hear metal against metal, to feel my car shudder as it was hit.  Instead I saw an incredible thing.

Are you familiar with marshmallow fluff?  Here's a picture of jar of it and next to that is a picture of what mother's in the 1960s used to consider a healthy sandwich.

 

See how the fluff is oozing out of the sandwich?  That is what I saw in between the white car and me.  It was like there was fluff smashed between our two cars prohibiting the collision that never was.  

The driver of the white car eventually stopped and I pulled up next to him and rolled down my window.  He then rolled down is passenger side window and we looked at each other.  He was a handsome late thirties early forties man that was in shock.  The conversation made up of one liners went like this:

He shouted over to me, "Did I hit you?"

"No, you didn't."

"I didn't hit you?"

"No."

"He pulled out in front of traffic!"

"Yes, I know."

"I can't believe I didn't hit anyone."

"Yes, I know."

"I can't believe he did that."

"Yes, I know."

I couldn't expand my vocabulary because the man just kept talking.  I confirmed for him that everyone and everything was OK and we both drove on.

It is not up for debate whether I saw the fluff protecting our cars.  The point is...is that he and I both could not believe there wasn't an accident.  Divine intervention?  The Universe deciding in a split second it wasn't time for this now?  Guardian angels?  Take your pick.  It did happen.  Fluff rules.  

What Could Have Been Wasn't

If I cry one more tear for you
I will have to beat myself up
Until my eyes are swollen shut
And I have blood dripping from my ears.

If I think of you one more time
I will perform the surgery on my own brain
With a sharp knife I can cut out that piece that remembers
And with it gone I can again be whole.

What could have been wasn't
And I will never go back
My ankles would have to turn
So that my feet faced behind me.

The melody is fainter
The road grows smaller in my rear view mirror
I left the party after I fell
When you twirled me and let go.

Beautiful Soul

Saturday is my day to run errands.  I plot my route like an air traffic controller keeping in mind all of the different needs and details each stop requires along with one eye on gas usage.  Going to the grocery store 99.9% of the time is my final destination before home.

Since Winn Dixie has great ground beef, prices, and gas rewards, I shop there.  Winn Dixie has wider aisles and less tumult than Publix.  The cement floor is homely and the clientele watch their pennies.

One of my hangups is I cannot grocery shop comfortably when a store is crowded.  I get anxious to the point where I will forego picking up everything on my list just to get the hell out of there.  The anxiety sometimes makes me feel like I can't breath so I will do the "Can I live without this item until I go again?" thing in my head.  If I can, boom!  It is added to my next grocery store list and I am released from the torture sooner rather than later.

Today there were very few people shopping and I was in my own little world of indecision as I stared at the meat prices matching up which of what was on sale and which of what was buy 1/get 1 free when I felt someone looking at me.  I stood up and looked behind me to my right and saw a young woman maybe in her mid twenties.  She had her straight light brown hair cut short and was pretty.  Her left hand was bent at the wrist in an unnatural position and she held onto the cart with that along with her right hand.  I noticed her stance was off kilter, too.  I smiled at her and she smiled back.  "Am I in your way," I asked.  It wouldn't have surprised me if I was as I become oblivious to my surroundings when deep in thought.  She replied, "No" clearly enough that I could understand her.  That was the final clue that she probably had cerebral palsy or something similar.  I smiled again and once again she smiled back but there was more that was unspoken.  I was treating her as I would anyone else.  I was showing her respect one person for another; I was not transmitting pity or averting my eyes.

There was an older woman about 6 feet away from the young lady looking at the cold food items and I figured it was her mother.  She wore the same no-nonsense clothing and haircut.  Even though they were not near each other or talking, I sensed a strong bond between them. As the daughter grew, the mother allowed her her own space.  The mother had to decide a long time ago how she should behave when it came to caring for her child when she became an adult.  By the way they both respected each other, it was clear they had worked out a healthy balance between hovering and independence.

I went back to concentrating on what I should buy and eventually we passed each other.  I met the daughter's eyes one last time.  After they both were behind me I turned around and saw that because her right leg was shorter than her left she walked on her tip-toes on her right foot.

There was something very beautiful about the young lady.  Maybe I was seeing her soul as it touched my soul.  To me she glided over the floor.  I would have like to have talked to her.  While the muscular dystrophy reeked havoc with her body, her spirit was not disfigured.  It was gentle.  In my mind I untwisted her limbs and unfroze her tongue.

See-Saw

Sometimes it feels like we are this close to living our lives like those on "The Jetsons" until something happens that makes us feel like we are back to "The Flintstones".

On Turning 54

My hardest birthday was my 29th.  I had just one more year left in my twenties and then I would officially be old, at least that was what I was thinking.   It wasn't like I had to come to terms with things like no more partying, acting mature, or putting others ahead of myself.  I had been knee deep in just the opposite since I had turned 21.  My life was full of responsibility with my marriage and two children. It was about losing my youth.  At what point will my hair start to lose its color?  Will I end up being like the women I observed playing Mahjongg with my mother?  As a teenager I promised myself that would never happen.  Will I lose my identity?

Eventually I resigned myself to the fact that I could not fight getting older.  More birthdays came and went without fanfare.  Through the years the changes weren't a big deal until Thyroid Cancer busted through the swinging tavern doors making the kind of entrance that causes the poker players to look away from their cards, the drunk to find the energy to lift their heads, and the piano player to stop mid phrase.

I lost control over my body and rudely learned what being a non-person was like.  I was being harshly judged by ignorance.

I lost control over my future.  How many birthdays did I have left?  I learned that I never really had control over that in the first place.  Another painful lesson.

Each time cancer drove me to learn something, it was like being tortured on the rack forced into stretching my mind to make changes at my core.

Recently I was reading on Facebook someone describing losing two people within weeks of each other.  Both were in their mid to late sixties.  I did the simple math in my head and was slapped with the realization that I am but a mere 12 to 14 years away from their ages.  Everyone has experienced the phenomenon of the relativity of time.  The older we get the faster it goes.  As I look to turn 54 in a few months, the end gets closer and instead of it being blurry I am now able to make out some of the details.  I started to panic because there was so much more I wanted to do and this time crunch thing was squeezing my ribs with vice like strength.

It has been a couple of years since Cancer has held me at gunpoint.  I've had great reports after enduring my second surgery in 2010 and unbeknownst to me I had forgotten the lessons I had learned the primary one being tomorrow is never promised.

Young's Literal Translation of Proverbs 16:18 is "Before destruction is pride, And before stumbling -- a haughty spirit."  These I know to be true from my personal experiences and how prideful is it to believe I am the one with the control?  Nope.  Not going to fall under that delusion again.

Rock on, my fine feathered friends.  Oh - and about my hair and it losing its color - I started with a few white hairs but now it is more like what used to be a small intimate party is a houseful of guests because Word of Mouth can't keep quiet.  Uninvited people keep showing up and you know they will be calling their friends to come join them.  I am not going to cover up those white hairs.  I earned them!

My Taurus, my friend

My Taurus is back in the shop today. This time it is the brakes and all of the lovely parts that make them work properly. This past week I was not feeling all that safe driving it as I had a feeling the problem was serious, and it was. The shop would under no circumstances let me back in the car without having them fixed. I asked the car guy if the mechanic saw anything else wrong and he broke out the list. I was forced into recognizing that it has come to the point of throwing good money after bad. Just as dying people see their life flash before their eyes, my mind played a quick movie of the many years of faithful service that car has given me.

It is time to let go of the car. I need a new one and I define new as used but new to me. If you have any kind of car make/model/important information you can share with me, I would love to hear it! In the meantime, Poppy and I are housebound until around 4 pm when my Taurus will be drive-able again. We need a nap as we are heavy with nostalgia and sadness. This will last until we are in the seat of our new car, that is!!!!!

Bits and Pieces

Eating at my desk

I realize this isn't the prettiest picture I have ever posted but I had to share.  It's like someone that saw an accident and had to share the gory details with anyone that would stand still long enough to listen.

Sometimes I eat a microwave meal (TV dinner for those that are my age) at work because I didn't have time to prepare something before leaving home.  This mess is Swanson's turkey, gravy & stuffing, mashed potato entree.   As I was sitting at my desk eating it while working, I looked down and realized that I was eating the turkey and stuffing from the bottom and the mashed potatoes from the top.  WTF!  I scared myself.  What holy hell does some part of my brain create?

Poppy getting cozy on the couch

Here is a cute picture of Poppy I took last night to get rid of the above thoughts and images.

Tacked onto a tree at the Myakka City post office's parking lot 

For those that aren't in the know, Myakka City has one flashing traffic light and a lot of farm land and livestock.  When the weather affords it and I roll my car windows down, my commute from Sarasota to Myakka can be quite fragrant!  

One of the things I do on my way in is stop at the post office to pick up the company mail.  The pick up service hours (post office jargon for when a post office employee is available and at the window to help customers) this post office offers are Monday-Friday 9:00am - 11:00am then 1:00pm - 4:00pm; Saturday 10:00am - 12:00pm.  Lucky for me the lobby hours are 24/7.   

This morning, as I pulled into my regular parking spot, I noticed the above sign tacked, literally with office type thumb tacks, to a tree.  This tree is located at the end of a parking spot so if someone ignored the length of the parking space they would immediately hit the tree.  Here is my ultra-creative picture I just drew in the paint program so that you would know what I mean:

The green oval is the tree and the grey rectangle is the parking space....in case you couldn't figure that out for yourself and you thought I was attempting a self-portrait.  

I sat in my car looking at the sign trying to figure it out.  Slow down.  Slow down?  I'm in a parking lot.  What was the meaning the artist was trying to convey?  Then I read the response written in black under the colorful command.  I hope you laughed, too.

The beauty of Myakka City

Easier on the eye than my lunch pic, huh?

Lastly, a round of applause for my 2006 Ford Taurus SE:

And you thought FORD stood for Found On Road Dead

Freedom

How does one define freedom?  Is it not owning anything that makes one free or is it owning so much there is no longer a need?  Is it not each one's mindset because each on thinks he is complete?  In the end, is freedom defined in the mind no matter the circumstances?  Reality shifts depending on our perception of it.

Pockets of Sunshine

The world can be a beautiful place.  Maybe not everywhere at the same time but a pocket here and a pocket there joy and happiness are exploding from earth's surface to the heavens.

I eat dinner tonight and I have enough to be full.  I look outside and it is pouring, as is the norm in Florida summer afternoons, and I am inside and dry.

I have my dog sitting on my lap and I feel loved.  He is the best kisser, you know.  When I walk in the door after a long day at work I pick him up and he holds my face with his paws and covers me with kisses.  He bends his head down so that it rests in the crook of my neck.  I try to give him his fill of love back and release him back to the floor when he is ready.

There are pockets of happiness.  Sometimes they are very hard to find and we feel like it is impossible.  There are dark times.  There is always going to be a challenge in one form or another as long as I am alive.

What I need to do is live my life as if I am taking a walk in a forest knowing that at times in my journey the sun has trouble breaking through the tops of the trees but there will be pockets of it, some small and some large, that will warm me and provide light as I hike along.  I may get lost but I need to know I will still have a path whether it is well worn or I am making it as I go.

I also need to remind myself that it is OK to stop to rest.  It is OK to be sad sometimes.  What is not OK is to let the darkness in and take root.  I need to walk through it because somewhere up ahead is another pocket of sunshine.

Barefooted

Is it better to have loved and lost?  Do we crave that closeness, companionship, and touch so much that we are willing to put ourselves out there time and time again?  How many scars does it take for a heart to have trouble beating?  Does the drive to love and be loved back push us and move us to action or do we resist?  And, if we resist, does it cripple us?

http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/More/Cardiomyopathy/Is-Broken-Heart-Syndrome-Real_UCM_448547_Article.jsp

We can literally die from a broken heart. I have read about this and although science comes up with some really mind blowing new things, the poets and the playwrights have always known this.  The grieving half of what was once a whole have always known it.  Science has finally proven it.  Facts instead of prose.

If we have always known it, why do we take the chance?  Why did you take the chance?  To fulfill your own needs?  To make life better, more fulfilling?  To have a family?

Was it by chance?  Did it sneak up on you when you weren't looking?  Some fall in love and some make a decision based upon pros and cons, future plans, and calculations.

Love is tricky.  Defining it is impossible as language can only try to communicate what fills one's heart.  Who we love and how we love are varied and some stand in judgment of others.

One may look at a shoe and describe how it looks, how it works, and for what it is used but until one puts on the shoe one cannot describe how it feels.

Some of us keep trying on different shoes seeking the right pair and as we sit in our chairs we become surrounded by discarded shoe boxes filled with pairs that weren't right, weren't comfortable. Some of us are determined none will do while others are happy with the first pair just knowing that one day they will be broken in and comfortable.

Some are happy to walk through life barefooted.  Is it better to have loved and lost?

Giving Up

Giving up is the beginning of freedom.
Dying to want is the beginning of love.
Letting go is the beginning of living.

It is not by my hand that I shall live.
Although I have considered it, it is not by my hand I shall die.
If I run alongside the river of truth
I will always know my path.

Each day when the flag is lowered and taps is played
Each night when my head rests upon my pillow
I will be done for that day.
I shall not carry the worst or the best to bed with me as they will rot
And I do not wish to entangle myself between the sheets with what is done and gone.

When my bare feet touch the floor
While the birds of the morn are calling
I will lean forward into the new day
To practice.  To maybe get it right.