Paige

I'm sitting here thinking about my first cousin, Paige. She is my mom's sister's daughter. We are less than a year apart in age. We live three thousand miles apart geographically--always have. I grew up in California and Paige grew up in Virginia. But every summer as far back as I can remember and lasting through my high school years, my mom and her two sisters (and husbands and kids) would descend upon my grandparents' summer house in Beach Haven, New Jersey for two glorious weeks.

So for fourteen days, Paige and I got to spend pretty much every waking moment together. It was heavenly.

We would wake up to Jack's cream donuts and cantaloupe, head to the beach mid-morning, head back to the house when the noon whistle blew (seriously, there was a noon whistle that blew every.single.day. at precisely 12pm) and eat lunch in front of the TV, return to the beach for a few more hours during which time the ice-cream man would ring his bell at the top of the dunes and all of us kids would go scrambling for money to buy bomb pops and other assorted frozen treats, and then finally around four or five in the afternoon we would go back to the house to clean up for drinks on the front porch or, if it was not too muggy and the mosquitoes were at bay, up on the deck. My grandmother might make tiny little hot dog appetizers with ketchup/mustard dip, or maybe shrimp with cocktail sauce. When everyone was there at the same time we totaled fourteen--eight adults and six kids.

Paige and I shared a room. It was small, painted an odd shade of green, and had two beds and a dresser. And us. That was it. Every summer.

We were inseparable during those fourteen days. We even had matching clothes that our grandmother would buy for us every summer. We were referred to as "the twins". We loved it!

We didn't really see each other much outside of our summer vacations. We wrote letters. We occasionally would talk on the phone (not very often--this was back in the time when there was this thing called a "long distance rate", and California is a long distance from Virginia). Once Paige and her mom spent a week at Christmas with us. But really, our relationship grew pretty much out of those magical two weeks in the summer.

I vacationed with her one summer for a week in Maryland late in our high school years. I went to her family's house on St. Croix for a few weeks one summer and we traveled together for a month in Europe during our college years. We were each other's maid of honor at our weddings.

I was thinking about all of this today as Paige and I were exchanging long, detailed texts back and forth. We do that a lot. And not just texting. We write long, detailed emails. Very occasionally we will talk on the phone (she's not much of a phone fan). And we visit each other. Not a lot, and not enough, but we do squeeze in visits.

And I wondered, how did two kids who lived across a continent from one another end up in each other's weddings? How did we maintain, no not maintain how did we even establish, such a close friendship for dozens of years without cell phones and FaceTime?

I don't have an answer for that question. But somehow we did it. And we did it well, apparently, because I don't think there's anything we wouldn't tell one another. She's one of the first people I contact when something goes wrong and I need to commiserate. Also one of the first people I contact when things go well and I want to share.

Somehow, with three-thousand miles between us for 341 days of the year, we managed to make those fourteen days together add up to something priceless.

I'm thinking about all of this because 2017 has been a rough year for both of us. Neither of us would choose the path that got laid out in front of us. But there it was. And I can confidently say that Paige is one of the reasons I am still sane. This year was awful, but through it all she was right there by my side, both metaphorically and literally. She sent me texts of encouragement. She called--yes, she who detests the phone made an exception more than once to talk and more often than not to listen. She asked me questions that I know everyone else wanted to ask but they didn't know how. She flew across the country and the two of us went on a girl's beach weekend to help me give Dave a break for a few days (Dave made her swear up one side and down the other that she would take very good care of me and she more than accomplished that). She drove for hours to visit me after my surgery and kept telling me how amazing I was. I did not feel very amazing. I felt and looked the opposite of amazing. But she continued to insist that I was kicking some ass and at some point I started to believe her.

Maybe you read all of this and it doesn't seem that extraordinary to you. But if you knew Paige like I do, and you knew her story, her history, her life, you'd understand that she is Wonder Woman. She's a superhero in every sense of the word. The challenges that she has faced and overcome are book-worthy (in fact she's been writing a book for years now... it's gonna be good!). And in the midst of all that shit there she is supporting me.

I remember the toast I gave at her rehearsal dinner. It went something like this: Paige is one of those people who you know is there for you, no matter what. Sometimes she's walking in front of you to clear the path. Sometimes she's walking behind you to catch you if you fall. But mostly she's walking next to you, holding your hand, ready to celebrate your victories or wipe away your tears.

I have no explanation as to how we forged such an amazing bond with such limited time together. But I do know that as we get older it gets stronger. It is unbreakable.

I"m going to try to describe a visual representation of us. Picture two women standing, facing one another, about three feet apart. Now picture them leaning forward, without moving their feet, until their foreheads touch. So now they're supporting each other so neither one of them falls.

That's us. Depending on what's going on, one of us might be more upright and the other more bent, but we're still leaning on each other all the way.

Awesome

You know when go to the mailbox and open it up, expecting to find the usual pile of junk mail with an occasional bill sprinkled in, but instead you find the usual pile of junk mail and a bill or two and an envelope with your name hand-written on it, from someone real who you know and love?

That's awesome.

You know when you open the refrigerator and you're hungry but you're not really sure what you're hungry for and then BAM! there's one serving of your favorite dessert leftover from a few nights ago sitting right there on the shelf because everyone in the house forgot it was there for the last day or two?

That's awesome.

You know when you're driving in your car and you start to dig around in your purse (probably not something you gentleman do very often) to find your sunglasses (while still keeping your eyes on the road) and all the sudden you can feel the shape of a couple of Hershey's kisses that have been in there for at least a week because you thought you had eaten them all and had stopped fishing around for them days ago?

That's awesome.

Get the idea?

A wonderful family friend (who feels more like family than friend) gave me "The Book of Awesome" a few weeks ago. I had never seen nor heard of it so didn't know what to expect when I opened it up. It's now one of my favorite books. It's full of dozens of little moments like the ones above. Little things that happen to normal people all the time that should be appreciated but are more often than not overlooked.

This is a fun game to play (by yourself or with others). Instead of rehashing the tale of the guy who cut you off in traffic (because you know you'll tell this story to multiple people, and to what end?), or repeating the story of the lady in the checkout line who decided to write a check but didn't start writing it until her entire basket was bagged and ready to go, or getting frustrated with the barista at Starbucks who put whipped cream on your mocha even though you said "no whip", why not let those moments roll off of you and try instead  to come up with a few "awesome" moments--it's really pretty easy once you put your mind to it.

In today's world it's just too easy to see what's gone wrong instead of looking for what's gone right.

Here are a few more of my "awesome" moments from this week:

When it's after 5pm and you have no idea what you're making for dinner and you're pretty sure you might have to go to the supermarket and you really don't want to but when you open the freezer there's a package of frozen raviolis AND you find a jar of marinara in the pantry. Awesome!

You put on your winter coat that you haven't worn since last winter and when you put your hands in the pockets you find a ten dollar bill. Awesome!

You unload the dishwasher and lo and behold EVERY SINGLE GLASS in the house is now clean and your cupboard is FULL. Awesome! (this one, incidentally, will NEVER happen if your kids are home for any length of time as all the glasses will be in any spot BUT the dishwasher or the cupboard--but your kids are home so AWESOME!)

A Call from Amsterdam

Two nights ago I had a hysterical, hour-long conversation with Olivia on a FaceTime chat.

I might as well just end the post there. Because what more could a mother ask for than her daughter calling in what is the middle-of-the-night-in-Amsterdam-time because she can't sleep and just felt like talking. For an hour. From six thousand miles away.

I can't tell you what we talked about. Privileged information. Mother-daughter confidence must be maintained.

But I can say that my daughter can make me laugh. LAUGH! She can literally make me laugh so hard that my stomach hurts. She can tell a story with just the right amount of detail and exactly the right amount of sarcasm. Most of her stories involve sarcasm. Just know that going in. I have no idea where she gets that.

We talked about everything  from soup to nuts (as my mother would say). We talked about important stuff and trivial crap. I tried to listen more than talk. Not hard to do as she's pretty interesting to listen to. (Just stop it, grammar police; I know what I did. Relax.)

Olivia and I get each other. We can sense each other's subtext. You hear her talking about memes and retweets. That's not what I hear. I can't tell you what I hear. But I hear what she's really talking about.

It's not like we solved the world's problems or anything during this conversation, but I'm ranking the chat up there among my top ten. My almost-twenty-one-year-old daughter called. Just to talk.

Dear Mom and Dad

Dear Mom and Dad,

It's hard to know even where to begin. So I'm going to start with a riff on Dad's toast at our wedding. I believe Dad said that teachers often have to repeat things three times, and he told us "We love you, we love you, we love you." I'm going to echo that sentiment and add a second verse. "We love you, we love you, we love you, and thank you, thank you, thank you."

I want to focus on all the amazing things you both have done for me (and Dave) in the past half year. It's been kind of a crappy time and it would have been so easy to dive down the rabbit hole and be caught endlessly falling in the darkness. It would have been easy for that to happen to me and it certainly would have been easy for that to happen to you. But it didn't.

And here's why.

Because that's not how you do things. It's not how you've ever done things. And so that's not how I do things. Thank you for the example.

It's a gift that you have given to me. A big, giant, lead-by-example, walk-the-walk kind of gift.

There could be no better gift to receive. Nothing in a box, wrapped up in fancy paper and finished with a lovely bow could possibly be more valuable, useful or preferable.

I've watched you both go through heart-breaking, life-altering situations. Some were very unexpected. Some you could see coming. Some were over in a moment and some lasted longer. But no matter what the situation, what I saw was you both doing whatever you could to help make things a little easier, a little better, for those involved. You didn't spend time feeling sorry for yourselves. I'm not really sure you thought of yourselves at all. You spent your time making things better for others. And that made things better for you.

And that's what you've spent the past seven months doing. You've made things better for everyone.

I can't even begin to thank you appropriately. I don't even think I could recount everything you've done. The meals you made, the books you brought, the chats, the walks around the block, the lunches, the daily check-ins, the shoulders to cry on, the good-night texts... so much more.

But the encouragement. And the optimism. And just your presence. Most of all, thank you for that. Because that is what is getting me, getting all of us, through this.

This isn't how things are supposed to be. I never, in my wildest imagination, would have pictured my eighty year old parents taking care of their fifty year old daughter. Isn't that the reverse of how things go? Aren't I supposed to be helping to take care of you? But that's not how things are at present. Life doesn't, apparently, always go the way you think it will. Who knew?

I don't know if you've sat in your kitchen staring blankly into the air wondering, "Why?" I know I have. But I also know that what snaps me out of that is that I have watched you both, for over fifty years now, make your way through life (and all that it throws at you) with grace and dignity and each other. You are always there for each other. And you are always there for us, with quiet support and fortification, gently nudging us forward, upward. No matter what. I have never seen you two sit around feeling sorry for yourselves.

Thank you for that.

I do not have any idea where the two of you get the strength to do what you do, but I'm grateful to be on the receiving end of it.

And my hope is that I'm able to do what you do. I want to have this amazing super-power that you have, this power to make your way through the darkest moments by being your strongest, kindest, most positive selves. That's my goal.

So maybe I could have summed this letter up more succinctly by simply saying,

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thank you for being you. Thank you for being so selfless. Thank you for showing me how to gracefully handle life, with all its ups and downs. I've watched you closely. I've taken notes.
I'm trying to echo your example. What a gift that is! I will try to pass it down :) Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Love,

Kim

What I Learned from Tommy Bahama

                                      

I just spent a glorious four days at the beach with my amazing cousin/sister/twin Paige. Great weather. Warm Pacific water (which is unusual). Lots of time to just sit in comfy chairs on the sand and talk our heads off. Which we did. Nonstop. For four days. I think we shut up just long enough to eat some delicious food (Phil's clam chowder, Corralitos sausage, Zelda's on the patio).

But back to the comfy chairs on the sand part.

Those are the chairs, above in the picture. Two Tommy Bahama blue beach chairs. They look like ordinary beach chairs. But don't be fooled. These chairs did much more than allow our butts to rest comfortably six inches off the sand. These chairs were metaphors for life. Or similes. I'm not going to commit to one or the other. In any case, these inanimate objects taught us a few things.

For starters, we were fairly loaded up with gear as we began our trek down to the beach. We had towels, books, drinks, a beach bag and of course the chairs. That's a lot to carry, the chairs being the most awkward part of the load. As we tried to negotiate how to carry all of this down two flights of steps, Paige took a closer look and realized that the tangle of straps protruding from the seats were actually backpack straps. Lesson number one: when confronted with a dilemma, take a closer look. A solution may already be sitting right there if you just turn things around and look at them from a different angle.

We pulled open our chairs and settled onto the beach. Beautiful day--partly cloudy, waves rolling in, and that salty ocean air! And it got better, because drink holders! You expect them in your car, but when you get one on your beach chair--well, come on--that makes you smile!

We actually did not put beers in our drink holders. We had a couple of cans of LaCroix water. But either way, important life lesson number two: keeping hydrated, especially when you're out in the elements, is SO DAMN IMPORTANT that even Tommy Bahama is trying to make it easier for you.

And that little pocket next to the "hydration compartment"? It's for your phone. At least that's how we interpreted it. It was the perfect size, and it velcroed shut. It's two lessons in one (maybe?): communication is important enough to warrant a coveted spot on the chair, but also put the phone in the pocket and velcro it shut for a while. You're at the beach. Enjoy.

The chairs also had a built-in pillow and reclined back. Life lesson number five was a bit more obvious: when presented with the opportunity to relax, take it. Life is full of stresses that you have to deal with on an ongoing basis. If relaxation rudely interrupts, go with it while you can.

We had a really great day on the beach. The sun came out. Paige went in the water! We read our books and stayed hydrated. I headed back upstairs a little earlier than Paige, but left my chair down there as I thought we might watch the sunset from the beach later on. But then it got windy and chilly, so Paige ended up bringing the chairs up by herself. Not an easy task when you can't get the chairs to fold back down. Which brings us to our last lesson.

Here's what the chairs look like when they are all compacted for carrying:

Getting from this

 

to this



is no easy task, I'm here to tell you. Paige tried and tried to fold the chairs down, but they wouldn't cooperate, so she carried them back up to the house in their fully expanded condition. She's a trooper (also, she's not a complainer but that's a whole other blog post, which she absolutely deserves).

Anyway, we did eventually figure out how to get the chairs collapsed, but it quite literally took two of us to accomplish this, each of us pushing and pulling on different parts of the chair. I suppose one person might be able to do it by herself with difficulty, but it would most definitely be easier with two people working together. And that's lesson number six: teamwork gets the job done.

Who knew a beach chair could teach you so much? But maybe that's the bigger overall lesson-- you can learn from anything if your mind is open to it. And it helps if there's a cup holder.

Stay hydrated!

I Am in a Cheese Shop Currently (Part 2)

Olivia's texts from the previous post got me thinking... she is really living the life.

 To refresh your memory as to what "living the life" is for Olivia right now, she wrote that Nice was the best thing of her life and she swam in the Mediterranean and she was in a cheese shop. (being in a cheese shop should always be recognized as winning at life)

Not bad. Hard to top.

She is, after all, twenty years young, studying abroad, traveling on the French Riviera and quite possibly still in a cheese shop.

"Living the life" at twenty is all about finding out what's out there. It's adventure. New friends. Experiences you've never had before.

What sentences might express the "living the life" idea, for me, that her sentences did for her?

I'll start with location. I'm thinking water--ocean, sea, river--I'm not picky. And I do love Europe. While I would love to revisit some places I've been, the thought of somewhere new to explore, or at least seeing somewhere from a new perspective, is appealing. But I don't just want to see one place. I want to be on the move. Not so fast that I can't take in culture and beauty and ambiance. I want to experience that. But I also want to see more than just one country or one city. I still have some wanderlust.

I like to walk around. Give me a map and a few hours and I'm as happy as can be, even if I get lost. So lots of places to explore, even if briefly.

And food. Good food. Lots of good food, maybe even some I've never tried before.

This is coming into focus.

I think I've got it. Here would be my "living the life" post:

The Danube is beautiful. A new port each couple of days. Today we wandered Budapest. About to enjoy a glass of wine with the sunset.

Goals...

I Am In a Cheese Shop Currently

That's not me saying that title, by the way. That's Olivia. In a text. From Nice, France.

I sent her a brief inquiry this morning asking, "How's Nice?"

Her response, which made me smile and laugh, was as follows:

"Nice is the best thing of my life. I swam in the Mediterranean today. I'm in a cheese shop currently."

This was followed by a stream of pictures: of the cheese shop, a bottle shop, a macaron bar (the cookies), the girls sitting at the table in their Air BnB (which looks out over the Mediterranean) with several bottles of wine and some crusty bread with prosciutto and cheese (bought at those shops I'm sure), and then a final picture of her looking tres glamorous in large sunglasses, hair wet from her recent swim.













As Olivia likes to say, she and her friends are "absolutely living!"

Have You Air B-n-B'd?

I was at a friend's birthday party last night, and the talk turned to an upcoming vacation that one couple was about to take. They had booked their first Air B-n-B, and they were hoping that it would turn out fine. More on their upcoming trip at the end of this--I can't wait to hear about it!

Dave and I have stayed at several of this type of accommodation (Air B-n-B), to mixed success. As it turned out, another couple had the same experience as us. So we started to compare. I seriously thought there was no way we were going to lose on the "but wait until you hear what WE had to go through" aspect of this conversation. I was wrong.

Our first Air B-n-B rental was in Phoenix. I wrote a couple of blogs about it, pictures included. Take a minute and refresh yourself with those if you have time, just so you can get the gist of our accommodations when we arrived. (August, 2015 in case you're heading back to look at those) If you don't have time to do that, let me just sum it up for you: "working" art gallery (their words, not ours), no chairs to sit in whatsoever, no fridge, no coffee maker, sketchy part of town, door lock that looked like there might have been numerous attempts to break in, and no hot water in the shower in the morning.

As the comparative conversation began, I was thinking seriously, how could anyone top that?

And you know how you top that? You arrive at your condo and the building is "under construction", the entire multi-story structure completely wrapped in scaffolding and green tarp, windows taped in with plastic over them, the front door behind a concrete barricade, and it looks like you're staying in Soviet-era Russia--concrete, concrete, concrete. Not even close to a finished building. Winner-winner chicken dinner! I wish I had a picture to post here, because when the woman who described this to me showed me the photo, I started laughing. Hard. "Did you actually stay there?" I asked. Yes, yes they did. Because there was nowhere else in town to stay--everything was filled up for some sporting event. She said the inside was fine. But really, if we had walked up to that building, I'm not sure we would have actually gone inside, if we could have found the door!

Update: I got the picture! Here it is:

This was all very amusing for our friends who were about to lose their Air B-n-B virginity. However, I think they may come back with the "best" stories of any of us. They are going to visit their daughter at UC Santa Barbara. Santa Barbara is a beautiful, charming town.

Their daughter lives in Isla Vista. Charming and beautiful are not words I would use to describe Isla Vista. Crowded, over-crowded, 100% students, boisterous, loud... those words come to mind.

And they booked their place in Isla Vista. By choice, as it's very close to their daughter's apartment. "Parents of the Year" award goes to Ellen and Drew for sacrificing having a mini-bar and a clean room so they can be near their kid. Also, "Insane Parents of the Year" to them as well because I have a feeling their rental place might put the Soviet-era-under-construction experience to shame. I'm curious to find out the condition of a college student's Air B-n-B rental. Ellen and Drew will make the best of it, no matter what.

I can't wait to see pictures.

Super Dave

The last six months have taught me a lot. Some really, really important stuff. About myself. About my family. About my friends. About life in general.

This post, however, will only address one thing I've learned. It's a big one. It deserves its own post. So here it is...

My husband is a superhero.

That sounds so cliche. But I mean it very sincerely and in every sense of the word. He is superhuman.

In the face of extremely unexpected adversity, for which neither of us were even remotely prepared, at a time when we thought we would be happily sailing our way through retirement adventures, Dave was thrust into a role at age fifty-five that most people don't expect to tackle until they are into their seventies or eighties--caretaker of a spouse.

Not exactly how one anticipates spending time at this point in life.

It has not been an easy job. This has not been an easy situation and I won't even pretend that I'm a good patient. And yet... cross my heart, I have not once heard my husband complain. About anything. And there's been a lot that he could have complained about. Over the past half year, Dave has stepped up with nothing but love and optimism and an attitude toward me getting better as he has...

taken over the grocery shopping
done all the cooking and meal preparing
kept the house clean
done the laundry (and hung it on the line to dry and then folded it and put it away!)
written thank you notes to all our wonderful family and friends who made us meals
continued to do ALL of the yard work
gone to every, single doctor's appointment/scan/chemo
picked up my medication (a guy who will go to the Kaiser pharmacy for you is a saint)
kept track of my medication schedule and reminded me when necessary
given me nightly injections (seriously! he's offered to do my surgery...)
politely stopped well-intentioned friends from telling me their illness stories
gone on morning walks with me to make sure I don't over-exert myself
run out at all times of the day and night to get whatever odd food I'm craving because sometimes  
  there's just nothing that appeals and if something DOES appeal he wants me to eat...
explained and re-explained to me dozens of times exactly why I need to take pills that sometimes I
  am absolutely positive I might not really need to take
held me like he's never going to let me go while I cried because this is all very overwhelming
held this family together, attending to everyone's needs but his own, guiding us through the chaos

And let me repeat... I'm not going to pretend I'm the ideal patient. As stated above, I require repeated explanations as to why I am supposed to do what is good for me. I'm stubborn. I can burst into tears with no warning. I like to pretend sometimes like there's nothing going on and I can do everything as usual. Which of course, there is something going on and I cannot do everything as usual. And luckily Dave is here to hold my hand and tell me he loves me. And keep me from doing ridiculous things.

I know that if the situation was reversed, I would try to be everything for him that he is for me. But I'm not sure that I would be able to do it with the grace and the fortitude that Dave has.

When you think of a superhero, you think of someone who has powers beyond the average human. Someone who is stronger and braver. Someone who can put on a cape and swoop in and save the day.

Dave is all of that. He does all of that. And he doesn't even need a cape.

What Can I Do To Help?

I'm in what could only be described as the "ebb tide" of the three week chemo regimens. Cell counts are low, energy is low, appetite is low. Not a lot is getting done (by me). It's pretty much get up, shuffle down to the couch, lie there for a while, shuffle back up to bed, lie there for a while, rinse and repeat. Except without the rinse. Because taking a shower takes WAY too much energy.

In any case, I've really been anxious to write, but I just am reluctant to feel like the only thing I write about is this situation. It's hard to break out of the walls that it builds around you. Sometimes it feels like an iteration of CNN--24/7 with no break for anything normal. Not really my comfort zone.

I would like to point something out, though, and hope that I don't offend anyone in the process (and given that the readership of this is my family and a few friends, I'm certain I'm safe as none of you all do what I'm about to write about).

I'm fifty-one years old. I'm not really an embracer of confrontation. Never have been. But I have found my voice in the midst of this chaos. Interestingly, I found my voice because some people do not understand how not to use theirs appropriately.

People who see me daily, or at least a few times a week consistently, know that there is something going on. It's plainly evident. There was a period when I was wearing scarves on my head (sort of a giveaway of the whole chemo thing), I now wear a wig, I'm sure I look different and word gets around.

I do not mind people asking me how I'm doing. I really don't even mind people asking me what I have and what kind of treatment I'm going through.

I absolutely DO mind when people listen to my answers and then begin to tell me about someone they know who had "something similar". Two words:

Please don't.

First of all, I have no idea how your story is going to end. Perhaps your friend did great. Perhaps not. I've heard both versions. I actually don't want to hear either of them, because the anxiety it causes me to stand there and listen to your story, having no idea how it ends up, is debilitating. Please save your narrative for someone who is not currently undergoing treatment and frightened. Or maybe just don't actually tell it. Ever. It's not really yours to tell, to be honest.

I can only speak for myself. But I have found my voice, and when people begin to acquaint me with their story, I shut them down with something like, "No offense, but please don't tell me. I know everyone means well, but everyone's story is so unique and it's very difficult not to read into things, which does me no good."

And that's it. It may be a little abrupt. But it's necessary, for me. Because when you say, "She did great!" I have no idea if she's still doing great. When you say, "My friend's mom had that and she's still going strong," I do not know what treatment your friend's mom chose to undergo and whether I chose the wrong one.

So instead of offering an anecdote about someone who has had to go through this crazy madness, maybe instead just offer, "Hey, you look great and I'm thinking about you. I hope things go well, and let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

I will not shut that down. Ever.

Uncle Wiggily

Have you ever heard of Uncle Wiggily? If you're not a member of our family, I'm guessing not. He's a children's literary character created around 1910. My dad has lots of Uncle Wiggily books. And... wait for it... the Uncle Wiggily board game--the same one he played seventy-five years ago as a kid!

A few nights ago a bunch of us were all at my parents' house, and five of the six grandkids, ranging in ages from 6th grade to recent college graduate, were all hanging out in the family room playing board games.

Now that in and of itself should be a blog post all by itself, which I will do when I'm done with this one. THIS one, however, is specifically about kids playing the Uncle Wiggily board game.

Now, just for comparative purposes, here is the Uncle Wiggily game next to the Candy Land game.



You know when you play Candy Land how fun it is to get the cards that sends you to the Lollipop Woods? Or you get to go the Peppermint Forest? Or best of all you end up getting to take the Gumdrop Pass shortcut? The entire game is all pretty delicious sounding and very kid-friendly stuff. What kid wouldn't want to play and win Candy Land and end up being King Candy in the Candy Castle? That's a pretty kid-friendly reason to want to win the game.

The Uncle Wiggily game, on the other hand, has as it's destination for the winning player:
Dr. Possum's office. Why, you ask, is getting to Dr. Possum's office how you win the game? Because, and I don't know how you didn't think of this, the purpose of playing Uncle Wiggily's game is to help Uncle Wiggily get help for his nagging illness of rheumatism. I'm not making this up. That's an actual direct quote from the instructions.

Given that you now know the objective of this game designed for four year olds, ask yourself what might the cards that you would draw to move around the board say? Buckle up. You're gonna love this. For your amusement, here is a sampling of some of the cards:

"For Uncle Wiggily there are two jumps. I hope he hits no jagged stumps." Watch it, guy with rheumatism. That's not all you have to worry about apparently!

"A cabbage lollypop now and then will gain Uncle Wiggily a hop of ten." Yum. Cabbage lollypops.

"Uncle Wiggily sees a cabbage and goes back seven hops to get it for Nurse Jane Fuzzy his Muskrat Lady Housekeeper." I'm not sure there isn't something slightly dirty there, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

"Oh my! Uncle Wiggily's rheumatism crutch catches in the crack of a log and you lose one turn." For a guy with rheumatism Uncle Wiggily maybe shouldn't be out hiking over logs and jagged stumps.

I can't imagine sitting down with Olivia and Steven when they were little and getting excited about getting to Dr. Possum's office so Uncle Wiggily can get help for his rheumatism, which is already so bad that he's using a crutch. First off I think I would have had to look up rheumatism to explain it to the kids, and I think just the premise might have made Olivia cry.

And also, who makes a kids' game with the objective of getting to the doctor's office?

A different era in games, I guess. It probably didn't phase my dad at all to play the Uncle Wiggily game as a youngster, especially since he had read all of the Uncle Wiggily books. The rheumatism was probably just part of the storyline.

I guess I should just be thankful that the five grandkids weren't all playing a rousing game of Cards Against Humanity.

Things That Make Me Happy

It occurs to me that we (and by "we" I mean generally all of humanity) spend a lot of time thinking about things that bother us. We ruminate extensively on things gone wrong.

For example: that guy who cuts us off in the parking lot... how many different people do we mention that to? And why do we keep talking about it... we can't do anything about it. It's over and done. We should be moving on. But we like to linger on the irritation. Why do we like to do that?

Wouldn't it be great if I had the answer to that question?! I don't, unfortunately. I could probably posit a lot of theories, but I would have absolutely no evidence to back them up. It would just be me pretty much doing a little armchair analyzing of the American psyche. 

So instead of doing that (because there'd really be no point to that), I thought instead I would ruminate extensively on things that make me happy. Which I think we should all do more often. It's way more fun than talking about that guy in the parking lot.

So here we go... things that make me happy!

When my kids call to tell me about some fun thing that happened to them that day. First of all, it just makes me happy that my kids call. And also it makes me delirious how happy they actually are. You know when you are listening to someone and you can tell, even though you can't see them, that they're smiling really big? That's the kind of phone calls I love from my kids.

Watching Dave teach himself a new woodworking skill. The man has more patience than a saint. I'm sure he gets frustrated at times and he probably makes mistakes, but he never seems to get rattled. He just approaches things with such a deliberate expectation that he will eventually succeed that I find it inspiring and that makes me happy.

Random texts from my best friend, Lynda. The texts can say anything. It just puts a smile on my face when I see her name on my phone screen. 

Driving my car. I just got a new Subaru Outback in December, and I absolutely love it. Like no other car I've ever had. I can't explain it. I just thoroughly enjoy driving my car no matter where I'm going. Kind of weird, I know, but true.

San Francisco. Everything about that city makes me happy. I love the weather. I love the Ferry Building. I love the food. I love the bridges. The skyline. The Embarcadero (my favorite place in the world to run). The hotels. Just everything. I could spend months there just hanging out.

Stories about people who do nice things because they are just very nice, decent people. I just read this blurb about a family that was driving home one warm evening, and the dad has the mom pull over and drop him off and he tells her to just head home, he'll walk the rest of the way. The mom didn't know what was going on, but she stops and lets him out and as she's driving away she looks back and the dad has walked back a couple of houses and has taken over mowing the lawn for an elderly gentleman. What a great example for his kids. 

Daisies. I like their simplicity. 

The smell of the ocean.

The feeling of a summer morning when you walk outside really early and it's not yet hot but it's not even close to cold. 

Every. Single. Song. of. "Hamilton".

The late-night sound of Steven and Olivia laughing their heads off together.

Airplane travel. I know, right? Didn't expect that did you? Who loves airplane travel? I do! First of all there's the fun of going somewhere. And then the day you leave it's like you get to go through an entire checklist of things that need to get done, which is always satisfying... security clearance, check your gate number, get a snack, line up for boarding, settle in to your seat... it's all just exciting to me. And also, when you look around at airports, by and large people are pretty happy. Not everyone, of course (there's always that ONE family you hope you don't have to sit next to on the plane). But mostly. Look around the next time you're waiting for a flight. It's usually not random chaos and disconsolate travelers. It's the opposite. People quietly reading, kids looking out giant windows at airplanes, couples having animated conversations. Happiness.

Brandon Crawford. Because that guy is having just pretty much a frustrating year in the batter's box, but his fielding is still so Golden Glove graceful that regardless of how badly the Giants are losing, I still want to watch Craw at shortstop. 

I feel like I could go on and on and on, and what a nice feeling that is. 

We are surrounded by a world with no shortage of events, people, places and tweets that can effect us one way or another. Maybe the next time someone does something that irks you, or you see something that is disappointing, look around and try to find something uplifting that's going on, however small.

I think we tend to find what we are looking for. 

Thanks for Noticing

Author's Note: This was started last year (but finished this week).


Olivia called tonight from college. She didn't call to ask for money. She didn't call to ask for help. She didn't call because she missed us (although I'm sure she does).

She called to ask a question.

The phone rang. I picked it up.

"Hey Bia!"

"Hi, Mom. I just have a question. How can Ted Cruz be elected President if he's not a natural born citizen of the United States?"

Now, the answer to her question doesn't really matter in the context of this story. You can be a Democrat or a Republican or a Democratic Socialist (go Bernie!) or whatever, and I think you can still appreciate this. Here was a nineteen year old, sitting in her dorm room on a Sunday evening of a three-day weekend, calling her parents to inquire about the current state of the presidential election.

So many things to appreciate.

First off, she is aware of the developing issues in this election cycle. She didn't stop with the above question. She went on to detail for me what she had been taught in her political science class regarding qualifications for becoming president, as well as her interpretation of the phrase "natural born citizen". She knew where Ted Cruz had been born. She thought the idea that a person could be a natural born citizen of two countries was ludicrous. And she wondered why in her own lifetime the whole "where were you born" issue seemed to keep coming up with regard to people running for President (John McCain, Barack Obama, Ted Cruz). It does seem odd, now that I think about it.

What made me a tad bit giddy was that I was having this discussion with Olivia at her behest. SHE called US to talk politics.

There are so many ideas and passions and values that I hope we are passing down to our kids. I have come to realize that almost all of those things we pass down by example. You can't just talk a big game with your kids. You have to walk the walk.

I'm glad to know that our kids picked up on some of our better habits. Steven chose to give his grandparents a Heifer International donation in their name for Christmas. Love that. Olivia called her grandparents from college just to chat and check in with them one evening because she hadn't seen them in a while. Nicely done. Both kids write truly thoughtful thank-you notes when they receive gifts (without me telling them to). That makes me so happy.

When I see our kids exhibiting some of our better practices, I'm reminded of a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson, which I think sums up the idea of this post:  "What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you are saying."

Thanks for noticing, Steven and Olivia :)

Why It's Fun to Name a Band

Our family likes to name bands. Okay, it's mostly me. I name bands. My family will occasionally jump in. But mostly they mock my band naming tendencies (and the actual band names I throw out there).

To be clear, I haven't actually ever named an actual band of instrument-playing people. I just like to think of names for bands.  And really, I don't even try to think of them.  It's not like I all sit around and try to come up with a great name.  It occurs more as an afterthought during a conversation.  My husband might say something like, "Hey, Steven, are you ready to go?  The Savage taxi is on its way."  (We have friends whose last name is Savage). And then I'll say, "Hey, Savage Taxi would be a great name for a band!" Because it WOULD be a great name for a band. That's how to play this game.

It sort of makes you listen with a different ear. You should try it.

Once you start doing this, a funny thing happens. You start also noticing phrases that would be TERRIBLE band names. And you start throwing those out as well. Those are almost more fun than the good ones. With the good ones, people will sometimes nod their head in agreement and perhaps mutter, "yeah, nice." They don't elicit a huge reaction. But when you casually drop in, "Oh, wow, 'Pop the Zit' would really make a terrible band name, you get people's attention. Then, just to try it out, you have to say, "Now coming to the stage, please welcome Pop the Zit!" in your best announcer voice (say "stage" three times getting softer each time, and do the same with Pop, the, and Zit). I'm grossing myself out here. That really would be a terrible band name!

Now that you know how this game works, you're going to start naming bands. You won't be able to help yourself. Have fun!

I Want to Spy on My Kids (but I won't)

Steven is down in Los Angeles visiting Olivia for the weekend. They both have season passes for Harry Potter World that are going to expire soon, so they wanted to use them one more time. I would absolutely LOVE to follow my kids around Harry Potter World.

I envision them, as they pass various Potter locations, quoting parts of the books, possibly acting them out. Without a care in the world as to whether anyone around them thinks they're dorks. And let's be honest--they're at Harry Potter World. No one there is going to think they are dorks for doing any of that. More likely they'll all be jealous. I think, although I can't say 100%, that Olivia might be able to quote at least one of the Harry Potter movies from beginning to end. I'm not joking.

In all honestly, I'd actually love to follow them around all weekend (in a disguise so as not to change their behavior). I picture them laughing a lot. I mean close to non-stop laughing. Because they're like that together at home, and away from us parents I suspect they laugh even more, and quite possibly they laugh at us (because again, they do this at home).

My guess is they also eat a lot. I envy them that. They're young and in great shape and if someone is offering them a goblet of butter beer, they're not going to pause to count calories or worry if it's nutritionally sound. Also, I ask them to send me pictures when they're together and a lot of the photos I get are of them eating.

I can absolutely guarantee you that Olivia will be singing lines from "Hamilton" the entire weekend. I will be interested to see if she turns Steven into a "Hamilton" fan. If anyone can do it, it's her. She not only knows all the lyrics, she is reading the biography that inspired the show and she's been researching various parts of the American Revolution because she's interested in the details beyond the story created by the musical. She'll have Steven discussing the merits of the National Bank before he knows what hit him.

He'll also be telling Olivia about his new apartment. Steven just moved to San Francisco and has his own apartment, all to himself, for the first time. It's downtown, just off of the Embarcadero, about a ten minute walk to AT&T Park (crucial information). Olivia has never been interested in living in San Francisco. She's always wanted to live in Los Angeles for as long as I can remember. But I think Steven might be the only person who could talk Olivia into moving north. I'm sure he'll be telling her all about his new digs, what's around, and all the cool things he has planned now that he's living in The City. Wouldn't surprise me if Olivia applied for jobs in San Francisco at some point in the future.

They're both also heading up to my brother-in-law's house in Palos Verdes to have dinner on Saturday night with him, his wife and their son, who is right between Olivia and Steven in age. They're going to have so much fun. Steve (my brother-in-law) has maybe the quickest wit of anyone I know, and he's unafraid to unleash it on our kids, which is great because I think he might just have met his match with Steven and Olivia. I would absolutely love to be at that dinner table. I predict someone ends up doing a spit take (Zack!).

I can't, of course, follow my kids around, so I will settle for hearing their stories when they call and when they come home to visit. And of course I will have all of the pictures they send me of them eating together.

The Royal "We"

I swear this blog is not going to be forever about the crap that's going on right now, but since the crap that's going on right now is somewhat inescapable for me, indulge me. Please. Especially this particular post.

Are you familiar with the "royal we"? This is when people of high station (like monarchs) refer to themselves in the plural instead of the singular. "We are not amused," Queen Victoria is supposed to have said to someone about something she didn't like. Since we do not have a monarchy in this country we don't hear this type of speech very often, and consequently when someone does employ it that person is often mocked for it, as if he is aspiring to something beyond his station.

I have been using it rather a lot lately. When someone asks how I am doing, I say something like, "We're doing okay. This is hard, and we didn't see it coming, but we are making our way through it." When anyone queries about chemo protocol, my reply is along the lines of, "We have an infusion on Monday, and then a week later we'll have the second one."

I'm not trying to be someone I'm not. I have no aspirations to royalty. But even though I'm the one with the diagnosis, this is not happening just to me. This is happening to me and Dave. Of course it's also happening to Steven and Olivia and my parents and my brothers and my cousin and my best friend... I could go on. But on a daily basis, from sunrise to sleepless nights and everything in between, it's me and Dave, 24/7.

So when I say "We have chemo tomorrow," I mean Dave and I have chemo tomorrow. It's me who gets the drugs, but it's Dave who gets up in the morning with me and makes sure I take my meds and makes me breakfast and packs a bag of snacks. He drives me there. He sits with me and holds my hand. He refills my drink. He checks if I'm doing ok. He tells me I'm doing great.

And when someone asks me how I'm doing and I say "We're tired but staying positive and we're doing ok," I mean I'm tired from the drugs and Dave is exhausted from doing the shopping, the cleaning, the laundry, the cooking and the constant positive reinforcement it takes to keep me from dissolving into a puddle of tears on a regular basis. We stay positive because Dave is a never-ending font of affirmation and visualization and encouragement.

I don't know how anyone could go through this alone. It's a lot to process physically and mentally.

I can't begin to imagine the state I'd be in if it weren't for Dave, if he weren't so willing but also so insistent upon taking such great care of me. Of us.

So I will continue to employ the "royal we" not out of a desire to be someone I'm not, but out of a deep appreciation and gratitude and love for a man who demonstrates every day with his words and his actions that he is with me every step of the way.

The Lessons of Baldness

I'm bald. Full on, no hair left, shiny head bald.

And as it turns out, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Of course I wish I weren't. Mostly because of why I am. But the actual bald part--reason not withstanding--is kind of an interesting learning experience. It's just hair.

I don't look half bad bald. My head is pretty symmetrical--Dave says I look great with no hair! My forehead, interestingly, looks way smaller now that I'm bald. I always thought I just had this huge forehead, and I would try to hide it with bangs and various haircuts. Not so bad when I have no hair at all.

I look good in scarves. In fact, today I went out and bought myself a few pair of dangly, bohemian-looking earrings (and I have not worn earrings of any kind in years--surprised I still have holes in my lobes), and when paired with a nice flowered black scarf I bought in Paris four years ago--I look downright chic! Seriously--this is a look I would do even if I had hair it's that good!

I have a couple of new little hats that look just adorable. You can totally tell I'm bald even when I have them on, but they still look really cute, and I would definitely leave the house wearing one and not think a thing about it.

I've gotten GREAT at doing my eyebrows. That's important right now, in my estimation, because all the sudden focus is on my face being framed by the hat/scarf, and for karmic reasons beyond my understanding (cause I think I'm actually a pretty good person) about six months before this whole fiasco started my eyebrows started getting all patchy. So patchy eyebrows, no hair... means you learn to make your eyebrows look good. Which I have. Thanks to my lovely daughter, who taught me this handy little trick: When you put your moisturizer on, don't forget to put it on your eyebrow area, and then apply your eyebrow powder to that--your entire eyebrow area is your canvas, the powder sticks great and it stays all day! Thanks Beebs :)

I've learned that I can pull of a hipster beanie. Or at least my family says I can pull off a hipster beanie. I'm inclined to believe them.

I've found that if you're bald and wearing a scarf or a beanie and you get warm, you can simply take off the scarf or the beanie and solve the problem. Not so much the same when you have hair. I'm not saying the former is preferable to the latter. I wish I had hair. But since I don't, it's nice to find some positive in the situation.

So all in all, being bald has so far helped me learn how to do eyebrow makeup, taught me I can accessorize to complement a look, helped me learn that I actually have more than one look, and maybe the most important thing it's taught me--it's just hair.

It's still me. My family looks at me exactly the same as they always have. They don't see bald. They see me. And they think I'm beautiful.

The Rabbit of Seville

How doooo!

Welcome to my shop
Let me cut your mop
Let me shave your crop!
Daintily! Daint-til-ly!

Hey yoooou!
Don't look so perplexed
Why must you be next
Can't you see you're next?
Yes, you're next!
Yoou're so next!

...

These are the opening lyrics to the Bugs Bunny cartoon "The Rabbit of Seville", which is a spoof of The Barber of Seville opera.

Steven and Olivia serenaded me with this little ditty as Dave cut my hair off this afternoon. Those two goofballs singing in their best Bugs Bunny voices put a smile on my face when I easily could have been crying. I thought I was going to cry. I actually told everyone I would probably cry. But in the end I didn't. No one did. We just all laughed our way through "The Rabbit of Seville" as my hair got progressively shorter and shorter, all the way down to 5/8 of an inch. 

I'm sure tomorrow morning when I look in the mirror it will be a shock. And I'm sure at some point I will cry because I have no hair. Or at least maybe I'll cry some more because of why I have no hair. 

But today, the day we shaved my head, was a good day. 

First off, Dave was okay with cutting my hair, for which I am so grateful. He could have easily said he didn't want to do something so traumatic and asked me to go to my hairdresser, and I would have understood. But he didn't. He approached it with clarity and tenderness, and that in turn made me feel calm and confident. Not an easy task, making a girl in my situation feel calm and confident. But he does it every day in a million little ways.

The kids came and sat outside with me through the whole thing. They sang (see above). They gave Dave compliments on his barber skills--we discussed the fact that perhaps Dave missed his calling. Olivia held my hand for a time. Steven told me with a genuine earnestness that I looked great with a shaved head--he thought I'd fit right in sitting at a table in a Starbucks with my computer, kinda hipster. 

Tomorrow will probably be hard. I'll venture out with a scarf or a hat. I'm sure people will notice. They will be polite and smile. They might feel badly for me. But they shouldn't. 

Because today, the day we shaved my head, was a good day :) And that makes me the luckiest girl in the world.

I Got to Watch My Daughter Row Today

NOTE: This is being posted roughly a month after I actually got to watch Olivia row.

I got to watch my daughter row.

It's fun to watch her row. She takes it very seriously and not at all seriously. At the same time. It makes me smile to see her do this. Mostly because it makes her smile when she's doing it.

I think it's her approach to life.

Olivia is just plain and simple one of the happiest people I know. She is effervescent and optimistic. And also driven and pragmatic. She's a girl who drags herself out of bed at 3:45am to go to crew practice, actually pencils in a nap on her daily calendar, and giddily face-times me and Dave when she has successfully cooked herself a new dinner recipe.

She can simultaneously be overwhelmingly challenged by something and completely enthralled with it.

And that's her idea of fun. Thus, the crew team.

The girl had never rowed a boat in her life when she got to college. And early mornings were NOT in her repetoire. Yet when she got an email saying the crew team was looking for new members, she responded. She joined. She got up early. She rowed.

She made an amazing group of friends. Somehow an eighteen year old young woman with no crew experience took over the team! You know that person at a party, the one who everyone wants to sit at their table? Olivia was the girl everyone wanted in their boat. And it's not hard to understand why. She showed up every single day. She rowed as hard as she possibly could. She encouraged all of her teammates. She participated fully, throwing herself without abandon into every aspect of being a teammate.

I think the best story Olivia has told us about her time on crew (and there have been MANY stories) is the one when she's on an ERG machine toward the end of this last season. The coach has surprised the women's team with a 2K ERG piece, which means each teammate gets onto her own rowing machine and rows as hard as she can for 2000 meters (as measured on the electronic display on the machine). They don't all row at once, as there aren't enough machines, so half of them row and then they get off and the other half rows. When you're not on the machine you're cheering on the rowers who are. So Olivia is on her machine, and she's got a goal. It's been the same goal since day one of being on this team--she wants to row a 2K in under eight minutes. This is a thing. Every single young woman on this team wants to achieve this goal. It's a badge of honor if you do it. Not many do it. It's hard.

So Olivia is rowing, and the display is telling her that she's on pace to row very close to an eight minute 2K. She starts pacing herself. The machine is reading that she's rowing exactly on pace for an eight minute 2K. She's rowing as hard as she can, but she somehow manages to row just a little bit harder. Her teammates are starting to gather around her machine. They've noticed what's going on. They're yelling at her. For her. Cheering her on. Encouraging her. She doesn't think she can row any harder, but if she does she just might come in under eight minutes. To the screams of her teammates, she finishes the 2K in 7:59. She wants to throw up, but she starts crying instead. Because she's wanted to do this for so long. And she finally did it.

Olivia is not a competitive person. Except with herself. If a team goal is not achieved, but she's done her part and has given her very best, she won't stress over it. You can only do what you can do. But if she really thinks she can do something, she will try and try and try until she's exhausted herself of every ounce of effort. She doesn't need to win because it's winning. She simply needs to know she's given it her all.

So back to the topic of this post. Dave and I went to San Diego to watch the Chapman crew team row in the Crew Classic. This is a huge event. It's considered the opening of the season. There are teams who fly across the country to row at the Crew Classic. So Chapman, tiny little college that it is, is rowing against schools like University of Washington (have you read Boys in the Boat?), Cal, UCLA, Harvard, Michigan and Boston College--schools with powerhouse rowing programs.

The Chapman women's team knows they don't really stand much of a chance against a lot of these teams. But they're excited anyway. They're happy to be there, and they're happy to be there together.

And I got to watch my daughter row a 2K race in an eight-boat. I got to see her approach a race she knew they weren't going to win with the same attitude she would approach a race in which they thought they might take first. I saw my daughter, who doesn't love the racing aspect of crew, give it her all--and I mean her ALL!-- for a little over eight minutes. When the Chapman boat crossed the finish line, it didn't seem to matter much to her what place they came in. It mattered to her that the eight girls all worked together to try their hardest. She took the rowing seriously. She took her effort seriously. She took the race not at all seriously. I love that she can do that.

Watching Olivia row reminds me that even though it's daunting and really hard, it can also be a lot of fun to push yourself beyond what you think your limits are. As long as you're doing it because it makes you happy.

I Got to Watch My Son Teach Today

NOTE: This is being posted roughly a month after I actually got to watch Steven teach.

I got to watch my son teach today. Dave and I got up bright and early and drove into Berkeley to see Steven teach his discussion section for CS10, which is "the Joy of Computing" class at UC Berkeley. It's billed as a sort of intro to computer science, but after sitting through this one discussion section I would have to say that if that's an introductory class then I can't even imagine what's going on at the next level. I'm really not even sure I could tell what was going on at the introductory level.

But what I do know is that watching that kid teach made me smile.

We sat in the back of a fairly small classroom. Some kids might have noticed us there, but Dave and I are young at heart, so it's possible we actually blended right in. Maybe we just looked like fifth year seniors.

Steven had his computer projection system all set up as the kids came in, and they all settled in quietly and opened their computers. Since we were sitting behind everyone we could see their screens. Not a single kid was on Facebook or social media or whatever else they might be on these days. Every single one of them had a screen following Steven's every move. You might think to yourself, "Of course they were paying attention! Why else would they be there?" And to this I would say you clearly have not walked past the open door of a college classroom while there is class going on lately. The number of students you would see with their computers open to anything BUT what is going on in class is astonishing. Not in Steven's section.

He began by asking if they had attended the weekly lecture and if they had any questions up front for him. Then he succinctly stated his objectives for the hour and then proceeded to accomplish his objectives one at a time, noting to the students each time he had completed an explanation and asking if they understood.

His teaching strategies were stunning for anyone, but especially impressive considering he's had exactly zero teaching instruction. It just comes to him naturally. A few examples: as previously mentioned, he outright let the class know what he wanted to accomplish before the hour was over, so they knew what to expect; he constantly but seamlessly checked for understanding, and if he sensed anyone wasn't clear on a concept he re-explained it, but slightly differently (because there's nothing more annoying than telling a teacher you don't understand and having the teacher repeat exactly what you didn't understand in the first place); he encouraged the kids to ask questions, even telling them that he expected that they would have questions, and each question was accepted with a genuine "great question!" and a smile; and he kept an eye on the clock to make sure he was able to get through his entire lesson plan because, as he explained to the class, they needed all of the information in order to best understand the upcoming assignment.

That may all sound like teaching 101 to you. But from experience I can tell you that there just aren't that many seasoned teachers who actually do all of that in one class period. And he's still in college.

Also impressive is that he knows and takes seriously the amount of work it takes to create and carry out a great lesson. And he puts in that work for every.single.lesson. It's his idea of fun. (credit to his dad and grandfather for passing down great planning/execution genes)

To hear Steven talk about his teaching is to hear a voice filled with passion and excitement. You can't miss it. His students can't miss it.

I think if he ever decides to teach as career,  he will, year after year, have classes of kids who, when they get their schedules, get great big smiles on their faces because they got Mr. Traversi.

Going to the Bathroom with Your Phone in Your Hand

So yeah, this whole cancer diagnosis is life-changing. In a million different ways. Here's one of the more amusing changes I've made since getting the news.

When you're expecting an important phone call, you want to be available when it comes through.

When you've just been diagnosed at fifty with cancer, every single phone call is an important one that you don't want to miss. Radiology is calling to schedule your biopsy. Your doctor is calling to discuss your diagnosis. Oncology is calling to discuss your chemo appointment. They're all important. And if you miss a call, good luck trying to call back. It's a one-way system (at least in Kaiser). They can get hold of you any time they want. You canNOT get hold of them without winding your way through an operator who connects you to a department which demands you enter your medical number, birthdate and social security number into your phone before it will connect you with a secretary who will see if the person you want to speak with is available. It takes a herculean effort to successfully return a call.

So here's my solution as of late: If I am expecting a call, I simply walk around with two phones in my hand. Everywhere I go. Even to the bathroom.

I know. Sorry about that visual. And I do always wash my hands so no worries about using the phone after me.

On the plus side, I never have to search for the phone! I knew there had to be an upside to all this shit!

Welcome to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center

"Welcome to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. How can I help you?"

Those were the words that a very kind sounding woman three-thousand miles away said to me when I dialed the number I had been given by a wonderful cousin who wanted to point me in the best possible direction with my new diagnosis.

How surreal.

I did not expect to be dialing that number or hearing those words at this point in my life. But there I was.

I would really like to write a long, eloquent piece about the shock of all of this. But I'm not sure eloquence is in my bag of tricks currently. I'll get there. But right now I'm still trying to adjust to the idea that I actually called Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.

More to come.

Hey Here's A (Great) Idea

I come up with all sorts of ideas. Some are ways to fix things. Some are ways to start things. Some are just invention ideas. Most of them are decent ideas. Perhaps not great, sometimes not necessary, and almost always they are never actually going to happen.

But this idea... this is a good one. Maybe even a great one. It's necessary, and it should happen.

Say you get a call one day from your doctor, and he tells you that you have cancer. BOOM!
That's what that feels like. Your whole world explodes inside your head in one tiny second.
You have a million questions but you can't ask any of them because you are mentally paralyzed and feel like you might throw up in between your heaving sobs. Before you know it you've hung up the phone. The conversation that just changed your whole perspective has ended and you are left, head in your hands, heart thumping wildly, legs too weak to get up, eyes red, cheeks wet, mind dazed and confused.

Here's where my idea comes in.

The next thing that should happen is that your phone rings again, and it should be someone from your medical plan, a designated representative assigned to you, calling to talk to you, to answer your questions regarding your diagnosis--all the ones that you now have but you can't reach your doctor because doctors don't have direct lines anymore and there's no way you're getting through the medical assistant to speak directly with that doctor that just gave you your diagnosis because for your to actually speak directly to your doctor you need a phone appointment and those are now being scheduled two weeks out because doctors are, you know, busy.

No one should ever receive a scary diagnosis and then be left with no one to answer questions or no one to talk to. That second phone call could make all the difference in the world.

Two phone calls means you now know what's going to happen next.
Two phone calls means you now have the phone numbers you need to call in the next few days.
Two phone calls means you now know a general timeline of what's ahead.
Two phone calls means you now know that two days is a good turnaround time for radiology to return your call and you won't need to spend hours on the phone trying to talk to them sooner.
Two phone calls means you now know which doctor is in charge of you.
Two phone calls means you're less likely to start googling anything.
Two phone calls means you now know there's someone to call if you need help.
Two phone calls might make the difference in being able to get to sleep that night.

No matter how great your health plan is, doctors are not readily available to talk exactly when you think you might go crazy out of fear and lack of information. Email is great, but again not when you're insanely scared and need an immediate response.

You need a voice to speak with, and ideally you need a body, someone to speak to in person so you can slow down and think and listen and respond in real time. You need someone who knows your case, who knows the system and can help you navigate it. You need a personal advocate.

That's my (great) idea. Please feel free to run with it, Kaiser.

Am I a Cheater or a Genius? (subtitle: Jefferson v. Hamilton)

I hate even asking that question. But there are arguments both ways.

I have taken to attempting some of the puzzles in the back of the New York Times Sunday Magazine each week. Most of them I don't even give a second glance because I can just tell by looking that it ain't gonna happen (every puzzle involving numbers). However there is one puzzle, innocuously title "Spelling Bee", that draws me in every week.

It's a circle. Inside the circle, arranged like the numbers on a clock, are six letters. Inside that circle of letters is a hexagon shape with just one letter inside of it. The idea is to use any of the letters in the outer ring (as many times as you need) as well as the letter in the center to spell as many words as you can. So to recap: You MUST use the letter in the center in each word; the letters in the outer ring are there for you to use, or not use, as many or as few times as you'd like in each word. Oh, and each word has to be at least five letters in length.

So try it, although since I have no idea how to put letters in a circle you're going to have to either make due with my representation below or draw this out yourself if you want the actual graphic.

                                                       E

                                         Y           M         I

                                         X                       R
                                                       T

You can (kind of?) see the idea here. Let me help you some more. You could use the word "timer", because it uses the "M" in the middle, as well as any other letters on the outside. You could use the word "trimmer" for the same reason. You could not use the word "texter" because it does not use the "M". Get it? Go ahead. Give it a go. You get one point for each word (proper names and hyphenated words are not allowed), and three points for a word that uses all seven letters of the puzzle.

Now be honest. How long did you spend trying to find words before you came back to reading the rest of this? It's kind of addicting isn't it?

I've been trying these puzzles each week for months now. Just in case you aren't frustrated enough, they put a rating system for each puzzle. The puzzle above is rated as follows:
7=good; 12=excellent; 17=genius.

I made it to "good" all by myself. But then...

I had a few words which I wasn't quite sure were actual words, so I went to my computer and clicked on the dictionary program on my Mac. The first word I wanted to look up was "mirer"--as in someone who gets mired down. It turns out that though "mirer" is not a word, "mirex" is, in fact a word. Not that I knew that. But I found out because as I entered in each letter of my word in question, word possibilities started popping up in a list.

M
I
R (mirage, mirror, mirth...)
E (mire, mirex)

And there you go. Mirer not a word. Mirex a word. That I did not know until just then.

I wrote it down and gave myself a point. Am I a cheater?

And if you're being nice enough to give me the benefit of the doubt at this point because I came across this technique accidentally, how about if, now that I knew I could do this, I started just typing in the letters from the puzzle to see what would come up?
Yes, I did that.
And I got more points. (trimeter, rimier and mitey are all legitimate words and now I even know what they mean!)

I am now, according to the rating system for this puzzle, a genius. A GENIUS I say!

But am I? I consulted the instructions for clarity. The directions simply ask how many words you can spell using the given letters. They do not specifically allow using any kind of aids in this quest. They don't specifically prohibit it, either.

So the bigger question, I guess, is how to interpret the instructions, as a strict constructionist (you can only do what is specifically articulated in the document) or a loose constructionist (it is not prohibited if the document does not specifically prohibit it)? Thomas Jefferson or Alexander Hamilton?

I am, apparently (and to no one who knows me would this come as a surprise) a loose constructionist, and as such I am, at least for today, declaring myself a genius :)

General Jumbliness and Discombobulation

Is anyone else out there just plain exasperated?

This White House is leaving me breathless with its constant stream of conspiracy theories, illegal maneuvers, flat-out lies and baseless accusations.

Not that I want him to do what he promised to do (I did not vote for him), but wasn't his big draw with his crowd the fact that, according to him, he and ONLY HE could get done what people wanted done? He was going to repeal Obamacare on DAY 1 (it turns out he had, and I quote, "no idea how complicated healthcare is!" Seriously?). He's going to build a wall and Mexico is going to pay for it (no indication as of yet that Mexico will embrace that idea, so if there's a wall then US taxpayers will foot that bill). Jobs. Jobs. Jobs. Trump was going to bring back manufacturing plants and coal plants and thousands upon thousands of jobs on DAY 1. We do seem well on our way to backing out of trade agreements. Perhaps that will bring back some jobs. Not thousands upon thousands. And I'm not sure whether Trump ever addressed what is likely to happen to the price of consumer goods once those trade agreements are broken. The devil's in the details, and Trump provided preciously few of those in his speeches. He's more of a grand, sweeping statements kind of guy. ISIS--I believe Trump declared that he would convene his generals and they would have to submit a plan to defeat ISIS within 30 days. Anyone heard of anything happening in that arena? Anything at all? Do we have that plan yet? And crime. Didn't he say that he would clean up crime in the inner cities on DAY 1? And shouldn't the VA be fixed by now?

DAY 1 was never going to be what Trump said it was going to be. That should have been people's first clue that perhaps nothing else was going to go as planned.

And things have definitely not gone as anticipated.

We've had a categorically unsuccessful special forces raid in which one soldier was killed, though Trump deemed the operation a huge success from start to finish (how he could lose a man and still declare 100% success on the mission is beyond me, and seems disrespectful to all military families). He's had one senior official resign in disgrace over his lies/Russia connections, and one has had to recuse himself from all things Russia at this point due to his own lies to Congress during his confirmation hearings. He's accused three million people of voting illegally, President Obama of wiretapping Trump Tower, President Obama of orchestrating White House leaks, and the Democrats of obstructing his every whim. I'm not sure if he's noticed, but the Democrats do not have the numbers currently to obstruct anything. Literally. Whatever's not happening is either on Trump himself or on the Republicans.

You don't have a full cabinet? Have your cabinet nominees submitted the required forms for confirmation hearings? No? Then that's on them. There's a process in place for a reason.

Not a lot has gotten done so far. Thankfully. Because what has made it through is thoroughly alarming. Pollution regulations have been rolled back. By Executive Order. The EPA is on lockdown and their website being scrubbed of environmental date regarding climate change. Financial regulations have been rolled back. By Executive Order. There have now been TWO Muslim bans put forward. By Executive Order.

History has also been rewritten by Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos. Did you know that Historically Black Colleges and Universities began because black students were not satisfied with the level of education they were receiving? Take that in for a moment. That's Ms. DeVos's version of the genesis of HBCU's.

So exasperated. Yes. I have no idea what's going on with my government. I'm not really sure my government knows what's going on with my government. Yesterday Senator Rand Paul was pushing his copy machine all over Capitol Hill in search of the new ACA bill. He was not allowed to see it. It's under lock and key, apparently. Another fact to take in: a sitting US Senator is being actively prohibited form seeing the healthcare reform bill being put forward by his own party. WTF?

It feels good to get this all out. It feels a little jumbled, but I think that's because that's how I'm feeling these days. This is not only disconcerting, it's discombobulating.

Here's how I see this in a nutshell:

Trump and his cohorts are raging drunk with power.

At some point soon, I would like the adults in the room to announce their presence, take people's car keys, and bring this raucous kegger back under control.

The Breaking Point

What is the breaking point, the tipping point, for good, decent Republicans to stand up and declare that Trump is not a rational, safe leader for our great nation and start the process of removing him from office?

I didn't love George W. Bush. I disagreed with many of his positions and an even greater number of his actions. But I never once doubted that he was a capable leader, making informed choices. I never once doubted that he was acting in what he thought was the truly best interests of the United States.

I have yet to see evidence that our new President is a capable leader making informed choices. And since he will not release his interests and tax returns I have no idea if he is acting in the best interests of the United States or himself.

Donald Trump tweeted this morning that he is looking forward to seeing the "results" from a voter fraud app that he seems certain is going to prove his assertion that three to five million illegal aliens voted fraudulently. The app developer has already proclaimed that he has the evidence to prove these allegations, but in multiple interviews he simultaneously says he hasn't put all the data together yet to see the results. Yet he is certain of the outcome.

That's a big, giant red flag--when you're certain of your results without the actual data to back them up. It loudly screams that you're manipulating your data to your intended outcome instead of allowing the data to determine the outcome.

So back to my initial question. When this guy releases his "findings", if he won't release the data to back it up (or if the data is proven to be false or falsely interpreted), will Trump cling to the findings anyway (if they support his allegations of voter fraud), and will this be a tipping point for lawmakers? When the President of the United States of America boldly declares that proven lies are in fact truth (alternate facts as his campaign is fond of saying), will that be enough cause for our elected representatives on both sides of the aisle to say enough is enough?

We need leaders who are unafraid to speak truth to power. Right now, President Trump holds all the power. That is not how our government is designed.

Assert your Constitutionally-established power, Senators and Representatives. Check his power.

Don't wait for the balance to tip so far that it can't right itself.

Deep Breathing

I'm going to get very good at yoga over the next four years. I'm going to power my way through physical therapy so that I can run again.

Deep breathing. Calm, relaxing mantras. Miles of quiet footfalls. Whatever it takes to reduce the stress that our newly elected leader is generating on what feels like an hourly basis.

What the hell is going on? What have we, as a nation, done? And what are we, as a nation, going to do to stop this madness?

We currently have a leader who does not do anything without a camera present. Every action, big and small, is touted as the best thing that's ever been done. Which to me, seems to diminish the impact of actual great things that might be done. And it causes me to ponder, Is the President able to distinguish the magnitudes of the various actions he is taking, or in his mind are they all the biggest and best? Is he paying attention to not just what he's signing but also to what the ramifications will be? Or are they all just photo opps?

After the election, the left was criticized for "taking Trump literally but not seriously," and the people who voted for him opined that they take him "seriously but not literally."

It turns out, as evidenced by the first five days in office, that everyone should have taken him both literally and seriously. He IS going to stop Muslim refugees from coming into the country and he IS going to actually build a wall on the US/Mexican border. He says he IS going to break NAFTA. He IS repealing healthcare without having an alternative plan in place. He has scrubbed the White House website of all references to climate change and has ordered the EPA to remove all references to climate change from its website. Let me repeat that. He has ordered the ENVIRONMENTAL PROTECTION AGENCY to remove links to research and findings regarding climate change. He is reinstating CIA black sites, which is a first step toward reinstating torture. He has muzzled the NIH, the Department of the Interior, and the EPA, prohibiting them from communicating with the press without first clearing it with the White House.

This is just the first five days.

And all this while he is still doubling down, publicly and contentiously and without any evidence that he is willing to provide to the press or public, on his belief that he lost the popular vote due to outlandish and widespread illegal voter fraud.

He's overly concerned with photos showing his inaugural turnout was not as good as Obama's first inauguration. Seriously overly concerned. It's taking up his time and thought process.

Breathe. Breathe again.

And in between breathing we all need to get up and do something to counteract this madness. Not just once. Again and again and again.

And again.

As if our nation depends on it, and depends on us.

Because it does.