Yes, I'm actually watching Star Wars Movies

Yes, I’m actually watching Star Wars movies. This is an inside joke. Those that really know me understand this joke, so the question is…..do you really know me? I’m watching IV – The New Hope, one of the better films. I watched the end of the Sith film, nah, definitely not good. The best of the film series of course is V – Empire Strikes Back. I remember when I first saw IV back when it was I (Did you know that originally there were supposed to be a total of IX – but things don’t always turn out like you think they will). I was seventeen. Luke was young, dashing, blond locks shining as the sun set, his baby blues staring dreamily into space as he wished for the skies. It was an awe moment; similar to the one my own girls now have when they see their movie moment with some gangly, high school boy, with dark locks hanging in his eyes as he jumps up and down and sings about his teenage angst. Hmmm, I think my IV moment is definitely better than their teenage angst movie moment.

I haven’t written in a while. Things don’t always turn out like you expect them to. I stopped working in June. Things have changed. I find it hard to...... Smile. Think. Breathe. Laugh. I go through motions, I’m good at motions. Writing, a love, has become painful. So today I am writing gibberish in hopes that it will allow me to start taking baby steps. Move, walk. There is so much darkness and pain. Do you ever get use to it?

Okay…..it’s the big fight between Darth and Obie Wan…..need to go. It’s time to go back to the motions.

A walk in the moonlight

Okay, the whiney little girl in me wearing triple thick glasses, long hair pulled back in pony tails and wearing too big sneakers says, I’ve been this on this so called car ride for over a year now and wants to know – are we there yet? The mature, suave, former San Francisco cosmopolitan, now islander mom, with red titanium hip glasses, seriously yet stylish short hair and wears bright pink, snake skin tennis shoes answers back – we’re on this journey for a long time, probably for the rest of our lives.

My journey originally started sitting at the Pub lifting a pint or two high in the air with warm friends. The journey is now over a year old and has a ways to go yet. Windy roads, and scary turns have I taken. I’ve gone through the land of hair loss, puking up my green guts day after day, turning neon radiated red. But I have not stopped, maybe paused a moment or two but have kept going down the path of cancer. The non-stop, Napoleonic woman who dreamed of being a CFO of a software company has given way to an introspective slow motioned girl who looks up to the stars and dreams now of days that will or won’t come.

The burdens can be tough to bear, sleepless nights of anxiety, debilitating pain as the disease seeps slowly into my bones, fear of facing yet another year let alone a day of needles and poisonous drugs, and having the children home for summer. Yet I have received so many gifts, the ability to hear the wind through my backyard trees and wind chimes dance in the night, friends whose strong hugs and hand holding have given me warmth on the coldest of days, and having my children home with me to enjoy the laughter that comes from summer.

I asked my friends to raise a pint with me, now I’m wondering if a few friends would like to walk for a moment (and not very far) with me. Bainbridge is part of a wonderful thing called the “Relay for Life”, sponsored by the American Cancer Society. I’ve decided to try to walk a lap or two. Yes, the American Cancer Society is all about raising money, but I’m not walking because of that. There is a deafening darkness that creeps into your soul every hour that you have cancer. I want to walk a lap or two in the night to show that I’m not afraid of the darkness and I will continue on with my journey no matter how much I’d just like to lay down on the track and call it quits.

I will be walking in the Relay for Life on July 18th at 10 p.m. at Bainbridge High School. I hope to be accompanied by a couple of fabulous runners – who are friends of my son – but I hope a few more friends will show up. My goal is to do at least one lap - slowly. The superwoman in me wants to do 5 laps, but that might be pushing it. For me, this isn’t about the money – it’s the doing. I was going to try to get a corporate sponsor and get some cool pink t-shirts with the TeamJoan logo on it….but, hey I’ve got cancer. I can’t take on the world anymore; I’m just taking on me. Please join me, if you can.

To register please go to…..

http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=entry&fr_id=17756

and look for me…

Stupid Question

....Stupid questions. I'm wandering this morning. I couldn't sleep. It's Saturday, the one morning I should be able to sleep in. I woke up around 4 am, around 4:30 am I started doing leg stretches and stomach crunches. Tried to sleep again, but decided at 5:30 am to get up and take a bath. It was a warm, deliciously hot bath. Afterward, did I go back to sleep. No.

I downed my morning drugs, packed up my computer and now I sit in the Bakery with a cup of tea. I finished off my raspberry scone about an hour ago. I’ve drifted along on the internet at my corner window table, reading the headlines, drooled over shoes at Nordstroms, stressed over the lack of cash as I glance through my bank account online. Morning fog is burning off outside. Islanders are milling in and out. I glance up now and then from my computer to sip my tea. Occasionally, I see someone I know, however I just put my head down and continue drifting. Empty tables greeted me when I first came; Beethoven softly surrounded at I drank my warm tea. Now, seats are full, people are like sharks, grabbing the first open table as someone gets up to leave. I’m getting looks…..sole woman seated at a two top.

So my stupid question for this morning……and I have thought of many while drifting on my computer. Does anyone out there still read this stuff?

I’ll answer why after I get my results…….

It's nearly 9 am, I wonder how soon someone will answer my question.

I think I'll wander over to the Farmer's market......and someone can have my table.

A quiet good morning to all.

Anger

Lately behind my quiet shy half smile I present to the world that passes me by, I am filled with this terrible overpowering rage. You ask yourself why the anger Joan, what can you mad at. You are alive, you live. However, I’m afraid that I find I bow my head and say to myself very silently, I feel like I have failed my life. And I ask myself, why I am carrying these unwanted burdens in my heart. I wonder when the anger will fade, when my insides no longer will be knotted with rage and when I will move forward down the road of my new life.

I have so much, more than most others. Handsome, intelligent husband, funny, beautiful children, a warm, cozy home, two silly dogs shedding hair all over chairs, couches. I have friends with open arms and soft shoulders for me to rest my head on. Why now, why does this anger sneak into my heart and plague me so much?

I know my demons are just silly wants and old desires I have dreamed about as I have aged. I feel the possibilities of my old life grow smaller each day as I continue down the fork of the road I’ve been forced to take. It’s all fading away whether I like it or not. Selfishly and conceitedly, I so much wanted to grow up to be recognized VP, CFO, or other stupid acronym and allowed to make a difference in a small but worldly firm. I wanted the recognition for my husband, my children, my dad, for myself….My wife, the Boss – and not just of me, so what’s your mom do….she’s a vp….what’s that…..Hmmm, I think that means she has a Very Pushy loud voice. My daughter’s got a promotion the other day, did you read about it….so what’s she do…..something with numbers……oh, she’s a bookkeeper, huh. I found myself on a sinking ship, bailing water out 10 to 12 hours a day, trying to make a difference. Unfortunately the pain spread its ugly fingers throughout my bones and joints. I could no longer keep up with my colleagues and mentors, they finding found me more like baggage than a shiny resource. I was in pain. And as I tried to dance even faster, my body seized control and said you’ve done enough, no more. This “A” girl, whose Napoleonic tendencies had hoped to be a CFO so long ago, was now a nothing.

How are you feeling, you look really good, Joan. I’m fine thank-you. I, nod my head and move along smiling and chit chatting brightly as I go about my new routine. Behind the smile, I don’t even know what my new routine is. I don’t have the strength anymore to actual say what my heart wants to scream out – and really, no one really, really wants to know. But the rage seethes through me, you know that I don’t work anymore……don’t you know my feet hurt, my hands have needles in them. Open your eyes, my left breast is gone. I look weird, I walk stiffly hamper by sore bones, and the one thing I did really good which was work, I can’t do anymore. I know, I know….I look good.

It’s night, dark. The quiet surrounds me. I am in my rocking chair, hot tears of furor streaming down my cheeks. My left hand clinched into a fist, held over the empty space that once was my breast. Please, oh please…..take this dagger from heart. Just let me be…...let me be me.

On the road to somewhere....or maybe not

Recently I went on a road trip. I wrote here and there, but wanted to follow the trip up with my feelings.......so here they are.

Road trip.....what can I say.....great, fabulous, exhausting, sad, headaches, laugh out loud funny, warm, beautiful, loving. It was 1700 miles in six days, two women, four girls and a really big tank. And for once, I was never in charge. In a remarkable way that was the best part. I think I'm giving up the old in-charge, task master Joan Judge more and more each day.....and wonder who this new person is. A few steady things about our holiday, Holiday Inns, swimming and wine in the evenings. Because we swam at the hotel pools every night, the girls thought it was like being at Disneyland. Chelle was an angel, a frazzled mom, and my friend. She's so driven. And yet, I know I couldn't have done the road trip without her. I feel like I have to find her a job in Seattle....she's been laid off from WaMu. She's a powerhouse, a very senior exec, in charge of more people than god. I have issues and seriously don't want another friend to leave me. (A little selfish on my part....definately old Joan behavior there).

As we drove towards my parents in California, I became more and more anxious. The flatness, the greenness, the poorness of the Sacramento Central Valley flashed past my window as we drove 515 miles in one day. The girls in the back of the tank, listening to iPods, watching DVD's, and Emma with her proverbial - "I need to go to the bathroom" at the top of every hour. I was short of breath; anxiety replacing my normal friend of pain. My nerves were frayed by mile upon mile traveled, taking me further from my island home taking me back to the ole homestead of youth, high school, tender years, faded memories of ghosts gone by.....but this was now. I was a 49, gray haired, one boobed woman returning to a place that really didn't exist anymore. I was nervous, but I was different. My mom needed me and I realized last year that I need my father more than anything and wanted to be with him again. Although filled with anxiety, I also was full of anger at my father, why here....why did he have to be here. Why couldn't he be up with me? I had cancer in Seattle, why couldn't he have cancer there.

My parents are staying at Beale AFB, the last Air Force base my father was stationed at. It's nestled at the toes of the foothills near the Sierras. It's vast land; soft rolling hills covered with bright green grass that waves slowly like large waves in distant deep oceans. You see old oak trees; limbs gnarled with it's many fingers, branches trying to stretch upwards toward the sky only to be curled and weighed by age, leaves lightly scraping the ground instead. I remember the base from the old days, busy with bright young and sharp servicemen, fast planes of many colors and shapes......and here it was.....old, quiet, beautiful, peaceful, sad. A side comment, here's a beautiful piece of land our country owns and does nothing with.....where is the government employing many of our families, where are the bright young servicemen, where are the jobs that fueled the economies of small town Americana. Perhaps, its better that our government does nothing with the land.....if by chance they did sell it, the beauty might be spoilt to concrete and paper-thin houses of progress.

I get lucky, Chelle, the driver, me, the roadmap reader, decide to by pass my old homestead of Yuba City. Relief runs through my veins. I don't have to worry about running into anyone I know, I don't know who I am yet - I'm still working on this new Joan - and she's still an infant, just not quite up to talking of past, present and future. We skirt east, driving past Marysville on the other side of the river. We've decided to stay in the wonderfully tacky town of Lincoln.....the fastest growing town in California, or so the sign says. As we drive down the final two lane highway after a long day in the tank, I say you'll know Lincoln by the huge grain silos – as it was what I remember about the town from my youth. The silos are just as I remembered, but the place is covered with cardboard cutout beige homes with their duplicated green turf lawns. Wow, where had all these people come from...... where was the river, where was the open land dotted oak trees that I knew from before. I guess this is progress.

I don't know how Chelle managed the children during the days while I visited with my dad during the afternoons, but our nights were full of bad food, laughter, and splashing in the pools. One of the best nights was when I painted the girls fingernails. Chelle took the toes. Blues, pinks slapped on moving hands. I'm not sure how, but I ended up with Martian green adorning my fingernails....hmmm maybe too much wine sloshed down in paper cups between friends.

My dad was worse than I thought. Emma tugs on my sleeve. She says his face is gone, it's vanished to be replaced by the white gauntness of illness – “He has no more smiles, Mama....I know sweetie, they'll be back one day”. He's lost over 50 pounds in 4 weeks. He's thin, more or less still my dad...perhaps similar to the tall, slim soldier I knew long ago when I was Emma's age. Hannah and Emma were fascinated by ny father's new belly button, otherwise known as the shunt for his feeding tube. It's six inches higher than his old belly button; it's his new nourishment center. White liquid flows into it like mother's milk used to flow through his other button. Like cancer Joan from last year, he can't keep anything down. His throat is burnt raw; bleeding from the daily radiation treatments. He's throwing up, over and over again. I watched him, seeing me from last year. It's painful, for me a reminder of the past and possible future, for him it's the now. He'd rub his head just as I had done after I'd lost my hair. We'd sit side by side in big leather chairs, quiet, the hours moving slowly by, both of us staring at the green oceans outside. Whatcha thinking about Dad, I'd softly say. He'd rub his head, stare off into the distant and after a while when I thought perhaps he didn't hear me - would say.....I just don't understand why the doctors can't tell me if I'm going to live or die. This is me, it's last year, it's now. The doctors will never tell you, you just have to live for today, but I say nothing and quietly sit in the big leather chair next to my dad.

My mom is my dad's cheerleader. When he gets well, when we get out of here, when we get to Florence, when we get to your house - it's her mantra. You are going to get better; you've got to eat - would you like some pear juice, maybe soft peaches. It will be 50 years in June, she loves this grumpy old man. The whole time I watched him, I felt worse for my mom. Mom, open your eyes.....he's bad. He's going to get well; he's got the best doctors. You'd love his cancer facility, the nurses are so caring. It’s his life now. It's where he's happy. Mom, you have no help. You're alone. Its okay, I've been through this before - I remember. Towards the end of the visit, I had signed onto the mantra. Dad, you've got to work on getting better. I'm going to Italy, wouldn't you like to meet me there......Spain is just around the corner, you know how much you love Spain. And as my mom dropped me off at the hotel at the end of my visit, she leaned over and hugged me and says words of love into my shoulder.....She whispers words just for me, her daughter. She’s cared for me as she now cares for my father. I know what he knows; I have felt what he now feels. Later, I cry for what seems like forever. Chelle and I proceed to get stinking drunk and tell each other secrets to comfort each other.

Our next fabulous adventure was a mad dash of 350 miles west to San Francisco. We met up with Doug - my girls just love him. They also loved seeing Dylan's other messy, small little home. Doug is my ex, btw. We went over to the mission district for lunch up at Dolores Park. The park has an incredible broad view of the city. Burritos and Tacos, yum, my favorite from L'Tacqueria were scarfed down by road trip girls on the go. We followed up the lunch with pedal boat rides on Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park. It was warm, the kids giggle at turtles, Canadian geese mating, and boats crashing into each other. It was 80 degrees....and my toes were warm as I stretched out in the back of the boat while my children tried to steer it. Doug pedaled us forward and backwards. Cameras were precariously passed from one boat to another, photos flashed....cheese.....go away geese.....look at that building....it's an old Chinese Pagoda - it's so pretty mama. My former home, shared with friends.

Then the long grinding haul home, two tired women and four not so giggly girls drive up the I-5. We stay in a tacky hotel on the outskirts of Sausalito and Mill Valley.....another Holiday Inn....same free breakfast day after day. Favorite parts of the adventure......my friends, my girls, Ashland, Oregon....I definitely would love to go back and walk around the quaint shops – two women and four giggly girls who want everything in sight do not make for fun window shopping. Plus I'd like to see the plays. The town was having a film festival - it looked noir-ishly interesting and I was longing for Dylan to be there. (I still have "hope" that some day soon Dylan will come to his senses and go to film school). Another favorite part of our adventure, a rest stop we made in California - olive trees everywhere - beautiful girls running on the green lawns. Oh yes, and passing through "Weed".....a smaller, than small town, located somewhere on I-5.

And so concluded my road trip......no we weren't Thelma and Louise, nor Chevy Chase on one of his vacations......okay, just maybe, just a very small portion of Lucy and Ethel......but mainly we were two women and four giggle girls in a very big tank.

Just a little thought......

The rain came down today. The sky opened up and the water beat down onto the long not yet mowed spring green grass with its yellow spiky dandelions spreading out wild. It was a gray day. Wet and cold. Yet inside our home the fire was warm. The last bit of our winter wood burned in the fireplace. My high back chair was comfy soft, my old worn, woolen blanket wrapped around my legs. Maggie lying at my feet, as Rainer sat in our leather Morris rocking chair with Hildy curled up on his lap he swayed gently back and forth. The lights are soft, outside it’s dark. The day almost over.

My day has been filled with the ringing of bells, Alleluias, egg hunts, pretty dresses, and smiles. Friends gathered together in old rituals comforting both young and old as girls in pink bunny ears sat with friends. Ringing telephones with tones of love filled my day, words of happiness back and forth between children and parents.

And I remember back to when I was a young, old mother of a spirited 15 month, toe headed boy, living in the city. I have memories of walking the aisles of an Old Italian grocery store, my young son squirming in the shopping cart. I gathered spices, young vegetables; meats wrapped from the butcher, warm breads fresh from the oven handed over the counter top from the baker for our holiday feast. The overwhelmed mother putting boxes back on the shelves as her D-Monster waving his little hands had grabbed every little thing his fingers could reach. Old shuffling grandmothers with large purses and baskets perused the aisles, gathering foods for their own holiday feasts. Back and forth, we traveled down the aisles amongst a city of strangers. A little boy, his mother trying to take the carrots from his fist, leaned out of his cart and said to wise, sage old neighborhood women filling their baskets with ripened red tomatoes, “Bona Pasqua” The Sicilian women, startled, looked up from their basil and tomatoes, and stood in silence for a moment. The women’s wrinkled faces broke open with joy and burst into a rushing stream of Italian as they surrounded and fawned over my fair haired boy. I remember the bright smiles and language barriers of the day, as I watched a little boy making friends.

And to all I say…..Bona Pasqua.

On the go

We're dressed, sort of ready, it's 9 a.m., time to go. Yesterday we zagged west to San Francisco and Sausalito. Uncle Doug, burritos, tacos, coke-cola, big tank, micro mini parking spaces, Dolores Park looking over a beautiful city, sunshiny days, Stow Lake, pedal boats, laughing girls, sea-gulls gawking, turtles sitting still in the sun, canadian geese mating. Action movie to be sure.

Now we begin to trek north, it's a road trip. Girls, Girls, Girls. Holding our feet up as we pass through Golden Bridges. Perhaps a memory or two to be made. Time to go, shoes on.....let's go.

Not sure where I am

The wind is howling through our window hotel window. It's late, nearly 11 pm and both girls are still awake. We're still on our road trip. The girls have had a long day, I've had a long day. And I'm not sure where I am let alone know who I am.

Supposedly I'm in Lincoln, California, the fastest growing city in America. More likely a town soon to be victim of the economy. Huge growth, mega malls with no businesses, huge houses, with huge mortgages. A suburb of Sacramento. Flat, stucco, vast, new and not much old stuck together. A sign on the clay mill silo as you drive down highway 70, welcoming you to Lincoln, Calif. I keep thinking the oak trees are beautiful, but ask myself where are the rest of the trees – the cedars, the alders, the tall Douglas firs? It's green, light green fields ready for planting. But where is the richness of my home.

Yesterday, was hot, beautiful – California weather. Light blue, cloudless skies, still air, open spaces. We foraged to Tar–get in search of suburban treasures of flip flops and sun glasses. My mom picking us up in the big red dump truck as Emma calls their huge Ford truck. We venture back down the two lane highway to visit with my dad.

What is it like? I’m not sure I can say. This man, whom to me has always been larger than life, is now frail. He’s looks thin, he looks sad: he looks like my nightmares from last year. I see that he misses his friends, Thom, Linda…..other heroes from grammar school and older days gone by. I see the down turned mouth, my mouth from last year – a cancer mouth, the mouth that only tastes the metal taste of chemo. We sit, side by side silent in our own thoughts. Every once in a while, I ask….can I hold your hand and he lets me, if only for a moment. Minutes tick by and softly I ask, “Dad, what are you thinking about”. He responds, “I keep wondering why they won’t tell me how I am doing – whether I’m going to get well or not”. He goes on to tell me that the doctors gave him a 40% to 90% chance of survival. I remember back to my days and remember I only had a 50% of survival. They never told me that I would survive and I doubt they will ever tell him whether he will survive. But, he’s a crotchety old man…..he can survive, if he wants to.

And yet, here we sit in a leather recliner chairs, my dad and I. My dad, with his red warm, electric blanket, warming him on a windy day….me with a light comforter across my chest…..both of us complaining of the cold while my mother sweats from the warmth of the day. His complexion is grey, his life is dimmed, while my cheeks are pink and I feel full of sparkle.

It’s much later now. I lie in bed, the wind still blowing against the window. Is the man I first loved listening to the wind howl? We both have cancer, can we both survive. I have so many to help me along the way……he has so few. I wonder will he be there with me and will I be there for him.


I am so not ready to give up, let alone let him give up. Please survive…..at least for today…..and maybe tomorrow.

Day 2 - A million miles away

So it's day two and I feel like I'm a million miles away from Bainbridge. And perhaps I am. Let's face it, I live on a small island 10 miles by 3 miles - if that. Small, quaint, postage stamp size - you can get around fast, but it is home and the island is that of gold. Now I'm in the belly of a whale, the Sacramento Valley a 1000 miles by 500 miles. Vast, bright open land spaces, cluttered with houses, strip malls and car lots. Architecture from the 20's, 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's pass by the window as you drive down I-5. It's either new or old or in between. And the old looks quaint, the medium looks used and the new is lifeless. They say this is California, the land of opportunity. To me......it's different.

I've traveled 515 miles today. I traveled 515 miles today in a car with 4 girls under the age of 8 years old and two women over the age of 35. Needless to say, once we settled into the hotel tonight......after the drive down I-5, the broken records of "Are we there yet", i-Pod's mixed with bathroom breaks, naps in between dvd's on portable players, swimming in hotel pools, pizza, juice paks and whiny kids staring at a T.V. like zombies.......I had a drink. Chelle and I shared a bottle of wine. She's tired......I'm tired. But I'm anxious.

I'm anxious to travel through I town I knew 30 years ago but don't know today. And I'm anxious to see my dad. I love my dad. He and I both now have cancer. We have a bond.....and I wonder will it bring us closer. Is he part of the vastness....the whale, the place I used to know. While now, I'm part of the quaitness and the island the home I've grown to love....

We're on the Road to Nowhere

As I sit here all ready and packed for my road adventure, I wonder is this going to be a “Thelma and Louise” Epic without the bad parts and ending. Or are Chelle and I going to be “Lucy and Ethel”……or maybe a little of both.

I’ve packed everything plus the kitchen sink (Although I was a little ticked to discover my grown up children, Ashley and Dylan have stolen all the suitcases in the house – or at least the small easy carry travel bags). We’ve got jeans galore, t-shirt, hoodies (because we’re cool and don’t call them sweat jackets anymore), coloring books, trashy magazines, a full nail salon, wine, cheese, crackers, bananas, iPods, Zunes, Danimals (it’s a kid’s fruity yogurt drink – the kids love it and suck it down), popcorn, sandals, converse tennis shoes, stuffies, blankies, books and computers. The only thing we aren’t taking is the husbands. It’s a girl’s road trip…..and as I think back to “Thelma and Louise” or “Lucy and Ethel” am I Lucy, or Ethel. All, I know is that I don’t have the long flowing red hair anymore and I’m a one boobed chick so perhaps I’m Chevy Chase and this is going to be a National Lampoon disaster flick.

Who knows, stay tuned for details.

Wandering

Not doing too much tonight. My thoughts are just wandering through my brain tonight. It’s late. Rainer’s asleep next to me. The girls conked out hours ago. Hannah was reading “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” to Emma when they both fell asleep, reading one minute then out like light bulbs the next. Chapter books are the big thing in our household these days. Drifting thoughts go through the back of my brain; I wonder what’s happening with my older children – the adults, Dylan and Ashley. Why do children have to grow up? Why do adults have to get old?

The dogs are running around my bedroom creating all sorts of havoc, pulling dirty clothes out and playing tug of war with them. Put that down, that’s my t-shirt your dumb dogs. I can’t understand how Rainer sleeps through this chaos, but remember he has his trusty earplugs in. Dogs, you say. I thought she only had one dog. Nope, I’ve got two dogs now. We still have Maggie, our big, 80 pound ferocious, sad-eyed, smiling, more red than golden, golden retriever. Maggie Dog, who after scaring a person to death with her tremendous growl would then wag her tail and lick them like there is no tomorrow, has a friend. Her name is Hildy, she’s our 4 pound miniature wiener dog. She’s my comfort companion, my husband's pain in the neck and my daughters toy to dump upside down. Dappled gray and black, prissy, runs like ferret, (for that matter looks like one too), yapping guard dog, who likes to burrow under my bedcovers and will steal the food from your plate when your back is turned or not, that’s our new dog, Hildy. She’s nine months old and still to my chagrin is not potty trained. She adores Maggie and Maggie….shall we say… tolerates her. They play somewhat; Maggie puts her paw on Hildy and just holds her down while Hildy twists furiously.

Yes, it’s late. But changes are in the air and though tired, I’m not sleepy. I think I’m waking up, waking up to life and whatever comes along. Music is back in my life big time – all 683 songs on my Zune. (The songs were not gotten by ill begotten gains – but legally) and I was quite proud of my 683 songs, until I found out some techno geek at work has several thousand songs on his iThing. I don’t like Apples, that’s why I have a Zune. Besides, it sounds better. Oh well. I’m just wandering tonight and thinking about life. Lot’s happening lately…..I’ve come out of the closet, I’ve gone out on disability, and now am going on a road trip.

No, I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, she says in her best whiny Seinfeld voice. Many of my friends already know this (and some are really sick of hearing it) but I have to say it – not only to the world but to myself. I have Stage IV Breast Cancer with Bone Metastases. No. I’m not cured….and probably won’t be cured. My bones are like Swiss cheese and I’ll probably have chemo for the rest of my life. But for the moment I am here, waking up and wandering through life.

I’ve gone out on disability. Ewww, that one was a big one. I sobbed hysterically when I finally did it. It was like death, I was in so much pain. I was working too many hours to count and getting nowhere. Chemo kept catching up with me. I remember my hands were shaking uncontrollably when I finally broke down and signed the paperwork. My doctor had wanted me to do it months ago. You have to think about yourself Joan, not them. However, I kept trying (and in some ways am still trying) to be old Joan. The powerhouse, the girl who worked 10 hour days, trying to help a start up Software Company grow up for the last four years. But my bones won’t let me, my heart won’t let me. I have to think about me. I need the pain to lessen, I need to stop working so many hours – OMG, I can’t believe I’m going to say this….but there’s more to life than work. (So did the world just stop – nope it’s still going, and Rainer’s still snoring next to me – it’s comforting to hear) I need my family, my bright eyed girls, and my dashing husband. I need to look at the sunshine and not cringe in pain behind a deferred revenue spreadsheet. Of course, this means a big cut in my paycheck and the old woman in me worries about whether or not we’ll loose the house. On the other hand, little girl in me keeps hoping that maybe I’ll win the lottery; but of course the problem there is that I’m too cheap to buy the lottery ticket. Or I fantasize maybe Oprah will read my blog and become my fairy godmother, taking away my debts, and giving TeamJoan members a self deserved trip to the Caribbean for all the wonderful gifts they have given me. But that is just a fantasy and like I said….I’m just wandering tonight.

And in a few days, I am going to wander down to visit my father. He too has cancer and he’s in the “This is Hard” phase. I think I need to go create some havoc in his life, I think I need to kick him in the butt. So I’m packing up my girls and hitting the road to with a friend who thinks I can’t drive by myself so she’s bringing herself and her two girls along to make sure that I can make it. Hopefully I’m not too old to enjoy life and wake someone else up too.

Wish me luck and wish my father luck too.

Standing Tall


Let’s go back tonight…let’s reminiscent about days long ago. Its 1968 – yes, I know I seem to be stuck in time, but what the hay. Our country was in a strange funk. Free love, the Tet Offensive, flowers in guns and soldiers standing tall. In 1968 my family lived in Jacksonville, Arkansas. I remember it as being soft fuzzy green, hot days, long warm evenings and fire flies that we used to catch and put into jars that our fathers would put holes in lids with a hammer and nail. Do you remember when your dad would take a long nail put in on the lid of the jar and with one mighty whack of the hammer; the nail would drive straight thru the tough metal.

I was eight years old and time seemed to edge slow even though I was non stop. I remember everything seemed to move fast, even though I complained endlessly how the days dawdled along. When does school get out, when will it be summer. Be Patient, it will be here sooner than you know. School, homework, trips to the dentist, going to bed by 8 pm. And then bang, it was summer and we were free of restrictions, getting up early and running late. Games, tag, Batman reruns, Kool-Aid with lots of sugar, baseball, catfishing, swinging on tree ropes in willow trees, hot dogs, swimming in the lake even though we weren’t supposed to and Dark Shadows at 4 pm religiously Monday through Friday were my favorite past times. We lived on base, Little Rock Air Force Base.

My dad was a career officer in the United States Air Force. He was tall, thin and very cool. He was a pilot, a Major; he was Air Force. He flew large planes….no, not the puny firefighters, but big lumbering massive refueling tankers that would fly endlessly in the clouds for days on end. He was proud to be an officer, he was proud to be in the Air Force even in a time that didn’t necessarily like the military man. He’s still a pilot, an officer, a military man and my Dad. A Marlboro man, he drove a sleek blue mustang and looked quiet dashing in his dress uniforms. My cousin, Stephen, once told me later in life that the thing he best remembers about my dad - was that he could throw a baseball straight up into the air, so high that you couldn’t even see it, and then catch it with his bare hand as the ball plummeted down to earth. Like, I said, cool very cool.

My dad was away a lot. This was Vietnam. Men were off at war, many coming back in flag draped boxes. My family lived a sheltered life in the on-base community of the military, while most of the nation was battling abroad or amongst themselves on Walter Cronkite nightly. We were family, scared young mothers, with bouffant hairdos and rapidly growing children crisscrossing the neighborhood on their bikes and skateboards. Our fathers were constantly gone, away on long TDY’s. (Please don’t ask me what this means…..it’s been over 40 years and I still don’t know what it means….but to an 8 yr old it meant a totally, daring, young man in his flying machine was gone). Blue station wagons, dress whites and folded flags were our enemies. Our houses were soft pastel colors with pristine yards; cartoon like to hide what was really going on. Military wives searched for anything to keep themselves occupied during the long, hot days of summer, vying to see who would have the best summer garden or playing bridge Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays just to pass the minutes away while daring young men flew the skies. To have your dad home was the best, to have your dad home in the summer was better, to have my dad home on the 4th of July was Christmas.

4th of July was filled with laughter, it was a carnival, it was north versus the south, it was a blast. All families would meet down by the lake, a central location amongst the base housing. We lived on the south part of the lake, in the officers division. To the north, the non-coms, non commissioned officers, lived. My family would cross the street, cut through the Chatfield’s backyard and hike down to the lake carrying blankets, large baskets of food, jugs of kool-aid, bottles of Coca-cola and ice tea where lugged over by my whole family. Of course you had to get there early, to mark out your territory. Hamburgers, hot dogs, potatoes salads, green moldy looking Jello concoctions lined the tables. Men were playing fire marshals with barbeques, while children were desperately throwing their fishing lines in the lake in hopes of catching the notoriously big granddaddy of all catfish.

I remember homemade strawberry ice cream. The cream poured carefully into a large tin and then placed in a rickety wooden bucket. Ice and salt were thrown into the bucket. And then…..muscle power. Sorry, this was the 60’s not every kitchen gadget was electrified yet. A group of scrawny 8 year olds would gather round the bucket to crank the rotary arm. Who could last the longest, whose arm fell off, when would the ice cream be done? More salt, no more ice. Go faster, my arm’s sore. You do it, no you do it. Is it done yet? And then the next thing we knew, our superhero dad’s would show up and crank that ice cream maker so fast…..it’s arm would fall off instead. Yummmm……creamy, delicious, tart, strawberry ice cream, so tasty and cold it was perfect.

As dust began to settle, excitement would pass through the throngs of picnickers. Battle lines had been drawn. It was north vs. south, it was them against us. It was battle time, and the fireworks were drawn and ready. Bottle rockets, sparklers, cones of fire, star bursts of red, white and blue. Green fountains of flame. Dad’s taking a long drag on their cigarettes and their embers starting the rockets red blare. Girls were running around with green sparklers, boys sneaking around setting off long, loud strings of firecrackers. Look at that display of colors, no just wait – my dad has yet to fire off his arsenal. Rockets brighter than stars, smoke haze filled skies. We win; we win…..what’s that….look at that flare. He cheated; he cheated…..no look at that flare. The flare guns coming from the military survival kits handed out to all personnel.

And then it was over. K-rations packed back up into baskets, stuffed with empty jugs of tea and kool-aid. Blankets wrapped around sleeping children who now were slung, limp, sleeping over strong shoulders. Young men, rubbing their young wives back as they hiked back up the hills to their homes. A day worth of fun, a day’s worth of battle, it was a memory for an 8 yr old to keep forever.

Recently my dad was diagnosed with cancer. He has cancer of the throat and cancer of the tongue. It was probably from the cigarettes he smoked over 30 years ago. Even though the tumors are small, he has it in two spots making him Stage IV cancer like me. My dad is a boisterous, gregarious, man. My dad, a man who likes to tell war stories, is a man proud of America, no matter what. A soldier, a pilot, he’s my dad. My dad is standing tall even though he knows not what will come.

Let’s all wish him well. As I remember a little 8 year old girl holding her dad’s hand as we hiked up the hill together on a warm summer’s eve.

Let my love open the door.....

Let my love open the door, let my love open the door…..

Recently I’ve discover a little joy…..just a seed. Yes, I still live in the dark grey land of grief, debilitating pain in my old bones, and crushing weight of depression. While I was very sick, I found it very hard to watch boring T.V., read a trashy book, or even listen to good music. I would lay in bed stare out my window, longing for the summer and the colors of green to blossom from the cold wet ground.

Let my love open the door, let my love open the door….

But I am coming back ….sort of - but in a different way. The summer has gone by. And many things have come and gone. My son went off to college and I found I could live with him and without him. My girls would dance around crazy with laughter on the summer grass and sprouting up tall like trees as the time passed. My niece, Ashley, came to live with us and our family grew. The green leaves of summer gave way to bright colors of orange, pink, bright red leaves, to the fall ritual of head butting football and the return of the prodigal son for the annual “Homecoming” game. I still remember walking into the football stadium after Dylan initially came home that first time to shouts of “Dylan” all around us….. “Dylan” rang out around our family as we made our way into the stands. “See ya mom, I’m going to hang with my friends” came from Dylan as he had been on the island for less than 45 minutes and was already to leave us again. But a smile came to my face…..my college boy was home and had many friends to give him laughter. And in a flash, he was gone again.

Let my love open the door…..

Knowing my son was growing up and was happy allowed me to slowly begin to venture out on my own. My little baby steps included watching small quirky funny little films with my family. Rainer would crawl into our bed upstairs with me, the girls off to one of their many weekly birthday parties while we watched silly little movies like “Juno” curled up next to each other holding hands. Red leaves gave away to glittering gold trees of Christmas. Mountains of snow, children watching Rudolph and waiting for Santa brought smiles to my face. Ashley sitting in the rocking chair next to my bed, she and I watching the good, funny horror film, “The Frighteners” and eat yummy cold ice cream. Rainer and I, with our children in our arms, watching wonderful little movies, like “A Good Year” or “Dan in Real Life” and falling in love all over again.

Let my love open the door to your heart……

And music came back to my life, same old songs but with new people singing them. Liam O Maonlai and the Swell Season singing “Forever Young” and “Into the Mystic” crept into a little space in my heart. Bruce Springsteen with Pete Seeger making us all swell with pride as they sang “This Land is Your Land” and a comedic actor, making my heart skip as he sang Pete Townsend’s “Let My Love Open the Door”.

Summer, fall have come and gone. Winter is here and it’s cold and grey. The girl I have grown to love as my own, maybe going off on her own adventures of adulthood very soon. And my heart breaks just a little with the knowledge. But there are bulbs peaking up from the ground and a little seed of joy is in me. Season pass, love ones go and come back. Time passes and hopefully the grief will change to acceptance just as the movies and music has come back to me.

Here’s a link to a wonderful little song I’d like to share with my friends……

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cwUz-B7klI