The holidays feel different this year. Maybe that's cause they are different. I can't put my finger on why. Yeah, I know...I am different. But its more than that.
I'm in my usual holiday mode five days before Christmas. Buzzing around getting last minute gifts and making more cookies than even the cookie monster can eat.
One of my very favorite holiday traditions is our cookie delivery night, the 23rd of each December. I spend days making a variety of homemade cookies. We (meaning I) make "goodie" plates for our friends and neighbors and then we (meaning my son and I) deliver them. We don't visit except long enough to pass off the goods and say Merry Christmas. We are kind of like Santa in that regard.There are too many friends to visit to linger long. Have to make hay. Move along to the next house.
Somehow I'm not feeling the same...something...that I usually feel this time of year. I don't know what to call it. Oomph. Excitement. Something. Instead I just feel tired. And teary.
Maybe that's cause I am tired. Cancer has left me tired. But if tired is the worst of my complaints, then I guess I'm lucky.
And the tears? They are tears of gratitude and relief that I'm still here making a good Christmas for my son.
12/20/12
12/2/12
Too much pleasure for one day
Is there really such a thing as too much pleasure for one day? I think not.
But if so, I am overly guilty. So lock me up and throw away the key.
Here I sit. Or lounge, rather. In the late autumn desert sun, at a beautiful relaxing resort/spa with native American music playing softly. The air smells wonderful. I can see the desert mountains from my perch by the pool. Adults-only pool, meaning no laughing children or rambunctious families, which suits me just fine in this contemplative moment.
I slowly made my way into the very tranquil pool marveling at the very fact that I am here. Who would have thought that after 5 surgeries, 4 months of killer chemo, and 9 months of feeling like my world had stopped turning....that I would be sitting here in such a lovely place? Not me.
I am so very far from doctors, tubes, needles, pain and the relentless fear that has stubbornly dogged me this past year. Physically and emotionally far far away.
Or am I? Am I here on this perfect day BECAUSE I have been down that awful road? Would I enjoy and appreciate this day as abundantly had I not been in cancer treatment this year? Probably not.
Which is sad, in a way, that we don't fully appreciate the momentous gifts in our lives until we have lived with the fear that we may never have another pleasurable moment again. That every moment here on out would be filled with the anxiety and worry that comes with living with a potentially terminal illness.
As I heard someone say recently...
Get up. Be grateful. Every single day.
But if so, I am overly guilty. So lock me up and throw away the key.
Here I sit. Or lounge, rather. In the late autumn desert sun, at a beautiful relaxing resort/spa with native American music playing softly. The air smells wonderful. I can see the desert mountains from my perch by the pool. Adults-only pool, meaning no laughing children or rambunctious families, which suits me just fine in this contemplative moment.
I slowly made my way into the very tranquil pool marveling at the very fact that I am here. Who would have thought that after 5 surgeries, 4 months of killer chemo, and 9 months of feeling like my world had stopped turning....that I would be sitting here in such a lovely place? Not me.
I am so very far from doctors, tubes, needles, pain and the relentless fear that has stubbornly dogged me this past year. Physically and emotionally far far away.
Or am I? Am I here on this perfect day BECAUSE I have been down that awful road? Would I enjoy and appreciate this day as abundantly had I not been in cancer treatment this year? Probably not.
Which is sad, in a way, that we don't fully appreciate the momentous gifts in our lives until we have lived with the fear that we may never have another pleasurable moment again. That every moment here on out would be filled with the anxiety and worry that comes with living with a potentially terminal illness.
As I heard someone say recently...
Get up. Be grateful. Every single day.
Are you kidding me??
So I'm traveling by air this weekend for the time since February. For the first time since my cancer diagnosis.
I was just a little anxious about it but excited to be getting back in the game. Being that I just had surgery 10 days ago and have fresh stitches, and that I lifted the cutest little boy in the world last night so he could better see the Christmas lights (ouch.....that really hurt....but was so much fun), I was just a little concerned about how I would handle getting through a long travel day and all that entails (ie airport security, cattle call boarding, stowing luggage).
Well, I'm happy to report that TSA was wonderful about helping me through security. Those folks deserve some positive press.
Delta...not so much. I asked for help getting my laptop case in the overhead bin. Know what they told me? That if I wasn't well enough to stow my own bag, I'd have to either check it or I would not be allowed to board. Seriously?
Who in their right mind would check a laptop bag....with a laptop in it? We've all seen how bags are treated by the airlines. I once got a bag from baggage claim that had been duct-taped within an inch of its life because the zipper busted. A brand new bag...which was just fine when I checked it.
Delta explained that a flight attendant might "injure" themselves lifting my bag. Now I understand we live in a sue-happy society, but flight attendants are supposed to be able to manhandle airplane doors, beverage carts, and manage passengers in the event of a crash. And they are worried about injuring themselves lifting a woman's laptop bag??
And worse....this explanation came from a female Delta employee to whom I had just explained that I'd recently had a mastectomy. Another woman....with huge boobs. And a sucky attitude.
May she never develop breast cancer. And have to work (and travel) for a living.
As it happens, there is indeed such a thing as angels. On both flights, very kind gentlemen offered their assistance without even being asked. I can't describe my gratitude.
I was just a little anxious about it but excited to be getting back in the game. Being that I just had surgery 10 days ago and have fresh stitches, and that I lifted the cutest little boy in the world last night so he could better see the Christmas lights (ouch.....that really hurt....but was so much fun), I was just a little concerned about how I would handle getting through a long travel day and all that entails (ie airport security, cattle call boarding, stowing luggage).
Well, I'm happy to report that TSA was wonderful about helping me through security. Those folks deserve some positive press.
Delta...not so much. I asked for help getting my laptop case in the overhead bin. Know what they told me? That if I wasn't well enough to stow my own bag, I'd have to either check it or I would not be allowed to board. Seriously?
Who in their right mind would check a laptop bag....with a laptop in it? We've all seen how bags are treated by the airlines. I once got a bag from baggage claim that had been duct-taped within an inch of its life because the zipper busted. A brand new bag...which was just fine when I checked it.
Delta explained that a flight attendant might "injure" themselves lifting my bag. Now I understand we live in a sue-happy society, but flight attendants are supposed to be able to manhandle airplane doors, beverage carts, and manage passengers in the event of a crash. And they are worried about injuring themselves lifting a woman's laptop bag??
And worse....this explanation came from a female Delta employee to whom I had just explained that I'd recently had a mastectomy. Another woman....with huge boobs. And a sucky attitude.
May she never develop breast cancer. And have to work (and travel) for a living.
As it happens, there is indeed such a thing as angels. On both flights, very kind gentlemen offered their assistance without even being asked. I can't describe my gratitude.
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