Big Boy

My son turned 14 last Friday. I saw him briefly that afternoon, long enough to hand him his birthday gift of video games and feed him some buffalo wings. (2nd on his fave food list, right under pizza) That, my friends, is the definition of irony; buying more video games for an avid teenage gamer. To be honest, the only clue I have that he is alive and present some days is the water running for his two-hour showers. But who am I kidding, I love that boy like crazy and he is a solid, industrious chap. Awesome really, and taller than me already. We are in full scale summer mode here. That means a nightly argument about why bedtime should not exist when school is out of session. Left to themselves, the boys usually opt for the 3 a.m. option and sleep ‘til noon or 1. It is amazing really, but I suppose a rite or right of summer, depending on how you look at it. I am just now grumpily easing back into the work routine myself after two glorious weeks of vacation, so I can’t really blame them. I pulled a few late nighters myself, practically giddy with the freedom of uninterrupted, alarm-clock free sleep. My thoughts after his momentous occasion are that I am so fortunate. Each stage of life I have experienced with my kids I thought to myself, “Wow, this is it! This is the best age. Look what they can do now!” I have loved it all and I’m happy because it just keeps getting better. Laters.

The Vacay Is Over

Vacation is over. The pool and beach are behind me. I am tired of looking at everyone's cellulite, including my own. The kids had a great time and are as brown as nuts, in fact we all are.  Every morning, I thought, "why can't vacation be everyday?"  I know the answer, but it is nice to imagine my days consisting of lying by the pool while sipping a cold drink. Now, we are on to the less fun portion of the trip, the driving home, but that is to be pleasantly interspersed with visits to old friends, so I still have something good to look forward to. Summer is my very favorite.  Laters.

A Poem for Poetry Thursday

Address To The Lord
by John Berryman

Master of beauty, craftsman of the snowflake,
inimitable contriver,
endower of Earth so gorgeous & different from the boring Moon,
thank you for such as it is my gift.
I have made up a morning prayer to you
containing with precision everything that most matters.
'According to Thy will' the thing begins.
It took me off & on two days. It does not aim at eloquence.
You have come to my rescue again & again
in my impassable, sometimes despairing years.
You have allowed my brilliant friends to destroy themselves
and I am still here, severely damaged, but functioning.
Unknowable, as I am unknown to my guinea pigs:
How can I 'love' you?
I only as far as gratitude & awe
confidently & absolutely go.
I have no idea whether we live again.
It doesn't seem likely
from either the scientific or the philosophical point of view
but certainly all things are possible to you,
and I believe as fixedly in the Resurrection-appearances to Peter and to Paul
as I believe I sit in this blue chair.
Only that may have been a special case
to establish their initiatory faith.
Whatever your end may be, accept my amazement.
May I stand until death forever at attention
for any your least instruction or enlightenment.
I even feel sure you will assist me again, Master of insight & beauty.

Unwelcome News

A post I wrote a few days ago after a talk with my doctor. More testing to follow, then options and decisons. I am feeling good though and very, very optimistic. My family has been amazing and my dad said I'm gonna be just fine and he knows everything.

I have cancer.
I have non-invasive cancer.
I have cancer.
Oh my God, I have breast cancer.
C-A-N-C-E-R……………………
Sort of like dancer, move a letter, shift the alphabet, except that I can’t dance…… not at all.
It seems like I’m speaking about someone else. This is not me. I am just a regular joe. I read about people in books, see them on T.V., those people have cancer, but I don’t. This doesn’t happen to me, only poor schmucks who don’t know any better.
I had a lump removed two weeks ago with the side benefit of a hoist and lift. I’ll can tell you, you my boobs haven’t been that perky since 1996. With all the bandages, steri-strips, and Percocet, I’ve hardly even seen the little dears to properly admire them. They are black and blue and between antibiotic ointment applications I have tried to peek at them. Is it bad that my second thought after I heard the news was, “oh, my boobs, my perky new boobs, what will happen to you now?”
The news made my mother cry and my husband call me 20 times to see if I was ok and talk with a funny catch in his voice. All in all, I feel lucky, this seems to be in the earliest, earliest stages, and I meet with my doctor tomorrow to discuss all the options and get all the particulars. I would appreciate your prayers. Laters.