This Is It!!

I am done, done, done, and here is the proof! I am generally feeling warm and fuzzy about the whole thing being over. (along with feeling an intense itch from all the peeling skin and healing)
I always appreciate this time of year and I love the experience of tallying up all the things that I have to be thankful for, but this year, wow! Adversity can make or break you, and I will not be broken. I am alive and I am extremely grateful for all that I have. Laters.

Rock Of Ages

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0ZicY7Oqmg

I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t. But there they were, my toes tapping along to Joan Jett, a rebellious sneer forming on my third grade lip. “I love rock-n-roll, so put another dime in the juke box baby….”  Yes, hell was feeling a bit chilly the day the JUKE BOX was installed in the cafeteria of Paoli Public schools. If we brought a dime, (or was it a quarter?) we could personally participate our own debauchery. Raised as a conservative Christian, I knew that I shouldn’t, but man I couldn’t help myself, I DID love rock and roll and Joan Jett. It was auditory heaven, though I studiously tried to act sanctimonious; like I wasn’t enjoying it at all. To this day, I can’t even imagine how the juke box was installed in the first place. Who was the mastermind to circumvent the school principal, committees and parents and sashay in with a juke box as bold you please? I still wish I knew. If my recollections are right, the juke box spent most of its time unplugged in the corner due to complaints from parents. But on those occasional, glorious days of acoustic freedom, we who were born to rock at Paoli Public Schools, ate our fish sticks and pudding with a sassy twist. Laters.

A Room Of My Own

It was while scraping the peel off a cucumber that I experienced true pangs of housewifery. In a Virginia Woolf/Sylvia Plath kind of way, so you know it was very bad. I thought, “Is this it? Is this what my life amounts to? Scraping peelings into the sink while lecturing my kids about discarding Halloween candy wrappers in random places?” It happened again while I sat in the basement on the cold concrete in front of the dryer, sobbing quietly folding dishtowels. Everything I did seemed so pointless, like I was trapped in an endless Groundhog Day of the mundane.

Things have not been easy as of late and sometimes it’s like a cloud settles on me and I can’t find happy. I moved the sad party upstairs to the bath tub and cried a while in the steam too. I thought about many things- dreams that I have put to the side out of necessity, dreams that I have put to the side out of neglect, where I am and where I thought I would be, and how those two places don’t always match up. I cried over missed opportunities and would haves and should haves. I cried because I am still angry about being a bigger person than the person I am angry at, I cried because I had to be angry in the first place. I cried because sometimes people are idiots and it’s not my fault. I cried because cancer makes me feel out of control of my own body.  I cried because I’m probably the most ungrateful person alive because I should be content that I have laundry to fold, and cucumbers to scrape and kids to lecture. I cried because life isn’t fair, but I always try to be and it just doesn’t work that way. I cried because sometimes, even having the whole world is not enough to make me happy.
Then K came into the bathroom and asked me if I was crying. I lied and said, “No, why would I be crying? I’m getting out now and coming to bed.”
 Laters.

((Sigh))

My boob:

The radiation death ray:

The after effects- Like this:

Or this:

It feels a little like this:

But when I eat this:

Or this:

It all feels like this:

I will:

Laters.

I Can See Clearly Now

I found out Kev’s secret last night- despite all his blustering, despite all the mean things he’s said, despite putting them on top of his “all time hated teams” list, he really, deep down inside, likes the Yankees. He says he hates them to avoid saying how much he likes them. He likes to pull for the underdog and underdog is one phrase that can’t be matched with the Yankee’s payroll. Once it became clear to me, his endless cycle of yap and smack talking made much more sense. Otherwise, why would a grown man with two available thumbs to flip channels watch a team they detested for 4 ½ hours? The cold, hard, truth is this; Kev is a closet Yankee lover.


To understand it better, I equated it to my complaining about my soft tummy pooch while secretly liking it and thinking that concave bellies are way overrated. When I put it in perspective like that, it all made sense to me. I can see now that Kev has been using reverse psychology on me all these years. And now I know just what he really wants for Christmas. Laters.

A Fall List

Things I like about fall:


1. Apples

2. Pumpkins

3. Fires in the fireplace

4. Beautiful Foliage

5. Pumpkin Spice Lattes

6. Cozy boots

7. Flannel Sheets

8. Watching t.v. covered in a fuzzy blanket

9. Soups and stews

10. Thanksgiving

11. Lower utility bills

12. Christmas anticipation

13. Baking

14. Cardigans

15. Turning on the heater

16. Hot Chocolate

17. Hay Rides

18. Thermal Underwear

19. Finding last year’s cash in my coat pockets

20. Pie

Laters.

When Hairy Met Kevie

Often, it is the little things that bring the most joy. I have been known to bliss out over a small cup filled to the brim with coffee and frothed milk. Or how about a cupcake? Small, yet tasty and delicious-an instant, “oh yeah” moment. Life often rewards us with small chunks of delight, where we least expect them and I do appreciate that. I received one such small gift this week.


Now is the time of year where I start to feel like a frisky Shetland pony, growing its wooly, winter coat. The days are cooler and the need for the razor becomes less and less of a priority. I suffer (and I use that word in all seriousness) from appallingly sensitive skin, and summer’s rigid shaving requirements often have me feeling quite out of sorts with my irritated and bumpy armpits. As the sleeveless blouses and tank tops are replaced by longer sleeves and cardigans, my armpits and I both rejoice. In the fall and winter, I like to take a week or so between shaving to cultivate things in a more European fashion. No one sees it anyway with my toasty wardrobe. Iam a big fan of warm clothing.
I should interject here with the staunch and steadfast displeasure that this cool weather ritual brings to my hubby. Having lived in Europe for some time, he is a distinct non-fan of the au naturel look and to be frank, disgusted by it on many levels. His trauma started with a hot German girl on a crowed bus, him being 15, and a quick grab by standing hottie for the hand strap; flashing a hirsute underarm in his young and unsuspecting face. It was all downhill from there, as my abused and over shaven underarms can testify.
I have often tried ways to redirect his way of thinking, but he is pretty set on the matter. But then the ultimate bargaining chip fell directly into my lap, the proverbial gift from heaven, in the form of an info packet from the radiation oncologist on Wednesday, holding perhaps the best news in the world. The packet cautioned me that through out treatment, I should not shave my underarm. And just like that, my fall starting looking up. Way up. Laters.