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It is what it is

These are not so much simple things. They tear at my heart strings. I will at least try to end on a happy note.

Having a simple gift that was meaningful to the sender and meaningful to you not be understood by the messenger.

When your 14yo texts you and asks, "which bones does (someone you love) have cancer in? I'm doing some research."

When a doctor tells your someone you love that kidney failure is essentially one of the least painful ways to die. (I cannot here and now articulate why it was said and what was meant by it, just that I know why it was said and what was meant by it and it hurts my heart.)

Feeling completely overwhelmed by being of the sandwich generation. I will be frank. No one can be all things to all people. It's just not possible.

Friends, each who are already carrying their own burdens, who are willing to bear yours for a few minutes--even throughout the day--and even during the holidays.

Texts from friends, some who are already under their own shadow of  sorrow:

"Life is made up of little things."

"I am so sorry. Can I help you with something?" (You always know who are the ones who mean well and who are the ones who really mean it.)

"Keep your chin up. You're one of the good ones. One of the happy ones. Don't let life bring you down."

Hugs.

Love.

People who are not afraid to cry with you.

The miracle of being able to put a dent in the just started Christmas shopping. Home. In my pajamas. Under the comfort of my quilts. Just 8 days before Christmas.

A dear friend who was serious when she offered to order stuff for me with her free two-day shipping so my kids will have a Christmas.

There are no small things

A text from my daughter while we were at a doctor's appointment that was much longer than we expected. "Do you guys need anything?"

I get to work and my boss (who had, when I told him I would be late today, replied, "Don't worry about work if you need to be with your family") informed me they moved the office party until tonight instead of last night because they weren't sure I'd be able to go last night.

A friend I only met while her mother--a former coworker and friend--was suffering and dying from breast cancer (I've only met her in real life twice and once was at her mother's end-of-life celebration) messages me her number via Words With Friends. In case I need anything.

The way my brothers randomly text me to see if I'm OK. And thank me for being there for Mom. My sister does that too, of course, but that's expected. :)

And this, which words won't do justice, but it's the best I could capture at the moment:

The tall thin blonde hooked up to some infusion or another in the chemo room. She stopped and grabbed my arm on her way out. She wanted me to know the value of my presence here today.
She told me briefly about how when we was diagnosed with MS having her husband by her side was such a blessing. She had noticed as I held mom's things, took care of the papers they kept handing her and told me how having someone by her side to handle the little things is no small thing and that I couldn't know how much it meant but that it was meaningful and a blessing. Someone to take care of the details. 
She may have mentioned angels--and I wasn't sure if she was talking about me being an angel or about angels attending me and my mom for at that moment she herself was an angel. She said Heavenly Father was blessing me and my family at this time. I asked her if I could give her a hug and she said yes so I did and we hugged and I felt loved and blessed in a supernal way by our brief encounter.

Because I really don't do bleak

Just got some awful news. Why am I writing that here, on this seemingly forgotten space? Because the best way for me to deal with hard things is to look harder for and appreciate the good things in my life. I want to hold on to and remember them. For awhile now this might also be my therapy page, so who knows what one might find here should one stumble upon this place. My sentences may be fragmented. You will most likely not get the whole story, or even half of it. But I will record here the simple things that keep me going through whatever lies ahead. But it's my space and I can write if I want to.

A phone call from my daughter asking if my mother (who'd been fasting all day for some medical tests) had eaten yet and offering to go to Rhumbi and pick up a salad (or rice bowl--I can't remember which) with salmon for her grandmother. Because she knows my mom just got some awful news and she also knows my mom likes salmon and because she too feels the compelling need to do something to make this better. I love especially the detail of the salmon. Of remembering what my mother ordered just a few weeks ago when we all had lunch together. Of wanting especially to pick up something that would sound good to my mother. I cannot even tell you how deeply that touched my heart.

The way at least four or five times hospital staff and volunteers asked--not just my mom, but also me--if there was anything we needed. Anything they could do or get for us. The way they bring me a special order of apple-cranberry juice on pebble ice. The way there is no limit to the number of warm blankets they will bring my mother, who has not been warm for hours.

Several simple and seemingly (but not) small gestures from my husband: getting in the car Friday morning and finding a full gas tank. We didn't know what lay ahead that horrible awful no good Friday the 13th, but it was a blessing to not have to waste time filling the car with gas to get me where I needed to be. Coming home well after midnight to find leftovers from the dinner I had planned to attend with him in the fridge. Comfort food, not less. Just what I needed, despite the late (or early, as it were) hour. And a handful of peppermint candy--a particular favorite of mine--under my pillow.

Meeting my mother's good friend. I need to write more about this friendship, but I'm not sure when or how. How do you explain to someone who doesn't believe she believes in God that I believe her friendship with my mother is a gift from God? Indeed I know it. And how, upon first meeting her, I believe we will become friends as well. Indeed I want to be her friend. And how do you find words to tell someone thank you for being that kind of the friend to your mother, who has often wished and wanted for just such a friend?

Trying my luck back at compulsivewriter.com today. Fingers crossed.

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

It's the eve before a Presidential election. How could I forget? First, I am going to congratulate myself. Not only did I not tell anyone how to vote--not even my two children who are registered voters--I still actually like almost every single one of my friends who pushed their politics on me over and over again. I kept my politics out of social media and I didn't smack any of the extremists I know from either side upside the head when they became super obnoxious. As much as they annoy me, a part of me is a bit envious, wondering what it must be like to still believe in someone, anyone. To still be able to believe anyone.

Yay me.

Second, it is indeed Guy Fawkes Night or Bonfire Night. At our house (forgive me my British friends) it is simply good reason to burn stuff and fry stuff. Or, in my case, because I am a lousy fryer, burn what was supposed to be fried stuff.

This year I tried my hand at these wonderful Apple Cider Donuts. "Were they good?" You might ask. They were SOOOOO good I would learn to be a good fryer just to not ruin them. I didn't really ruin them, I just have a difficult time finding the perfect balance between doughy and crispy. But these are totally worth practicing on. They are the best donuts ever. (Of course, you can't really go wrong with freshly ground cardamom.)

Third, because it was a rough day in some respects (many of the things that are hard in my life surfacing all at the same time, plus heartbreak and sorrow among friends and strangers alike:  note to self:  STOP READING THE NEWS FIRST THING IN THE MORNING!), Ima going to look at some good:  productive morning, cooperative puppy, beautiful day, good people I truly enjoy and kindred spirits at work, a surprise visit from a dear friend.

And hello, really, REALLY good donuts!

My older kids are still outside burning stuff. I'm calling it a night.

'Night.

Road trip randomnimity (not a real word, but it should be)

Just pulled into town from Idaho where I said goodbye to my aunt and uncle, spent some time with family for a special family occasion, met up for lunch (specifically QUESO) with one of my Internet friends, and mostly just enjoyed getting out of Dodge. (Note: I don't actually live in Dodge. In fact I do actually love where I live. But just like I still live for the weekend even though I [mostly] love my job, I also live for a road trip even though I really love my town.)

Here are a few random observations and recollections of my trip, along with a couple more pics.

I am enamored with the sky. Once we made it over the border we literally drove off into the sunset and it nearly killed me that I couldn't drive and take a gazillion pictures. So I limited myself to taking two or three shots from the car singlehandedly with the other hand on the wheel. (But still much to the chagrin and discomfort of my mother, whom I was chauffeuring.)

What you missed here was the Snake River, just to the left. I love the wide and windy ways of the Snake River. Every time we came up on it I announced its presence to all the occupants of the car. "Snake!"

In my other life, I lived and raised my kids on one of those farms you see out in the middle of nowhere, with tall trees surrounding the house and a barn off to the back somewhere amidst pastures full of cows and horses. There is a pond on the premises. And both ducks and chickens. As well as a dog smart enough not to chase and/or eat either. And my children work from sunup to sundown and say "Yes ma'am." "No ma'am." "Thank you ma'am." And walk two miles every day to school and back in the snow uphill both ways. You know, so they can grow up and be responsible citizens.

There were two towns for which I saw signs that intrigued me. Bliss. And Hells Canyon.

I want to live in Bliss just so I can write my return address on everything and have my home address indicate over and over and over again that I live in Bliss.

Hells Canyon intrigued me because of the lack of apostrophe, which indicated that it is not possessive (the canyon belonging to Hell), but plural. The thought of plural hells which one could possible visit or in which one could possible live or even of several hells all rolled into one gives me pause. Like many places I saw, such a place might be interesting to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

(Note: You will notice I certainly have more to say about Hell than I do about Bliss.)

In all we traveled over 1000 miles. I am once again reminded that we (as in my family and friends) are all good people living imperfect lives and just trying to be good, do good and make the world a better place for our time here. I am sometimes sad for the next generation (sad for how our inadequacies and for the many ways what the world sucks out of us in turn affects them), but mostly hopeful that they are better and in many ways more prepared than we are and that somehow that will make them equal to the task of what lies ahead. Above all (and in spite of its state of chaos and imperfection) it is good to be home again.

Giant bull seen on the Utah side of the road home. Because why not? Nothing says welcome to Utah like a giant bull.

Labor and delivery

Several years ago I was home alone on the day before Thanksgiving when my mother called and asked if she could drop by. Two of my brothers and there families were in coming in from Oregon and Thanksgiving--for some reason or another--was going to be held at my house. Almost all of us were going to be together for Thanksgiving, which is quite unusual. There were still pies to be baked and potatoes to be scrubbed. I told my mother I would be home and she was welcome to drop by.

As I waited for my mother, I happened to be sitting on the sofa in my living room, with a good view of the front door, but not of the street. I glanced out the window just as my brother from Las Vega walked up to the door and began to knock. This particular brother, my baby brother, was not expected for Thanksgiving, so I was surprised and quite excited to see him. Thinking he had just decided to surprise us for Thanksgiving, I jumped up off the sofa and ran down the stairs to throw open the door before I realized what he was carrying.

It was a brand new carseat/baby carrier. Covered in a soft green/brown blanket with hints of pink.

***********

Several months previously, I had gathered family photos and filled out a short profile on our family and written a recommendation for my brother and sister-in-law, who, after years waiting for another child, had decided to adopt. It was from them I had first heard tell of the awful effects of Clomid. It was them with whom I cried over the phone when they explained to me how they went to pick up a much anticipated newborn only to have the birth mother change her mind.

***********

I screamed.

I cried.

I had to hold that sweet baby girl.

Finally, I invited them in from the cold of winter and asked to hear the story of how their little girl--for this one was truly theirs--had finally come to to them. They are very private people, particularly online, and it is not my story to tell, particularly here. But miracle it was and yet another witness to me of something I already knew: families are forever and children find their respective families one way or another; it is never by accident.

I pulled my brand new niece (one of only three and also, thus far, the last) close to me and snuggled my nose into the crook of her soft neck, inhaling deeply that sweet scent of newborn as my brother told me how this child had finally found them. I was sworn to secrecy. We plotted with my mother how best to pull off a grand surprise for the rest of my siblings at Thanksgiving dinner the next day.

They snuck in through the back door the next day as most of the rest of my family gathered around my table to feast and give thanks. More screams. More tears. Love. Absolute joy. An abundance of gratitude.

It was the best Thanksgiving ever.