Striving for Normal

 "Da, let's make special cards for each other," Che says dropping paper, makers, crayons, scissors, stickers, glue and a couple of hundred pipe filers. 

 "Hold on," I answer as I grab my pipe and head outside for a quick minute. 

When I return, everything's laid out and our daughter's gluing stickers on paper so I watch what she's doing, grab what I need and do my own version of what she's doing.

She intensely concentrates and doesn't say a word while I'm utterly mesmerized by the colors I'm putting on the card I'm making.

Sarah's in bed recovering from COVID and in a strange plot twist our roles are reversed and I'm the Caregiver!

For two-and-a-half days, Sarah sleeps and things could have spiraled out of control with Wonder Woman down but Cass, Che and I go on acting as normal as we know how.

It was no problem for 16 year old Cassidy as we barely saw her at all.

She may have been here but, she could just as easily be somewhere else.

It's possible she's been in her room the entire time, though whenever I open the door it's impossible to know for sure because it looks like two delivery trucks full of apparel collided and clothes exploded everywhere.

Besides I'm focused on Che who's obviously experienced living life with a sick parent though I'm witnessing it for the first time.

Our 6 year old Love-child stoically goes about business-as-usual, playing with neighborhood kids, singing along to Kidzbop, watching Tiktok, wanting Chick-fil-a for dinner and loving just hanging out with her old man.

But she also quietly slips into our bedroom when I'm preoccupied and crawls in bed with her Mom, kissing Sarah's forehead and whispering to her in the dark.

She's also taken to wearing my tee shirts and wants to sleep in the Living room with me instead of her room which adores.

I wonder if this is what it's like when I'm the one laying in bed for days on end?

Sarah arranged a pre-Christmas 4 night cruise which we enjoyed immensely except that I was in bed for one of them, shivering and sweating in our tiny cabin, while she worked feverishly to entertain the kids, get them out of the room so I could rest while worrying what happens if I don't recover?

I remember Che crawling into bed with me, kiss me on my cheek and whisper "I love you Da Da".

Che tested positive but is asymptomatic and I'm miraculously negative.

"It's the Weed," Johnny O explains after checking in on me. "Keep yourself in the cloud and you're immune to pretty much everything."

I have no reason to doubt John anymore.

"You almost finished Da?"

"No, I need some stickers. You got any?"

She hands me a box full and we resume working in silence on the cards we're making for each other.

I wonder what made her think of doing this?

She well knows the heavy burden of constant caregiving and the physical and emotional toil it takes to keep going when there's no end in sight, so she has us making "special" cards to support each other.

Is this what it's like every day for Sarah and Che?

On my worse days, even Cassidy breaks her routine to ask, "Are you okay?" before walking into her room and shutting the door.

I'm experiencing what Sarah lives every day, except she works full time, carries a full load for a Nursing degree, picks up other small jobs when she can, manages our home and is my caregiver!

I don't do any of that other stuff as Sarah's build a fragile world of near normalcy while I fight cancer and the girls grow up care-free.

Things work remarkably well in our tiny bubble life and, increasingly defying the odds, I'm still an active participant, although certainly not in the ways I wish.

It's all gone to Hell with Sarah in bed with COVID so I'm trying to mimic what she does every day though Che seems to be doing as much "heavy lifting" as I am, which isn't much.

But I can color and make a special card for a girl who recognizes someone needing encouragement when she sees it, so she makes me a card.

She knows she needs it too so, at her insistence, I make her a card. 

"Here you are!" she delightfully squeals handing me a smiling bunny, baby chicken, and flower glued on paper.

"Dad to Clare," she writes beside her multicolored heart.

Happily grinning, I give "the most special girl ever" her card.

Afterwards she falls in my arms and, just as we hug, Sarah calls from the bedroom.

Knocking each other down trying to get up from the floor as fast as possible, she rushes to see Mom.

It takes me a little longer but when I get there, Sarah's sitting upright hugging Che and I lean against the door frame trying to appreciate everything.

By New Year's Eve, Sarah's recovering enough to sit on the sofa with me. 

Che falls asleep as soon as she got in her bed.

At midnight, as euphoric celebration explodes from the football game on television, Sarah says, "We made it! Take a picture" so I do.

The old year passes away.

The new one arrives to find us still standing, defying all odds, holding on to one another, committed and prepared to "choose life over death" when confronted by the two, as the Bible puts it.

So far, so good.

Christmas Dysfunction

 Jacob is fit to be tied when Joseph tells him Mary is pregnant.

"Whose?" he demands.

"I don't know," is the sad reply.

Incensed, Jacob paces around the room trying to imagine Mary sleeping with someone else during her engagement to his son.

"Why would she do something so foolish? She's marrying into our family, descendants of King David! How could she give up becoming part of the royal bloodline."

A carpenter by trade, Joseph doesn't feel so royal, staring at calloused hands, he struggles to get by though his father holds on his religion during these dark times.

Jacob believes with everything inside of him God is going to raise a new King, greater than David, and he will be born as his own family!

"It could have been your son," Jacob yells though Joseph doesn't respond.

At the moment he feels ... nothing.

Shocked beyond belief Mary's pregnant, Jacob knows the baby's not his grandson.

Engagements last exactly one year for precisely this reason! A pregnancy is hard to have without sex so if she's pregnant then she's slept with someone and it wasn't his son!

Joseph stares at his hands saying nothing.

"Put her away!" Jacob screams. "She is not going to dishonor this family! She is not going to jeopardize the chance the King may be your son! My grandson!"

Joseph sighs.

"And do it quietly! We will not be embarrassed!"

And that's the last time Jacob ever sees his son ... or Mary ... and he never saw his grandson.

Later Jacob goes looking for Joseph and he's nowhere to be found.

The talk is Mary's gone too.

Jacob is incensed!

And heartbroken.

His dream of seeing his own son be the great King had not materialized.

Joseph's a common tradesman, a quiet man, with nothing hinting of royalty about him but Jacob's grandson ... there was the chance the old man could still see it happen ... be part of it as it unfolds ... advising the new King ... HIS OWN BLOOD ... as they fulfill the promises of God!

Instead, Jacob grows old wondering what happened?

The rumor is Joseph took Mary and left.

The old man has no idea where they may have gone ... or why?

Jacob lives a lot longer sadly hearing nothing of a new King born to save them all.

He dies bitter and angry at what could have been.

But this is what he missed.

Joseph and Mary are together when the child is born ... a son.

Strangers come from the East giving expensive gifts of gold, Frankincense and Myrrh, things fit for a King though they never used that word, but they do treat the baby like royalty.

Joseph goes on to have four more boys ... Joseph, James, Jude and Simon ... and Jacob missed five grandsons he would have enjoyed.

Joseph and Mary expatriate, leaving the religion of his homeland for the pagan ways of Egypt where they built their first home.

What Jacob does see is a Government crack down on population growth and every male baby two years or younger is euthanized in the most horrific display of public policy for the common good ever.

Joseph eventually brings Mary and the boys back though he doesn't return home but settles in Nazareth, three hours away from where Jacob lives.

Obviously Joseph never much cares about seeing his old man again ... or introducing him to Jesus.

It's a pretty dysfunctional family dynamic.

But if you look at Jesus' bloodline, it's pretty dysfunctional too.

Beginning with Abraham, the father of  the Jews winding all the way to Jacob himself are five fascinating women.

Women aren't normally included in genealogy lists of the time but Matthew includes them in Jesus'.

Tamar, one of Jesus' great Grandmothers disguises herself as a prostitute to seduce her father-in-law, Judah, so she gets pregnant. Honestly, Judah deserves it because of the way he treated her. It's an ugly affair all around.

Rehab's another, selling out her own people, as a spy and watches her entire city destroyed as a result and then "passes" as one of the chosen people for the rest of her life.

Ruth is a Moabite, which is far worse than being Muslim in America, because her lineage starts in incest!

Bathsheba suffered sexual harassment, abuse and the murder of her husband so that the head of the Government ... the great King David no less ... can screw her.

And Mary his own mother ... Lord only knows how she got pregnant?

That's just the women in Jesus genealogy.

Read about the men leading up to Jacob and, well, it's one gigantic completely dysfunctional mess.

And yet ...

Out of it comes the birth of the Messiah.

"For unto us a child is born ..." is how it's said elsewhere, and if that child can come from such a deviant family tree, then we have it in us too and become everything God intends us to be.

Jesus certainly did or there would be no Christmas celebration.

Perhaps, we can too. 

Maybe that's what Christmas is all about anyway

Defying Cancer

Lainey's dragging me on my morning walk when I spy this singular bloom on a cold, rainy, mid-December day and it stops us dead in our tracks. 

I smile, feeling the biting wind and the damp air as Lainey aggressively sniffs whatever it is dogs sniff.  

"FUCK YOU WINTER!" I scream to the top of my lungs from the bottom of my freezing toes.    

"AND FUCK YOU CANCER TOO!" I add. 

"ME AND THIS LITTLE GUY ... WE DEFY YOU!" 

The words disappear with the wind. 

Lainey drags me home.

The Occupational Hazard of picking up trash

Do you know the problem I have dealing with stage 4 pancreatic cancer being the 66 yrs old, perpetually high, father of a 6 yr old Love-child and husband of Wonder Woman?

Picking up trash when you walk. 

That's what!

Over the past year I've almost cleaned a patch of road from discarded water bottles, Sonic wrappers, tampons and baby diapers. 

Bending over is exercise right?

Sarah and I believe that and have avoided getting me a "Grabber" or "Gopher" or whatever you call those sticks with pinchers at the end used by professional sanitation workers and old people. 

I'm neither so don't need one but a water bottle tossed months ago rests a mere 4 feet in the woods, partially covered in brush, which I have to step into to reach. 

I do okay reaching in and grab the filthy piece of plastic. 

Coming out my right foot's tangled in the underbrush and I twist as I fall, splattering on the sidewalk, scrapping both hands and landing on my back. 

I can still cuss with the best of them, not only taking the Lord's name in vain but anybody else's I can think of too. 

Lainey jumps in my lap, repeatedly licks my face before jerking me upright and drags me home.  

I don't want to tell Sarah but when I do, she takes it in stride, makes sure I'm okay and doesn't mention it again.  

I sure do love her all over again for it. 

My back hurts and my hands are scraped. 

I say a prayer thanking Jesus for Pot. 

After a rough night where I don't make it through dinner out with Sarah's parents who are visiting and crash in bed with chills. 

Completely out of the ordinary, Che wakes me up at 5 am, standing in front of her Sarah saying, "Mom? Mom?"

Jolting out of bed, I grab our daughter, rush into the Living Room as she asks, "Are you feeling better Da?" while hugging me tightly. 

In no time at all, it's time for Lainey to take me for our walk, so I grab a bag and we, ever so slowly, walk and pick up trash. 

"Let's do a reenactment picture," I tell our dog. 

Lainey jerks as I snap the photo as though to say, "Will you stop screwing up my walks!"

Glitter Patrol

 

Sarah came up with the idea of "Rainbow cards" to get Che to stop spending so much time on her I-pad as our Love-child regularly gets lost in alternative Universes like her old man but hers is more manageable.

Colored cards convey daily activities, chores and kindness that must be accomplished before Che's allowed to launch TOCA WORLD.

The "Kindness" card has suggestions of walking the dog, setting the table, writing letters and picking up trash.

Combining two, Che leads a family walk with our dog Lainey to pick up litter along the road, except she says it's GLITTER we're collecting as she dances along beside Sarah and me.

The Rainbow cards aren't necessary anymore and the family still walk occasionally but the "glitter" is still collected every day.

Well, most every day. 

Lainey drags me for what Sarah calls "exercise" to get me out of the house so she can focus on a billion other things at once without me interfering, which is cool because I love outside! 

Open windows and doors, sunshine, fresh air, cotton Candy clouds, a thousand shades of green, skies of every imaginable color and being part of the beauty of the earth are things I need to live! 

Even when I'm feeling my worst and walking is difficult, most days I can be seen following Lainey dragging me around. 

I get high, crank up the volume to my earbuds and feel the blessings of the land of salt air hovering above marshes, lagoons, rivers pouring themselves into the Sea blanketed in lush sub-tropical foliage.

Over the months though, Lainey drags me down this sidewalk and I see Styrofoam cups, wet Sonic bags, plastic water bottles and candy wrappers rotting on fresh beds of pine straw, under majestic Oaks and tangled up in ferns. 

It starts to piss me off!

It also reminds me that  there was an Indian wearing a full feathered headdress crying on the side of the road when I grew up. 

It was the advent of 7-11 Stores, McDonalds and plastic so Americans were learning to throw trash out of car windows. 

The Indian cries watching the trashing of the earth.

Now every day I take a bag to collect trash and have grown quite zealot about it,  dragging Lainey deeper into brush to dig out plastic water bottles, tampons, food containers and condoms.

There's a holiness to putting the earth back the way it was intended, as best we can anyway and in spite of how futile it seems, I feel holy, glimpsing the Promised Land like Moses just before he dies.

Oh it's beautiful!

A forest of evergreens shade blankets of pine straw and ferns on a clear, cool day, smelling of fresh rain.

Lainey stops as I snap a picture of a very tiny corner of a world as God intended it to be and I can get neither the Biblical image or the Indian out of my head.

Turtles in trees

 

I am thankful for Turtles in trees and other things that shouldn't be but are somehow, though I don't know how. 

I'm grateful to simply be here, defying the odds or living a miracle I struggle to understand because I'm often too distracted. 

"Love is all around me," as the old song goes, "and so the feeling grows," as evident by the growing pains we struggle through as we fight to hold on to hope for so many things. 

It is Sarah who magically bends realities to keep our little protective bubble of a world working in a world and economy still ravished by a pandemic. Every day she does something that amazes me and I am most blessed to be her husband.  

Every single day is revolutionary at our house because our "Love Child" challenges our exhaustion with curiously, joyfully, celebrating everything about living. 

"What does that mean?" Che's constantly asking these days so Sarah and I explain lots of words and concepts, discovering new understandings together.  

I'm astonishingly shocked at the lengths people who love me go to demonstrating in small ways and large that I'm worthy somehow which is nothing short of miraculous!

I'm shocked at everything I've gotten to do in life! You wouldn't believe it if I told you and, Lord knows I love a story but the best ones are being lived now as a Sarah, Che and I explore life's deepest places together. 

I'm beyond grateful for the beauty of the earth. A sliver of white moon hanging in a deep blue sky takes my breath away every time I'm witness. The intoxicating aroma of the Marshes, salt water on dry skin, the warmth of the Sun and the majesty of island living excite me now more than ever!

The plan is to keep doing what we're doing now until we can't anymore.  

So far, so good. 

Like turtles in trees and other things not meant to be, I still have something to say. It comes from one of the stories of my life. A fragment of a song, written on a soggy cocktail napkin and thrown in the offering bucket of a Church in a Bar.  

"Thank you Lord for thinking about me.  I'm alive and doing fine."

I can't think of a better Thanksgiving prayer. 

O Lord! 

One more thing. 

Fuck Cancer!

And thank you for turtles in trees. 

The Gospel of Note Making.

 



Sarah started writing a note for Che's lunchbox the day she started Mothers-Day-Out just as she'd done for the girls.  

Somewhere along the way, I've kidnapped the task, to my wife's chagrin I think, and I absolutely delight in it!

It's pretty much the extent of my writing anymore.  

It's mostly a matter of energy and I don't have much.  

What I do have, I economize, carefully choosing how it's spent. 

Anyway, every morning I write a note to Sarah followed by one for Che. 

Sarah's are straight to the point, just the way she likes it, though it takes me forever saying what I mean using so few words.  

Che's notes however know no boundaries. 

I go a little nuts on them but they bring me, and sometimes her, so much joy.  

"Everyone wanted to eat your doughnut Da," she laughs after school referring to one I'd drawn and colored on her note. 

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Che laughs pretending to eat the image, "everybody passed it around and took a bite."

I am beside myself with joy, retrieve the spit soaked paper and keep it for prosperity. 

I've taken to saving the notes to arrange, photograph and send them to Che who enjoys getting texts from anyone. 

Sometimes, most often in the middle of the night after I've already been awake for hours, the energy and focus will be enough to write something else. 

It used to be oh-so-easy but now it's exhausting unless the Weed and the Chemo are dancing harmoniously inside and I feel good enough to try. 

I spend forever writing Sarah a 10 word love note. 

Then I spend another half-of-forever creating Che's note. 

{I used to delight making Cassidy's lunch bag during her freshman year of High School and would colorfully draw "BAG Of DOOM" or "I'm as good a time as anyone else. CALL ME!" on her lunch bag but now as a sophomore she has no need for me anymore.}

So, the point of all of that is this!

Independently of my note making, Che made notes on her own this morning.  

The first was to Sarah. 

The second to me.  

Last is to our Dalmatian Lainey.  

There's no school this week, no lunch boxes for me to put notes inside, no reason for a 6 year old girl to consider, much less care, but she does.  

Note making, letter writing, creating something out of nothing for someone else is Holy stuff, rooted in love, shared in partnership with God somehow, though I don't know how. 

I arrange the notes and snap this picture.  

The Gospel of Post-it note love letters merit either being hidden in the heart as Sarah does, or when I have it in me, sharing them on social media as my way of making disciples in every nation, baptizing them in love (Matthew 28:19). 

Because that's what love does. 

We're up!

 

Che and I struggled through yesterday but when she calls my name at 3:10, she's wide awake, feeling great, very excited her sister Maddie's coming home and ready to play while we wait!

"Can I wake Mom up?" she asks for the first of countless times until Sarah joins us. 

I was already up because, well a monthly chemo cocktail shot in my ass every 28 days means I'm managing side effects and, on morning's like this one, I don't mind at all. 

We're snuggled on the couch under a blanket, drinking chocolate milk, watching a special on the Easter Bunny and laughing. 

Hope you day's as good as ours is shaping up to be!

Shrooms

 

I ran into a fellow graduate of the YMCA's LIVESTRONG.COM program designed to coach and teach cancer survivors to leave healthier lives. 

Unfortunately I can only remember the kind of cancer she has and not her name.  

I can recall every type of cancer the 13 people in the class had but not a single name. 

She has thyroid cancer. 

She says because I was in the class with her, she now does pot, takes mushrooms, works out every day and remembers why she goes in the kitchen.  

"No way," I grin. 

"Micheal, if you take shrooms you'll remember why you're in the kitchen too."

"Really?"

"Trust me," she laughs walking away, "it'll make Sarah so happy. 

Miss you

"I miss you," she says leaning back from our dinner plate 

We've made it through the meal, Che's playing games in the Living Room floor and Sarah's trying to share as much as she can before I fade out. 

Her words hover in the air as I realize I've reached the tipping point and am too tired to simply sit. 

I see the disappointment, hurt and loss in my wife's eyes as she steadies herself to finish the night alone. 

"Sit on the sofa," she softly says now having to do the work of two, robbing any leisure from her evening. 

Stumbling to the sofa I collapse beside our 6 year old daughter who lays her head on my shoulder.  

"You okay Da?" she softly asks while continuing to decorate a castle on her IPad. 

"Yep," I answer with as much energy as I can muster. 

My body feels as I'm laying in a tub of wet cement. 

I'm so cold. 

"Do you want to help put Che to bed?" Sarah loveningly asks, waking me, sleeping alone, "or do you need me to do it?"

I sleepwalk through the motions until I comprehend something's not right.  

Che's hugging me tightly, one arm continuously rubbing my back, as she sits on her knees still in bed. 

Every night she leaps from her bed into my arms and we laugh until I can't hold her anymore, then I tuck her in and kiss her goodnight. 

Not tonight.  

She knows things are wrong. 

Sarah's already prepared the bed for me to collapse into which I immediately do. 

"Did you feel me hold your hand?" she'd asked earlier in the day. "Last night in bed?"

I don't remember. 

"You squeezed back," she says with moist eyes and a crack in her voice. 

I can feel the memory of her hand in mine but am not sure if it was last night or is now. 

I'm so cold.  

Sarah covers me with blankets and I dream she kisses me on the forehead.

Fun and games with cancer

 

It's not all fun and games having cancer!

Sometimes it is fun though, if it works out and things go to plan. 

I played the cancer card with Angie, my sister, who's staying with Mom.  

They asked if they could stop by during Che's birthday party.  

Sarah's throwing the biggest and best party with Krispy Kreme doughnuts instead of cake because Che likes them more, a dozen or so kids play games as their Moms gossip or intensely stare at their phones.

It's pretty idyllic. 

Here's the problem. 

I don't have any beer.  

Sensing an opportunity, I text Mom that Angie can come and I really need beer. 

She can't turn me down because I'm sick but feeling good enough to want something. 

Only the most calloused of sisters would refuse their sick older brother!

So Mom and Angie pick up beer on the way to the party.  

Arriving, Angie hands me a 6 pack while simultaneously grabbing one.  

"I don't drink beer!" she says taking a slug, "but it's hot."

"I didn't know there was beer!" the visiting Mom of Che's oldest "bestie" exclaims grabbing another. 

"Can I have one?" Cassidy asks taking her second swig from yet another. 

I'm left holding a 3 pack.  

The party's a tremendous success as the kids have the time of their lives as my wife impersonates an activities director on a Royal Caribbean Cruise Ship, keeping everyone happily rushing to the end. 

When I open the fridge to get a beer, there's one left.  

"Well this didn't go according to plan at all," I sigh.  

But, it was the greatest day anyway.  

I got to see Mom and Angie. 

Sarah continues to deliver wonders!

And while Che didn't want to talk about her party at school during share time, her classmates certainly did!

"It was the best birthday ever," our six year old satisfyingly smiles pulling up the covers. 

I couldn't agree more. 

"Damn life is good," I say during prayers later.  

"Thanks for this," I whisper aloud when I stroll outside one last time before going to bed too. 

Sticking with the plan

 

Nothing gives you more determination than love.

Whenever Che's around, Sarah and I are very serious about not missing any of the joy she brings, regardless of how we're feeling.

Our lives revolve around a monthly chemical injection, ever changing side effects, the never ending fight through the depressive thoughts cancer demands, marshalling energy to focus on accomplishing what's started without abandoning it or trying to say words that actually convey what's intended.

Actually that's just what I deal with.

Sarah also works full time helping people living with chronic disabilities, is a full-time Nursing student, my full-time care-giver, mother of four girls, grandmother of five more, works out to stay stunningly beautiful, picks up part-time gigs to make more money when she can and brushes our dog Lainey's hair every afternoon.

She's a Wonder of a Woman!

Anyway, we're often exhausted, though more often than I care to admit I can hardly manage blinking both eyelids at the same time while Sarah's mastered the art of dance without sleeping.

Plus she makes the best damn plans!

Every single day she formulates sound strategies of the easiest way to accomplish the very most and every single day by mid-morning it's all been blown to Hell!

Maddie needs this or Cass has to go there or we've just learned where Laurel is or Che erupts with LIFE or a patient has the audacity to need her immediately!

Whatever it is, it costs lots of money and we've reached the point of stretching a dozen eggs over a month because they cost 5-Freaking-Bucks-a-carton!

So this morning I'm on the sofa trying to figure out if I just smoked Weed or do I need to hurry when Che calls, "DA" in the darkness and Cassidy is shockingly completely dressed and ready for school far ahead of Sarah's daily scheduled leave time.

"Can you take me now?" Cass sighs.

I'm pretty sure I took my Medicine right before Che called but I'm sure.

"Da, I hope Levi's at school today," Che coos as I lay her on the sofa, reminding me that she's settled on a boyfriend from a very crowded field and he was absent the day before.

I tell myself I better smoke again just to make sure I did.

Ignoring Cass, I pass Sarah searching for the right shirt as I retrieve my medicine in our bedroom.

"Cass wants me to take her now," I say.

Grabbing another lovely "earth tone" Sarah stands and says, "I'll be ready in a minute" knowing full well she's right on schedule and Cass isn't.

Feeling as though I've forgotten something, I check on Che who can't decide what she wants for breakfast.

Cass rolls her eyes impatiently.

I wonder if I've smoked yet?

Sarah gracefully dances into the kitchen telling Cass to go to the car while kissing Che, explaining she's taking her sister to school and will be right back before gulping Orange Juice as she walks out.

Che and I sit in silence.

I think I should use this quiet moment to head out back and take my Medicine.

"I'll get dressed Da," Che says, leaving but returning in a seeming nanosecond with our dog because she's decided it's time to teach Lainey to sit.

Grabbing my phone, I record what I'm seeing and send it to Sarah, the girls and my Mom.

Che explodes with laughter, leaping across the floor and diving into my chest for hugs.

Cuddled on the sofa watching TikTok she asks, "When's Mom gonna be home?"

"Soon, I assure her.

She nods and grabs hold of my hand while her head rests on my chest and resumes scrolling.

It's idyllic.

"Che."

"Wha' Da?"

"Did I take my Medicine?"

She shrugs her shoulders. 

Shopping Incognito

Went shopping incognito with Sarah and we had the best time ever! 

Well, after the initial shock of how much everything cost! 

As soon as we'd entered the Produce Section, we're accosted by a stranger claiming to have designed the cannabis healthcare T-shirt I'm wearing.

We just want tomatoes. 

When he mercifully finishes, Sarah drops her shades back over her eyes and leads me to the $2.99/bottle Wine sale!

My wife's a genius battling inflation and keeping things stable at our house in this out of order world. 

"You have a $7 beer budget," she laughs.  

Immediately I spy Kroger's incredible sale of institutional barrels of "Foster's" from Australia, $2 each so I grab 4.

Sarah leads us through various aisles to find the deals, nodding at the others shopping incognito (a surprising large number) and cracking jokes with a lady sweeping up in front of 1/2 gallons of Orange Juice for $1.29. 

"It's great with Rum!" the lady sweeping loudly suggest when Sarah picks up a carton of Fruit Punch. 

Checking out, by the time I get the Kroger card, Sarah's already punched in her phone number and the cashier is giving me a look of both  disbelief and compassion. 

"Don't go giving me the eye," I say.  

She laughs.  

"Oh we're $7 over budget!" Sarah tells her so she resumes giving me the stinky eye.  

"Oh please," I giggle. 

"I had to seriously think about if I was going to bring him or not," Sarah laughs with the cashier and bagger.  

I have to say right now how grateful I am that she did because this is the most fun we've had in a long time.

My View of things

I spend a lot of time pulling up the rear.

Most of the time I'm seeing Lainey's dog butt dragging me through woods and across fields which Sarah calls exercise, meaning I'm out of the house, her way for a few minutes and in the sunshine I adore.

As an outdoor guy, I don't mind the amount of time I spend behind a dogs butt because Lainey's a care-giver too, guiding me here, pulling me there and making sure I don't get close enough to bite anybody.

"It's all good!" as God said somewhere in the Bible. 

But sometimes, things get downright "Holy."

Lainey's not with us because, I have no idea, Sarah didn't want to bring her, so this was my view!

It's so much better than walking behind Lainey!

That's all!

Just wanted to share a little of the sunshine in my life on a cloudy, rainy day.

The Darkness surrounding the Light

 

These are discouraging days.   

When you're discouraged we're encouraged to take the long view of things and gain perspective.

Well.

Here's what's got me perplexed.

People who have "Whipple" surgery come through it changed, which makes sense given the numerous original body parts cut out, others left refitted for immediate use with one-third of my organs gone so I am certainly not the same.

If that's not enough, every 28 days a shot costing $27,000 is injected directly into my ass, and it's full of hormones that wage war with logical thinking! 

The problem is I think I'm the same as I was before and, while it's plain as rain to others I'm not.

I still see myself as the jovial carefree lover I've always been and, in my head anyway, I'm as happily content as I've ever been!

That's my version of reality and I freely admit the use of all natural ingredients to treat my Cancer and this certainly is a contributing factor to how I see things but, truth is, I am consumed by unintentional,  irrational emotions and act mean.

It's difficult to understand these things when I spend all of my time being Jovial, carefree and full of love!

This is where the battle between the darkness and light commences.

Depression comes easy for those of us fighting cancer.

And those giving up their lives to be our caregivers.

Sarah and I have a plan we've stuck to since the very beginning.

Treat me like always.

We deal with Cancer when we have to and the rest of the time pretending it's not part of every day.

When there's an issue with that, I smoke Pot.

So far, this approach works pretty good!

Woo but fighting the darkness is a whole other matter and, while Pot certainly takes the edge off, it doesn't stop the constant onslaught of dark thoughts making a pattern for depression to consume the life out of us before I even die.

At least now, I'm lucid enough to be aware of these things because Sarah loves me enough to give it all away and care for me, by being strategic when to point out my unintentional irrational emotions and when to let them slide.

Eventually, through lots of hard, hard work on both of our parts, I am aware now of the darkness that's grows and it's discouraging.

Che breezes home from the "best day ever!" at Kindergarten and as she snacks playing games, I review her papers and find this picture.

The back story is Che attends Gymnastics at the YMCA and excels at everything except flipping on the rings. 

It's her darkness right now, frustrating her in class, leaving her unsure about herself even continuing.

So it's with great surprise that while at school, on the day she has Gymnastics, our 5 year old Love Child is getting herself mentally prepared in advance, hours before she's to attend.

"I can't flip yet but I will!" she visualizes.

Then she draws it so she can feel it, touch the lightness of flipping through the air, breaking the rules of gravity and aerodynamics, so she can fly!

Well Hell, if our little girl can face her worse fears, Sarah and I will too.

"You can't have light without a dark to stick it in," we used to say in a Church in a bar because we know all about darkness and out of her own struggles, Che lights a candle we need right now.

I'm in awe of her and appreciate her gift of determination.

I can't keep doing this, I sometimes tell myself.

But I will!

"I believe, Lord help my unbelief," but I think our Love Child's got this!

Sarah puts the picture on the fridge where it casts off a soft, warm light in the darkness that surrounds us.

Original Bar Hymnal for Sale!

 

For Sale: BAR CHURCH HYMN BOOK

                  Vol. 1 No. 1

Designed by the Holy Spirit, the original inspired by God "Dollar Tree" notebook was baptized in stale beer as foretold in the prophet Isaiah (56:12) and was commanded to be made by God at The Wind Rose Cafe,  later made incarnate at Benny's Tybee Tavern where it was blessed for years before being excommunicated and left abandoned.  It was raised by faithful drunkards in the tradition of Moses (Genesis 9:1) and carried across the street to the PROMISED LAND at The Sand Bar where the faithful still gather at 10nish Island Standard Time.  

The original Bar Church Hymn Book (Vol 1. No 1.) was lost after one of the Hurricanes hit the island or one of the members stole it but felt bad and threw it in our yard.  

Neither Sarah nor I have any use for it but it's in great condition to hold really bad songs like "The Pusher", "Always look on the bright side of life", and the Nursing Home favorite "If I had a boat."

Surely God still has a use for it and needs you to step up and buy it now for the Glory of independent Bar Churches of the World!

Best Offer (as inspired by God)!

Homeschooling by Dad

 

Thank God for a Weed Fairy who conducts emergency humanitarian drops!

A little later, feeling better, I lay on the sofa beside Che who's been sick all weekend so she's home with me while Sarah's at a work meeting in town. 

"Can I have chocolate milk Da," she asks.

Gliding to the fridge, I admire Che's art, funky magnets, colorful letters and numbers because we adorn the door. 

I've not been quite with it this morning and my thoughts suddenly focus on things Sarah pointed out before she left.

Pausing, Scotty beams me up and, I'm in another Universe thinking about my wife's words. 

Absentmindedly, I reach for letters and spell "Mom" and then "Che."

Scotty beams me down.

"Hey Che look!"

She hurries over, laughs and says to show Mom.

I snap a picture and send it to Sarah.

"Wait!" our 5 1/2 year old commands, "Where you?"

I laugh and tickle her until we hug.

"You so sweet! there's only one "d" so we can't spell 'Dad'."

She heads back to the living room as I make the chocolate milk.

"Hey Dad," she says the whole word without looping off the final "d" so it's serious. 

Holding her hand up she shows me the "d" she cut out.

"Look," she says grinning.

I look.

I laugh.

I cry.

I love. 

I, along with Che, wait for Sarah to get home.

When a kid says "Take it easy!"

We're so tried, collapsed on the sofas, because it's all too much! The Cancer, navigating American Health, raising daughters in todays world, the post pandemic work environment and how much everything costs!

 It's just so exhausting!

We are beyond tired.  

Five year old Che strolls out dressed as me. 

Sarah and I stop complaining and look at our daughter who proceeds to do a really good impersonation too!

Laughter explodes.  

Just as we capture our breath, Che returns dressed exactly as her Mom and does another spot on impersonation. 

Again we erupt in laughter.  

It's so funny what gets you through the hard times.

An old Bible verse bubbles through the cloudy fog swirling in my head.  Something about Lions and Leopards lying down together with wolfs, cows and Lord knows what else because a kid told them too. 

I wonder how long they laid there before they all got up in their own time and went their own  way.  

Broken but still functions

.

"Take them," my Grandmother sadly smiles shoving them across the table.

I don't recall if it was at that moment or not that I actually did take them. I may have though they were full of salt and pepper at the time so I doubt it. There's a nagging recollection of my Aunt Bootsie or Mom handing them to me after Grandma died.

Regardless, all these years later, a tangible memento of the crazy love I still have for Ira and Edith Carver, remains mine.

Che dropped the salt shaker a few weeks ago and now it leans like the Tower of Pisa.

"Broken but still functioning," I pronounce when she does it, "just like me."

Our Love child stares at me for a moment and two huge moon eyes filled with blue oceans melts my heart  before she turns them back to "Toca World" on her IPad.

I've loved these simple connections to an important part of who I am and how much I adored my grandparents!

The girls have used the cafe style shakers for years without giving them any thought as did the older kids before them.

Sarah knows they're precious to me.

Mom knows I have them and she can't quite recall exactly how I actually got them either.

"She just gave them to you one day," Mom explains. 'She knew you loved them."

It's true I do.

Decades ago they rested on top of a black and white, cloth, checkered tablecloth at a two seat kitchen table where there was always coffee. 

It's still the "homiest" Norman Rockwell feeling I can conjure and sometimes, I feel the memory of it again holding these relics to the past.

Ira and Edith believed the Bible with everything in them, especially the part about "being fruitful and multiplying." Lord knows they were good at it and there's a gazillion Carver's in the world so they'll always be a home for them somewhere.

Edith and Ira still love me because sometimes I feel them as real as if I were sitting at the little kitchen table having endless cups of coffee kept heated on the gas stove.

I don't know why I feel this way sometimes.

Or when or how but sometimes, I get so caught up in it, moments suddenly seem like years and though I'm sitting at our dining room table, I'm really somewhere else, some other Universe, a different time and space.

"It's a tiny glimpse into what's coming next," I can hear my recently deceased favorite author Frederick Buechner saying, though he didn't.

Who knows?

I don't.

But it's a nice thought.

And I can't remember what I said to Grandma that day when she told me to take them.

Her passing is so fuzzy to me because I was so busy then.

So if I didn't say thank you, I'm doing it now Grandma.

Thank you for loaning them to me.