September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month

And you thought that this month would pass by without any mention by me.  All you thought I would do was change my profile picture to a yellow equal sign to remind people that there should be equal funding for childhood cancer research.  And most of you didn't notice that.  But why should you?  Childhood cancer awareness month does not bombard you from every angle like breast cancer awareness month does.  NFL players are not wearing gold shoes.  Mars does not sell gold M&Ms.  There are no three day walks down the coast of California, people in a sea of gold scarves, bandannas and sweatshirts.  Childhood cancer does not strike famous people at the height of their careers.  It does not end peoples lives, but instead stops lives from ever happening.
Today, two classrooms of children will be diagnosed with some form of childhood cancer.  One in five of those children will not live.  Cancer will take their tiny little lives and run havoc with it before it takes that child's last breath.  When twenty two children were killed in Connecticut, the nation screamed.  Today over twice that many will be given a sentence that will kill many of them and no one yells.  No one except for the mom and dad, a few outraged friends and people who have been there.  (I exclude myself from that list because unlike most of the parents I know of children who had cancer, I have never been able to get involved.)  This is the shameful extent of my screaming. 
It was five years ago this month that my daughter was in one of those classrooms.  She survived.  She knew one that didn't. 
I am no a crusader or advocate.  I don't get on soapboxes beyond my keyboard.  I am full of opinions, but will never follow up on them, never will work hard enough to make a change.  I ought to though, because mine was one that made it off the pediatric oncology ward and moved on to great and glorious things.  Mine did not remain forever a seventeen year old but has kept on living large.  Mine did not create a list of hopes and dreams that are being fulfilled by her parents, but went out and fulfilled those hopes and followed those dreams.  So maybe I should do something more than remind those of you that will read this that there are babies dying because there is no funding.  Maybe I should start proclaiming that gold is the new pink.  Maybe I should think of all those advocates that went before me and raised the funds that found the cure that cured my daughter and be that advocate for the next two classrooms.
 Hey Lisa, if you are reading this, what is my first step?

Making My Dreams Come True

That would be my montage song.  Unless I had to fight the Russian and then it would be Eye of the Tiger, obviously.  No one can beat the Russian by working out to a Hall and Oates song.  But if I were trying to get in shape or find the perfect outfit or redecorate the house in a funky sort of way, Hall and Oates without fail.
The idea behind the montage is to speed the story along and to have more than the opening and closing credit song on the soundtrack.  The idea behind my montage is not to speed the story up, life goes pretty fast (thanks Ferris).  But rather to make the not so fun, fun.  Cleaning house, doing sit ups, chasing chickens and racing Apollo Creed isn't fun, though jumping in the crashing waves with Apollo Creed probably is!  You know the scene I am talking about when grown men weren't afraid to wear short shorts and pull their socks up over their calves.  Now it's just the opposite and shorts hang down to the socks that are pushed down.  If we would have lost the cold war, that would have been one of the reasons.  Sloppy short wearing.
I think montages help one get through the tedious and boring parts of life.  And yet, we look back fondly because of the spunky back beat and catchy chorus.  Making My Dreams Come True is in my head right now and I attempt to montage this blog. 

You Know that's Permanent Part II

Well, maybe it should be part III or IV because this is my fourth time to the seedy tattoo parlor.  Anyway, I know these are permanent and I know that my skin will wrinkle as I age and I know that I will regret all my ink spots someday.  (I don't really mean that last sentence, just answering the critics right off the bat.)
I wrote about my first tattoo a couple of years ago.  I got a second one in Carson City with my sister in law, Denise.  We got a Celtic symbol for sisters.  That was a treat.  Denise held my hand so tightly while I got tattoo'd that it barely hurt.  Denise and I have identical knots on our left foot.  My other sister in law, Dene' got the same tattoo on her neck.  Tattoo number three was last fall after I had spent six months with an amazing group of women participating, planning and putting on a retreat.  Between Ashlyn's cancer and my growth as a human, I had finally figured out how to Let Go and Let God so that is now on my calf. 
Today's ink was twofold. 
In 2004 while Danny was in Iraq, I went crazy.  I am not exaggerating, ape shit crazy.  I would like to think that I faked it pretty well and fooled everyone, but I did not fool myself.  When I look back at many of those months, I am amazed that I made it out alive.  And if I am completely honest, there were a few times when I don't know if I was trying to make it out alive.  Oh, I wasn't suicidal I was just crazy.  The darkest day found Barron and me home alone.  I was the darkest I had ever been.  I don't know what I was going to do that morning, I really don't.  But I am quite certain that it was not going to be pretty. 
Barron came to me, laid his big yellow head in my lap and let out a sigh.  He stopped me from whatever horror I had in mind.  It was his greatest rescue of me in a long line of rescues of me. 
On my left ankle is a paw print of a 14 pound yellow lab.  It was taken from a imprint made on 22 October 2001.  That was about the time we got this angel that was sent to guard me in all my ways.  Psalm 91:11. 
On my right wrist, where I can see it all the time is three lines.  Line one and line two are the two most important parts of my life and the third line is where I keep them.
My kinder
My honey
My heart
These are permanent.  I get that.  I get that I will have a paw print on my ankle for the rest of my life.  I would rather have the paw and the dog that goes with it, but that isn't an option.  But having a constant reminder of the life he saved is a good thing.  Seeing that every day and knowing that God commands the angels to guard me in all their ways is a pretty powerful bit of knowledge.  And I don't need to see that my kinder and my honey are in my heart.  I know that.  But it was a two-fer price and I love a good deal.

Taking Stock

Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch.  Well, not exactly what I am taking stock of today, but one gets the idea.
Life is in motion, and it is spinning just a little faster than I care for.  Here in this house, Jacob is a senior.  I don't care for that.  He is sharing with me his plans for his future and it is taking place in places far from here.  An adult now, registered for the draft, registered to vote.  He has his own life to think of in very real terms. 
In Cedar Falls and in Ames, life has sped up as well.  Hayley, now a junior, has a five year plan in the works and I am paying attention.  Wedding and baby is what she has her eye on in the next five years.  It doesn't scare me in the least, been there and done that with much success so I see no reason why she should wait for some ideal age.  I think her five year plan is ideal.  Ashlyn in three months will no longer be in school.  I clearly remember her first day.  School and Ashlyn had been very good friends for a long time, but sometimes I think the relationship is becoming strained and maybe it is time for a change.  And then what for my Ashlyn?  Only the good Lord knows and He keeps His cards close to His chest. 
Ata heads down the aisle in February.  Having lived so far away, I don't know her well enough and I don't know the groom at all.  I know that she is beautiful, talented, quirky and he is lucky.  I will add to this paragraph in February.
And then there is my nephew, a navy man.  Isaac will be setting sail for who knows where.  It is a great big world and he is going to see it!  Unfortunately, he will see a lot of shitholes as well as a lot of incredible places.  I am very proud of him and very excited for him.  I look forward to the day when Danny and I get to visit him overseas instead of vice versa!
Molly is up in Michigan and never on Facebook so I have no idea what she is up to.  I suspect a bit of no good mixed in with a whole lot of fun.  We all anticipate unexpected things from Molly.  She will be fun to watch.
Tom is keeping close to home.  A wise financial move, I imagine.  Again, I think Tom will surprise us all.  In good ways, obviously!
Morgan is living it up in the City.  At barely seventeen, she is in New York studying with Joffery.  I don't think I speak for her parents when I say that I am over the moon for this adventure!  Of course, my girl was a little older when she set off for Chicago so I don't really have room to talk.  But that has never stopped me before.  And I pray that she keeps us posted on this moment.  Hip Hip Hooray!
Still waiting to see what Melody, Maddie, Jayse, Cohen and Keaton will be and do.  I can only imagine. 
And here I am at definitely mid life.  I say that with optimism that I will reach 86 and beyond.  I am happy that my health issues were less than minor.  Popping some pills, adding some stretches, maybe a few sit ups, a walk to the corner, a little less soda and a little more H2O, easy enough.  I have made the conscious choice to look at the next few years with excitement not with sadness.  Though I never thought it a good idea to have my kids move away, I won't see the downside of empty beds, less laundry or smaller grocery bills.  Danny and I are golfing and movie nighting and booking flights.  We are realizing that the best is definitely behind us and ahead of us and we are standing in the midst of it.  We are looking to be healthy and happy in this life we have created with God's grace. 
Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch.

Prodigal

I went to mass today.  This is the third week in a row.  I took the summer off and let's be honest, most of the spring and a lot of last winter as well.  But I'm back and am giving it the ole college try (which means I should last about six weeks before dropping out).  I go alone and sit against the wall right next to the Blessed Sacrament Chapel.  I choose to sit there because I am a safe distance from White Diamonds or any other dangerous scent.  Sometimes I feel like a jerk, like I don't want to be part of the congregation, but since I am alone, it is important that I don't get boxed in with bad perfume on too many sides of me.   Though if I did have an allergic reaction, I think every third member is a doctor so someone could administer the epi injection.
Today's gospel was an oldie but a goody, the triple parable.  Missing sheep, missing coin, self centered son.  This one has always given me some struggle.  I understand why the shepherd went looking for his one lost sheep.  I would have gone looking as well.  But why in the world doesn't he have some dogs working for him.  A couple of Anatolian shepherds and those sheep won't be going anywhere.  If the shepherd weren't Jewish, he could have even trained a pig to keep the sheep in line.  It worked beautifully for Farmer Arthur H. Hoggett.  I don't know if I would have gone as far as to have swept the whole house for a missing coin, but I do check Jacob's pockets for loose change. (And I keep it).  But the prodigal son always seemed unfair.  As I have grown (up and in my faith) I have come to realize that the son that stayed with the father has always been promised an inheritance, but the one that came home after laying with whores and pigs, well, there was reason to celebrate (after he showered, of course).  And as a parent, I would celebrate the return of my child.  As a parent, I do celebrate the return of my child and they never left me, they just went to college. 
And now I am returning.  I am not the prodigal son by any means, I am the lazy daughter.  I am the child that hits snooze on a Sunday morning because I cannot hit it during the week.   I am full of excuses and it really is quite pathetic, especially when I see all these people filling the pews with unruly kids in tow.  I don't have any problem making date night on Wednesday so I don't see why a Sunday morning meal is any more difficult. 
It is my own doing that I go alone.  I never made Sunday mass a priority.  I never made it a part of our week.  It was always hit and miss, more miss.  I don't even know how important I made God in our lives.  I would mulligan that, if I could.  I would have made Sunday mornings a ritual of getting dressed up and celebrating mass followed by breakfast.  We did that frequently in Cedar Rapids and Happy Chef was usually where we ended up!

So back to the prodigal child that I am.  There was no fatted calf roasting in celebration of my return.  But I liked being back and I am pretty sure that The Lord is glad I am back.  I know that I don't have to be in a church on Sunday to praise The Lord, but much like a fine meal, it is better when it is shared.  I think that's where the fatted calf comes in.