Month: April 2006 (Page 1 of 3)

Both of my parents gave me strength of spirit, stubbornness and an iron-clad grip on what is right. Most of this came from my father, but I would be remiss to not acknowledge my mother’s own determination and inability to let go of things, since I see that within me.

The appointment at Mayo has not yet been made. My father is in pain and on so much medicine. I was raised without television, and I never saw the incredible Hulk cartoon? But today, I felt like that cartoon, if I just gripped my fists tightly enough, I would explode out of my own skin, and I would carry him on my back to that clinic and put him in the hands of someone who might be able to fix him. I already know and see the rage inside me, peeking out, slipping through at a bad driver, an easy target, a stupid salesperson. And so tomorrow, I will be on the phone. To his doctors, to the Mayo clinic, whatever it takes. I am so used to getting things done, moving plans into place, resolving crises or problems, and I have hit my limit. I cannot allow myself to care if this upsets anyone, anymore. I have waited for three weeks and in that short span, I have hit abject despair and felt the relief of a joyful hope. I am a forceful, driven person with great inner strength and a tenacity that I have always felt I have kept in check, hidden away, lest it keep people away from me; I have always felt that part of me to be frightening, like the intensity and roar of a lion. I also know I can be very, very weak. I can be consumed with pain and grief and negativity. But the chips are down, I can be strong, my mind is clear, my heart is filled with such love, such great, great love, and I cannot be the child any longer.

Right now I feel like the rage and the passion and the strength are swirling, so much I could bend a spoon just by looking at it. I imagine the phone lines are going to bend a little tomorrow. Wish me luck & hope; I have the fortitude to launch an army, I just want, NEED, require that things get done – and fast.

I have always been a Miracle Whip girl. I enjoy the tangy zip of the Miracle Whip. The “light” is just fine with me, though JWo prefers the original version. Growing up, that’s all we had, no mayo in the house. I think it’s your family of origin that gives you a preference, what you get used to. I have a friend who went through a buffet at a wedding reception & helped himself to a big dollop of vanilla pudding, only to ruefully discover at the end of his meal, with a big spoonful in his mouth, that instead it was mayonnaise. Mmm, mmmm. That is a nightmare.

One summer, when we were building the house, we lived in a room that was roughly 15’x20′, had a sink, and all we ate for dinner were braunschweiger & tomato sandwiches (with Miracle Whip), Chips Ahoy & Ruffles. It was years before we could enjoy a B&T sandwich, but they are still my favorite. (It has to be Oscar Mayer braunschweiger, too. You wouldn’t think I’d be picky about such a processed meat product, but just ask JWo, it can be done and is on a daily basis.)

You might be wondering, what on earth is PlazaJen doing today, blathering on about sandwich spreads? Well, it’s just the natural word association in that crazy mind of mine, because my Dad is going to GO to the Mayo clinic in Rochester MN (hopefully next week), and those people there work miracles. (I don’t know so much about the whips, but if I had to be whipped to create a miracle for my dad, I’d do it in a heartbeat.) And I’ve never been this much in love with the word “Mayo” before, given my prediliction for the Miracle Whip. I’m not saying I’m switching sandwich spreads, but I do have a butter knife’s swipe more hope now, and that, my friends, makes all the difference on a rainy day in what has been, truly, the Cruelest Month.

Or, you might say, bacon in a bucket.

I showed GREAT restraint. (Boy I hate the motorcycle po-po. I got enraged when I was looking at their little containers by the seat, just KNOWING that’s where they store the evil radar guns. HARRUMPH.) Of course I wouldn’t do anything. I’d never last in prison. No blogging!

OK, I put my phone on Do Not Disturb last Thursday? What a lovely feature. I need to use this feature more often. It’s 10 a.m. and guess what? I haven’t gotten a phone call! Because I haven’t turned it off yet. MOOOHAHAHAHAHAHA. I love it.

Also, the Frenetic Twins (Kristin & Jennifer) have started stealing things from a co-worker who moved down by us. It’s going to be amusing when he finally catches on, which at the rate they’re going & the rate he’s not noticing, they’ll have to take his phone and chair before he picks up on it. Good times.

Fear is fast-fingered thief, black-gloved fingers that flutter up and sieze my heart, like a Faberge egg, plucking it from its core, snatching it away, anywhere, anytime.

I hate Fear. It robs me of my strength, it holds my hope as a hostage, it gives me no path but down. Fear shows me the worst possible outcomes, the terror within me, the sadness that seems to know no end or bounds. I hate Fear.

Fear’s cousin, Sadness, sits on top of my stomach and waits to erupt. Sadness bubbles. I am trying to thicken my skin, not be so raw. Do you know how many times a day we are asked, “How are you today?” Do you know how many times that question has made me cry? I’m a terrible liar, but I’m starting to do it. Lie. Say, “Fine.” I even smiled at the checker at Wild Oats. I wondered if she could see my sadness. I wondered if I would ever stop lying, that someday I’ll say “Fine” and mean it. Fear jumps in and shoulders next to Sadness, telling me no, I never will. I know it’s lying, but it’s hard to see when your eyes are brimming.

Then there’s Grief, stony & cold. She sits and stares with accusing eyes, anytime there’s a tinkle of laughter or a glimmer of joy. Grief has no room for laughter or lightness, they are a betrayal. She is icy & sharp, and takes no prisoners.

And then we have Strength. Strength has taken a beating and is wondering, can she last in this long-drawn battle? Can she ass-kick Fear, Sadness & Grief, day after day? She has no choice. She must join forces with Love, who feels responsible for everything. They must find Faith, who has been fleeting. It is a monstrous battle, sometimes waged minute upon minute, with no clear plan and no clear end.

I need brass knuckles. (Good thing I already have the matching balls.) Onward we go, into the day.

When I was home over the weekend, I did a lot of knitting. Before we left, I made my dad a Kufi-style hat out of Debbie Bliss Aran cotton, so when he goes through chemo, he’ll have something soft to wear, if he chooses. A damn good looking hat, if I say so myself. Then, I finished his socks, and I think he was touched by how custom-fit they were, and was struck by how warm they are. Handknit socks truly are a magnificent piece of knitting. Not stopping there, I pulled out the skein of Artyarns merino (hand-dyed in a slatey-blue colorway) and made a roll-brim hat for him, too. Now he has choices, depending on how warm he wants to be. And he looks damn good in hats! I knit the second hat at lightning speed, and astonished most everyone. (Thanks to JWo for rubbing my hands when I was done….)

It’s interesting, I didn’t take pictures of any of the finished objects – maybe because what they represented to me was both a little bit painful, and knowing that the emotional energy poured into those things could never be fully captured in a photo. I have wonderful pictures in my mind, of him wearing each of the hats, and the socks, too. They are my small hand-crafted hugs to him, since I can’t be there every day. I gave Brenda (his wife) a shawl I’d knit out of tartelette & told her to wrap it around herself whenever she wanted to feel a hug as well. Fancy hug, with fringe.

Hugs come in all shapes, styles & forms.

That’s a great line from “True Romance”. It captures the essence of my whole weekend, and while I’d love to be brilliant & write all kinds of things and tell you all the stories, I’m wiped out. It may take a long time to get to that point. I’m on a pendulum that swings between high hopes & abject grief, and I don’t really see it stopping anytime soon.

We had a wonderful visit. Many tears were shed, many smiles, many long lingering hugs. It is a blessing and a curse, you know, to be told you have terminal cancer. It means you’re going to die (time: unknown) and it means you have time (unknown), to cherish every moment and put your life in a little bit of order. Unfortunately, it means you & everyone else’s heart breaks every day. Mine is breaking all over again, and I can’t write much more. So, I give you the excerpt from one of my father’s most favorite movies. Pretty much sums it all up.

I kept asking Clarence why our world
seemed to be collapsing…

and everything seemed so shitty,
and he’d say,

“That’s the way it goes.

But don’t forget:
It goes the other way too.”

Seriously, sometimes it’s a wonder I am able to leave the house. How do I even find the door, (without walking into it)?!?

Does “Tide to Go” work on keyboards? Is this my passive-aggressive way of getting a new computer? Is this a sign that working through lunch is not a good thing? Good thing it wasn’t curry. You can’t shake that out.

Good thing I met & married JWo. He knows me so well & knows what will make me laugh or what kind of wacko website I would find hilarious.

Yesterday, he sent me a site all about pimpin’ your snacks. Because the world needs a 14″ peanut butter cup!

And, apparently the kids at school were selling pickles to raise money for a field trip. And they put notes in all the teachers’ mailboxes, beseeching them NOT TO USE THE PICKLES AS PUNISHMENT. (As in, if you don’t do your homework, you can’t buy a pickle.)

Good times. I may have to start threatening my reps I’m gonna get Vlasic on their ass.

But my brain knows better
It picks you up and turns you around
Turns you around
Turns you around

If you feel discouraged
When there’s a lack of color here
Please don’t worry lover
It’s really bursting at the seams
Absorbing everything
The spectrum’s A to Z

…from “A Lack of Color” by Death Cab for Cutie. One of my favorite songs right now, and the words floated into my head last night while I reflected on a single sharp moment in my book club, sharp like a shard of glass, reflecting light.

We sat outside, and while it was a little cool, the wind swirled around us, and I was at the end of the patio table. My dear friend Phyllis was talking, and as I looked at her, it was as though I was looking at a photograph. There was Arlo to her left, with his son Cameron on his knee, and as I saw this arrangement of life in front of me, jumping from 2 to 39 to 65, all of the colors and lines and features seemed to sharpen, giving me vision I wished I had every day, it felt as though my own eyes fixed themselves, that I had developed not only 20/20 vision, but that I was suddenly given the gift of clarity.

While I may wish for the vision, I don’t think I could handle a daily existence of full clarity, because after the moment passed, I had to pinch the skin at the top of my nose where it slides into my forehead, a mannerism that I use to keep the tears at bay. It is strange to be filled with so much sadness and love simultaneously; I always believed if I had enough love, I would never be sad. They are inextricably linked, but I would not sacrifice love to be relieved of sadness.