Screw You, Cancer

I used to have a blog with this title.  It provided a front-row seat to my cancer diagnosis and treatment in 2006.  It's still out there if you want to read it.  

I got the word last night that another old friend has died.  I don't even really know the details, other than complications from cancer treatment.  Last I heard the cancer was gone, but treatment had left him with new problems.  

I haven't seen Wes in 30 years.  We weren't even close. But something about those shared formative experiences in your 20's leaves you bonded with your companions on a level I haven't experienced before or since.  My days in the theatre  (college, outdoor drama, and touring) introduced me to people and places I would not have otherwise met.  Nothing in 25 years as an attorney has compared to that.  

Wes seemed much older back when I was 19.  I reality he was probably in his early 20's at the time.  I remember him as a hilarious, gentle, giant, hairy man.  (His timeline this morning contains more than one story involving creative shaving of his copious chest hair.)

He went on to be a teacher, and the tributes on his social media today show his overwhelming impact on his students.  He's a person that I wish I'd known as he grew older and, apparently, even better with time and maturity.  Wes was too ill to attend our reunion this past July, and his passing saddens me even more because we all came so close to seeing him again. 

After seeing the news just before bed last night, I had a dream.  I was invited to join a group phone call with my friends from the outdoor drama.  I was late arriving to the audio-only call (Dream-Me hadn't heard of Zoom, apparently), and upon dialing in I heard Wes's voice so clearly.  I haven't talked to him since 1992, yet I recognized his voice immediately.  

Nobody else on the call seemed stunned that he was participating, despite his death just hours earlier.  Upon hearing his voice I blurted out "I love you, Wes!"  He said "I love you too, hon," and went on with whatever he had been saying.   Finally I couldn't resist, and asked:  "Wes, what is it like where you are?"  I tried to sound casual, as if asking about the weather.  

He said "It's so beautiful here."  He talked about the light, and he sounded so happy and peaceful. 

Godspeed, old friend.  Keep the fire burning in the firepit.  We will all be with you soon. 

Backstage at Tecumseh Outdoor Drama 

And once again, Screw You, Cancer.  

500 Words

Universe:  How's that writing going, Ruth?

Me:  Well you know I've been traveling and I was sick and my back hurts.  

Universe: 

Me:  And I write all day at work.  Boring legal stuff, so it's not like I'm NOT writing, I'm just not writing the CREATIVE STUFF, but you totally get it, right? 

Universe: 

Maui Therapist:  Didn't you start a blog? What happened to that?

Me:  Well, I've had a few blogs... but yeah I think you're right. 

Maui Therapist:  You should get back to that.  

Me:  [Searching the Internet for my own blog]

Universe: I'm going to shut down the entire government so you don't get a paycheck and have to give some serious thought to finding a new vocation. 

Me:  You don't scare me.  Everything always works out for me.  I'm lucky AF.  

Universe:  Challenge accepted.  [Shuts down government for 35 days]

Internet: my500words.com

Me:  First I have to go delete all the false-starts I've had.

Universe:

Me:  [Resetting Wordpress passwords, realizing I didn't like Wordpress because I found it too complicated, deciding to go back to Blogger, discovering that I ALREADY WENT THROUGH THIS PROCESS TWO YEARS AGO and Warm Nuts Over Mississippi is already on Blogger, get distracted by blog-housekeeping tasks]

Cat:  [Jumps on table and sticks paw in my water]

[End]

Warm Nuts Over Mississippi

I've been told I tell a pretty good story. And as it happens, I've got some good ones.  "You should write a book," they say.  I don't even have to make things up, my life has been so weird.

A couple of years ago I was on a red-eye flight from my home in Alaska to my Dad's house in Georgia.  Through some dumb luck, or possibly an excess of frequent flyer miles, my daughter and I found ourselves in first class.  She was 9 or so, and it was her first time in Row 1.  She's a darling to travel with, and entertained herself and slept, in between staring out the window.

I couldn't sleep.

Somewhere over Mississippi, the flight attendant brought me a hot towel and some warm nuts.  Warm Nuts.  At 30,000 feet.  I pondered briefly as to what process resulted in warm nuts being served to me at 2 a.m. in seat 1 B.  Did they microwave them?  Had they been warm since we took off 3 hours earlier?  Why is this necessary?

I chuckled to myself and the absurdity.  All of the stories of my life have culminated in this moment.  Warm Nuts Over Mississippi.  I decided if I ever got around to writing my book, that would be the title.

Fast forward to 2017.  I found myself in the Exit row on my way to Maui.  I was running away from home for a few days.  For some reason I actually engaged the woman next to me in conversation.  I almost never do that.  We talked for most of the 5 1/2 hour flight.  A retired teacher, married to the love of her life, it was as though she was visiting from the future to give me the advice I needed to hear in my late 40's.  I'm paraphrasing, but the gist of it was this:  It doesn't really matter what your job is.  Hopefully you enjoy it, but be sure to cultivate a passion over the next few years.  Try different things.  When you retire then you'll have a passion to keep you busy (hers was making stained glass).  Take care of your body and your mind, so when you arrive at retirement your body will be able to let you enjoy it.

She asked what I would be doing if I could do anything I wanted.  I said I'd be writing. 

Bird Watching

My grandfather loved  birds.  I didn’t get the appeal at the time.

Once, while driving the hour and a half between home and college, I tried to engage this quiet man in conversation by asking, “Hey, what do you call those black birds on the side of the road?  The ones with the red wings?”

He replied:  “Red-winged black birds.”

We drove in silence for another 45 minutes.

Today, 30 years later and 26 years after his death, I finally understood the appeal.

I’m on Maui for some ocean therapy.  I walked down to the beach early this morning, before it got hot and crazy.  As I was walking home, I saw about a dozen little green birds with white circles around their eyes.  I couldn’t wait to get back to my condo and google what they were.  (Japanese White-eyes, as it happens).  In that moment, my grandfather’s interest in birds suddenly made sense.  I’ll always remember exactly where I was when I saw my first (second, third, fourth, and eleventh) Japanese White-eye. Just like I’ll always remember those red-winged black birds on the side of I-29.

I didn’t take a photo.  I was simply present with the little birds for a few minutes.  If I kept a bird log I could mark it down.   Or, you know, I could finally get back to writing.  

Turns out the Japanese White-eyes are an invasive species on Maui.  So, there's that.  

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