A Christmas ramble

Merry Christmas!

I'm scrambling to get this post written before everyone wakes up and we descend into the Christmas crazy. Bear in mind that we have big kids who are on break and in full sleep-in-after-staying-up-late mode. In my head, I already hear The Princess Bride's Prince Humperdinck musing, "...it ranged all over..." so I'll try to channel Mr. Woods, my 10th grade English teacher who used green felt tip markers to scrawl TWE on our papers- To What End? As in, "get to the point already!"

Everybody have their coffee or hot drink of choice? Some Christmas cookies? It is CHRISTMAS- don't worry about the calories, for goodness sake. Enjoy them!

(Mr. Woods sighs.)

Let's do this. 

Story time!

Once upon a time, there was a girl who worked at a summer camp. It's no longer there, sadly, but that's another story to be found here. She met a boy and life happened; they got married, moved a lot, got a kitten, had kids, got a dog, the whole shebang. (Mr. Woods rolls his eyes and reaches for the pen.)

This is the girl, who because of her erect posture and the faux feather in her hair, reminded her friends of the kidnapped princess in Peter Pan, and thus earned her the handle of Tigerlily at the aforementioned camp. 

One Christmas Eve, a long time later, the girl felt discouraged and not very festive. In fact, said girl cried a little while doing the dishes before her shower before the Christmas Eve service. (Mr. Woods uses his green pen.) She felt frustrated with her children who wanted to play video games instead of going to the Christmas Eve service and was astounded that they didn't see it as a given that they were going. She reminisced about a time when she and her mother had walked the handful of city blocks home from church on a below freezing Christmas Eve and how the stars had been so bright, and wonders if her mother remembers that, too. Generally feeling sorry for herself and ready at any moment to blame her tears on getting dishsoap in her eyes, she remembered something important which had been passed along to her and others at camp. 
"Satan tends to attack people and places of strategic importance."

These words had been spoken by a boss whose handle had been Spiritual Giant. His profession was teaching; he was and remains a true leader, caring about each person under him as well as those under them. 

(Mr. Woods pauses, then decides to allow it to see where it leads, but scribbles another TWE?)

Some of you may be musing, "who does she think she is?"

Slight pivot.

Last night, the girl also watched "It's a Wonderful Life," knowing full well that it's imperfect and dated and cheezy at times but wanted the nostaglia of an old movie she'd watched with her Nana. (Here's the link in case you want to investigate further: it'll open a new window.)

In the movie, Clarence muses, "Each man's life touches so many other lives..."

I've talked to more than one person this week who has felt depleted, that hard things kept happening to them, and that they were exhausted, and I keep coming back to that nugget of wisdom the girl heard decades ago. 

If you are a church worker, most especially in the season leading up to today, it makes complete sense to me that an enemy would try to keep you discouraged, make you feel like your work didn't matter, that it's only for an hour and everyone will go back to their "real" lives and forget what you taught or sang or how you loved, so why bother? 

Don't give up. Do it anyway.

For the parents whose kid would rather play with the box than the gift you finally found for them, for the health care workers who have yet another patient come in with something avoidable, for the way the world keeps turning and you have to keep dealing with all of it when you just feel like you can't do one more day/thing/event/minute because you've suffered a loss or a diagnosis or _____ and are barely hanging by a thread... 

Breathe. Call someone in your village. Don't get isolated. Don't get picked off one at a time. 

George Bailey experiences the... Clarence calls it a gift, I think, but I'm not sure that's quite the correct word. He experiences the  (whatever) of seeing what life would have been like without him in it. 

Eventually, we will all leave this life, and our loved ones will have to navigate around the land mine that our passing leaves in their own lives. That's not the same as you never having been here. That can be worse, at least to start, because of the (there are no words in Entish, Elvish or the tongues of men for the all encompassing emotions) that loss is. Grief doesn't play fair. It sucker punches. 

So, to answer the "who does she think she is?" 

(Mr. Woods scrawls TWE in huge letters.)

Just me. In fact, back in the day when I'd call my high school boyfriend's house, his Dad would answer and I'd say, "it's just me." He'd laugh and crow, "HIIIIIII Just!" 

I'm just me. You're just you. We can only each be just ourselves. 

But we're priceless, one of a kind, each a masterpiece.

If you feel like you're under attack, you probably are. Because no matter how you FEEL, you matter to someone. Make it a capital S if you want to- you also matter to Someone. That baby in the manger is for you. And me. And him and her and them and they and those. 

(Mr. Woods just yeet his green pen in annoyance and sloped off to get a warm up for his coffee cup. Maybe coffee doesn't get cold in the afterlife. I guess we'll all find out.)

And if you've figured out you are under attack, don't just stay there. Call for reinforcements! That can look all kinds of different. Sometimes just getting out of your house can make a difference, even if it's frigid, yes, even with a baby. Hearing the voice of a friend instead of the usual texts. Using the "good" dishes. Wearing the fancy clothes. We are quick to splurge on others in this season, but you are hereby allowed to splurge on yourself, whoever was waiting around for permission. It can be little things, but YOU are special, you are worth it, you need to take care of yourself so you can continue loving on/serving/standing in the gap for those around you. We need you. 

We are heading into the "long dark of Moria" winter, but be of good cheer- the days are already getting longer and the light will be returning. Breathe deep, my friends; you are loved, a New Year is coming, and Christmas is here! 

Despite life's hiccups, and because of them, they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

 

Check in

 Just checking in. How's everybody doing in the relentless lead up to Christmas? Those of you missing loved ones due to distance or the afterlife, are you doing okay? Text if you need to talk. I'm here. Church workers, do you have the support you need? We appreciate all you're doing to get ready for Christmas; thank you. Teachers, you hanging in there? I've been hearing varying descriptions of the classroom craziness and am praying for all of you heroes, haha! You can do it. Just a few more days. Keep breathing!

Another reason to celebrate: I am officially done with my Red Devil side of chemo! My doc said all my blood cell numbers were good to go, told me I looked wonderful, asked if I was up for it, and I declared, "let's get it over with!" I had a good day with my Zita- thanks, babe! Hooray for another thing crossed off the list. Whew! It has been a YEAR of ridiculousness, no doubt. And as for 2025...

My next appointment will be in January when my Taxol treatments kick off. Doc claims that one will be easier all around though I should expect neuropathy in my hands and feet for a few days after each treatment. Always some new wrinkle to add to the learning curve. We'll see how that goes. Right now, I'll just be over here pumping myself full of water and salad to keep things flushing out and moving along and doing small things as I can accomplish them. Looking forward to Thing Three's holiday concert, I have a visit with my plastics doc and PT this week, and otherwise it's real life and Christmas prep. 

Hang in there, everybody. Be safe, stay off the egg nog, sneak a cookie when nobody's looking, and take care of yourselves, not just everyone else. You're allowed naps. You're allowed coffee with a friend out of the house. You're allowed to decorate the tree with every ornament you own or just leave it lights only if that makes you happy! Go for a walk if the temps and the ice aren't intimidating. Play the Christmas carols or blast you own favorites. Have a bubble bath- when was the last time you had one? The only thing in our tub is spiders... it is sadly neglected and I may need to have a date with it after evicting the small predators since NOT all drains lead to the ocean...

My point is, the year is rapidly drawing to a close. I know you parents with kids at home are overwhelmed and everyone is counting down the days for school to be done for awhile. Wash those hands and eat real food and remember to hydrate. Breathe. You are all so loved. Enjoy your holidays the best that you can and don't stress about perfection. Be merry and bright! xoxoxxo

Apparently I get bossy when I'm itchy

 There's a great line by Dr. Seuss in his board book version, I think, of his alphabet book. In the regular version for the letter "I" it says something like "Ichabod is itchy... and so am I" but the board book is smaller (and more easy to chew on as a small child) so the words are condensed to "itchy, itchy Ichabod... i i i" 

Man, I'm feelin' ya, buddy. 

We've used that phrase over bug bites and occasional rounds with poison ivy for years, but it's most of what I've been trying to not think about today. I am fairly sure that all of the weird dyes, meds, adhesives and cleansers have united against me on my right side from my neck to about my belly button and I am ITCHY, ITCHY ICHABOD, all right! I have tiny bumps all over my skin on my right arm and front of my torso, and I'm having flashbacks to when I was a kid in the summertime who had been graciously given a case of chicken pox (thanks a lot for sharing, Hinrew). My Dad kept telling me to not scratch as I chilled on a sheet-covered couch because it would scar. I vividly remember musing, "nobody will ever see my scalp" so I scratched away, intensely, without too much relief, and pulled scabs out of my hair. Imagine my astonishment and bemusement when I heard I'd lose my hair during chemo! Whoops. Guess people are gonna see my scalp after all!

I survived. 

I also survived my 10 day late period this month. It should have arrived around the 6th. It waited until two days before surgery, the 16th. So that cloud of piratey talk you heard but couldn't quite identify the source of? Yeah, that was me. I told a friend there weren't going to be any F bombs left for the rest of the world's conversations because I was using them ALL. The nurses laughed when I told them, soothed me, and said it happens more often than you think. The stress of whatever is upcoming holds it off... until it can't anymore. I lived to tell the tale. 

And since I know some of you are like, "waiiiiit..." YES, chemo does mess all that up too. For awhile there were none, which was splendid, let me tell you, and then they came back more or less regularly. Sometimes it skipped. Sometimes it's early. Always it's a pain. 

Years ago, I dragged a friend of mine to the talk for parents that schools give before they give the "our bodies are changing" talk to the students. We all watched the video and at one point, I kid you not, it was stated that, "soon, your period will become such a normal part of your routine that you won't even notice it." As every woman's jaw dropped, the driest voice I've ever heard interjected from somewhere in that accumulation of parents and it pronounced, "LIAR."

After everyone present got control of themselves, my girlfriend and I mused about how hilarious that was, how inaccurate it was, and how the students who were about to be seeing the video might take that as gospel and have NO IDEA THAT IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY. 

Never have I planned an overnight stay, a vacation, a camp out, anything, without considering when and if Aunt Flo would decide to grace us with her presence. Are you even kidding me? You'll never even notice?! Like your gang won't notice that you're crabby from PMS and need to stand back and toss chocolate to you? That your clothes don't fit right? That your skin and hair get more oily? That you generally feel crummy? And that it's about to become more fun and games? Ugh. Seriously, people, tell the truth!

You will notice. It might suck. I survived. So will they. So will you. Life won't stop, not for a period, not for the loss of a job, not for the loss of a loved one, not for a natural disaster. You're going to have to keep going even when you think you can't. 

All of you facing down a hurricane, physically or otherwise, do what you can with your prep work, keep in touch with your village, and know you are not alone. When things are stable, help those whose world has been rocked. If you need ideas, look to my tribe- they are excellent at this! You don't have to be strong ALL THE TIME, so take your turn when it is your turn, and let others help when you can't. Go meet your neighbors- bring their empty trash cans back from the curb for them- and they might turn into friends. Leave a few minutes early so you DO have time to stop to check on the friend whose home you drive by on your regular outings. Love hard. Use your gifts. You are needed!

You are loved. Don't forget it.

Now I'll go find my Benadryl. And my bite sticks.

Love, Ichabod