Birthdays, Family, Food, hope, Sunshine, Travel, Uncategorized

Up With The Sun

Never once have I regretted waking up early to see the sun rise. It’s your own private preview to the day before the world begins to stir, your chance to discover what awe, sparkle, brightness and hope look like. Sometimes there’s a dramatic sky previewing the show, other times, a cloud cover has settled in so thick you’re certain you won’t see anything. Once, years ago, I walked away from waiting on a sunrise to begin, assuming I’d either woken up too late and missed the show, or there was no show at all, since the clouds wouldn’t let the sun out, only to turn around to find a giant orange ball had risen, tiptoeing in just when I’d stopped watching. Today’s clouds parted and presented us with a shimmering gold nugget, actively stretching and spreading its molten wonder. Everyone quietly found their seats – some on yoga mats in the sand, others climbing on overturned chaises, some standing still, reverent and expectant – each of us humbled and respectful, talking in hushed tones. 

The hot glittery gold began to spread out and thin yellow rays extended across the sky, reaching out to each of us there looking up. It’s real, these golden tentacles which stretch from the center. They’re like the sunshines I used to draw as a little girl, when I’d carefully select colors from my Crayola box: orange, yellow-orange, orange-yellow, goldenrod, yellow, lemon yellow and gold, and if you were lucky enough to be coloring in 1972 as I was, you had access to the new fluorescent Crayola collection debuting that year, adding chartreuse and ultra yellow along with other colors to the mix. Those rays aren’t just in a child’s imagination, they are real – real enough for an iPhone to capture and so much more engaging in person than in any stock photos or inspirational motifs. They’re as real as those smoke curls I used to draw which spiraled out of the chimney of my house.

As the performance heightened, seagulls circled, perfectly picturesque and swooping into every frame. The sun broke out of its gold shell and rose up quickly, spreading a bright yellow haze all around. The crowd then shifted and scattered, and we moved on into the day, filled up from the performance, and my sister and I agreeing it was well worth setting the alarm. The show would resume tomorrow, but by then, we’d be back home in different cities, returning to the less interesting routines we’d left.

Afterward we went for coffee at a large Starbucks nearby. From our table outside, we watched lots of people – singles, couples, joggers and partners with their dogs – and talked for hours, a pair of sisters full on conversation, caffeine and celebration from this rare birthday getaway. This week she turned sixty, my warm, beautiful slender, forever-young sister, and me, just two years behind. For four days, we walked, sunned, swam and shelled. Lizards darted across our paths, a pair of parakeets flew overhead, pigeons cooed nesting on the hotel’s roof, and a bright green iguana even appeared, jumping in our pool for a quick swim across.


The four of us – my sister, her daughter, my husband and I – got along well, and it was easy making plans from our rooms directly across the hall from one other. Nearly identical, one room felt like a girls’ dorm with The Food Network on TV running in the background, bikinis hanging out to dry and no shortage of chatter. The other doubled as a couple’s room and workplace, since Joe needed to dedicate time each day connecting with his office. The rental car stayed parked throughout our stay and we instead explored the area on foot – past successions of royal palms in street medians, pastel Art Deco buildings, stark Miami-hot streets, Cuban sandwich shops and stylish cafes with lush outdoor seating. 

We discovered a quieter beach away from the center of things and sprung for chaises with umbrellas, a first for each of us. Accustomed to hauling beach umbrellas from home, we’d typically find ourselves frustrated from their tilting or pulling up out of the sand and blowing down the beach, leaving us little choice but to bake in the sun or else call it a day. Esteban’s, our beach chair place, set us up, their drill boring a perfect narrow hole in the sand for our umbrella, creating an afternoon full of marvelous choices – sun or shade, surf or beach, walking the beach or lounging on cushioned chaises. I even fell asleep for a short while, infant-style arms overhead. Delicious. 

Meals were consistently wonderful except for dinner the first night when we got stuck in the middle of the largest, tackiest, rudest crowd we’d ever seen, who were constantly everywhere we found ourselves, blaring music and twerking, yelling, racing in cars and weaving on bikes around us. The restaurant was expensive as expected but unremarkable, feta noticeably absent from our Greek salads, canned California olives (c’mon, no Kalamata?), and tiny minced romaine, with a tasteless dressing on the side. It was loud and rushed – a sudden downpour contributing to the mood – as we all moved inside, bringing this crazy party uncomfortably closer. As we all fought fatigue from early morning flights and the rushing around you do before a getaway, this first night gave us a distasteful preview to our stay which luckily, four days in, faded like yesterday’s news. The rest of the time was quieter and what we’d been looking for and desperately needed – our soundtrack of tides, birds and our own spontaneous laughter. 

Meals were highlights and our hotel was our favorite place for good ones; it’s so easy opting to stay in when you can dine alfresco in lush outdoor rooms surrounded by tropical vegetation and cute critters minding their own business. Our hotel’s Caesar salad was a thing to behold: Crispy butter lettuce replaced romaine and bread crumbs stood in for croutons, with tiny Parmesan curls scattered all around the top, and a smidgeon of bacon, all of it minimally bound in a refreshing dressing. Grilled shrimp tacos came with soft white corn tortillas, cotija cheese, finely shredded cabbage and jalapeño mayo, another hotel homerun.A friend recommended an authentic Cuban sandwich shop, and a couple by the pool, a place for lobster rolls, so we checked out both, which were authentically delicious. 

The birthday – and reason for the trip – was full and fun. I got up early that day and slid a card under Anne’s door with a gift inside – a happier paper surprise on your floor than the usual hotel bill signaling the end of your stay, always a downer. Instead, the party was just getting started. We gathered for brunch and I brought down her bag of gifts – little nothings but each wrapped carefully with love. We got good coffees that day in lieu of the lobby’s free stuff and once more, sat outside in the early June heat. The four of us each found our thing – cappuccino, croissant, eggs and avocado toast – and reveled in it; I love how everyone gets to share in the same fun as the birthday person. 

Another beach day, more beautiful weather, and reliable Esteban’s set us up again. Red and purple flags flew like the day before, warning us of rip tides and Japanese Man ‘o War, so we lazily floated close to shore. Five o’clock brought happy hour to our hotel lobby every afternoon, and we patiently stood in line hoping the sauvignon blanc wouldn’t run out. Little clear plastic cups were stacked next to a serving tray and the hotel front desk person turned sommelier for the pour, another plastic cup set out for tips. One day there was only chardonnay and our faces fell, but I politely convinced the pourer to check in the back for more and, spared the dreaded oakiness, the party continued. 

We frequently coffeed and happy houred on our favorite patio on the side of the hotel with its snappy striped awning rolled up for evenings, revealing lovely strings of lights woven and stretching across the canopy of vegetation overhead. Lizards darted in and out of the plants surrounding us and one of them who came around every day was missing the tip of its tail.

A bizarre looking caterpillar appeared one morning as well, slowly motoring along a table top where we sat for coffee. An animal lover and learner, Hannah kept saying it might be poisonous, and a quick Google search revealed it was indeed. We had before us the puss caterpillar, a strangely beautiful creature born saddled with a horrible name. My search produced this: their wig-like hairs are actually spines that can cause intense pain, swelling, vomiting, and fever if touched, and with this, our fascination was over. Hannah held out a wooden stirrer for it to climb onto and then moved it far away into the vegetation where it leisurely dismounted and carried on.

It was during one last swim in the pool in the hours before check-out that we each admitted that we’d miss this place. I asked Anne and Hannah if at the end of a nice vacation they make little resolutions like I do, and they admitted they do. One such resolution, especially on the heels of that morning’s sunrise, was to get up earlier and notice the day when it’s its freshest and quietest. Another was to get outside and exercise more. Both ideas we carried with us as we boarded our plane for home, and even though the new season has barely begun, I think this sunny reset is firmly planted inside each of us. 

2021, Covid-19, Encouragement, hope, loss, Racism, Sadness, Sunshine, uncertainty

Half Staff or Half Full ?

I’m baking cookies, fulfilling two orders I just picked up. My Spotify’s Quiet Songs playlist is rumbling in the background with Paul Simon’s April Come She Will, Dawes’ Nothing is Wrong, and more ahead. 

Sitting at the table between batches and a CNN alert hit my phone with the headlines: Two Officers Wounded at US Capitol Attack, and a little later, Gunman Killed at US Capitol Attack, and now, 1 Officer Killed, 1 Wounded, Attacker Dead at US Capitol. Three mass shootings in less than a month, and now this, another Capitol attack. 

Earlier today I learned my old neighbor’s sweet daughter, all of 21 years, passed away. My kids grew up with her right across the street from our house, swimming in her pool (she was an expert swimmer from early on) and hanging out while the parents drank wine and talked of future neighborhood fun for the kids — pumpkin carving parties, pool parties, parties for no reason at all. A heart attack and two strokes slipped her into a coma and then a few days ago into an untimely death.

It’s a sunny day here, a nice break from all the rain of late, and I’ve been thinking of all the tears shed already this month, already this year, last year and the one before, wondering if you collected them all in a big bucket what a shiny reflection today’s sun would cast. My mind is stuck on the enormous swath of people left behind wrestling with it all, trying to sort it out, slipping into the past remembering, and fast forwarding through the pain of the present in an attempt to carve out some semblance of a future, now with a gaping hole at its center. Wives, parents, sisters and friends, all left behind in this bizarre Covid-spiked world to keep going. But there is hope. There is always hope. We have vaccines way ahead of schedule and I like to imagine grandparents hugging their kids and grandchildren after this long year of isolation. What a pure delight that costs nothing. We all crave these kind of things but some of us don’t seem to find them.

I feel like I am supposed to be learning important nuggets from this set of years. I am supposed to come out the other side that much stronger, wiser, grateful for what I have, but instead I feel sad for it all. The Asian community and the hate they’ve experienced, the families of gun violence who get to relive their pain after yet another mass shooting, and the ongoing trial over George Floyd’s death. I watched witnesses walk up to the stand and after just a few questions, break into full on sobs, flooded back to that moment, the moment when you desperately want to help but you are pushed aside, forced to feel the avoidable horrific struggle spiral beyond control. 2021 was supposed to bring with it an enormous relief.

I am appalled and ashamed of these people behaving badly and disheartened that we still haven’t seemed to learn anything. Where are the gun laws that will protect these innocent people and spare their families so much pain? I don’t see the progress I need to see. Instead I see people laughing at our First Lady who didn’t pronounce “Si se puede” right. I see bullies and social media flexing its muscle for all the wrong reasons. 

The cookies are cooling now, and there is India Arie’s I Am Light swirling through the kitchen. 

I am not the mistakes that I have made, I am not the pieces of the dream I left behind, I am not the color of my eyes, I am not the skin on the outside, I am not my age, I am not my race

My soul inside

I am a star, a piece of it all

I am light

And next, Ruth B’s Slow Fade offers up its own wisdom: 

The light has disappeared the dust has settled here. Was it always like this, cause now it’s always like this?

I’m not sure what the rest of this year has in store, but I am thinking we all have to find some light, harness it, be it.

Be well, find some sun, and if you’re vaccinated, go hug someone who could use it.

Love,

S

breast cancer, Encouragement, Family, Food, Health, self care, Sunshine

Hurry Up and Wait

IMG_7129Friday I did my big bell ringing victory lap after chemo and was feeling all high and mighty. And then Tuesday hit. Right on time after the 72 hour coverage of anti-nausea meds from Friday’s treatment. I’ve never had it hit before three days post treatment, so why now? I’ll tell you why. These nasty chemicals want you to experience every ounce of this crazy ride, and despite being on your last treatment when you’d think it’s finally time for a break, they will hold good on that promise. So Tuesday was nausea day. As in vomiting 12+ times. All day I focused on trying to feel better. Then the next day I forgot to swish and the famous chemo mouth sores you’ve probably heard about started to happen. Oh, no you don’t, and I swished multiple times and now I think I’ve staved off those from coming. It’s a crazy game where you are trying to outrun these little annoyances and get the skin you live in to stop aggravating you. You have to wait it out and let time do its thing, yet you want it over with. Good luck.

Our construction we’ve been planning for years has been on hold due to the many weeks of rain. Our cellar looks like a retention pond. We’ve picked the brick we will want surrounding the cellar and around the new fireplaces and are ready to go. Waiting on the weather and a good stretch of days that make starting up again worthwhile. We’re so ready yet must wait it out. I worry the renovation will drag on and then I laugh at my worry. We’ve started at least, haven’t we? That is huge. A truck pulled in the drive today and I thought wow, maybe they’ll work in the rain. But alas, it was the porta potty truck changing out the toilet. Still, progress with a clean toilet. Maybe the news will spread that the toilet is brand spankin’ new and we will have workers’ trucks again crowding the driveway. The sun has to come out again. It always does.

The sun has to come out again. It always does.

My son has long finished his college applications and was deferred by his first choice. He’s got another week of waiting until he knows. Big decisions. What town he will live in, will he be in state or out? All that work, the essays, the SATs the applications and then the endless waiting. I tell him just a little longer, but it’s no help. You just have to ride it out. He’s gotten several acceptances, so he has places to go, good places. But still, he is waiting for the answer he wants so he can get on with things. Time can be cruel. And so we wait.

My other son already in college in New York has applied for a post associate degree major and is waiting to hear. He worked hard and pulled together an impressive portfolio and is hopeful he can dive into this new course of study this fall. He’s plenty busy with classes and work and friends but not knowing if he’s accepted in this major is unnerving. He’s got another week until he hears. Time will tell.

FullSizeRenderIsn’t all of life a waiting game? Not much you can do really except maybe distract yourself and hope the calendar moves along, which it always does. But in between there is time with people and pets and work and play and delicious food. My sister and niece flew from Chicago to be with me during my last treatment. Such a treat to have the house full of girls and constant random conversation. We ate out and then ate leftovers and out again and more leftovers. Lingered over our morning coffee and laughed and shared and walked and shopped.

I’m waiting for the three week mark to hit when my body will no longer get another chemical blast. It must be thinking dear God, how many more days til we do this again, and I wish I could reassure it that this hell is done and it’s all about healing and strength going forward. Want to scream it to my hair follicles too who also aren’t sure what is going on. They’re still getting their weekly shampoo and holding on to the front and back of my scalp, but the sides just couldn’t fully hang in from a poorly fitting cold cap. Odd for sure, and cold when the wind blows, but under a cap it just looks like normal, albeit scant, hair.

IMG_7181In a robe for two days with my Pedialyte cocktail, I couldn’t decide today what foods would taste good. So with no planning and few groceries, I grazed. Oatmeal and banana, frozen Whole Foods bean and cheese burrito, bone broth with vegetables that the same angelic Pedialyte-delivering friend made, and then it went downhill from there. I glanced in the refrigerator door and there they were: Keebler fudge sticks. I’ll just grab one of those. What’s the harm? Then I had another. Those flesh colored chocolate dunked cream filled innocent sticks. Divine. Like I used to eat at my grandmother’s at her apartment off Peachtree Street. Always kept in the refrigerator. Later my husband came home and as I hadn’t shopped we had breakfast for dinner. He made bacon. I haven’t had a slice since November and I pinched a little off one. They were well done and cooked in the oven. Crispy, no fat, the no nitrite kind. Innocent, right? So good. Then I had a whole piece. Oh my, the food of the gods. I can’t love stuff like this but then I remembered my oncology nurse said once, if during treatment you want mac ‘n cheese, just have it. She didn’t mention what to do when the urge for fudge sticks or bacon strikes. I’ve decided no more fudge sticks and as for the bacon thing, maybe once a month I might have a slice. Surely that frequency can’t kill me? I just didn’t want to love it so much, but it was the best I’ve had. Like ever.

As I move out of self-soothing and into Friday shampooing, I hope this bizarre post chemo taste leaves my mouth and the sunshine that’s ahead will propel me back on walks and into enjoying large kale salads. I want my taste buds to really love what’s best for me and try to put the bacon and other stuff on the back burner and into the very occasional category. But you just reach for nostalgic comfort food when you are trying to feel better. I tell myself it’s ok. And so I wait to feel fully better and then once I am, radiation will begin. The calendar is indeed moving.