Happiness is no wi-fi, cell phone coverage or doorbells
We just got back from four days of heaven. Kyndra (she's my favorite, Mak sang out loudly at the Rio) had booked a week at her family's ranch in Gypsum (outside of Vail) awhile back, and, following a tradition we started two years ago, where we schlep everyone up to play and lounge and eat and relax, we decided this was the perfect time to go.
When we arrived, I kept noticing Jordan Kyndra's 3-year-old, looking at me. I've been rather remiss in hair styling lately, due mostly to laziness, so I had thrown my hair into one of the girls hair bands, which is to say, a pimped out hair band, and finally Jordan, said, "You look like a present, Auntie Heather." At first I thought she was being wise, but then Kyndra had to go and point out the fact that my head looked as though it was sprouting pink sparklers.
It's gorgeous up there right now, the late-lasting spring rendering everything green and Ireland-like. The kitchen and dining room windows overlook a hay field, where the horses gallop back and forth and deer wander through. The girls stand at the window with the binoculars the wrong way and say, "They're so far away!" It's hilarious. We have all come to love the ranch, which is how it's referred to now. In the front yard a rope swing hangs from a swarthy aspen and they swing to their hearts content. There's also an ancient two-seated swing on the patio, the seats facing one another, that serves as a "train" for more imagination games than you can possibly fathom, particularly for my children, who have been adequately ignored in their young lives so as to develop keen, vivid imaginations.
We went on long bike rides, took the kids to the very cool rec center pool (it has a lazy river--what's not to love about that?), went on walks, and basically lounged around. I very nearly forgot I have cancer, and that, according to one of my previous posts, is miracle. Also Kathy Busse wrote me a breathlessly beautiful email about the gift of being able to forget, if even for a moment: "Yet we get up, we work and play and forget...this in itself is sometimes that greatest reward. That we can sometimes hide from the reality of mortality." Indeed.
This week was a perpetual exercise in forgetting. It was so therapeutic to not have anywhere to be or any phone calls to make or schedules to facilitate. Honestly, having cancer requires so much scheduling. I think only very organized, very type A people should be allowed to get cancer (don't get your panties in a twist--I don't want anyone to get cancer, I'm just saying) because those of us who are say, prone to forgetting appointments or being perpetually distracted, well it just really puts a cramp in our style to have to find child care when we're used to doing everything with our children in tow, thank you very much.
Blah, blah. It's late, so I need to end. I go to round three of chemo tomorrow, followed by a "week" off, though I'm starting my second phase (I'm at a loss as to how to classify these treatments--is each individual one called a "heat" and the bulk called the "set?" I'm mixing sports metaphors here. WHERE'S MY PATIENT ADVOCATE, dammit?) At any rate, I start my second batch early, on the 30th, so as to accommodate our pre-fourth of July camping plans.
Oh, and somebody sure as hell better nominate me for that pink thing Eliza posted about. It's not enough to have my neighbors cleaning my house, people bringing amazing meals and lunch fixings, friends buying me fancy laptops and printer/copier/faxer/blender combinations--I need a spa day on top of it. If I'm gonna have cancer, I ought to be greedy while I'm at it. Or else what's the use? Last week, a nurse gave me a pink backpack and blanket put out by Herceptin, one of my drugs. When I responded, "Wa-hoo, cancer pays," she rolled her eyes and said, "I don't think so." If she only knew........ If Tiger thought he had mega endorsements, he ain't seen nothing yet. I've got a kick-ass blog and funny friends. All he has is Nike.
When we arrived, I kept noticing Jordan Kyndra's 3-year-old, looking at me. I've been rather remiss in hair styling lately, due mostly to laziness, so I had thrown my hair into one of the girls hair bands, which is to say, a pimped out hair band, and finally Jordan, said, "You look like a present, Auntie Heather." At first I thought she was being wise, but then Kyndra had to go and point out the fact that my head looked as though it was sprouting pink sparklers.
It's gorgeous up there right now, the late-lasting spring rendering everything green and Ireland-like. The kitchen and dining room windows overlook a hay field, where the horses gallop back and forth and deer wander through. The girls stand at the window with the binoculars the wrong way and say, "They're so far away!" It's hilarious. We have all come to love the ranch, which is how it's referred to now. In the front yard a rope swing hangs from a swarthy aspen and they swing to their hearts content. There's also an ancient two-seated swing on the patio, the seats facing one another, that serves as a "train" for more imagination games than you can possibly fathom, particularly for my children, who have been adequately ignored in their young lives so as to develop keen, vivid imaginations.
We went on long bike rides, took the kids to the very cool rec center pool (it has a lazy river--what's not to love about that?), went on walks, and basically lounged around. I very nearly forgot I have cancer, and that, according to one of my previous posts, is miracle. Also Kathy Busse wrote me a breathlessly beautiful email about the gift of being able to forget, if even for a moment: "Yet we get up, we work and play and forget...this in itself is sometimes that greatest reward. That we can sometimes hide from the reality of mortality." Indeed.
This week was a perpetual exercise in forgetting. It was so therapeutic to not have anywhere to be or any phone calls to make or schedules to facilitate. Honestly, having cancer requires so much scheduling. I think only very organized, very type A people should be allowed to get cancer (don't get your panties in a twist--I don't want anyone to get cancer, I'm just saying) because those of us who are say, prone to forgetting appointments or being perpetually distracted, well it just really puts a cramp in our style to have to find child care when we're used to doing everything with our children in tow, thank you very much.
Blah, blah. It's late, so I need to end. I go to round three of chemo tomorrow, followed by a "week" off, though I'm starting my second phase (I'm at a loss as to how to classify these treatments--is each individual one called a "heat" and the bulk called the "set?" I'm mixing sports metaphors here. WHERE'S MY PATIENT ADVOCATE, dammit?) At any rate, I start my second batch early, on the 30th, so as to accommodate our pre-fourth of July camping plans.
Oh, and somebody sure as hell better nominate me for that pink thing Eliza posted about. It's not enough to have my neighbors cleaning my house, people bringing amazing meals and lunch fixings, friends buying me fancy laptops and printer/copier/faxer/blender combinations--I need a spa day on top of it. If I'm gonna have cancer, I ought to be greedy while I'm at it. Or else what's the use? Last week, a nurse gave me a pink backpack and blanket put out by Herceptin, one of my drugs. When I responded, "Wa-hoo, cancer pays," she rolled her eyes and said, "I don't think so." If she only knew........ If Tiger thought he had mega endorsements, he ain't seen nothing yet. I've got a kick-ass blog and funny friends. All he has is Nike.
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