Lemon Meringue Pie, a Tagalong and Amazing Friends
The girls and I rode our bikes up to Safeway today to get some groceries. We stopped by the bike shop to see about a basket. I didn't buy yet. It was a boring black color, and Mak said she knows where I can find a properly geeky one, so I think I'll wait. Clark put together a contraption on the back of his bike--the tag-a-long, upon which is mounted Eliza's baby seat. So managed, barely, wobbling along, with Kate and Emily trailing behind. It was fun, shopping for the ingredients for lemon meringue pie--inspiration provided by Amelia Bedelia, of course.
So this afternoon Kathy and Lily and Sophie came over and we all made pie. Thank God Kathy was here--lemon meringue pie, with children, is really a two-adult process--be forewarned. And, Kathy is so smart--she uses words like "attrition" and "ancillary" in one conversation. And she's pretty. And so funny. I love her. The pies turned out delicious, and I felt like supermom. My friend Charlotte visited this afternoon, and remarked to Kay, who is a former chemo nurse and had come to give me some extra tips for tolerating chemo, that I'm such an amazing mother, doing such things with my kids. I laughed and said, "Oh, if you only knew--I do amazing things once every six months or so and advertise them widely. The rest of the time, I don't do much of anything, which is why you never hear from me the rest of the time." It's true. Ask Kyndra. She knows. So lemon meringue pie better have mileage for the whole summer.
Tonight, Eliza Brock came by; she was 27 when she found out she had breast cancer, with three kids 3 and under. She and I talked for a long time last night, and tonight she dropped off an entire "chemo bag" full of things that will help make this process more bearable. It was incredibly empowering to be able to see someone who has survived this hell and come out with enough energy to assemble such a thoughtful gift for a near stranger about to go through it herself. Thank you so much, Eliza. While I'm not happy for the reason for our having met, I'm so glad we've met anyway. It's a strange sisterhood.
Tomorrow I go in for my port placement (in my arm) and a bone biopsy. Clark and I will spend the night in Denver while the girls come up and stay the night here with my in-laws. Thursday I'll start my first round of chemo around 9am. It will be about 5 hours, they say. I don't know what to expect yet. I'm sure I'll know more soon.
Wayne and I talked about the lack of understanding that goes along with this, and, as is per my newer normal as defined by the last several years, I feel more comfortable living in the gray of not knowing than clinging desperately to something that I think I know. Maybe my own "solid rock" is a place of nuance and embracing the inevitable uncertainty that defines our days. Life is surely precious, but living awake within that reality isn't always as simple as a marquee on a church bulletin board. May we all be given the grace to stay awake for longer and longer durations, and have the eyes to see the eternal in today. Amen.
So this afternoon Kathy and Lily and Sophie came over and we all made pie. Thank God Kathy was here--lemon meringue pie, with children, is really a two-adult process--be forewarned. And, Kathy is so smart--she uses words like "attrition" and "ancillary" in one conversation. And she's pretty. And so funny. I love her. The pies turned out delicious, and I felt like supermom. My friend Charlotte visited this afternoon, and remarked to Kay, who is a former chemo nurse and had come to give me some extra tips for tolerating chemo, that I'm such an amazing mother, doing such things with my kids. I laughed and said, "Oh, if you only knew--I do amazing things once every six months or so and advertise them widely. The rest of the time, I don't do much of anything, which is why you never hear from me the rest of the time." It's true. Ask Kyndra. She knows. So lemon meringue pie better have mileage for the whole summer.
Tonight, Eliza Brock came by; she was 27 when she found out she had breast cancer, with three kids 3 and under. She and I talked for a long time last night, and tonight she dropped off an entire "chemo bag" full of things that will help make this process more bearable. It was incredibly empowering to be able to see someone who has survived this hell and come out with enough energy to assemble such a thoughtful gift for a near stranger about to go through it herself. Thank you so much, Eliza. While I'm not happy for the reason for our having met, I'm so glad we've met anyway. It's a strange sisterhood.
Tomorrow I go in for my port placement (in my arm) and a bone biopsy. Clark and I will spend the night in Denver while the girls come up and stay the night here with my in-laws. Thursday I'll start my first round of chemo around 9am. It will be about 5 hours, they say. I don't know what to expect yet. I'm sure I'll know more soon.
Wayne and I talked about the lack of understanding that goes along with this, and, as is per my newer normal as defined by the last several years, I feel more comfortable living in the gray of not knowing than clinging desperately to something that I think I know. Maybe my own "solid rock" is a place of nuance and embracing the inevitable uncertainty that defines our days. Life is surely precious, but living awake within that reality isn't always as simple as a marquee on a church bulletin board. May we all be given the grace to stay awake for longer and longer durations, and have the eyes to see the eternal in today. Amen.
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