I found myself this afternoon in a melancholy mood. I found The Wonder Years on Hulu and watched the first episode. In the first episode, Kevin Arnold starts his first day of Junior High. Winnie loses her brother to the Vietnam War. I wanted to cry. I had seen this episode at least a dozen times. It hit me differently today as I could see the loss of innocence in the death of her brother. I felt like innocence in today’s society has long been dead. When AI calls and threatens an elementary school on the first day, it’s a sad state of affairs, which we Demopolites all know too well from last week.
In these moods, I find myself yearning for a simpler time, pre-Columbine High School. I long for my children to grow up in the same world. Alas, when the towers came down in 2001 and the iPhone was created in 2007, there was no turning back.
I found myself ripping down old shingles off our shed that I’ve been wanting to knock down today. The only problem is I am a 5 feet 1 inch tall, 40-year-old woman who has no business ripping away at an old shed. With each swing and whack of the hammer, I released some frustrations out Twanda style. I am not sure why I get into such a state of unrest. I believe it’s genetically passed down from my grandmother, through my father, and to me.
Maybe it’s the anticipation of the next round of shots and visit to see the oncologist that has my mind in a mood. Perhaps it’s the menopause I was put in at 36. I’m not sure. I’ll get out of this funk. I talk to God about it. He knows already.
For now, I’ll reminisce, dive into writing, or into a book. I’ll miss the sense of wonder that existed so long ago. I might cry, laugh, and smile, or do all three. I’ll hug my boys, protect them a little longer. I’ll do what Paul said and let it be.
I didn’t know what a straightener was until 2005. I moved into the sorority house in the fall of my junior year. I bought one and have been using one ever since. Gasp, that means I survived Rush with just a blow dryer. Aw, the inhumanity of it all! Living in the sorority house meant sharing a room with a roommate that contained your clothes, computer, personal belongings, and sleeping in a sleeping porch (basically a room with nothing but beds). The bathroom had multiple showers and sinks. We watched a lot of Sex in the City in those days in the sorority house from DVDs borrowed from a sister. All of a sudden, the guys I dated got nicknames like Carrie’s men. Once upon there was a “John” and another time a “Bartender”. Real names were not used to protect the guilty. I didn’t call long distance until after 9 PM when it was free. There wasn’t much texting, and Facebook was only available if you had an @bama.ua.edu or any other college address. You weren’t checking Facebook on your phone because it was probably a flip phone, a crackberry (my favorite), or a Razor. Pictures were blurry at best on your phone, and no one was posting their life story online- only a bunch of “poking” and writing on people’s walls. I miss old Facebook- no politics, just college fun.
Going out meant jeans and/or jeans skirt with a spaghetti-strap shirt, think The Hills from MTV. Game days meant cocktail dresses with heels, with flip flops in tow. We frequented the original Houndstooth, then the Red Shed when it came into town, the Booth, Venue, and, as freshmen, the Jupiter and 4th and 23rd. Wednesdays after chapter meant half wine and pizza downtown at Cafe Venice. Thursday nights were for El Rincon. One margarita would kick your tail. Some weekends, you went to Harry’s for a crazy bucket or to Nick’s in the Sticks for a Nicodemus and an $8 filet.
The Fall was the best time of the year at UA, even in the pre-Saban era of many coaches named Mike. You went to the game- you wanted to be there- win or lose. It didn’t matter. Homecoming pomps actually covered the front of your house and not some small side piece. You worked stuffing those holes in that chicken wire like your life depended on it as freshmen. Being an overall winner in Homecoming was a big deal in my sorority. We lost one year to another sorority and were mad. All I can say is that particular sorority had a ringer- daughter of the legendary Joe Namath; he rode on their damn float. All we could do to console ourselves (which was petty) was to say she looked like Joe, and that provided some type of solace. I apologize, Joe, and to your daughter. I cannot be held responsible for my 19-year-old self.
Formals meant Zaps and decorating a cooler and/or cup for your date and you. Pregaming happened before the bus, on the bus, and most of us slept on the way back. Chants at parties between classes were a thing.. Here’s to the Seniors, the Seniors in hopes we get laid! We were classy.
I met some of my closest friends back in those days, and I still talk to them today. Every time I do, I am transported back to Dixie Land Delight, Sweet Home Alabama, and Sweet Caroline. I am walking down sorority row, headed to class, at a bar with friends, or eating at Buffalo Phil’s because they take dining dollars. I am yelling “Roll Tide!” praying for a win and singing “Yea! Alabama!” I am eating at the Crimson Cafe (dining dollars), City Cafe, or the Waysider. I am dreading standing on a chair trying to clap in time with a dress on and doing a damn door song. I’m learning from my favorite professors in my favorite program in HES.
I’ll never forget my time at the University of Alabama. I’m grateful for that experience, and as the days count down to the Fall, I will remember a time and a place. I’ll smile. I’ll text my friends from those days. I’ll thank God for them. Roll Tide and yea, Alabama!
I first want to thank everyone for their thoughts and prayers during my 2nd cancer battle. I will be forever grateful, more than I can express or put into words, without fighting back tears. Thank you, thank you!
Fighting cancer requires a sense of humor and a sense of humility. I find ways to laugh throughout treatments and look for the brighter side of cancer. Just as I try to share the hard parts of my journey, I vow to also share some funny moments, beginning with my first two injections.
The first two injections were performed by two nurses, one on each side of, um, how shall I say, my backside. They sprayed to numb the area and administered the doses at the same time. It takes a literal minute for the medicine to go in. I found myself staring at the chair, wondering what type of conversation I should have while they administered the shots. “Should I ask about the weather?” “How did they meet their significant other?” “Do they have kids?” “Does it look okay back there?” “Are we now all dating as this has to be at least 2nd base?” I can only hope that I get the same nurses next time, as maybe this could be some kind of weird bonding thing.
Earlier in the day, as we prepared to go into the elevator at the Kirklin Clinic, a gentleman sped out of the elevator on a scooter that was surprisingly faster than any I had ever seen. Questions entered my mind- “Does he need a license to drive that thing?”Did he rig it to go that fast?” “Where can I get one?” I mentioned the scooter to another elevator passenger, and she said, “Well, sh*t, my mother would have gone too fast on one of those.”
The day continued to be interesting while waiting for the aforementioned injections. A lady stood up and commanded the audience in the waiting room adjacent to mine. She said, “Good morning” with a strong declaration that commanded the audience to respond back strongly, “Good morning.” Then, she delivered one of the most eloquent sermons I’ve heard- short but sweet. “There are people who wish they could be where you are; do not give up. You are going to be okay.” Now this was not verbatim, but you get the idea. The waiting room and I were lifted from her short sermon. I was reminded that God can use anyone to deliver his messages and Testimony.
Cancer has forced me to consider my diet and to exercise more frequently. Quite frankly, something I should have always been doing, but sometimes it takes a diagnosis to force my hand.
I started taking my medication this week as well, with no side effects, a blessing. My prayer is that it works in halting the growth and spread of my cancer. I pray for strength and focus, not letting my mind go down the wrong path. I pray for patience and understanding. I pray to use this journey in hopes of helping others. I pray for a continued sense of humor and to laugh even when it’s easier to cry.
When I started blogging about my journey, it was in 2021, and I had just joined the “C” club. Now, with my 2nd invitation to the club, I declare myself Madam President.
I’m too old to be young and too young to be old. – Evelyn Couch
No truer words have ever spoken about turning 40. My sister surprised me with a trip to the holy grail (mecca) for southern women – the set of Fried Green Tomatoes in Juliette, Georgia.
Despite the cafe not being open, we enjoyed the shops and finding the grave of Frank Bennett; the secret was in the sauce.
My best friend Leslie made the journey with us to the Holy Land. I’ve been obsessed with this movie since I was a kid and now relate to Evelyn Couch more than eva (pronounce with a strong southern accent). I can only hope I can channel Tawanda when needed.
We purchased various keepsakes.
Leslie purchased three teacups for each of us, and in a moment, it felt like a silent promise, a teacup promise. A promise of love and support for each other always with no words, just a small gesture.
I found out what the secret to life is: friends. Best friends – Ninny Threadgoode
Well, Ninny was right, and here I was with the two of the best, a sister and a friend that is practically a sister.
The evening festivities continued with an Uber experience I’ll never forget – driverless. We ain’t got any of those where we hail from. Waymo, as the vehicle was called, was even buckled. Hilarity is only the way to describe that car ride.
The evening concluded with a night of the blues. I watched as the guitarist’s fingers bent the hell of his guitar strings. I closed my eyes is what I do when I am consciously taking in the moment.
Peace, I felt at peace with all that’s been going on health wise.
I watched my sister and my friend and thanked God for these moments. No matter what happens down the road, I won’t eva forget this weekend.
I agree with Ruth as I had never had so much fun in my whole life and that this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.
One, two, three, four, and how many centimeters are each? What does a centimeter look like? Damn. Why can’t they just use inches? I’ve never been a big fan of math (your dad is a math teacher). Thoughts swirl around in my head like a tennis match —the thoughts are the tennis balls. In which is this located?
Two recent CT scans with contrast show some possible signs of recurrence of cancer; one area being my lungs. I’ve been using Chat GPT to read my reports; ironically, its explanation is more human-like, and the radiology report seems more AI.
I was skipping down the yellow brick road again, and now I’ve veered off back into the dark forest. I thought we had killed this wicked witch; I thought the broomstick was in my hand.
My first DNA test was done on Thursday, and in ten days, it will show whether or not the cancer is back. It is referred to as ctDNA. I also have a pending date for a biopsy. The issue is the tissue. So, I’m chasing the rabbit back into Wonderland, so to speak, with peak highs – “I’ve got this!” to “Is this it?” Satan takes pleasure in the unknown, so I busy myself at work and home, but at night, the tennis match starts over.
I know that my mind and faith are my biggest weapons. I deploy them as often as I can. I am only human, so it waxes and wanes. 40 stares down the road next week with many, many questions. Hopefully, answers will come soon, but until then, I choose to live and rise up despite the uncertainty, fear, and fatigue (the kind that comes with dread).
I hesitated to share this time for some reason. It feels like I have to confess that I failed. However, it’s not that I have failed (I repeat over and over again). God gives us all battles. This is my battle.
We don’t know what we don’t know. I pray it’s not cancer. I accept that it is probably cancer. I call out to my lion, tin-man, scarecrow, and Toto. They, without hesitation, join me to find the yellow brick road again and prepare for battle again. I can’t do this alone. I dust off my ruby slippers. I let the rabbit run away as answers will come soon enough. I rise up (and I will continue).
A mother is our first shield and protector as she cares for us in the womb. She is the first voice we hear. Later, as we enter the world, she becomes a source of food and comfort. She is the first song we hear as she rocks us to sleep.
As we grow bigger, she is a teacher and encourager. She’s our biggest fan.
Through those wonder years of young adolescence, she teaches us how to express ourselves within boundaries and to be friends with all walks of life. My mother supported me during my bell-bottom, knee-sock wearing phase in middle school and taught me that to have friends, I had to be a friend (and not just with one particular group of people). She taught me how to stand up for myself. My mother is and was classy in how she approached people who were not so kind to me in those years. To be fair, kids at this age are trying to find themselves and sometimes that can be at the expense of others (doesn’t justify actions, but it happens). She didn’t run and call their parents. She taught me the value of loving myself for who I was. I had the choice in how to respond to negativity, and I was to be the bigger person. She also taught me how to dance in our den to a record player and not to take myself so seriously.
Later in high school, as I began to grow my wings, she supported me traveling through DECA trips. A mother prepares her nest for independence through tears and fear. She encouraged me in college to take a job in a field I was getting a major in, as I would know for sure that’s what I wanted to do. Mothers are wise.
When life has its disappointments (as they tend to do), a mother hurts as much or more than we do. If we so happen to face a scary diagnosis, a mother is there to be a support, even if it scares the hell out of them. My mother was at almost every chemo treatment of mine. I can only imagine how she felt at the time. Mothers put on a brave face for us and push us onward.
Mothers become our best friends- as I know mine is. They become the person’s voice we long to hear during the day and the hug we need at the end of the day, even as grown women. We find that we are more like them than we ever imagined as teenagers. I am blessed to call mine every day and see her as often and as much as I like.
Then, one day, we gain a mother-in-law, and she becomes a bonus mom of sorts. She welcomes you into her family with open arms and makes you feel a part. If you are so blessed as I am, she too becomes a friend. She teaches you as well and supports you.
If you so choose, you may become a mother (adopted or birth). It’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received-these two boys of mine. As I write this, tears well up in my eyes. I will try to be the mother I have (though I am not even close). You will never experience so much joy, happiness, fear, and pain as being a mother but yet someone you know God has chosen you to do the greatest honor.
Thank God for mothers (thank you for allowing me to be one).
A wise man once said (my father), “In our attempt to be different, we end up being the same as everyone else.” Those words have been rolling around in my brain all weekend. He said he, too, was a follower of sorts, but I beg to differ. I have always admired both my mom and him as I felt they were different- a good sort of different.
I question myself and wonder if I am authentic, and wonder if we really end up who we were meant to be. Or is it a constant movement in chipping away until the end? I should have all this stuff and myself figured out by now. I’ll be 40 in June, but some days I think I do, and sometimes I don’t.
I have always admired those who had a different beat in their head than the rest of us. They don’t seem to compare themselves to others and don’t care if what they choose to do is the next best thing. In a world of Pinterest Boards, Instagram, and social media for that matter, we now can compare ourselves 24 hours if we so choose to others across the globe. I argue that this is not healthy, or if in volume, rather. Yes, it’s good to get ideas- that’s how this world works, but losing yourself (a high price) is not worth it.
I am not sure what the point of my rambling is. I think I am trying to convince myself that I am authentic, but a silent voice within says, “Are you sure?” and I think, “No, I’m really not sure.” I just know I am trying, and I do generally care for people, about people. I want them to see me as someone who tries and fails.
I watched a movie last night- White Bird, and it really touched me. A family chose to hide a Jewish girl during World War II. It had me wondering- would I do the same, or would I be a follower of something that turned into something terrible, an atrocity? I’d like to think I would protect the least of these, but in a moment to protect my own, would I?
I have no resolution to tie this up in a neat little bow. We are simply humans, and humans are not perfect. I will keep trying and failing. I will do what my parents have taught me to do: love others, do not judge, think, and seek the truth. I think that’s all there really is in the end. The Beatles were right: “All you need is love.”
Photo Cred: Anderson Coplin – I once had my nieces put makeup on me, and he didn’t like it. This picture is how he sees me- no makeup and just his mom.
After 3 ski lessons and 2 wipe outs this year at Solitude, here are some things I’ve learned:
-You are running your own race. Someone is always going to be better and someone is behind you. Be okay with improving yourself and not making comparisons.
-It’s okay to push yourself into something that is uncomfortable. That is called growth. It’s not supposed to be easy.
-At the same token, know yourself and your limits. Pushing yourself too hard will cause hurt and pain.
-Be willing to learn from others of all ages. It’s fascinating to meet people from all walks of earth and how they view the world. It doesn’t mean you will agree on everything.
-Being someone’s cheerleader is equally or more rewarding.
-Relax. This is the hardest part for me. I’ve always been my own worst enemy.
-Stop and look around. What God has created is truly amazing and breathtaking.
-Finally, and most important, don’t take yourself too seriously and it’s okay to laugh at yourself. I encourage it. I encourage it daily.
Fact the only thing that ever killed my chin hairs (yes, plural) was chemo. When I finished chemo, they sprouted back as if it were springtime and they had received fertilizer. Ugh!
I glanced in the mirror and began to see age spots from many summers on the ball field, tennis courts, and the DA pool. I applied my Pond’a cream, as I had watched my grandmother so many times.
I stepped on the scale and well, let’s just say it, and I don’t agree very often these days.
I jump on my stationary bike and then later eat bread like I’m magically going to lose the pounds. Lol
I’m realizing I’m the one who will need to make the changes if I want to see the changes.
The chin hair, well, that’s a case by case basis, and I’ll need to add tweezers to my car. Why is that the best mirror and a reminder when in car line?!
Yes, I know, give up the carbs or minimize. There are pricey facials to minimize age spots but that’s just it – minimize.
We know these things, but it’s so hard sometimes to make changes.
So, I will change some habits for my own health (not completely, if I’m honest), pluck the chin hair, and apply Pond’s cream. And I’ll also embrace these things as it means I’m aging – a blessing.
40 arrives in June. I’ll greet her with a high five, turn on some 90’s grunge, and be thankful. I’m not scared of her because she is me but like fine wine- aged and seasoned- she is alive.
The Peach 