I’m trying to remember what the day was like that Schoolfest in 1999. I know it was hot, and I knew I felt prepared because I had my disposable camera. Ah, the sound of a disposable camera- click, wind, go- never knowing your results until CVS developed them. Damn, you asked for doubles and some didn’t turn out. It’s all a part of the gamble of your 13-year-old life.

This Schoolfest felt different from the years before, you are the tail end of your 8th grade year which means you’ll be entering the high school next year. Scary stuff! You think you’ve got it all figured out, at the moment anyways, because you remembered your hemp necklace and it pairs well with your overalls. This Schoolfest would also be one of the last moments you would get to spend with people you thought would always be around or your friend. Knowing now when I didn’t know then, I think there would be a few things I would have liked to said but I’m not sure what that would have been coming from 13-year-old me. I’d probably try to be profound and quote some lyric from a Wallflower or Bush CD that meant something to the both of us. Finding the right one would prove challenging though as I would have to look at the inside of the CD cover and that’s some tiny print!

What amazes me when I look back at my childhood and this point in time before the technology boom of 2007, is that we thought we were so “grown” but in reality, we had only begun to experience life. The summer of 1999 I learned about heartbreak for the first time as my first love moved away. Remember, there was no social media and long distance still was costly. Hot tears, hugging my favorite dog and the sound of the car horn are what I remember that day. The honk signaling the end of a small era. As an adult we may call these type of experiences as “growth” but it hurts to grow.

The next year would provide a hard to pill to swallow on the journey to adulthood as we had to bury one of our own. Balloons, the blue and white balloons releasing into the air, is what I remember about the day we buried a friend, a baseball player, and all-around good guy. Again, “growth” from pain but not understanding what could be gained from a tragedy of losing someone so young.

As the years continued to pass by quickly, each stage brought more changes: driver licenses, high school diplomas, college acceptance letters, college degrees, marriage, kids, and cancer. All of these opportunities to “grow” but still some hurt more than others.

All that being said is that I think I’ve “grown” up from all of these experiences but a part of me is still at SchoolFest in the bleachers laughing with friends, at the Old School playing yard football, and in my parents’ backyard with my favorite dog. Yes, I guess we all “grow” up, and we have plenty of experiences that provide “growth”, but I think it’s important that we don’t forget our childhood. Look through the prints from CVS, remember a girl you once knew with a wired smile and a hemp necklace, a time, and people that contributed to the 36-year-old version of you. Thank God for the growth and the pain and use it as you’ve got two boys that are growing. Tell them your story and help them create their own- living doesn’t always come easy, but it’s so special.

Live between the “Once upon a time” and “The End”. Shel Silverstein said it best “There are no happy endings. Endings are the saddest part, so just give me a happy middle and a very happy start. ”

This year’s Derby Day Party hosted by the Marengo County Historical Society was off to the races as guests began to arrive in style, donning their Derby best. As I looked around the room at my hometown people dressed in fabulous hats, coats, and funky ties, I could not help but smile. The atmosphere was light hearted and fun. Hugs were exchanged, hands were extended for hearty handshakes and all was right in the world in one moment in time in a tiny town of Demopolis, Alabama overlooking the Tombigbee River. And who doesn’t love any opportunity to wear a pair of red high heels for the evening?

Friends old and new gathered to watch a race steeped in history and tradition. Ironically, I don’t think any of us realized that in this moment we were also creating tradition and making history. After the race and with the music starting back, people continued to enjoy themselves by dancing. Familiar favorites echoed in the old Civic Center, a gift from Vanity Fair, a sewing factory from days gone by that helped feed families like mine (my grandmother, great aunts, and aunt were all employed there at one time; even my dad worked there briefly). The Civic Center has seen some parties in its day. Conversations mingled outside on the balcony in the cool evening with lights twinkling above. A pontoon boat rode by on the old Tombigbee with its passengers, honking their greeting.

I enjoyed watching my friends’ eyes light up as they spoke sharing stories and laughter. It was nice to be among the familiar, comforting sounds of their voices. I, also, made a new friend, a fellow warrior, fighting a similar battle. Making these connections are so special.

The evening was rather perfect, and it will be something I will always hold dear to me. I’m thankful for my small hometown and the people in it. Once upon a time, I thought I would never come back here, and I’d live in some big city but honestly big cities are overrated (read in your most Southern of accents for dramatic affect). Demopolis may only be “more’n just a little knockabout place” but it is my home and it has my heart.

I don’t know who won the Kentucky Derby but I can tell you this party was a run for the roses and it won!

I started this journey wanting to normalize conversations about having cancer and all that goes with it. If I am true to my journey then I need to be completely honest with myself and you. I’ve started radiation. The whole process takes about 15 minutes or so. My arm is propped up and my head is turned. Seems fairly easy, right? I go to radiation every day, five days a week for 28 total treatments. Again, like chemo, who is counting? I am counting.

I have experienced some anxiety with this process. I am not sure why as chemo was much harder in terms of the physical. Radiation is more of a mental game. I am not great at sitting still and being forced to sit as still as possible is not easy. As I type this, I feel ridiculous. Anyone should be able to sit still for a period of time. What’s wrong with me? I could nap in a tanning bed back in the day (yes, I put those stickers on too, lol) so I can do this. This is not even enclosed!

This is where I am still learning to give myself grace. The part where I have to be okay with not being okay. I am not admitting defeat but rather that I am having some struggles that will be overcome! I’ve come a long way since September and the finish line is near. Endurance is now the game.

Cancer is physically exhausting but it can be just as taxing mentally. I share this because I want someone else going through something similar to know it’s okay and it will be okay. Going through Cancer treatments is not about perfection but rather getting better and in my case, preventing it from ever coming back. When I start feeling a bit of anxiety, I think about my blessings. I try to push through the uneasiness. I have also learned that I may have to take something to help ease this anxiety- again not defeat (even though I felt it at first) but getting through this part and being okay with needing a little bit of help.

So, what does Cancer and treatments look like? It looks like someone who is trying to live their very best every day. It’s someone who wants so bad for everything to be normal but has to learn to strive in a “new” normal (so tired of that phrase from the pandemic, but it’s true). It’s someone that will not accept defeat. It’s someone that must lean on the Lord, take a deep breath, and instead of counting the days until the end, live moment by moment. It’s someone that’s learning to give themselves grace and more importantly, accept it.

Finishing a major part of a journey is a funny thing. Today was my last chemo treatment. I had 4 hard treatments of the “red devil” and 12 very manageable treatments thereafter. 16 treatments in all. 16. I remember how I longed to be 16; now that number has a new meaning. Even the Benadryl today couldn’t keep me asleep as I watched the minutes and hours tick by. At 10:20 AM, I had a countdown going on in my head and as the machine beeped at me around 10:45 AM signifying that the medicine, as well as, time was winding down, I could feel the anticipation of the final steps-flush the port, pull the port out, apply a bandage with the words echoing in my mind “You are done.” “You are done.” Part of it doesn’t seem real.

My throat was tight this morning and my eyes a little misty. I haven’t fully grasped that I’m done, and I know a moment is coming where I’ll have a good cry- tears of joy, relief, fatigue, guilt. I am sure you weren’t imaging the world “guilt” but when sometimes when you go through something you know others will not be as lucky, there’s a little survivor’s guilt. I remember feeling this way living in Tuscaloosa after April 27 and seeing the devastation. Although I haven’t rang the bell, (decided to wait until after radiation) some will never hear that sound, and it pains me.

I am honored to have ended my chemo journey the day after Easter. I’ve thought about the sacrifice Jesus made and how he has supported me and seen me through the good and bad days. I was asked to read at church on Saturday about the promises God made to Abraham. He told Abraham to look at the stars and try to count them- that’s how blessed Abraham would be. I feel that way about this journey- some many blessings-like the stars and Abraham, I cannot count them all.

I think about how my own journey has changed me. I want to thank my husband, children, friends, and family for their constant support. Almost every treatment, there was my mom, a constant, a constant not having to say a word but be present. Thank you, God, for her presence and strength. My husband- patient, loving, and continuing to shave his head until my hair grows back. Text messages, lunch visits, etc. from friends have meant the world to me. I’ve not been perfect in this journey but have tried to remain positive and to push forward, and they’ve stood by me each step of the way. That kind of love is overwhelming, and I cannot begin to express how much that means to me.

Today, I went by and saw my grandfather. He called me over. I knelt down, and took his hand. He told me that he remembered when I took my first steps at his old house- the Yellow House (my favorite house). He said he called Maw Maw and said, “She just took her first steps.” It was a sweet memory and a moment I will never forget and will hold on tightly in my heart.

Today, I took my first steps in moving past the chapter of my life titled “Cancer”. As I turn the page and end the Chemo Chapter, I take a deep breath, wait on the next leg of the journey- radiation. I thank God and remind myself- to remember these moments, learn from these moments, share these moments, and use it, use it to help others. I am ready Lord. I am ready to serve.

There’s an old Steve Martin film called The Jerk in which Steve Martin’s character thinks he has discovered that he has rhythm and has found music that “speaks” to him. I’ve included the clip with this blog for reference. I can relate so much to this clip as I have no rhythm and coming from a talented musical family, this makes me the black sheep in a sense.

It’s not that my family didn’t try to include me. They did, and it happened one Christmas when I was in 7th or 8th Grade. I was being nosy and shaking my Christmas presents when I realized that one of these gifts was indeed a tambourine. It was their attempt to include me or help me find rhythm, but alas, there was no hope. The handle of the tambourine was red and had a nice grip. It was a nice tambourine but really deserved a better owner.

Have you ever been to a bar when a “woo” girl decides it’s time to play the tambourine or the band calls one of them up? For reference, a “woo” girl is defined by the old TV show How I Met Your Mother as a girl at a bar that screams “Woo!” when the band starts to play. I am myself was a “woo” girl back in college but was not, no matter how much liquid courage I had consumed, the “tambourine woo” girl. These were special “woo” girls that had rhythm. They were more likely a cheerleader, dance line member, or just had the right genetics passed down to them.

What have I learned from the old tambourine? I’ve learned that even though I’m not a musician, there is still a place for me in the band. It’s not always your time to be on stage in the lime light; sometimes God’s most important people are in the background making sure the equipment is set up correctly or it’s your job to cheer on those in the band and yell “Woo!” God uses us all and for different reasons at different times.

Now, I know my family loves me despite my lack of musical talent and that tambourine served a purpose. God’s okay, too, with me singing a “joyful noise” on Sunday as that’s how he created me. My “woo” days aren’t quite over because my dad and sister still know how to rock so it’s fun to yell “woo!” when they play a gig.

Honestly, after this year, I may just change my mind and be the “tambourine woo” girl but I can’t promise it will be in time. I’ll shake that old tambourine in celebration of moving past this chapter and then maybe I’ll get my own “woo!”

The day ended with the best fried chicken I’d ever eaten- from Jackson’s in Camden, Alabama. One of my best friends Russell and I had just finished one of the best tours I’ve experienced- the Home Tours in Wilcox County. If you have not done this and are a fan of old homes, be sure to like the Wilcox Historical Society Facebook page. Get your tickets as soon as they go on sale in December. It is worth it! And, please eat Jackson’s fried chicken and bring me back a box.

As Thelma and I, Louise, (oops I mean Russell and me) rode off into the sun (we didn’t kill anyone or run off a cliff) from the tour, eating our chicken (best straight out of the box, no plates or etiquette necessary), I began to think about how this past year has changed me and for the better. First and foremost, I have to say that God brings people in your life and at the right time. Russell and I became fast friends after one phone call. He means so much to Will, me, and our boys. He keeps us laughing with his quick wit and is a big giver.

One of the things I love about older homes are the parlors in the front. Parlors in the South were where guests were received and welcomed in the home. I imagine the lady and gentleman of the home rushing out to greet their guests with warm hugs and beverages, much like we do now except not as formal; we always end up in our kitchen when I have guests. Much like our friendship, Russell welcomed me, a stranger, coping with a new diagnosis with no questions asked. Upon walking up to one of these homes, Wakefield (probably my favorite that day), a gentleman dressed in period clothing, greeting guests, made a point to speak to me. He recognized that I was undergoing treatment and told me, he too, was a survivor for 10 years. There was a mist in his eyes and his voice lowered when he spoke. I could tell it pained him to see another member of the Cancer Club. The thing about this Club, once you are in, the out pour of support is overwhelming. We welcome new members open arms, but it pains us to know what that person has to endure. I’ve included a picture of him with this blog. I cannot begin to tell you what it meant to me that he came over and spoke.

These past few months, I’ve gotten closer to seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and the proverbial finish line. Being able to handle the latest rounds of chemo, has done so much more for me as it has allowed me to do things with friends, family, the boys, and Will.

I challenge us all-regardless of where we are in life and challenges we are facing- to seek new friends, treasure the old ones, and find new roads. God has so much planned for us all. I thank God for giving me a new view into life through my Cancer journey. I also thank him for my new friend Russell. I thank him for the friends I still treasure and who have been stars to guide me. I thank him for a supportive husband that continues to shave his head until mine grows back.

Next year, we will travel back to Wilcox County. I hope to stay in a Bed and Breakfast the night before the tours. By then, I’ll have hair! I’ll dress in period clothing, eat period food, and eat fried chicken. No one will be able to tell this Scarlett anything!

The weekend of this home tour was a peek into what my life can be- full of adventure, wonderment, and joy from the simplest of things- fried chicken, back roads, friendship, and old homes.

The gentleman that spoke to me, a survivor for 10 years!

Do middle schoolers still have dances in garages, carports, patios and back yards anymore? You know the kind where there are stringed lights, cd players and black lights? The soundtrack to your life (Slide by Goo Goo Dolls or Dave Matthew’s Band Crash) plays at the moment that THE GUY asks you to dance, and it all seems to be happening in slow motion. You’re thankful you wore your favorite pair of Calvin Klein jeans with your Boston Birkenstocks and that you sprayed a little Sunflower by Elizabeth Arden on, thinking the combination of all 3 things must have brought you some type of good luck and that God above performed some type of miracle. Your brain can’t process what’s happening as your best friend nudges you forward with a slight cough to get your attention. Then, if THE GUY asks you to go for a walk, your palms automatically start to sweat, you pop a piece of gum in your mouth, and wonder if he has braces and you have braces, will you get stuck?

Time seems frozen in 1997. There may be an opportunity to snap a picture if someone has a disposable camera or a polaroid camera. For now, however, the only evidence of this dance and THE GUY asking you to dance is being etched into your memory. He smells like Tommy Hilfiger and is rocking a pair of Timberlands; you recognize the scent because your best friend and you constantly spray it on cards at Parisian’s and stick in your Sak purses.

The crowd notices when you two arrive from your walk. No one has to know whether or not you actually kissed; a white lie to save face shall suffice. The boys cheer as if THE GUY won the winning touchdown in overtime. Not much will change when you are adult in terms of how men react to their friends advancing with women. Your friends rush over and giggle and that will not change either when you become an adult.

The next CD plays One Headlight by the Wallflowers and in the next morning, you are 36, scrolling through Facebook. A familiar song plays on your XM radio and you remember a 12-year-old girl, a time, and place. You smile… “Me and Cinderella, we put it all together…”

So, I’ve been watching the Netflix mini-series Inventing Anna recently. I’ve been fascinated with how this 25-year-old girl (because at 36 almost 37 anyone under the age of 30 seems soo young now) could fake her way into scamming millions… I mean MILLIONS of dollars from well to-do folks, fancy hotels, etc. I’ve also been thinking about what type of persona I have online. Being an internal optimist, I choose to only post happy things, such as, my children, dates with my husband, and my cat. Also, when I blog, I try to remain positive. I try to stay true to who I am in hopes that it makes you smile, laugh or think. Am I hiding behind some of the pain of this year- hell yeah, I am, but what good does dwelling on something you have no control over? I also realized, however, that maybe I should share some of the not so good in my life as it might help others going through similar situations. Give them a voice.

I noticed the settings on my washing machine just now. They read (as I am sure most do): Normal, Heavy Duty, Whites, Bedding/Waterproof, PERM Press, Quick Wash, Delicates, etc. Now, I’m not an expert but I sure as heck hardly ever use PERM press or even delicate (honestly, maybe never). I’m mostly a Normal, Heavy Duty, Whites, and Bedding kind of gal. I’m sure I could start a war on social media regarding my washing habits, but I digress. Life’s a lot like these settings. normal is good but sometimes things get Heavy Duty. Things become Delicate and hard to talk about. We wish everything could be a Quick Wash but alas it’s just not possible.

My life flipped its script, and my settings went from Normal to Heavy Duty in September of 2021. Everything changed with one diagnosis. I’ve come a long way since that phone call. I was in the car with my mom and youngest leaving Tuscaloosa from the pediatrician. I pulled over in the Bojangles parking lot to get the news. The worst part was telling my mom and having to drive an hour in silence waiting to tell my dad that was waiting in Demopolis. They had to have their moment of being upset, and I know they didn’t want to fall apart in front of me. I also dreaded telling my 8-year-old after a soccer match one night. I didn’t have much time to think as it was time to schedule a surgery and find a way to tell people. I’m sorry if you found out on a text or read it in my blog. It’s so much easier to type those kinds of things than say them out loud.

Did I fall apart or have some moments of ugly crying? Yes, I did, and I have; I will. Did I have moments where I felt sorry for myself? Yes. I will. Did I get so sick I couldn’t keep anything down? Yes, unfortunately, once after one of my “red devil” chemo treatments. Did I get back up? I did, I am. Am I a fighter? Yes, short people tend be scrappy regardless of a cancer diagnosis because we can’t even reach things at Wal Mart. Do I make off-color cancer jokes? All the time. Am any different than you? No, I am not. You would do the same thing. You would cry, fight, get mad, tell awful jokes. Why? Because you have people that depend of you, and you’ve got so much more to do with this life!

Now, one lumpectomy and one surgery to get clear margins, a few mammograms, ultrasounds, and 8 chemo treatments behind me, I can say I am no longer the same Ashley as I was before. I hope that I am better. Inventing Anna shows the world what’s like to be a scam artist and that you can never really know a person. I hope that when you read this, you know that you are getting my God honest truth. I want to help you, your mother, your sister, anyone fighting cancer. “Don’t you know who I am (insert Anna’s God-awful accent on Inventing Anna)?” I am the one that will fight with you, for you, beside you.

Today was treatment number 3 of the remaining 12 rounds of chemo I have to do. I’ve already done 4 rounds of the hard devil making my treatment count up to date 7. Not that anyone’s counting..Oh wait… I am. It’s now part of the road I’m walking down. The twists and turns of life has brought a lot of us to the Cancer Center and to frequent what I affectionately call the “The Chemo Lounge”. Doesn’t that sound a little bit sexier?

I find myself wanting to know the patients’ stories around me. So much of me wants to ask questions and befriend everyone. It’s tough though for us all because at some point the Benadryl kicks in, and we all dose off (including me). I dose during the Price is Right. I’m the youngest in the room so there is a lot of wisdom in one room. Each of us with our own unique story to tell, and cancer we’re fighting. Behind each of us are family members and friends praying over us and God leading us to this very moment (each for different reasons). I’ve learned that many of us have friends in common or that they know my parents.

We’ve become our own Breakfast Club of sorts as we enter the lounge. A lot of us walk in with greetings and “Happy Valentine’s Day!” Today, I discovered that the gentleman next to me and I had at least two mutual friends. As we were watching the Price Is Right, I could hear him say “No, not that one!” and a lot of his answers were right. Having to get chemo frequently allows a lot of opportunity to get the price right.

The nurses and the staff are equally or even friendlier than the patients. They smile and greet us by name and offer a small chat or hug at the end of a treatment. By choosing each day to smile and chat with us, they are as important as the treatment itself- encouragement. All humans need it, and they need to find comfort and a friendly face no matter where life chooses to take them but especially during cancer.

As much as I’m ready to move past this long chapter in my book, I must admit I will miss seeing some of the regulars at the chemo lounge. I’m praying they don’t remain regulars and move on. I pray they use their experience for God’s glory as I must do.

There’s one regular who will never leave the Cancer Center- Jesus. He will always be there- listening to our greetings and smiling-knowing he is witnessing God’s work first hand. No one getting treament or fighting cancer at the Cancer Center is alone. No one.

Above, a Valentine poem – a lot it is true but it’s what you choose to do (with your diagnosis) is what will get you through (see that I rhymed- I know you are impressed!)

Who were we before kids? I honestly can’t remember. We were 22 and 26 respectively when we met. We were babies. We married at 25 and 29- youngins’. I think we used to eat Mexican once a week with friends, and I drank margaritas. I think we hung out at Rhythm and Brews or Rhythm and Cougars as I affectionally called it. We would go to people watch, drink beer and hear our favorite band Mojo Trio. Our only child, Polly, our cat was much smaller. We slept in. We also loved the family that owned the Chinese restaurant in the same shopping center as the Mexican restaurant. Chinese was our Sunday routine.

We also rode on our neighbor’s pontoon and drank too many Limearitas. You ate a LOT of sausage and corn on the cob. You may have even all of the sausage. We were genuinely happy.

Whatever I can remember about our life before hand does not begin to compare to our lives now with two precious boys that keep us running, and I mean running especially Anderson. I wouldn’t trade our life now for anything. I am thankful for the times before but more grateful for now.

Some things don’t change. We still like Mexican food at least once a week. I traded my margarita in for an unsweet tea (got to watch those carbs!). Polly is still our fur baby even though she’s 11! No more Chinese at our favorite place as we moved back home. Sundays are now for church and naps.

I love the life we’ve created that continues to evolve. We’ve added to our little family, and I pray it continues to grow and one day, we are with our grands. I’ve been praying lately for just an opportunity for a dance with our sons at their weddings. I don’t know why, but it’s been on my mind.

Whatever life gives us, I’ll just be fine as long it’s you and me, and when we retire, let’s go back to watching bands and drinking beer, occasionally at least.

Our first home in Tuscaloosa down 69 South. Wow, look my toes were done. Don’t ask about them now.