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    From the monthly archives: November 2011

    So I’m a snuffly, achy mess, accomplishing very little at the moment and feeling guilty about it.

    Thanksgiving was lovely, and I’m back home now feeling like I should be doing a gazillion things but just wanting to be a snuffly bum and lay in bed, nursing my aches. I’ve been struggling with having stretched myself just a bit too thin, too many jobs, too many things going on at once. Feeling frustrated, conflicted about letting go of some of that overcommitment. After all, haven’t I learned better?

    My dear friend Susan’s post has brought my priorities back into sharp focus for me. She’s homebound, in pain, fighting metastatic cancer and having just enough juice for her beautiful family. Of course, that’s where the juice should be going!

    I always get a cold when I try to do too much. Type A-ness has snuck up on me these last couple of years, and I know better. I feel foolish now, squandering my healthy energy on what’s not strictly necessary, and not remembering what matters the most. I’m so fortunate it’s just a cold and a couple of bruised ribs. They’ll heal. None of us knows how many days we have. I want each day to be one that my children remember well, and that I feel good about.

    Can’t wait to get over these bumps and bruises and this cold, so I can get back to appreciating my health again and using it wisely. Next week will be a plate-clearing mission. Mine has become overstuffed.


    I totalled my car last Monday.

    The good news is that I’m fine, achy for a week, the only remnant now being some bruised ribs which will take longer but I’ll get there.

    Once I got past the shock of the realization that I’d been in an accident (airbag goo all over, as well as the remnants of my pumpkin spice latte) I had the happy thought that I was still alive, and that I’d seen worse.

    The fact that all of us (me, the driver and the passenger of the other car) got out of our vehicles and could reassure ourselves that everybody was ok makes it so much better than it could have been.

    I’ll miss my Eurovan. Her name was Alice and we loved her.

    Me? I’m guilty of a speeding brain. Bad habit. Gotta stop that.


    I honestly love happy racket.

    Right now my heart-daughter and grandbaby are asleep downstairs, my daughter is on my bed harassing me instead of making the coffee I want, but she will eventually…

    My son’s best friend, my extra kid, poked his rascally head in my door this morning to wish me happy birthday. We’re all tired and silly, because last night was opening night of “Annie Warbucks”. Tom plays the stuffy butler, Miss Peach a rascally orphan, HD (heart daughter) helped with the stage crew, and the baby (“Bubbeeee…”)kept me company as I herded children (as a chaperone) backstage. It was a little odd not being on the stage, but I have enjoyed the long quiet afternoons when Tom and Miss Peach were at rehearsal. Tom and Peach are in the Big Apple cast, so they have two more shows to shine in their big parts.

    Today I am taking the day off, because it has always been my habit on my birthday to take some time for reflection. The last four birthdays this has been especially so. I am always so overwhelmed with gratitude for another year. I am keenly aware of how fortunate I am. This awareness is bittersweet today, because this last week I lost another IBC blogsister, Ashley Warrior Mom. Her IBC battle lasted two years. Two other blogsisters are fighting like hell. I know that each day I get to spend here on this delicious planet is a gift, and each year I get to have a birthday I think about how to make the most of the year coming.

    One of the little things that makes me happy is that I have never had a bald birthday. I know that may sound like a little thing, but somehow it makes me feel like I got away with something. For my 45th birthday I had hair, and was blissfully ignorant of the thief that had snuck into my house and was preparing to wreak havoc. By the time my 46th birthday rolled around, my hair was back, thick and wavy, I was feeling much better, the herceptin was tolerable and I was NED. I had hope, and I could see a future. I guess each birthday that passes now is anchored in to that triumphant time.

    What’s ahead? Enjoying my children, more time at Lucille Packard, more writing, perhaps more theater (when another villain part comes up for a soprano I’m all over it), gratitude, more advocacy, scrapping for the end of breast cancer by 2020. My beautiful daughter is twelve. I want her and her beautiful friends to grow up in a world without the fear of breast cancer.

    Oooh, Bubbee is up. Time to be Grandmama…

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