I love the colors of autumn. Wreaths bring together Mother Nature's souvenirs as the hearth warms our homes and hearts. Shades of amber, sage, orange, bronze, burgandy, brown, and even plum celebrate fall, the season of thanks and giving.
Be sure to visit Mary at Little Red House to see the delights she and her friends have created for this Mosaic Monday, and Melissa's A Beautiful Life.
Last week at this time, I was avoiding the sun because it was so hot outside. Temperatures were pushing 100F degrees. I start to wilt when it's warmer than 85F degrees. But this past weekend, autumn definitely arrived and, by late afternoon, I was in search of patches of sunshine so I could soak in the warmth. Chilly fall weather is now a certainty, and I love it!
I lit a fire in the fireplace today, the first of the season. Little dancing flames and crackling sounds helped to boost a sick day spent at home. Warding off a cold, or more, requires certain measures, and ensuring warmth is one of them. Between naps, I am enjoying hearth and home.
Be sure to visit Melissa's A Beautiful Life, and for more on fireplaces that warm our hearth and home, head over to Seasons for All at Home.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. No need for reminders, thank you. I could not be more aware of breast cancer. My sister has it. Stave IV to be exact. She was diagnosed on February 5, 2007.
The news was devastating. And we had no idea how long or short the journey would be. We didn't ask either. I knew instinctively that I would be by my sister's side every step of the way. A sister's promise. Hospitalizations, surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation treatments, medications of all kinds, physical therapy, tumor markers, and numerous vials of blood to test. Soon only a highly skilled phlebotomist could find a vein in her arm. Two years ago this month, my little sister had no hair and was a frail, 5-foot 6-inch configuration of skin and bones.
Sherryl has been a self-employed day care provider for over 20 years, and the current generation of parents was nothing less than phenomenal when the diagnosis came. They formed a team to walk in the annual Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. They started a foundation. They designed and sold T-shirts. And they sponsored and hosted a fundraising event in the park adjacent to my sister's day care.
At the event, which they called "Pink in the Park," they sold tickets for a host of kiddy activities and gourmet lunches. Two of the moms are immensely talented artists, so, along with ticket sales, a silent auction was held of children's art work created especially for the event. Thousands of dollars were raised for the purpose of subsidizing Sherryl's business expenses as she underwent intensive treatments. A portion of the money was earmarked to pay a college student to work at day care in Sherryl's stead through the summer. All hours spent, supplies and food purchased were donated by these parents. They are my modern-day heroes.
Through more hospitalizations, more chemotherapy cycles, more radiation treatments, and a lot more vials of blood, Sherryl told me she was focusing on being "with" the cancer. She was not surrendering to it by any means. Rather, she was moving forward with it. Don't fight, be at peace. She slept for weeks and by the end of summer, she had lost all of her hair and too much weight. She wouldn't wear a wig -- too fussy. She preferred baseball caps. So we bought them for her in just about every color under the sun. The baseball caps represented her ability to function. To be out in the world. To live. And in her peace, she drove relentlessly toward resuming her strength and returning to the life she loved.
The weekend before Halloween two years ago, I was baking cookies with my grandchildren in my kitchen. Sherryl surprised us all and arrived in time to help convert sugar cookies to witch's hats, pumpkin grins, and spider webs. Cookie decorating is one of her traditions at day care. My grandchildren are alumni of Sherryl's day care, so they were thrilled to have her join us to decorate those cookies. As I packed away my Halloween decorations in early November, I silently prayed to anyone and everyone who was listening, "Please let her still be here next year. Please."
Thanksgiving was wonderfully traditional, albeit tearful, when it came time for each person at the table to give individual thanks. Sherryl wanted to go last. Her gratitude was perfection in its simplicity, but her voice cracked as she said, "I'm really glad I'm here." Christmas festivities were also full of tradition yet quiet in the sweetest of ways.
Twenty months after being diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer, my sister is doing remarkably well. She continues to be at peace with cancer and she continues to push herself beyond physical limitations. She is being closely monitored by her doctors, and she has been able to resume her life with a few modifications. We call it the new normal. She works at day care full time, she nests at home in the evenings and on the weekends, she takes a lot of naps, and she spends all the time she can with those she loves. Her strength, spirit, and resilience amaze everyone. Much credit is due to her healthcare team, but it is Sherryl's attitude that is a lesson to us all.
When something like breast cancer hits a family, coping skills in individuals correlate directly to emotional intelligence and overall maturity. Sometimes it feels as though everyone is doing their very best to live with this huge change, speed bumps and all. But there are times when it feels as though relationships are unraveling. For some people, it's easier to run from the pain of a family member's diagnosis of terminal illness. Build that brick wall. Focus on "me." Don't get any closer to it or to her. In fact, pull away from it and her. . . .
When that ugliness rears its head and I watch my sister rationalize and do her very best to accept others and their behavior, my normally stable emotions get riled and I blast cancer for the discord. While it crosses my mind to tell those self-absorbed, emotionally crippled adults to grow-the-hell-up, I choose instead to focus my energy and compassion on my sister and her well-being. Taking the high road leads to a more positive outcome anyway.
I've had a few meltdowns myself, quietly and in private. My sister is one of my best friends. After my divorce, I looked to her as my sons' other parent. I don't want to experience the pain of losing her, nor do I want any of my family to experience that pain either.
In emergencies, every fiber of my being is centered. I am naturally action-oriented. So, in this new normal I check in with Sherryl every day. I listen, empathize, celebrate, and help her in every way I know how. I author posts for her blog so all our family and friends stay as current as possible, anytime and anywhere. I keep an eye on the big picture and, without imposing on her independence, I help when she needs my help. I monitor both competence and my sister's comfort and trust in her team of healthcare providers. And I know what to do and what to say to anyone to make sure my sister feels supported emotionally and physically.
When Sherryl was first diagnosed and I was searching for ways I could be of most help to her, I was intrigued to read the story of Nancy G. Brinker who made a promise to her dying sister, Susan G. Komen, that "she would do everything in her power to end breast cancer forever." Those words are powerful and Nancy is certainly keeping her promise to her sister.
For right now, I know I am doing my part to fulfill my promise to my sister, too. And, as I put away the Halloween decorations in early November, I will be repeating the prayer that worked last year and the year before that. "Please let her still be here next year. Please."
Whitney Houston is making a comeback, and it's huge. Her new album has the potential of launching 3 singles into pop's top ten in record time. And in listening to those songs, I realize how much I've missed her. The voice, the face, and the style.
Her repertoire of songs reminds me of an era when my sons were young; a time when we would gather with our extended family several times a year to celebrate a holiday or a special event. Superbowl Sunday was one of those times and the year Whitney Houston sang the national anthem, all adults stood speechless before the television as she sang every single note of that difficult song perfectly. Her top-ten hits were happy and sad, upbeat and torch-like, and her career culminated in that unforgettable version of Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You."
In addition to all this success, she was glamorous. Flawless skin, perfect make-up, and elegantly styled hair. Styles have changed since Whitney's retreat from center stage. I heard a designer comment just the other day that she likes to make casual look dressy and dressy look casual. Hair styles are plain now. Stick-straight and long, they are reminiscent of the denim-dominated 1970s and the monochromatic 1990s. Both decades lacked style and, in my humble opinion, although there was a short-lived punch of femininity in the first couple of years of this decade, colors have faded again and styles are all but undefined.
When Whitney appeared on Oprah's show this past Tuesday, she exuded the glamor that I've missed for a long time. Not only was the shape of her dress flattering to her, she wore beautiful diamonds. But most of all, I liked that her hair style was curly and voluminous. I never did get over the hairstyles of the 1980s and, if Whitney continues to project this image as her new songs skyrocket up the charts, she will single handedly be responsible for bringing glamor back into the western hemisphere.
So today I'm celebrating not only the return of Whitney and her amazing voice, I'm celebrating the return of glamor. Thank you, Whitney!
