the ghost of gma mary

A couple weeks ago I woke up to my first cup of tea and some quiet reading.

Or so I thought. What actually happened was that I entered the living room and got sucked into a skirmish. The kid variety. Gramps had already been sucked into the vortex. This was how it went down...

Maddie: Grammy, Duncan and John lost the key to my 4 wheeler and I can't find it.
Me: Can you ride without the key?
Maddie: No. I looked all through the couch, but all I found was popcorn. (Last night was popcorn movie night...Duncan misses his mouth more often than not, but that's another story.)
Me: That could be a problem then. (I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer before my morning tea.)
Maddie: Grammy will you help me look?

So that was when I felt that first gentle tug into a situation I had accidentally stumbled blindly into. We searched between all the cushions, and I ran my hands down into areas of the couch I hadn't felt in years. We found a missing sock, but no key. Gramps lifted the couch and turned it over and we searched every nook and cranny. We did the same thing to his chair for good measure.

No key. But the floors under the couch and chair got vacuumed nice and tidy, sans popcorn and other unidentifiable food and garbage.

By the time I finished that (still without my first cup of tea), I was a bit irritated at two boys who had spent the whole time we were looking for the key THEY lost, playing in the bedroom with army men. That was when the ghost of Gma Mary materialized inside me. I marched into the kids' bedroom and informed the boys that they needed to use their brains to remember where they had left the key, and find it.

Both boys looked at me like I had sprouted two heads and was speaking a foreign language. I repeated myself, and told them to get UP and come and look for the key. They moaned and groaned and dragged into the living room. John had to recover from two feet he said weren't working before he could get to the scene of his crime.

John said he had left it on the couch and that was all he could remember. Dunc said John had the key last, trying to absolve himself of any connection to the crime. I told him his alibi didn't work, because he had started the chain of events by removing the key from the four wheeler.

After a half hearted search, the boys thought they were free and clear. I upped the ante at that point, thinking they would make a better effort to FIND THAT KEY. I told them they could not ride on the four wheeler anymore since the key was gone. They wouldn't be able to start the engine.

John: Dat's ok. I got my own four wheeler.
Dunc: I don't care. Doesn't matter to me.

This was when things started to escalate. I decided to hit them where it hurt, because Maddie was the only one upset by the missing key and loss of four wheeler riding time.

Me: Ok then, no more video games when you are here too.
Dunc: Fine.

Hmm, Dunc was playing tough guy. While I thought about my next move I looked for John, who was so crushed he had locked himself in the laundry room. My next statement was meant to win a stunning victory, but it worked out somewhat differently.

Me: John, there are mice in the laundry room. (Actually there are only traps.)
John: I am getting a chocolate milk. (YooHoo, a drink made mostly of chocolate, water and sugar.)
Me: You can't have a YooHoo if you didn't eat breakfast.

zombie grandkids- yes that is a YooHoo in John's hand

Gramps: He ate a cinnamon roll. (WTH did that come from? Now they were triple teaming me.)
Me: A cinnamon roll does not count as breakfast. It is sugar.  (Giving Gramps the stink eye)...Now he wants to follow sugar with sugar.
John: I will eat my egg then have chocolate milk.
Me: The egg that was on the table? I threw it away when I cleaned the table off.
John: But I wanted that egg. (Chin quivering and pitiful eyes.)
Me: (Gma Mary standing firm.)Then you need to eat it when breakfast is served. I don't leave food on the table all day.

I could feel myself gaining ground. I was ready to zoom in for the kill, play my ace in the hole. Then John started to cry. Which of course made Gramps totally crumple. I was breathing hard by this time and my eyes were beginning to bulge. Gramps took a breath to say something but I shot them both down before anything could be said. I included Dunc in this shot. I was going to overwhelm them with THE TRUTH.

Me: Have you ever heard of nutrient dense and calorie dense foods? Nutrient dense means that there are lots of vitamins and minerals in the food you eat and calorie dense means...

I noticed their faces. John was looking at me like I had sprouted a third head, Dunc had one eyebrow raised almost to his hairline and a smirk on his face, and Gramps' eyes were rolling in his head like he was having a seizure.

Then the ten year old slipped in and struck the final blow.

Dunc: I don't know and don't care.
Gramps: I was going to say the same thing.
John: (speechless and staring at me...)
Me: OK THEN. Since my money is what buys most of the food around here, I just won't buy any more CINNAMON ROLLS. EVER. And no more YOOHOO either.
Dunc: whaaaaat? Fine then, I WON'T COME ANYMORE.
John: (crying...suspiciously fake sounding sniffing)
Gramps: (seizure continues)
Me: FINE THEN, Maddie can come alone. Maddie, the next time you come, we will do lots of fun things together. We can shop, and go to the park.
Maddie: There is a park here?
Me: No, it is in Jasper. In fact there are LOTS of parks in Jasper. (I see Dunc is unimpressed, and I know I have to dig deep and find his Achille's heel.)
Maddie: ok Grammy that sounds fun.
Me: Oh, and we can go fishing Maddie. Lots of fishing. LOTS. (Dunc's eyebrows shoot up, and I am pretty sure he is buying this.)

So I play my trump card.

Me: Oh, and Gramps, sell Dunc's fishing rod, since he won't be needing it anymore. (Duncan has forgotten he doesn't own a fishing rod here, he uses Gramps' tackle.)
Dunc: WAIT...WAIT!!!! YOU CAN'T SELL MY FISHING ROD! I need it to fish!
Me: No you won't need it, since you won't be coming anymore.

At that point, I began to grin, and saw Dunc starting to smile, Gramps started to chuckle, and Maddie was laughing. I looked around for John, who had been strangely quiet...

He had downed a nutrient rich banana in 2 seconds. While we were skirmishing. He was going to do whatever it took to get that YooHoo.

Gma Mary had won again. She taught us well.  Jones women never lose a skirmish.

And John got his YooHoo.

...life is good... Cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

the lesson of the shawl

When my mother recently died, my sisters and I had to sort through her things. It wasn't a conscious "ok now it's time to go through Mom's stuff" sort of a decision. There wasn't much to go through.

Years ago mother decided the best way to make it easy on us when the time came was to get rid of as much stuff as she could. She was moving into my sister Vicky's house and was downsizing anyway, so we had a big cleaning out for her, and divided up what meant to us then, sorting and passing stuff to our kids. Mom was happy it was taken care of.

That meant that when she died, all she had left was what was in the room she occupied at Vicky's. So there was no huge task of sorting things out. That had been done and dusted a few years before.

What the task of going through mom's things became for us was a trip down memory lane. Especially her jewelry. Mom didn't have expensive jewelry. She had never believed in spending a lot of money on it. So what she had was a collection of good and not so good costume jewelry. Some of it was so tarnished we couldn't tell what it was. But as we sorted through it, we talked about where the pieces came from, who had given it to her, and what she wore it for, if we could remember.

We laid things out on her single bed, walked away when it became an emotional overload, and then one by one over the week and a half I was there, I noticed we would drift quietly into the room, touch her things, and sort through our own memories. That was how I discovered the shawl.

It was under some things mom had crocheted, and as soon as I saw it I recognized it. It was made by my grandmother many years ago for my mom. Grandma had a special tool called a daisy maker, and she had made the daisies then crocheted them together.

I pulled the shawl from the drawer slowly and wrapped it around my shoulders.  As I looked at myself in the mirror on mom's dresser, it seemed almost as though I was looking at mom. I closed my eyes and could almost feel her presence there with me, and I felt a calmness wrap itself around me like the shawl had.

The truth of life is that no matter what you do or say there is never enough time.  Letting go of the anxiety and fear of my own mortality was the lesson I learned that day.

I miss you Mary, more than I ever thought I would.

...life... ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

Writing prompt for Friday Reflections:
Tell us about something you have in your home that has been handed down to you. Describe it, take a photo, and tell us the history and meaning of this item.

sisters don't suck

I haven't been much in a writing mood lately.  I started a new medication to prevent a recurrence of the breast cancer they just scooped out of Goliath.  My hands hurt like a toothache that won't go away, I have hot flashes that make me glisten with sweat like a greased pig, along with white-eyed insomnia, and a total lack of energy that makes every step an effort. I feel almost guilty that I am bitching about this at all, and I should sound grateful that the cancer was caught so early that I have a marvelously high chance of beating it. And I am grateful, make no mistake.  Every minute that I am miserable I am grateful for my luck. Grateful for the machine that found the lump long before it could be felt by hand.  Grateful for the surgeon who cut it out. Grateful for the radiation oncologist who will soon be barbecuing my boob to kill any cancerous cells lingering around. Grateful for the oncologist who prescribed this pill that has caused side effects that have placed me in temporary (hopefully) hell.  

And today I am grateful for my sisters.  They are so much a part of who I am that sometimes I feel we breathe for each other. They are the best part of my life, during the worst part of my life. They taught me about trust, laughter, anger, happiness, and what being a sister is all about. They also taught me that love is unconditional. I've learned acceptance, and how to listen to their counsel. Growing up, I was the one they looked to for advice, being the eldest sister.  Those tables have been reversed in the past several months as I struggled to deal with this cancer. They are MY rock now, the ones who make me laugh when my mood is dark, the ones who I know are always thinking about me.  They are still part of me, have always been part of me, and will be until the day I die.

vix and dooj

So today, in response to the Friday Reflections prompt "Tell us about your brother or sister", I share my love of the two remarkable women in my life that I am privileged to call sisters.  This is for you, Vicky and Debbie.

I love you.  Thank you for being my sisters, and for being who you are.

(More about Dooj and Vix here and here.)

...life is good. ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

steaming isn't the same thing as vaping

Right now I am steaming mad.  I got up this morning, meaning to write a blog post about something on my mind.  Then I saw a post on Facebook and saw red.  It also hurt me, because it brought back my own memories and how easy it is to hurt someone's feelings.

School started just days ago for my grandkids, and already the cruelty has started.  My daughter posted on Facebook that some little girl had told my granddaughter Maddie that she is ugly.  Maddie told Jen about it with tears in her eyes.  As I read the comments from Jen's friends and family reassuring Maddie that she is beautiful, I felt something else.

I felt anger.  And shame.

Anger for all the times I remember enduring things people said that were hurtful.  I keenly remember how unkind words can rip at self esteem at a time when it is fragile and growing.  I remember wondering if maybe the person who said the ugly words was right, and what they said was true.  I remember wondering what I had done to deserve the words.  I know now I had done nothing, but because I reacted to the words at the time, a few other kids joined in, and hammered me pretty relentlessly for a time, until they tired of the game and moved on to new prey.  Back then we knew what bullies were, and these girls were bullies.  I know now that I wasn't much different than the other kids.  But it was the ability to make me THINK I was different that gave this small group of cruel girls the power to hurt me.

Shame.  I feel shame for all the times I have said cruel things to other people.  I see how hurt Maddie is, and realize how the mean things I have said over the years to other people have hurt them. Sometimes it was unintentional, but sometimes I said things deliberately to hurt others, when I had been hurt.  There is no way to be unhurt by words, and saying cruel things to others doesn't undo what has been done to me, and this was brought home to me by Maddie's reaction to that little girl.

That is what I want Maddie to understand.  How we treat others has a lasting impact.  Words hurt, but it is important to understand that the person saying the words doesn't really know her.  The person saying the words is trying to hurt her, to get a reaction from her.  If I could, I would give Maddie the strength to laugh in the face of anyone who says anything mean, because words like that, in the end, are not what is important.

The important thing to understand is her own worth as a person, and to understand that people say things for different reasons.  I could go on and on about the whys of it, but the important thing is to know the truth.  That we all ride on the same planet, and in the end, there isn't much different about us.  We are the only species that tries to feel like we are different from each other, and better than each other.  But we aren't.  We are all one family.  The family of man.

That sounds a little smarmy.  I would still love to grab that little girl by the ear and ask her just what she means by those ugly words.

But Grammys shouldn't act like that.

Most of the time.


...life is good. ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

favorite places and spaces in my mind

tea time

The prompt for July 3rd that caught my eye at Friday Reflections has had me thinking for days.  How could I pick one favorite place?  There have been so many of them.  I think about all the places I have traveled, the things I have seen and done.  How could I possibly whittle it to one favorite?  Janine Ripper at Reflections From a Redhead described her favorite place so colorfully, I was ready to pack a bag and leave right then.

But picking my favorite place?   It finally dawned on me.  The place that is my favorite of all is....

the grapes of cath

my mind

That's right.  All the places I have visited, the things I have seen, are all trapped in lovely memories.  They are stored away, like a filing cabinet full of cards and photos, and I can revisit and think about them whenever I want to.  This ability to pull memories and close my eyes and be there is something I have always done.  It is especially helpful right now, at this moment in my life when there is so much going on with so many people in my life that I often wonder what will happen next.

watercolor, pen & ink

Today, I have pulled out a memory of one of those places.  My sister Vicky's back yard (garden for those of you who don't call a yard a yard) and one of the most peaceful places I have ever been.  It is a place I can sit quietly, looking at the flowers, birds, bees, and listening to the breeze blowing gently through the trees, stirring the leaves to a soft rustling sound.  It is a place I have painted, photographed and long to be when things are overwhelming.  It is my morning refuge, my favorite place to drink my tea and think about all the vagaries of life.

vix, watering her plants

It is a place I return to at least twice a year...and where I will return once more in October of this year.  Until then, I have my memories, filed away in my mind to pull out and relive over and over whenever I feel a yearning for peace and quiet.

morning in the garden

   

 

the perfect rose

 ...life is good. ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

ambulance chasing

June 26, 2015 was an important day for Stevie Wonder. Due for the first checkup since nearly dying in April when his pacemaker had to be replaced after an epic failure to pace his heart (read about it here), he was understandably nervous because he had developed atrial fibrillation after the new pacemaker was placed in his chest.  His recovery from the second surgery was a bit rough compared to the first time.  I tried to reassure him that he was doing ok, and just had to give himself time to heal.  He was a bit whiny about the whole thing in my opinion, but I think that was because my patience was thin from dealing with my own breast cancer and surgery, which was taking place almost simultaneously to what Steve was enduring.

The twins were staying with us for a few days, so they went with us to the clinic. We were going to wait for Gramps to get all his tests finished, then go eat a late breakfast. We left at the crack of dawn for an hour long drive to the clinic. Duncan used the seat belt as a hammock for his head so he could sleep.

Duncan in a head sling

As we walked into the clinic (it was attached to the main hospital), I was explaining to Maddie what an echocardiogram was and the way I watched Gramps heart beating on the monitor when he was in ICU, before his pacemaker was put in. Her response to what I felt was a brilliant description was: "Disgusting!".

the long wait

 As we sat waiting, we talked, and I played a few games of checkers with the kids. Time passed...one hour, then two. As we began our third hour of waiting the kids were about to mutiny from hunger and thirst.  So I took them to another part of the clinic to get some juice and a snack.  As I was digging money out of my purse to buy juice for the kids, Maddie (who was standing near the hall) uttered the fateful words: "There goes Gramps".

I figured she meant he had walked past and was headed to the waiting room looking for us.  I said as much, and that was when she lowered the boom: "No, he wasn't walking, he was on one of those rolling tables."

"WHAT?" I said.
"He was on a rolling table Grammy."
At this point I looked a little panicky because I was caught between putting a $1 bill in a machine for a snack for Maddie, and taking off after the gurney. Maddie made my mind up quickly when she said: "I don't need a snack Grammy!"
So we took off down the hall. The hall took several turns, like a snake. Maddie had run ahead to scout Steve's location as I brought the rear up with a still sluggish Duncan. She would get to one turn, I would shout at her "CAN YOU SEE HIM?", she would shout back "YES I CAN", and then we would advance to the next bend in the hall.

In my mind the whole time was that SW had collapsed during the stress test, and they had come looking for me to tell me they were transporting him to wherever they needed to go to fix him, and couldn't find me because I WAS BUYING EFFING SNACKS FOR STARVING GRANDKIDS.

After what felt like a mile of scouting, reporting and running, I ran out of steam as I made it to the last bend and saw the end of the gurney and a nurse waaaaaaaaaaaay down the hall just going out of sight. I decided we would go back to the waiting room and wait until someone found us and told us the bad news.

So we sat there, they split Duncan's honeybun and drank their juice and I fidgeted like I had ants in my pants. About an hour later, Steve walked in the door of the waiting room.

bubba gramps

WALKED.  I jumped up and almost shouted at him "ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?"
He looked at me like I had lost my mind and said "yes".
I said "did you go by on a gurney about an hour ago?"
"No" he said.

Then it hit me.

I had been chasing a stranger down the halls of the hospital. I asked Maddie how she knew it was Gramps on the gurney. She said: "because he had white hair and was wearing a mask like Gramps does when he is sleeping."  Steve saw my face and knew something was up, so I had no choice but to tell him what had happened.

He started laughing.

He was still laughing 4 hours later every time someone called to check on him and he got to tell the story again.

an anticlimactic end to the morning, at Waffle House

I thought I had finally lived it down until Steve said a few hours later:

I would have loved to see what happened if you'd caught that gurney and saw you'd been chasing a stranger down the hall.

Steam started coming out of my ears at this point.

I am now the victim of another Steve story, which grows with "embellishments" every time he tells it.


...life is like chasing gurneys, you never know where you are going or what lies ahead. ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

life, washed down with cherry garcia

These thoughts go hand in hand with #FridayReflection prompt:  Reflect on the following quote: "Don’t compromise yourself. You are all you’ve got." - Janis Joplin

When life throws me a curve, I head for my standby coping skill...music.  Lately it's been music from my past, and last night it was the Grateful Dead.  I decided I needed some ice cream to add to my cope plan (that is my weapon for extreme emotional punches to the gut).  And my go to flavor is Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia. I grabbed some, and then spotted my newest coping obsession beckoning enticingly from a shelf on my way out.  I swear I didn't intend to do it, but suddenly they landed in the cart.

So last night was a time for ruminating, minimal communication with my family to keep them in my loop, and just vegging with music and a sugar high.  Because let's face it, the Grateful Dead still effing rocks, and Cherry Garcia slides soothingly across your tongue.

Along with a big ahhhhh of a bite of Banana Hostess Twinkies, a new flavor in a cake that is as big a part of my past as the Beatles, Disneyland, Santa Monica Beach and on and on.


And I realized as I slurped, chewed and listened, that what is happening is a bump in the road, and not a mountain. So it is time to deal, and move on, not to whine or worry.  Time to focus on the present, and let the rest take care of itself.

Sometimes, when you are grateful to be alive, all you need is the Grateful Dead in your ears, and some Cherry Garcia to wash it down.

 

...life is good with a little cherry garcia on it...  ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter
 

my best photo

Today is the last day of May and the last day of May NaBloPoMo. Thirty one days ago I started this daily blog prompt centered around photos. One reason I joined the blog prompt over at BlogHer was that I had not been writing much for an extended period of time, for personal reasons. My focus was elsewhere, and I couldn't seem to focus on writing, photography, drawing or painting.

Today's NaBloPoMo prompt is: your best photo. I thought about that one for several days now. It is hard to pick out my best photo. I thought about all the photos I had taken that I felt demonstrated an increase in my skill as a photographer. Then I thought about what is important for me to share with my photographs, and the answer came to me.

Plain and simple, I think the most important thing I can convey as a photographer is emotion, or the story I am trying to tell. I chose this photo to share. It was shot quickly, not the technically best photo I have ever taken, but I see it now, and I feel strong emotion wash over me. It is a photo of my daughter holding my granddaughter's face in her hand. In Maddie's eyes I see pure love. And I know, because I took that photo, that the love in Maddie's eyes is mirrored in her mommy's eyes, and felt through the touch of her hand.

Total devotion and love of a child for her mother, and a mother for her child. Unplanned and blurry, this may be the best photo I have ever taken. It is certainly one of the most important moments in my life. Captured now, forever. That is the magic of photography.

Life, lived moment by moment, photo by photo. Shared. Experienced.

My best photo.

...life, lived, is your best photo... ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

nightlife is the bright life

Reminiscing tonight after seeing something on the television triggered a memory for tonight's photo response to the NaBloPoMo prompt, NIGHTLIFE.

When Jim (our middle child) was about 4 or 5 years old, we were eating dinner and talking when we noticed that Jim had gotten quiet.  We looked at him and started laughing.  He had fallen asleep in his chair, with a half eaten chicken leg still grasped in his left hand, his arm dangling at the side of the chair. As we laughed, it led to another "Jim story" from about the same time.  Steve got up before daylight one morning to find the refrigerator door standing wide open. Lying on the floor in the light cast from the open door was the red rind off a piece of bologna, an empty cheese wrapper and an empty soda can. When Steve checked on Jim, he found half a piece of bologna laying on the pillow beside his head.  He asked Jim why he had left the door to the refrigerator open. Jim's response: "because it was dark and I was afraid I couldn't see to get back to bed."

Nightlife in my house revolves around the family refrigerator.  The welcoming gleam of the interior light provides security in a darkened room, foods and treats to scavenge, and drama after a big family meal when we struggle and fight to find places to stuff all the leftovers. Then there is the unsolved mystery of the light. Is it on all the time, or only when the door opens?  Even Jim still hasn't figured that one out, 37 years later.

(Happy Birthday to my sweet Sneezer, who turned 42 on May 25.)

...life is good. ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

food for the soul

Food. The prompt for today from NaBloPoMo on day number 29. Fitting that today the focus is food. I wondered if I had any photos of food worth posting. I've taken some doozies, and some $%*&ed up shots too. Minions and Marmite (#20) figured high on my list of considerations. Then I saw the photo, and the food became secondary. It was not the focus of the photo for me.

ragu with rotini, served on my Grammy's dishes

It was the dish it was served on. Food keeps the body going.  But love and memories feed the soul. I ate many meals on the Franciscan apple dishes shown in the photo. Years ago, I acquired my mom's and Grammy's dishes. So old that many of them say "made in California" on them. Later dishes say "made in the USA" on them. I have both. I don't own any that say "made in England" which is where they are manufactured now. Mine came from my childhood, and I am of an age that the dishes are close to being antique. A fact that does not faze me one bit. I can close my eyes and remember so many meals, so many conversations. The strep throat I unknowingly had as I struggled to eat chili, each bite setting my throat on fire. Learning to eat squash and like it. Talking to Grammy as she washed dishes, watching her rub each plate dry with embroidered dish towels.

concoction

Many memories.  Memories that will last longer than the food that is served on those plates now. Food served to my family. Plates that are hand washed by me now. Plates and memories that are a common thread of love that runs through my family, from generation to generation.


...life is delicious...   -cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

still life

Day 26 of NaBloPoMo prompt uses the theme STILL LIFE. When you use your camera to shoot still life, it can include any inanimate, or nonliving object. Still life is one of my favorite subjects, but I also like shots that include a message, whether it is implied, or stated straight out and in your face.

Today has been an "in your face kind of day" after a long, lazy three day weekend. So I skimmed a few hundred photos, and my eyes were caught by this photo. There are so many people who cause me to smile in my life. Smiling and laughter are the best kind of medicine for whatever might ail you. Today I am sharing this, for all the people in my life who make me smile.

...thank you, for making me smile. ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

inside a mother's heart

...his mother saw it, but said nothing...
it was his day to shine.

NaBloPoMo, day 22: INSIDE. A haiku.

...life, through a child's eyes, is perfect...

~ cath 

i am @jonesbabie on twitter

to maggie

Maggie was about one year old when she came into my sister and brother-in-law's lives.  She was beautiful, and well cared for, with toenails painted pink.  Someone loved her, and Vicky and Donnie spent weeks trying to find the owner, and never could. So Maggie became part of their family.

day 17: surreal

NaBloPoMo's photo prompt for today is surreal. Day 17 and I am still going strong.

don't bury me yet!

Today I got the verdict. After almost 2 months, a mammogram, a repeat mammogram, an ultrasound, and a needle biopsy. 

I have cancer.

There. I can say it. Because several weeks ago I had a meltdown thinking all the what ifs. So I am past all that shit, and to the point where I am just ok, tell me what the percentages are, what my options are, and let's get this show on the road. 

My youngest daughter and I were sharing a Subway sandwich when the phone call came. She had just had a job interview, and we went out to grab a bite. And of course, after waiting for days, the call managed to come at a not so convenient time. But really, when you are getting news like that, is there ever a convenient time?

So, after about one split second, I thanked the surgeon for calling me, and made an appointment to see her in two days to talk about my options. Being a nurse, and having discussed possible options while I was having the needle biopsy, I kind of already know where I will probably go with this. 

The bad news was that it is breast cancer. But between you and me? I knew when I saw it on the ultrasound that it most likely would be. So today was kind of anticlimactic. Meh. 

The good news? That it is very small, 7-8mm. Coming from the boomer generation, I had to use my converter app to figure out just how little it was. Eight millimeters is equal to 0.3149606299 inches. (Is that even a real number?) If you ignore all but the first two digits, that is less than a half inch. Little bit more than a quarter of an inch. Tiny. With, I am told, a 90-95% cure rate. That is good news.

I told the family, they were kind of subdued. A little bit of texting, a couple phone calls and silence. My family IS NEVER SILENT. So I can feel the gears in their brains working, from here to the west coast. I told Wretch before she left me at my office to tell Steve not to bury me yet.

It is going to take a lot more than a little lump the size of my smallest finger nail to stop me. 

Although I am thinking, maybe I could ask the surgeon to slip with the scalpel and do a tummy tuck while she is resculpting my right breast to match my left.

So, don't bury me yet.

Oh, and ladies?  GET YOUR MAMMOGRAM. This cancer was so deep and tiny it couldn't be felt, not by me or the surgeon. The mammogram we all love to bitch about having has most likely saved my life.

SO GET YOUR MAMMOGRAM. DO IT. EVERY YEAR.


...life really is good. ~cath 
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the sugar in my lemonade

I was going to write something pithy and wise today, the day before Mother's Day, about something that would be so important it would change your life forever.

Forget that. I do good to put two sentences together. So I decided to respond to the +FridayReflections prompt of who has impacted my life for the better. I could say something about my mum, because it is almost Mother's Day here in the USA. She and I haven't always seen eye to eye, but she did contribute one important thing to me. She gave me a backbone of steel, and the belief that I could do anything I wanted to do. 

But the people I want to talk about today are two of the most important people in my life. Throughout my whole life, they were there for me. During hard times, lonely times, times when I didn't have an answer, there they were. They didn't always have the answer either, just as I often didn't have it for them. But they loved me unconditionally, and without judgment. Even when we disagreed, it was always with the understanding that it was ok to disagree, and that it would not affect our trust or feelings for each other. I think of them every day, and especially today. 

They are my sisters, Vicky and Debbie. The sugar in my lemonade.

Vicky, Debbie, and Cathy

day2

We have another side too. A raucous, wicked side that lets us make fun of each other, laugh at each other, and gives me a feeling of zest and joy that last for days. Yesterday we were texting each other, asking Vix if mum's gifts we sent had gotten there. I just KNEW I was gonna have the most unique gift. I had thought this through, plotted, and planned it so that I would be mum's favorite daughter by Mother's Day. I sent flowers:

day 1

Vix Gave mother flowers:

We were both texting back and forth, pretty proud that we had made mum happy.  Then Dooj's GIFT arrived and Vix sent me a picture:

that is a balloon on top and chocolates too

Our text chat then proceeded along these lines:

Vix: the #$&%@ has outdone us Cath. LMAO.

Me: how dare she do that! I think that $(#*#@$ balloon is a $%*#&@$ bit over the top. 

Dooj: LMAO

Vix: is that the one you wanted Dooj, or is this arrangement too small?

Dooj: lolololol

Me: you sure you didn't tell them that was for a funeral Dooj? It's big enough to cover a casket.

Dooj: lololololol...I did tell them no lilies but I'm not going to tell Mother that.

Vix: Momma is getting a kick out of these comments. She did say it was big enough for a funeral. I told her if she kicked the bucket before Sunday (Mother's Day) we would use it.

Me: lololol.

Me:(to Vix) I hope Dooj's flowers die first....

Vix: lolololol....

I have a secret weapon though...today mum got these:

Score one for the big sis...

NaBloPoMo photo prompt day 9 is: Light

...be positive...the best is yet to come... ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

day 7: my time

NaBloPoMo day 7: my time...with my grandcat. 

day 6: my love

Can't be done in one photo.  Mi familia. My life. 

day 4: my energy

A recent photo of my sisters having a chat. The connection and love between them is evident in their hands. 

throwback thursday

way back in about 1986

Maddie was looking through some photos I had posted online and found one of my kids and me in about 1986.  She identified everyone in the photo but one person, and asked me "Grammy, who is that?"  I told her it was me, and she repeated her question two more times in disbelief.

She finally said:  You're as little as your kids!
I said: well Maddie I was a lot younger then, and the kids had mostly gotten as big as me (with the exception of Wretch, who was about Maddie's age).  (No way was I going to comment on what she obviously meant, which was that I was THINNER.)

Then Duncan started in: that's you?  that's YOU?  THAT'S YOU???
*sigh*
Me: Yes Duncan it is me.
Duncan: You look like you need to be married.
Me: I was Duncan, to Gramps.  That's why I was as LITTLE AS THE KIDS...I got married when I was a kid...(sort of...I was 17).  :)

Gramps, me and some of the kids and grandkids in fall 2014

Link up any Throwback Thursday photos you would like to share, in the comments below.

...laugh, life is good! ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter