BOB--THE LIZARD

          My husband and I have rarely worked together (successfully) on projects around the house—for a couple of reasons:  1) He doesn’t always want to “waste time” reading the instructions.  2) I, on the other hand, would read every instruction in the book if it weren’t for the fact that most of the book is in Spanish, French, and some language that I don’t even recognize. (God has such a sense of humor in how He pairs us, doesn’t He?)  Over the years, Earl and I really have tried to work together, but all we would accomplish would be getting into an argument or I would get my feelings hurt, so for the benefit of our marriage, we stopped trying years ago---until recently.

          You’ve probably heard someone say something like, “We live in our kitchen,” meaning that’s where the family gathers and spends the most time.  For us, we “live” in our study. There’s a large desk there, a telephone, a CD player, a laptop for each of us, and quite a few books. (Okay, okay—so most of the books belong to me.  I’ll admit it:  I’ve been a bibliophile all my life—love, love, love books and all the info they provide for me.)  But—I digress!  Our study is not a large room, and since we spend so much time there, it usually has that “lived-in” look.  It’s difficult to keep it under control (if you know what I mean) so that’s been my project for a while now—cleaning, discarding, rearranging, etc.  I ordered a new file cabinet—wood, cherry finish, very pretty—and a book case to match that and the other bookcases in the room.  The only hitch was that they both came in relatively flat boxes—too flat to be the pieces of furniture that I ordered.  You get my drift? 

          Yes—this furniture came unassembled, and I knew that when I placed the order, but we really needed the furniture, and it’s a lot cheaper that way.  So I had ordered our unassembled furniture.  Now—if you read the first paragraph of this blog, you know where I’m headed with this, don’t you? 

          Earl had had a rough day at the office, and I was rather tired myself, so it was not the most opportune time to collaborate on a project.  But my wonderful husband, knowing that I was chomping at the bit to get that new furniture into the study, suggested that we put at least one piece of the furniture together that night.  I have to admit to you that fear struck my heart!  Oh, me of little faith!  How often had we been at this very same kind of juncture, and it hadn’t turned out well?  But I said a quick prayer, and we began—by looking at the instructions?  What?  I wanted to put my hand on his forehead to check for fever but thought that might be misconstrued as a little tacky, so I resisted the urge, and we began.  I couldn’t believe it:  we were so focused!  And, fortunately, the instructions were pictures!  We worked slowly, consistently for probably 40 or 45 minutes with great success.  The frame of the bookcase had gone together rather easily even though it must have had a bazillion little nails and screws.  We did not have to un-do and re-do one single thing.  That is a record for us!

          Then it happened.  Earl heard a noise outside, and, being the kind of person who just can’t miss anything even a little out of  the ordinary, he opened the front door and stepped out onto the front porch,  leaving the door ajar about 8-10 inches.  Now, mind you, I’m still sitting on the floor with the book case when I notice movement on the top edge of the door.  Only when I hear a light thump on the carpet beside the door do I realize that a lizard had ridden in on the top of the door only to plunge over the door to the floor and, I hoped, to his death.  No such luck! (My apologies to all you critter-lovers!)

          I yelled for Earl as the lizard skittered to the corner of the room (not far from me!) behind a large piece of furniture, but I was keeping an eye on that little rascal.  Earl instructed me to get the broom, hoping that he could catch the little green guy down in the bristles of the broom long enough to get him out the front door.  Long story short—we chased that poor critter back and forth into the corner, out of the corner, back into the corner, etc. for at least three or four minutes.  That may not sound like a long time, but let me assure you it can be if you and the lizard are both scared silly.  Somehow or the other, Earl finally got the critter close enough to the door to sweep him out, and as he did, we discovered that during the scuffle, the lizard had been de-tailed.  And I don’t mean like you have your car “detailed”; I mean--he lost his tail.  Of course, Earl couldn’t resist the temptation for a little humor (very little humor):  he had to give the green critter a name.  He said that since the poor little guy ended up with a bobbed tail, he should be given the name Bob---Bob, the lizard.  Personally, I didn’t care what he was called as long as I could call him gone! 

          Needless to say, we had lost our focus on the bookcase, and, unfortunately, in all the running around that Bob and I were doing, the instructions had disappeared.  Earl and I looked all over the living room, to no avail.  Since we had only the five shelves left to install, Earl figured we could handle that easily—“no problem.”  Again—fear struck my heart!  Things had been going so well until Bob, but now-- well, I didn’t even want to think about it.  Long story short—it took us longer to install “just five shelves” than it did to put the entire frame of the case together.  Even the simplest things were botched.  For example, when we finally got the first shelf in and stood back to admire our work, we realized that we had put the shelf in backward.  The finished edge of the shelf was toward the back of the case, and the edge that faced out (and would be seen) was raw and unfinished--our first (and only) un-do and re-do.  We finally finished the bookcase in two hours and 15 minutes—not including the time for the scuffle with Bob. 

          Have you ever noticed that life is a lot like that?  Everything will be going along  great--(suspiciously) easy—so easy, in fact, that you might get just a little paranoid, wondering when the “other shoe will drop,” so to speak.  Then along comes a “Bob” that totally upends everything, and you struggle with all that’s within you to get things back under control.   Even when you finally start to see that the chaos is ebbing, things may still be difficult.  It can be so irritating, and it is such a temptation to lose your temper over whatever “Bob” has happened that caused you to lose control.  One of the really neat things that I learned from having cancer is that very few of the “Bobs” that happen in our lives are really worth the irritation, the aggravation, and the agitation that we allow to tie us in knots and probably ruin our day.  Don’t let a little “Bob” steal your happiness!  When a “Bob” happens, just remind yourself that it isn’t cancer and that “This, too, shall pass.”   

I must tell you that the bookcase looks beautiful in the study and is being put to good use.  However, if you were to visit us today, you would see a large, heavy box (with a picture of a wooden, cherry filing cabinet on the side) still on the living room floor where the UPS man left it—a couple of months ago.  I just haven’t had the nerve to point that out to my husband!

                   

She Still Can't Read

            Our youngest grandchild, five-year old Catherine, had watched over the past couple of years as her mother had daily prepared and packed a school lunch for Catherine’s older sister, Madeleine.  At long last, Catherine was about to start K-5; she would wear a uniform like the “big kids,” and she was getting a brand-new backpack and a wonderful, new lunch box.  Finally, the day arrived when the new backpack and the lunch box were delivered for her as well as for Madeleine. Mom (Lori) had the backpacks and the lunch boxes monogrammed, both in cursive writing because Catherine had insisted that hers be in cursive just like her big sister Madeleine’s.   Catherine was so excited that she insisted on packing her own lunch box (and her mom agreed) even though it was still three or four weeks until school would actually start.  Needless to say, after a couple of days, the lunch box had to be emptied and cleaned in preparation for the day that it would really be time to pack a lunch.

            The night before Catherine’s first day of school, she informed her dad that she would pack her own lunch.  Since the requested sandwich for the day was PB&J, Dad (Michael) offered to help by fixing the sandwich, and then she could put everything into her lunch box.  The next morning, they arrived at school and before they got out of the car, Catherine had one more request of her mother:  write a note to be put into her lunch box.  You see, Catherine had often watched as her mother wrote a sweet I-love-you;-have-a-great-day kind of note to be put into Madeleine’s lunch box.  And just to be sure that her mother did it right, Catherine dictated the note for her mother to write. Oh, and, of course, she wanted it written in cursive. We figured that she did that so that at lunch she could “read” (from memory) to her friends the note her mom had written.

            Eager to find out how their first day had gone, Lori was at school at 3:00 sharp to pick up the girls.  Catherine was not nearly as excited as her mother had thought she would be, but she rattled off a few things about her day when her mother inquired.  Then, looking a little irritated, she said, “But I still can’t read!”  Obviously, her first day of school had not quite lived up to her expectations.  Not only had she expected to learn to read on her first day, she had expected to learn to read (cursive)--by lunchtime!  That’s why she had requested the lunchbox note be written in cursive.  Whereas we had thought that at lunch, she would “read” (from memory) the note from her mom, she had thought that she would actually be able to read the note (in cursive!) from her mom. 

Poor Catherine--the first of many expectations in her life to be shot down, and she was not a happy camper about it!  She didn’t realize that there was so much to learn before she could read cursive writing, so many skills she had to master; all she knew was that she wanted to be able to read cursive now!  She reminded me so much of her Aunt Kristy (our other daughter) who, as a young child, didn’t want to learn to do anything (like roller skate); she wanted to just already know how to do everything.  It was a real challenge to explain to her that things don’t just automatically happen; she would need to be patient and keep working on her skills.  (Even though she has improved greatly, patience is still not one of her strong points---but her mother loves her anyway.)

            We can probably all relate to Catherine’s dilemma—expecting something to turn out better than it does, not getting the raise that we deserved and asked for, praying for a specific outcome in a health situation and not getting it--so many other expectations in our lives shot down.  At some time or another, God must surely look at each of us as a little “Catherine” or a little “Kristy,” not wanting to wait but wanting to have our wishes fulfilled yesterday.  He must look at us sometimes and think, “You’re not ready for that; you’ve still got some growing to do” or “There are so many things you must learn before you can advance to what you’re really wanting to do” or “That’s not what I want for you; what I have for you is so much better” or “I know you don’t understand now, but this will work for good” or “You’ve got to learn to be more patient.”   

For me, personally, sometimes it comes down to one little word—Faith.  Do I really, truly, completely trust God in every area of my life?  I have had a little sign on my desk for quite some time.  Based on Matthew 9:29, the sign reads, “Whatever your faith says God is, He will be.”  I’m a little slow sometimes figuring things out, but I finally realized that what that sign means is that sometimes I hinder God from doing what He wants to do for me because of my lack of faith.   Shame on me!  

           

 

           

THE NIGHT I RAN

After reading the blog that I wrote about our 45^th wedding anniversary Saturday, Earl, my husband, said that he also had a few things to say about our “younger years,” so today I have a Guest Blogger—my sweetie, the one and only William Earl Timmons.

            It is truly a miracle that we have celebrated our 45^th wedding anniversary--as Sandra and others have stated.  (And, yes, I am truly convinced that God DOES have a sense of humor.)  I believe that the Bible verse goes something like:  “Blessed are they who wait upon the Lord.”  In my awkward (among many other words I could use) way, I have waited and have been truly blessed with a sweet marriage, a wonderful lady to call my wife, lover, and best friend.  She has been my wife and lover for 45 years and has become my best friend.  I have also been blessed with a great family—two daughters that I dearly love who are both Godly women and great mothers of our four cherished grandchildren; two great sons-in-law; and a dog.  I really came to realize the fullness of my being blessed after Sandra was diagnosed with cancer.  I thank God regularly for the sweet marriage and relationship that my sweetheart and I now have.

            Now—how about THE NIGHT I RAN?  When Sandra and I were still working out being newlyweds, having the rough edges knocked off so that we could one day enjoy 45 years, we lived in Lake Charles, LA, and I was teaching school.  One night during that time, Sandra and I were having one of many spats, and I got tired of the fussing, verbal fighting, and decided that I had had enough.  I WALKED OUT one night!  Literally!  I WAS LEAVING, AND I DID!  After all, I was a college graduate, knocking down college-graduate money (teaching school in La!)  As a single college graduate, I could have a lot of females literally chasing  me.  I would not have to be fussing and fighting all the time.  I could live in the fast lane.  I could be my own man!  YEAH!  Well, just as I was thinking that, it didn’t take long:  I had my first female chasing me, and I was only a few blocks from the house, and it was at night!  Just as I had pictured it!  However, that female was a female SKUNK with babies.  I can assure you that she did not have love on her mind!  She was, without a doubt, chasing me, but I was running away. 

            After  my first female had stopped chasing me, I realized that I was a number of blocks away from our house—on foot!  I was leaving ON FOOT!  I realized that being on foot was not the best way to find women, and with the salary that I was making, I definitely could not move into a cool bachelor’s pad, nor could I afford a car note.  Even if I were to end up with the car that we had, it was not exactly a suave bachelor’s ride.  It was a tan, four-door sedan NASH  RAMBLER!  Not even a HARDTOP!

            Well, I came to my senses and WALKED back home, tired and sweaty.  I did what I should have done before I left (and had my first female chase me).  I came back to my bride, apologized, and hoped that she would again start being my sweetheart--Nash Rambler, and all.  I am so grateful; she did just that then and many, many more times.  I guess it just goes to prove that if God put us together, He can give us 45 years and, hopefully, many more that will continue to be even sweeter than the past 45 years.

The Blessed Skunk Runner

           

PROOF OF GOD'S SENSE OF HUMOR

            Forty-five years ago today, August 27, 1966, God began working a miracle that would someday prove what a sense of humor God has.  You could not find two people who were more opposite in every way than Sandra Groves and Earl Timmons, yet God brought them together to be married on that day.  He must have been looking down from Heaven chuckling, knowing how naïve we both were about all we would have to battle because of our differences.  In fact, we were so different that as we stood in the receiving line after the wedding, a family friend of many years came by to congratulate us; he looked at us, shook his head, and said (and I quote!), “It will never last.”  He knew us well!  Needless to say, we called him on our 25^th anniversary to inform him that, so far, he was wrong!

People often are curious about how I ended up marrying Earl, and I tell them that I was just “young and dumb.”  In fact, we were both too young and dumb to be getting married, especially by today’s standards:  I was 19 ½ , and he was an “older guy”—21 ½ .  Very often, we have been asked how we have made it work, and while I would love to give a deeply spiritual answer, the only honest thing that I can say is that we were both too stubborn to admit defeat. 

Besides, my dad, even though he loved me, told me that once I was married, I wouldn’t be living at his house again:  when there were differences between Earl and me, we were to work them out.  And we have!  I now understand why numerous people gave us the Scripture Ephesians 4:26 as advice on how to keep a marriage going.  …let not the sun go down upon your wrath.  Earl likes to tell people that sometimes we have stayed up for days without sleep just to keep that Scripture true.

I would love to say that it has been a wonderful 45-year run with no problems.  First of all, you would know that I was lying, and, second, I would be denying the many miracles God has done for us and through us.  There have been some tough times—some really tough times;  but we have hung on and survived.   Many years later in retrospect, I know that if we had realized 45 years ago that we had so many things going against us, we probably wouldn’t have gotten married.   What a horrible thought!  Thank you, God, for my ignorance at that age.   I can’t imagine my life without William Earl Timmons!  I am a very blessed woman! 

EAT CONCRETE?!

            Not that it’s a tasty temptation, but have you ever felt as if you could eat concrete?  Okay—this is where I’m coming from:  what kind of eater are you?  Authorities tell us that the reason some of us constantly fight an extra 10-20 pounds is that we are emotional eaters.   Some of us eat when we’re sad (or happy); others eat when we’re hungry (or not hungry); some eat when we’re angry (or at peace); some eat when we just see food (or if we have to go looking for it).  I consider myself an “equal opportunities eater”; I eat for ALL the above reasons.   Understand?  I’ve always known that I can be an emotional eater—to a certain extent; it’s never been a huge deal with me.  Even those times that I might splurge in the eating department, it was always in the back of my mind that I would have to fast for a day or two afterward to make up for the splurge. 

            However, I had an experience recently in which I saw myself in a totally different light.  It had been a very stressful few weeks around our house; Earl and I had both had things going on that were driving us both a little bonkers.  Then one Friday morning when Earl didn’t have to go to the office, it all came to a head, and we knew that we had to spend a few hours away from each other.  We weren’t angry at each other—just tired of the stress and frustration.  So he took off for one of his famous (infamous?) “ride-abouts.”  And I headed for the grocery store (Just a word to the wise—don’t go to the grocery store when you’re really stressed).  But I had a group of women coming to the house the next day for a work-retreat, and I needed to buy food for that.  Hence, the trip to the store!

            I’ve been stressed before in my life (more than once!), but this was the grandmother of them all!  I was so stressed that I was jittery, and by the time I got into the store, I truly felt as if I could chew a chunk of concrete!!  I just needed to eat—not fruit or the good stuff; I wanted JUNK!!  Unfortunately (Fortunately ?), I had to go down the cookie aisle, and that’s when I saw it:  that beautiful, round can from Pepperidge Farm.  Have you ever eaten their Crème Filled Pirouette Rolled Wafers with chocolate hazelnut?!!  Oh—my—goodness!  So decadent!  I buy them maybe twice a year because: (a) they’re pure sugar  (b) they’re so expensive.  But I couldn’t help myself; after all, I had women coming to my house the next day, and we would need a little something sweet, wouldn’t we?  That beautiful, round can just hopped right into my basket, and it was truly all I could do not to rip the top off and shove two or three of those cute, little pirouettes into my mouth!  (I know you’ve never felt like that!)   My next sin came on the ice cream aisle.  My husband is diabetic, so we rarely splurge on ice cream, but we had had such a rough couple of weeks that we really deserved a treat, didn’t we?  After all, he could be careful in other areas of his diet for  a few days to make up for the ice cream; so I bought each of us a pint of our favorite Blue Bell—Moollenium for him and Cookies and Cream for me. 

            As I raced to the front of the store to check out, thoughts of what to have for lunch were zipping through my mind.  Earl wouldn’t be home for lunch as he usually is, so I would be eating alone.  Aha!  Hamburger and French fries.  I could practically hear them calling my name!  Back in the car and headed for home with a slight detour to visit my favorite hamburger joint, I was almost salivating!  And the strangest thing happened:  the minute that big, pointed, orange and white striped roof of my favorite hamburger place came into view, I could actually feel myself calm down just a bit.  That’s when I started to realize how I was behaving and to feel a little ashamed of myself---but not ashamed enough to change my plans.  I got my order, nibbled on the fries all the way home, and when I got there, I immediately began eating.  Oh, my goodness—it tasted SO good!  Then, to top off the entrée, I scarfed down the entire pint of ice cream that I had bought for myself.  Wow! 

            Later in the day as I thought about my morning’s misadventures, it hit me:  when (if ever) had I been that hungry for God?  I think that question came to me because I had just gotten the book Just Give Me Jesus by Anne Graham Lotz and was convicted that I have too much “stuff,”  too much activity in my life and not nearly enough Jesus.  As I have “matured” (in age), I have noticed that I desire more than ever to know God better so that others can see something in me that would point them to Him.  But have I ever been as hungry for God as I was for food that morning?  Hmm.  I don’t think so.  Shame on me! 

Matthew 5:6—(part of  the Sermon on the Mount when Jesus was teaching His disciples)—Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be filled. 

Luke 6:21a—(part of the Beatitudes when Jesus was teaching His disciples)—Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.

You, Too, Can Be A Mylar Balloon!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011, is a day that many Shreveporters (including Yours Truly) will remember for quite some time.  We were on about day 20 of a string of days over 100 degrees.  Add to that the infamous humidity of Louisiana, and you have some miserable folks!  However, as long as there was air conditioning, we were in good shape!  That all changed around 2:30pm when 8900 electrical customers suddenly lost power—cool air and all!  At around 10:30pm that night, that number had grown to 17,000 hot, sweaty, cranky customers.  We were all pondering the possible reasons for this problem:  there had been no storm, no lightning, no thunder. Hmmm!  What could have possibly caused such havoc in the electrical system? We found out the next day that, much to our surprise, one small, shiny mylar balloon had come into contact with some power lines.  Imagine that—one little, bitty balloon having such an unbelievable impact on so many people’s lives.   

At that time, I was already working on a blog about the many opportunities that we are given to impact someone else’s life for the good.  Sometimes, we forego that opportunity, thinking that the one little, bitty thing that we might do would never amount to much.  I think that we underestimate what God can do with the little that we give Him:  we give him our little effort, and He produces something similar to a mylar balloon that can impact many—but in a good way! 

(This is a continuation of my last blog which was entitled

“People Who, Unknowingly, Made My Day.”) 

******

Anyone who has had chemo or ever had to go for cancer lab work (especially if using a port) knows that you dress for comfort and so that the port can be easily accessed.  You really don’t worry a lot about how you look, especially if you know you’re going to be there for several hours.  My uniform for chemo days was a knit-like fabric—a jogging suit—stretchy, in other words.  Since my port is up near my right collar bone, I had one particular kind of shirt that I always wore (which just happened to be white), and I usually wore the same white scarf on my bald head because it was easy.  It didn’t require a lot of effort which was another requirement for what I wore.  Kristy, one of our daughters, had commented a time or two (or twelve!) that I needed to wear a scarf with some color in it to give my face some “life” because, obviously, there was no hair there to add any color.  Honestly, having a colorful face was way down my list of priorities at the time.     

One day when Earl and I were out and about, a very kind lady made my day by commenting on my looks.  He and I had gone to the cancer center for an in-between-treatments check-up.  It was one of those rare days when not only was I feeling somewhat close to human, but we had gotten into and out of the lab as well as my oncologist’s office in a timely manner.   

As we were leaving the clinic, I asked if we could go to Julie Anne’s for lunch, and since I hadn’t felt like going anywhere (especially to eat!) in months, Earl was thrilled.  Julie Anne’s is one of my favorite places to eat—a small bakery with wonderful food.  Chemo often leaves a metallic taste in the mouth which makes eating not very interesting; I usually ate only because I knew I had to to stay out of the hospital.  That day, even with the metallic taste, Julie Anne’s Turkey Walnut Wrap had never tasted better; I think it was just the idea that I felt sort of normal.  

After we ate, we got up to leave, and at the small table behind me was an older woman (older than me; not old).  She was a classy looking lady, not flashy or gaudy but very well put-together—had a sweet, beautiful smile.  As I stood for Earl to push my chair under the table, I glanced her way, and we made eye contact.  She said, “Honey, you look beautiful in white.  Not many people can pull that off.”  I was so shocked that it took me a few seconds to realize what she had said, but I thanked her.  I also told her, laughingly, about Kristy’s prompting me to wear color, and I assured that kind woman  that I would share her comment with Kristy. 

That woman had no idea how good she made me feel that day.  But, then again—maybe she did.  Maybe she had been in my shoes at one time and remembered what it felt like.  Whatever her reason for speaking to me, God bless her for having the wisdom and the courage to say just the right thing to me and absolutely make my day. 

******

            When I was going through chemo treatments, my sister, who lives in Texas, made arrangements with my local florist for me to receive fresh flowers every Thursday around noon.  This was to go on for the duration of chemo, so I always had fresh flowers—often, two arrangements if the arrangement from the previous week was still healthy.  What a neat thing—something to look forward to every week! 

            The person who usually made the deliveries was a man, probably around my age or a little older.  He was very kind and always took a few minutes to chat, asking how I was doing, etc.  Since I almost never wore a scarf when I was home, he knew from day one what my bald head looked like.  One Thursday, it was a cool day, so I was wearing a scarf.  The doorbell rang; I went to answer it, and there stood my favorite delivery man with my flowers.  We did our usual little chit-chat, and he started to leave, but he turned back around to face me before he stepped off the porch and said, “By the way, you look much better without that scarf.”  What a precious thing to say!  I don’t know what made him say that, but needless to say, he made my day! 

****** 

            I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but life can be tough sometimes!  Just getting up and dealing with another day can be a huge challenge for folks going through a valley of some kind.   Maybe you know someone who is dealing with financial issues, family problems, lack of employment, a devastating illness or maybe it’s just a smaller, temporary problem like dealing with a cranky co-worker or locking her keys in her car.  No matter what the case, we all have people around us daily who need us to take a few minutes to check on them, call them, send them a card, share a smile.  If we all did that consistently every day, can you imagine the impact that we would have?  We could be like that one, little bitty mylar balloon that impacts many lives---but in a good way!

People Who, Unknowingly, Made My Day

            Have you ever just known (“Is that you, God?”) that you were supposed to do something specific for someone—make a telephone call to check on her, speak to someone that you don’t know as you pass her in the store, mail a card, help a mom with little ones carry groceries to her car, or just give someone an eye-to-eye smile—yet, for whatever reason, you didn’t do it?  Has it ever crossed your mind what that little “something” might have meant to that person?  (See previous blog, A Most Unusual Funeral)  Believe it or not, we are often meant to be “players” in other people’s lives even if we don’t know them.  I was truly blessed by my family and friends during the year that I had cancer, and I’ll talk about them later.  But for the next couple of blogs, I want to introduce you to some other people who truly “made my day” the year I had cancer. 

****** 

            I am very accustomed to wearing makeup; it’s a daily habit.  I consider it a public service to my fellow Shreveporters—you know, “paint the barn,” “cover the ugly,” etc.  I get up and before I start every day, I go through the same routine to decorate my face; it just makes me feel better.  Besides, when you’re a woman and you’ve got a bald head, you need all the help you can get!   

            The American Cancer Society has a program for women who are in treatment of cancer.  It’s called Look Good—Feel Better.  One of the things that they do during this session is to give the women beauty products and teach them how to use them so that they leave the class feeling as if they have had something of a makeover.  I had attended one of those classes on a Monday.  On Wednesday, my husband suggested that since I was having some “good days,” perhaps we could get out of town overnight in order to be back for chemo early Friday morning.  We hadn’t done that in ages, so we threw some things together, got in the car, and headed to Longview, TX.  No big plan—eat out, maybe do a little shopping; mainly, we would just have a different set of four walls to look at. 

            By the time we were on our way, it was lunch time, so we stopped at a fried fish restaurant (a staple in TX and LA) on the way.  We had a very perky, sociable young woman who took our orders, but before she ever took care of our food, she looked at me and said, You have beautiful skin—just like porcelain!  Absolutely beautiful!  I don’t know if it was noticeable or not, but I’m sure I sat and stood a little taller after that.  That woman did not know me; she could have simply done her job of taking our order and walked away, but she followed that instinct, and I’m so grateful she did because she really made my day!   

****** 

            When you’re having cancer treatments and go to the cancer center with any regularity, you eventually get accustomed to seeing people around you wearing wigs, hats, scarves and, occasionally, nothing at all on their heads.  But I must admit that it takes a little getting used to; that happened to me very early on. 

            I had had probably just one chemo treatment which wasn’t enough for me to start losing my hair, but the thought of that loss was never far from my mind.  As I walked in the front door of the Cancer Center, there was a group of perhaps 10-12 people, entering and exiting.  But one woman in particular stood out to me; she had to have been 6’2” tall at least, maybe more.  She was, literally, head and shoulders above everyone else in the group, and she carried herself like a beauty queen.  She would have stood out in a crowd no matter what the situation because she was a tall, big-boned woman.  Not overweight, not even plump, not even what our daughters (as children) would have called “fluffy”—just a large woman—very attractive, and she had a beautiful smile that she shared freely with those around her.    

She was what I would have called stunning.  She seemed calm, peaceful, and in love with life.  But to me, the most striking thing about her was her totally bald head—no scarf, no wig, no hat, no cap—just that beautiful, bald head.  I was so amazed at her demeanor and the way she carried herself that I immediately felt a peace come over me that I had not experienced since the whole cancer thing had begun.  Not only had this woman made my day, but, without knowing it, she had had an effect on me that lasted the entire span of my treatments.    

****** 

            B.C. (Before cancer), I was a little introverted, not always feeling comfortable speaking to or making eye contact with people I didn’t know.  Cancer taught me a lot of things, and one of those things is that deep-down, we’re all alike—whether we want to admit it or not.  We all want to be loved and accepted, and, at one time or another, we all go through things when we need a little extra attention even if it’s from a total stranger.  Since people are so good at wearing that “everything’s-okay-with-me” façade, I have no way of knowing who is experiencing one of those times when she needs some extra attention, so I’ve started trying to connect with everyone I see.  I came to realize that I may be the only smile someone will receive that day, and I would hate for her to miss it.  Those little things cost nothing, not even a lot of time, but they are invaluable to the recipient.