As I write this, it's 71 degrees in the house and I'm having bone-rattling chills, even wearing a heavy winter coat and a fur hat. Not... well, I was about to say 'cool', but maybe 'not fun' instead, yeah?
Anyway, there is an answer and antidote to cancer, at least for me. It's simply stated as just having fun, living each moment, even the shivering ones, the best way I can.
And it is a choice. First thing in the morning, I can either ask Barb about her night, or bewail my own. What I do sets the tone of the day...is it all about me, or is it about grace?
It's a choice through every waking moment, to keep things light. These days I need help bathing, to get into and out of the tub. A couple of nights ago Barb apologised that we'd run out of body wash, and that I'd have to use shampoo. "It's moisturizing," she said.
(Now, please bear in mind that I try to stay in some kind of shape, and still have a 50" chest and 22" biceps. If I were 6'4" it would be imposing. As I'm 5'9" I look like an amiable ape.)
"Well, golly," I replied, "it does make me feel soft and feminine! Makes me want to put on a tutu, and twirl down the street, channeling Bette Midler."
Barb rolled her eyes. I thought about what I'd said, and realized how wrong that was, on many levels. "No, not really. I'm more of a Cyndi Lauper kind of gal...Girls just wanna have fu-un..."
Barb, one of these days your eyes are gonna get stuck like that.
Humour may not be the answer for everyone, but I have been through a variant of Kubler-Ross' stages of dying... through denial and defiance... and I've landed here, with a Woody Woodpecker laugh.
Meet it with aggression,
fight past where hope is gone,
for hell is now in session,
so meet the foe head-on.
Laugh while you are bleeding,
dance when you can't sleep;
the devil won't be heeding
the salt tears that you weep,
but there's one thing to ensure
distress through all of hell,
and that is smiling to endure,
and live your days so well
that you put, if marked to die
a last sharp stick in Satan's eye.
The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is DETERMINE. Ok...
It's just lately I am learnin'
what I wish I'd known from birth,
and that's letting God determine
all my steps upon the earth.
For so long I really thought
I was smart, could find my way,
but all that pride had really bought
was a load of stable-hay,
food for cows and maybe horses,
beds for goats and maybe sheep,
but the stars up in their courses
showed me Company to keep
and led me to the Golden Door,
bade me kneel on Throne-Room floor.
Music from The Cyrkle, with a blast from the past, Red Rubber Ball.
Sylvia's always up for a laugh, especially when it includes ice cream.