No way am I planning to miss out on Thanksgiving as proved true of Halloween! And now that the assertive nature of my current attitude (attitudes are known to shift) has been clearly stated, I hope you’re picturing my spirit smiling with appreciation for all of your best wishes, which pave my way toward healing, day after day, based in your heartfelt generosity, which buoys Will's spirit and mine as naturally as a series of gentle breezes lifts a kite.
Today, David flies home after having spent the past week on the coast, where he enjoyed two meetings with production companies, both proving highly interested in a pitch that he and his comedy writing partner were invited to present, and as one of those production companies is headed by Conan O’Brian (while another pitch to Seth Rogen’s production company is scheduled after Thanksgiving), good news, such as that, giddies my spirit with hope—I mean, receiving invitations to pitch to such heavy hitters is a feather in his cap.
Upon reflecting over the mainstay of my parenting experience, memory spotlights Barry, Steven and David taking turns inspiring Will’s spirit and mine to soar on the wings of love, which transport our family, again and again, toward hoping for the best no matter how often fate challenges each of us to stretch toward achieving another long range goal, while we five, acting as one, choose to stand up and position our inner strengths to inch another rubber tree forward with this caveat—rather than Antman coming to mind, my musings see our sons as busy bees, honeying their father’s life and mine, today, as hopefully, we’d honeyed theirs during those fleeting years in which we’d laughed, together—while downing chocolate chip pancakes round our kitchen table with their friends who'd slept over, weekend after weekend—at youthful antics, which, over the long run, proved harmless as three rambunctious little boys developed into the trio of men whom we continue to admire and adore for countless reasons, today. And though all three may be rolling their eyes as if to say—Mom, give it a rest—my heartfelt smile attests to the fact that today’s recollections, being freely expressed, reflect no more than the truth, which pleasures my spirit at a time when I’m consciously savoring every memory that saves my inner strengths from any possibility of drooping, no matter what today’s sobering reality offers us to consider with clarity intact. BTW, having mentioned 'sobering', have I shared this next thought with you? Upon being advised that I'd have a port, I expressed a proactive stance, advising the radiology oncologist that I've designed a port, which, along with infusing chemo, accommodates vodka, straight up, and with a chuckle, he assured me of seriously considering my request.
Today, David flies home after having spent the past week on the coast, where he enjoyed two meetings with production companies, both proving highly interested in a pitch that he and his comedy writing partner were invited to present, and as one of those production companies is headed by Conan O’Brian (while another pitch to Seth Rogen’s production company is scheduled after Thanksgiving), good news, such as that, giddies my spirit with hope—I mean, receiving invitations to pitch to such heavy hitters is a feather in his cap.
Upon reflecting over the mainstay of my parenting experience, memory spotlights Barry, Steven and David taking turns inspiring Will’s spirit and mine to soar on the wings of love, which transport our family, again and again, toward hoping for the best no matter how often fate challenges each of us to stretch toward achieving another long range goal, while we five, acting as one, choose to stand up and position our inner strengths to inch another rubber tree forward with this caveat—rather than Antman coming to mind, my musings see our sons as busy bees, honeying their father’s life and mine, today, as hopefully, we’d honeyed theirs during those fleeting years in which we’d laughed, together—while downing chocolate chip pancakes round our kitchen table with their friends who'd slept over, weekend after weekend—at youthful antics, which, over the long run, proved harmless as three rambunctious little boys developed into the trio of men whom we continue to admire and adore for countless reasons, today. And though all three may be rolling their eyes as if to say—Mom, give it a rest—my heartfelt smile attests to the fact that today’s recollections, being freely expressed, reflect no more than the truth, which pleasures my spirit at a time when I’m consciously savoring every memory that saves my inner strengths from any possibility of drooping, no matter what today’s sobering reality offers us to consider with clarity intact. BTW, having mentioned 'sobering', have I shared this next thought with you? Upon being advised that I'd have a port, I expressed a proactive stance, advising the radiology oncologist that I've designed a port, which, along with infusing chemo, accommodates vodka, straight up, and with a chuckle, he assured me of seriously considering my request.
Last Monday, I underwent an early morning cardiac mri that took longer than 1 and 1/2 hours of holding my breath (not all at once, of course) for many seconds, repeatedly. Why? Because, just as with any MRI, I had need to stay perfectly still, which proves impossible when pictures are taken of our hearts, which never stop pumping oxygen throughout every nook, cranny and crevice of our bodies, and though I was given earmuffs, so much pounding assaulted my ears for an hour and a half that I, feeling a bit light headed upon being helped to my feet, looked forward to enjoying a quiet, peaceful day, except for a brief time when Will and I drove to Steven’s to meet Ravi’s brand new puppy—an eight week old Rhodesian Ridgeback (born of a breed originally bred to hunt lions), suggesting that this adorable puppy will grow to be pony size within the next few months. And watching Ravi and Netfliks (Being not quite five, Ravi named her newest playmate with the humorous acceptance of her parents’ attitude, as two youngsters, both cavorting like puppies, began to fall in love with each other so naturally as to stimulate my spirit to sing to the tune of—younger than springtime am I, when with you ...
Night after night, one couple after another, offer to bring dinner, and though my appetite is nil, the men who I adore, are eager to dig in, and in addition to enjoying the soothing presence of extended family and friends, I indulge in a glass of my favorite wine, which offers just enough effervescence to tickle my spirit—because as long as my spirit remains strongly focused upon the upside of life, the downside of engaging in a game of Red Rover has no chance in hell of dominating any portion of my conscious mind ... in short, each time a downhearted thought so much as arises, positivity clicks a switch inside my head that change tracks AFAIHP (as fast as is humanly possible.) and that's the truth.
The next day after Netflik’s homecoming was spent at the hospital, where I was positioned within a soft body mask which, having been shaped over and around my chest, created a hardened mold, which will prevent any body movement at all while each beam of radiation is specifically directed to target four tiny dots tattooed strategically upon my upper body thus aiming my daily absorption of radiation so precisely as to preserve the good health of tissue unaffected, as of yet, by this tumor, whose hunger we plan to zap ASAP (followed by chemo, also scheduled to commence right before Thanksgiving week when all of our kids, big and small, plan to fly in to celebrate so much that we each feel thankful for, most especially, our positively focused love for and supportive friendships with one another, and since my grandsons are growing so fast, I just ordered new NFL licensed sleeping bags each rendering their favorite teams, so they can curl up each night in our well appointed guest room at the foot of Marie and Barry’s bed, dreaming of cuddling—whoops, I mean huddling with their favorite players on the field while holding tight to new pillow pets illustrating their team mascots, because I remain aware of the fact that our youngest weekend warriors, garbed in team pj's, are still vulnerable boys at heart. 😊
Hopefully, Ravi, not having transformed into an avid sports fan, as of yet, will continue to adore her princess sleeping bag, shaped to resemble Belle, ala Beauty and the Beast. And needless to say, a new pillow pet will be hers to snuggle with during sleep overs, as well.
Hopefully, Ravi, not having transformed into an avid sports fan, as of yet, will continue to adore her princess sleeping bag, shaped to resemble Belle, ala Beauty and the Beast. And needless to say, a new pillow pet will be hers to snuggle with during sleep overs, as well.
As for me, I feel like a blue eyed, brunette, seventy five year old lass, who has tumbled down the rabbit’s hole, because just as Alice made her way through one confounding experience after another, I plan to do the same while focusing my mind and spirit upon landing on silver linings, reflecting my daily decision to turn my face toward the sunny side of life, where healing is bound to take place based in my vision of my extended family’s positively focused strength of will being infused within the port, as well, and if that imaginative vision makes a cock-eyed optimist of me then what time in my life could be more appropriate for my brain to envision all of us circling round, hand in hand, steadying the stance of my mind's eye, than right now? 😍
As I'm fully aware of so much love flowing freely, hopefully you can feel me sending bunches of heartfelt feelings into cyberspace in hopes that your arms, opening wide, will catch and absorb so much of my chosen attitude that you, too, have a horn of plenty to pass forward as our holiday season spreads good will to one and all, throughout a world so magical that one day, a loving connection concerning mind control will have tamed greed so that each of us, peopling the rainbow that is sure to encircle the globe, will believe in Peter Pan, Wendy, Tinkerbell and the lost boys inspiring Captain Hook and his merry crew to assemble under Mary Poppin’s umbrella, which upon lift off, will fill our ears with this unlikely choir belting out—a spoonful of sugar and spice and everything nice makes humility arise, etc. etc., etc ... are you listening Donald Duck? I mean trump?
Annie ❤️😘🌈🌻
No comments:
Post a Comment