I’ve had so much time to write that posts left in drafts are rudely pushing each other aside in their haste to see the light of day. Unfortunately, they’ve backed up, unnumbered, though numbering each one had been my habit until aggressive chemo protocols played messy games with my brain’s highly developed sense of organization. So rather than forcing my patience level to heighten, yet again, I’m choosing to place frustration aside in favor of relaxing my mind during this stressful time by publishing each post left in drafts without any attempt to place them in order. And with the mind soothing nature of that decision clearly stated, here’s the first pre-penned post (all of which have been composed of inter-related trains of thought engineered by my intuition) that my eye landed upon in eeny-meeny-miney-moe fashion, today:
Though I’d witnessed my dad experience deeply stressed financial woes while I was growing up, it’s been my good fortune, thus far, to have never lived from hand to mouth.
In addition to that fact (concerning my past), presently, with so many unknowns spinning round everyone’s head on a global scope, my having cancer has come to feel like a small spot of personal concern that’s not nearly as mind blowing as is true of today’s world-wide health hazard, which within a matter of weeks has destabilized everything that had seemed natural or functional over our entire lifetime, most especially since most of us, alive, today, were babes in arms or not yet born during the catastrophic years of WW I, followed by The Great Depression and WWII, all of which offers us the historical hindsight to have gained insight into detailing how one global disaster led to the next, and if we utilize the historical time line to serve as our guide, we come see the domino effect that caused each of those three catastrophic events to interconnect with the last, based in human nature’s blindness to seek out insight concerning need to focus our sights upon piecing together bigger pictures in real time,
To my good fortune (and for reasons not yet revealed in my blog) Will’s love for me has grown to such depths, over these past twenty five years, as to take extra care to anticipate my every need, which still surprises (and delights) me to no end. And as long as our sons are healthy, working from home and their families are well, so much is still right with our little corner of the world that my spirit feels more reason to sport a grateful smile than not. As long as I stay away from news reports (so many innocent children beaten to death that my heart can’t help but to moan), which rarely have anything uplifting to convey, my sense of peaceful, emotional control remains in a consciously well balanced state of being. And for that do I pay tribute to the creative portion of my imagination, which conjured up The Line of Self Control, which I practiced with due diligence while modeling attitudes, word choices, actions and behaviors for my young sons to observe, absorb and mimic during the eighteen years in which I knew myself to be their most influential guide to experiencing a life well lived, which, to my way of thinking, meant living a life permeated with loving kindness, logical thinking and huge dollops of positively focused humor tossed into the mix. Did I consciously think all of this? No—just some of it. Most of what guided me toward guiding my young was driven by intuition directing the bent of my think tank to absorb a self help library, which my hungry brain gobbled up during the still of each night while my husband, being a guy, dreamed of sports, and my sons did the same along with girls and fast cars, all of which was natural, right? Except for one puzzlement—what mystery, during my childhood, had stimulated my adult intuitive powers to devour everything that I could get my hands on in hopes of developing a friendship with each of my sons that ran so deep that they would grow up feeling 100% free to come to me for help with any inner conflict that disrupted peace of mind ... holy smokescreens, as I write, so many deeply submerged details continue to emerge from within the emotionally repressed portion of my brain that I continue to gain insight, clarifying my need to shine spotlights upon memories buried in my subconscious, which remain convolutedly intertwined within the adult, whom I prove to be, today, and thus, with every post that feels intuitively written do I gain insight into why my mind so often and so easily digresses into what’s past ...
While the world at large continues to spin off its axis around me, today, offering no clue as to what to expect next (as was true when I was a bewildered child of not quite three) Will and I have been graced with many heartfelt reasons to offer each other natural smiles, and one of those reasons is hearing from so many loved ones who, in addition to wishing me to get well, thought to wish us a happy anniversary via phone and social media.
One dear friend, (the son of the couple whose business was swindled out of their trusting hands by a frenemy) is raising his family in Philly. Upon receiving his congrats on our anniversary, I, opening my mind to Memoryland land, again, replied: So—do your pancakes ever sprout chocolate chips? I remember you sauntering into our kitchen on Sunday mornings, a pre-teen, who’d choose to chat with me while we’d both drop a few morsels of semi-sweetness into the rounds of batter sizzling on the grill before you’d make an about face and find your way back into the family room where the rest of the boys, who’d slept over, every weekend, had remained sprawled all over the couches while additional heads relaxing on giant pillows, saw young healthy bodies, which, all together, numbered six or seven, make do with the carpeted floor. If there was one thing, back then, that made sense while all of you were growing up, much of your time spent in our home, it was this: No one wondered how best to prioritize anything in our house. Love topped the list; chocolate chip pancakes for Sunday brunch came in at a close second; third was education. All three were a given. As was financial security. With all of us being naturally healthy, inclusive of my parents and Will’s mother, our serious concerns, were few and far between.
As my last round of chemo has not caused my system to flood with misery, that’s enough about me and mine for today, I’d like to know what’s happening with you and yours during this mind boggling time. Hungry comment box always hoping to be fed ...
Annie
PS
Anyone else having trouble tracking the days of the week?
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