Archive for the ‘women’s health’ Category
Me & Me
Posted on: June 11, 2010
- In: Blogging | Breast cancer | humor | Personal History | women's health
- 1 Comment
& Me, before I was aware of & Me.
I’ve been meaning to speak to you about me, or more precisely, about & Me.
Particularly if you found this blog by accident, you might wonder about this & Me person. Surely, anyone who writes a blog in which every post headline ends in & Me must be a raving maniac and/or the most self-centered person on the planet, give or take a few.
Is it my ego that forces everything to be & me? Or is it just a clever means of writing headlines? Or, perhaps more accurately, are they not-so-clever headlines?
This whole & Me thing began innocently enough with my first writing about my diagnosis of breast cancer, when I wrote about Tevye & Me. The concept was that I wrote about the higher risk of Jewish women of Ashkenazi descent (eastern and central Europe) have a great risk of breast cancer. Tevye, the father figure in Fiddler on the Roof, speaks to God about the
And I didn’t know that. Tevye and Me was just the start. There was Clint Eastwood & Me, which described my “are you feeling lucky” fears going into surgery. And then there was Madonna & Me, which described my decision to have a double mastectomy for my emotional wellbeing.
It’s gone on from there. I’ve brought everything except the kitchen sink to & Me, including many more cultural icons.
I’m paraphrasing the early blog post headlines, but the concept was all this crazy stuff in my head. Sometimes, I have gone on a rant; other times I use & Me ironically.
Anything and everything becomes fodder for my blog posts. When things happen, such as the environmental products piece that I posted June 10. I am very willing to poke fun at myself, which frankly, is very poke-funnable. That’s why I can get away with & Me, who can be pretty absurd in her – my – buffoonery.
This blog, whether it’s read daily by 500 or 12, has been the best thing I’ve done for myself during treatment and beyond. It’s kept my brain sharp (or less unsharp) than it might have been during chemotherapy, etc.
And it’s been fun, particularly when folks mention it via email and in person. Dick and I were out walking the other day and an old friend passing in her car yelled to me that she read it every day. Thanks, Linda.
I used to say that I write when I find work, which I do, and would like even more. But I also write tis blog for my own personal sanity. I think it’s good that increasingly I’m writing about sometime other than cancer. It means there is life after cancer.
Sometimes, though, I need to be protected from what I might write. Thank you, Maggie and Dick, for stopping me from posting one piece written at 2 a.m. this week when I couldn’t sleep. It would have been greatly misunderstood.
The rule now is that if I write something in the middle of night, I need to run it by my panel working to protect me from myself (& me).
Duck & Quilt & Me
Posted on: June 5, 2010
- In: Breast cancer | Ducks in the city | humor | quilting | Wisconsin | women's health
- 1 Comment
Seven little ducks went IN one day,
Over the quilts and not far away.
Mother Duck said, “Quilt, quilt, quilt, quilt.”
And finally seven little ducks came back out.
Can this quilt pattern be far behind?
With all apologies to children’s singer/songwriter Raffi, I am about to tell you the story of a mother duck and seven little ducklings in a quilt store, River Road Quilts, which is located within Nelson Flag & Display in La Crosse.
Before I go any further, I admit the mother duck would be a better quilter than me. But that’s beside the point.
On warm but not hot days, my good friends who manage the shop keep their doors open for cross ventilation. Chris was in her office about to walk to the quilt shop when she saw the something quite unexpected.
“There’s a duck!” she shouted.
But my two other friends in the quilt shop only heard “duck!” Which, they did. (Apparently, they learned their duck and cover lessons well in schools in the 1950s.)
Duck & Quilt?
Ducking was not what Chris meant, but the mother duck startled and flew up in the air over their heads. After several wild passes in different directions, she found an open door and flew out.
Meanwhile, those ducklings were quacking for their momma and waddling in all directions, bumping into this or that. Chris and her husband, Steve, co-workers Betty and Muggs plus friend Sue ran around trying to get the ducklings back to momma.
It was a lot like herding cats – and that’s just for the humans.
There were cries that they shouldn’t touch the ducklings or their mother would not take them back. Apparently, it’s a myth.
Eventually, ducklings were in a box and or picked up and taken out to the side yard of the store to reconnect with dear old Mom. Outside, ducklings still went in different directions, including at least one heading to a major road. The other side would lead them to the backwaters of the Mississippi River. Steve got into the road to head those cute little doggies back toward their mom.
Eventually they thought they had them all, except for one that turned up a bit later and was rounded up for that safe family reunion.
Oh, how my friends wish they had photos afterwards.
The first duck I noticed in our city away from the river was a mother duck who built a nest and hatch babies against the back of our house, which is a good couple miles from the Mississippi. Steve commented then that the mother duck knew her family was safe near my kitchen. I’d never cook them. It was true.
Now that they had their own duckling invasion, they plan to keep their doors closed with air conditioning on.
But the Ducks Unlimited meeting planned for River Road Quilts has been postponed indefinitely.
Do visit the quilt shop at 2501 South Ave., La Crosse. It would be just ducky.
Precious & Me
Posted on: June 1, 2010
So not me ...
We have an expression in our family that I coined: “Precious doesn’t like to sweat.”
I am Precious, although I am not in the least bit precious. The expression refers to my feelings about the heat. And it’s meant to be a tad ironic as sweat and precious don’t usually go together.
Although I write this in air conditioning and not in January or February, I prefer winter to heat. I love to wrap up in a blanket. I hate heat, which means summer days do not appeal to me.
I come by it naturally. My mom used to talk about what life was like in St. Louis before air conditioning. People desperate for sleep tried to catch a cool breeze in Forest Park because they knew they could not sleep at home. Or, they slept on fire escapes.
After she moved to La Crosse, Mom said periodically, “You gotta thank the man who invented air conditioning.” She’d then ask who it was. One time I actually did the research and learned it was a guy name Carrier. And La Crosse, where I live, had a big hand in air conditioning through the Trane Company.
But I digress, as usual.
I’m really writing about an advertisement on Facebook for the Precious Moments breast cancer figurine. I am a sap in many ways, but I am never to the level of Precious Moments, although I realize for some it and others in the line have great meaning.
The idea that there is now a “special collectible” figurine for breast cancer seems like jumping on the pink band wagon.
Here’s how this product is described by Precious Moments:
Share in the hope for a cure with this special collectible Precious Moments® breast cancer figurine, a Hamilton Collection exclusive! Depicting two girlfriends participating in a breast cancer walk-a-thon, it truly honors the spirit of loving, caring and sharing because a portion of the proceeds from its sale will be donated to help fight breast cancer.
If you look at the figurine, both of these girlfriends participating in a breast cancer walk-a-thon are absolutely flat – they must have already had double mastectomies. I am embarrassed to have noticed that.
And I know that I should be grateful and I do enjoy a good walk-a-thon with my friends especially the one in La Crosse called Steppin’ Out in Pink. But I do not want a figurine celebrating it.
Incidentally, if all the products that claim to give a portion of their proceeds to fighting breast cancer did so, I’m sure we would have cured it in the last couple years alone. Wait, maybe we should all buy that figurine. Many of them.
Nah.
I need to add a final note. That moniker, Precious, once became fodder for amusement by my friends at a second hand book sale at the elementary school where my kids went. In pawing through the books, one found a title called Who Killed Precious?
I hate to say it, but after hearing me whine about the heat for years, they paused for a moment wondering, why not this Precious.
But I’m still here.
‘Everybody spills’ & Me
Posted on: May 31, 2010
- In: Breast cancer | humor | women's health
- 2 Comments
I have vivid memories of crying in restaurants. One time, it was because we were in New Orleans and the menu was in French. Little me – probably 7 or 8 – just couldn’t handle it.
We left the restaurant, but not because my parents were angry. They didn’t like to see their little Susie upset. Sadly, Susie hasn’t been back to New Orleans since. It’s not that I was scarred by the experience, however. But who knows if that French menu might be hiding the demon spinach in my food.
Most of my memories of crying in restaurants were after knocking over my milk. I also remember my kids welling up with tears after spilling theirs.
None of us should have. In our family growing up or in raising our kids, spilling was not a hanging offense. It was not an offense at all.
As we used to say to our kids when they would cry after a spill, “Everybody spills.”
That seemed to calm them down. We said it so often that I started calling it our family motto.
It’s true that anyone who sits and eats or drinks with us spills. I don’t know if we have naturally-spilling family and friends, but just about everyone we know has knocked a glass over or dropped food on their clothing when by us.
One of our kids even said after throwing up, “It spilled out of my mouth.”
Now that is a spill.
I even tried to create a coat of arms to go with our family motto some years back that had minimal success.The slogan was, “Espillibusunum.” The coat of arms has disappeared unfortunately.
The kids are now grown and spilling on their own, but it all came back to me after a friend gave me this wonderful fake coffee cup spill. It looks so real that every time we walk by, there is a split second or two when we really think it’s a mess needing to be cleaned. I don’t drink coffee so I’m sure it’s Dick’s mess.
I loved that spilled coffee cup so much that I searched on the web for others like it, thinking I’d get it for the other spillers in my life. I discovered that just about anything that could be knocked over can be found in fake spillage.
There was even a Diet Dr Pepper spillage, which of course, was the one I bought. I wasn’t absolutely sure that the kids and/or their significant others wanted the faux messes in their homes.
I have a love for the ticky-tacky that does not end. I don’t actually drink Dr Pepper any more, having stopped during chemotherapy when my taste buds changed.
But walking by and seeing the spilled Dr Pepper brings back great memories of a time when I drank more of the stuff than God intended (but not the Dr Pepper Company). Spilling Dr Pepper in those days was like knocking over the nectar of the Gods.
Today, I am a new woman or at least new spills. I don’t cry over spilt milk, coffee or Dr Pepper.
Essence of love?
Facebook, the devil & Me
Posted on: May 28, 2010
- In: Breast cancer | humor | Personal History | Scrabble | women's health
- 3 Comments
Image is from sat-slayer.blogspot.com, which encouraged high school students to use Facebook carefully. SAT slayer said what they write could have an impact in some cases on their college applications.
A dear friend of mine told me Thursday that she quit Facebook. She said a relative of hers had called her to say that she had to stop because it was akin to working for the devil. The relative heard it in church and pleaded with my buddy to stop being on Facebook.
For the devil in me, I cannot agree, although I understand and respect her decision.
I, for one, will continue to be on Facebook, which I believe has good and bad elements as anything else does in life.
I decided to Google the devil and Facebook to see what is going around the web. I found a site on something called Hubpages by shibashake that begins: “On the surface, Facebook may seem like a simple, and useful application for staying connected with your friends and keeping them updated on your life. But there is a devil lurking behind Facebook’s placid facade. Is Facebook the Devil in disguise? Why?”
Shibashake, who does not capitalize her name, responded to four charges:
1. Facebook lowers the productivity of our nation or even that of the world
While the Syndney Morning Herald reported Facebook may be costing Australian businesses $5 billion a year, she said the “same arguments were used against electronic mail and instant messaging. Now, they are touted as tools for increasing productivity. I suppose the verdict will be out until the next innovative idea/scapegoat comes along.”
2. Facebook exposes our children to smut
“The price of freedom of speech and information is having to deal with things that we may not agree with, may not like, and may not deem appropriate. Smut has been around since time immemorial – before Facebook, before HubPages, before the internet, and before television.” She (I think she’s a she) said protection for children will come from parents, teachers, and other responsible adults in the child’s life. Spend quality time with your child on the internet and direct them towards constructive pursuits; there are many.
3. Facebook disconnects us from the real-world
Some folks are uncomfortable with all technology, she wrote. “From my own experiences with Facebook, Hubpages, and others, participating in these online communities actually help with social disconnect issues. For example on Hubpages, many users talk about facing alienation in real life. Sharing their stories, and getting support from an online community, helps with that alienation,” she wrote.
Any technology can be misued, but “Just because some bad can happen, does not mean we should stop using it. Car accidents happen a lot more frequently, but last time I checked, cars are still in use.”
4. Facebook exposes us to stalkers
Facebook is stalker heaven. “To share in the benefits of a community, we must share a part of ourselves,” she wrote. “If we use sound judgment on what information we publicize, the danger of an online stalking, which is already small to begin with, becomes negligible.”
Are we fully protected? No, she wrote. Just as we are never fully protected in real life. But that does not mean we should become social hermits. The benefits of belonging to an online community, such as Facebook, often outweigh the dangers.
If you do not feel that is the case, you are free to not participate in Facebook, electronic mail, and the internet in general.
You can read the whole article at: http://hubpages.com/hub/facebook-devil-myspace-hell-online-community
But I agree with shibashake. I think we have the ability to control our own reactions and activities. We can turn it off, something that I admit is hard for me when I play Scrabble on Facebook.
Life is about risks and about choices. I say lighten up about Facebook, folks. It’s a free service, that allows us to connect and reconnect with folks across the planet.
During my cancer treatment, I had support from all kinds of folks, including those I have not connected with for decades. I had folks immediately available to encourage me and entertain me. It was touching, exciting and just plain fun. I needed to connect with folks especially during chemotherapy. Thanks folks for being there for me.
Of course, that may mean the devil has taken control of me. But was that before or after I joined Facebook?
Nah.
Oh, let me share a quote about the devil from Helen Keller: “It is wonderful how much time good people spend fighting the devil. If they would only expend the same amount of energy loving their fellow men, the devil would die in his own tracks of ennui.”
Feel free to be my friend on Facebook.
Graduation(s), a Yiddish lesson & me
Posted on: May 18, 2010
- In: Breast cancer | humor | Personal History | women's health | Yiddish
- 1 Comment
The trio, from left, Jenny, Maggie and Michael in a borrowed graduationhat.
I didn’t attend my college graduation from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I made up for it this weekend.
Back then in 1975 I was already working at the La Crosse Tribune as a reporter. And, being the rebellious person at the time, I didn’t see the value of going through such a ceremony when I was already living my dream of being a newspaper reporter.
A generation later, we had double duty – opportunity – this past weekend.
Maggie in front of a photo of an old newsroom, presumably of the famous Kansan journalist, William Allen White.
At 8:30 a.m. Saturday, May 15, we attended the Maggie in the hood ceremony for our daughter at the University of Kansas. That hour-long commencement ceremony was for master’s degree students and undergraduates of KU’s William Allen White School of Journalism.
A hooding ceremony goes with a master’s degree, which Maggie earned while working full time in communications for Blue Valley School District in Overland Park, Kansas. She has no plans to leave that terrific job.
After the hooding and handing out of undergraduate journalism degrees, we took photos, ate brunch in Lawrence, Kansas, and then hauled the rear portion of our anatomies about 430 miles north to Minneapolis. Maggie and her husband and his parents joined us on the next step on our academia odyssey.
We arrived about 9 p.m. and met Michael, his girlfriend, Jenny, and her family for ice cream before calling it a night.
The next morning I called to confirm there would be two cakes for the graduation party – one for our Kansas graduate and one for the Minnesota graduates. There was a mix-up. The store I called had no record of our order that I already had paid for over the phone. They transferred me to the bakery for the chain and they had no record of our cakes, but were willing to decorate one that morning.
The cake: one instead of two and with the colors for both universities - Minnesota and Kansas.
I had the wrong store, as it turned out, but the company offered to refund my money for the unfound cakes.
Michael’s commencement, more than twice a long as Maggie’s, was for a bachelor’s degree the University of Minnesota in cultural studies/comparative literature with a minor in linguistics. Michael will go on to Emory University in the fall in comparative literature.
No hood for him from Minneapolis. And no cap for him, either. At the end of the ceremony, he assumed everyone would throw hats in the air. Only a few did, including his, which went forward enough that he couldn’t get his back as he joined the recessional out of the Northrup Auditorium.
After graduation and photos, we joined the party with Jenny’s family at her apartment. It was great fun to meet more of her extended family.
And as someone who loves photo ops, it was wonderful to get joint pictures of the three graduates, including Maggie who I insisted wear her recap, gown and hood for pictures. I am an evil woman.
And now it’s time for your Yiddish lesson: kvell.
That’s exactly what I’m doing. Kvelling is a Yiddish word for beaming with pride and pleasure, as a Jewish mother does over her kids’ achievements. Of course, they aren’t exactly kids any more; both are graduates of the University of Minnesota plus in Maggie’s case that master’s degree (with hood).
As we were driving back to La Crosse, I read an article about Boston University inviting back its class of 1970 for the commencement it never had. Students were sent home early because campuses erupted after the shootings of students on the campus of Kent State University.
About 300 of the 3,000 in the class came, wearing peace symbols on their caps and gowns. One of those interviewed was Kit Coffey, who said it was “a hoot” to remember her origins as a rebellious college student.
“How did I become a suburban housewife?” she was quoted as asking in a New York Times article. She described the era as “hard to explain to people … You look back at this time and think, wow, what was that all about?”
I graduated high school that year, not college, but I wore a peace symbol in the form of a God’s eye over my gown. What a rebel.
I’m sorry, Mom and Dad, that you missed out on kvelling at my college graduation. As Coffey said, “What was that all about?”
Cherry Ames, Great Nurses & Me
Posted on: April 9, 2010
Cherry Ames, a tribute to nurses & Me
“It is every girl’s ambition at one time or another to wear the crisp uniform of a nurse. The many opportunities for service, for adventure, for romance make a nurses’ career a glamorous one. Certainly, girls everywhere loved to read stories in which a nurse in the heroine. At least a million girls already know and admire Cherry Ames, and have laughed over her pranks and thrilled over her gay adventures and wept over her problems.” – from Cherry Ames: Boarding School Nurse
I must have been the exception, as I never wanted to wear the “crisp uniform of a nurse.” Frankly, it’s those body functions that discouraged me.
But nurses are heroines in my book. I have great respect for nurses who cared for me during my treatment for breast cancer and for all those who have cared for me throughout my life and for my family. You are smart, considerate, thorough and compassionate. And I appreciate your laughing at my jokes.
Thank you for what you do.
I did read a couple Cherry Ames books as a little girl. Think Nancy Drew in that crisp, white uniform.
They were among the “Juvenile Series Books” for girls that also included:
Beverly Gray (1934–1955), Connie Blair (1948–1956), Dana Girls (1934–1979) , Ginny Gordon (1948–1956), Judy Bolton (1932–1967), Kay Tracey (1934–1942), Nancy Drew (original series, 1930–1979), Penny Parker (1939–1947), Sue Barton (1936–1952), Trixie Belden (1948–1986) and Vicki Barr (1947–1967).
Cherry Ames must have been a malcontent and a wanderer. During her career from 1943 to 1968 she served as: Cherry Ames: Student Nurse, Senior Nurse, Army Nurse, Flight Nurse, Private Duty Nurse, Visiting Nurse, Cruise Nurse, At Spencer, Night Supervisor, Mountaineer Nurse, Clinic Nurse, Dude Ranch Nurse, Rest Home Nurse, Country Doctor’s Nurse, Boarding School Nurse, Department Store Nurse, Camp Nurse, At Hilton Hospital, Rural Nurse, Staff Nurse, Companion Nurse and Jungle Nurse.
Everywhere she went, there were mysteries and the last two books in the 27-book series are named by those puzzling situations: Cherry Ames: The Mystery in the Doctor’s Office” and Cherry Ames: Ski Nurse Mystery. Also for sale was the Cherry Ames Game and a home nursing handbook.
You will note there was no Cherry Ames: Cancer Nurse.
Do I smell a sequel?
Cherry never married but had occasional boy friends. She did “hop around” quite a bit. She was born in Hilton, Illinois, homage to the hometown of the first author, Helen Wells. (Seven books in the middle were written by another writer before Wells returned.)
In 1944, Cherry joined the Army to serve our troops during World War II, even rising to the role chief nurse in the Pacific theater. After the war, Cherry moved to Greenwich Village in New York. Perhaps that’s where that great adventure was.
In a 2006 article in the New York Times, Michelle Slatalla wrote about her daughters’ interest in the books.
“Why would I even want my daughter to read books about Cherry, a product of an era when the words ‘female’ and ‘exciting career’ were mutually exclusive for the majority of American women?” Slatalla asked herself in “Cherry Ames, My Daughter Will See You Now.”
The answer, she learned from Harriet Springer, editor of a new publication of the series, who said, “She was modern. She taught you that you could do anything. She was smart, and she was courageous, and she had a dedication to her calling. She would never, ever leave the side of her patients, even in a bombing raid.”
Or as Wells wrote in Boarding School Nurse: “She was glad that she was a nurse because nursing, in its many branches, provided an Open sesame to new and exciting experiences – and because more importantly, a nurse can help to alleviate human suffering.”
Hair Update & Me
Posted on: March 24, 2010
- In: Breast cancer | humor | women's health
- 3 Comments
-
- Can you see the family resemblance?
What you learn when you have chemotherapy is that you lose your hair – not just on your head – but all over.
Not to get too graphic about it, but I even lost the hairs on my chinny chin chin. Now normally, a woman would not want to discuss such a personal matter as hairs on – actually under – one’s chin. It’s not exactly ladylike.
But the truth is that I have had hairs grow out of an area under my chin where I once had surgery. And they are back. Is that something to celebrate?
About six weeks ago, I described the sudden disappearance of my eyebrows and eyelashes. It came a few weeks after I had completed chemotherapy, which made me feel that it was “a late hit,” an action would have gotten the penalty flag thrown in football.
Just as suddenly as the lashes and brows went away, they reappeared. Like magic. Fully grown. I also have hair on my arms. I’m not stopping there.
I’m going to the top of my head. I was never completely bald; I always had some hairs that stuck up like a not so complete crew cut or like I just finished boot camp.
I now have very, very short hair all over my head, but it clearly is growing.
When hair on my head first starting coming in, it was incredibly soft. Soon it had the consistency of a tennis ball.
And now, it is a little less soft but still touchable (for a quarter; I’m merely marketing).
And now it is all filled in, but very short. I can see my hairline, which looks a little like Eddie “Woflgang” Munster from “The Munsters” television show from 1964-1966. He’s shown here with his toy doll.
I don’t have dark hair like Eddie but you can see that my front hairline is curved like his.
It’s definitely coming back. I had dinner in Dubuque Monday evening with a woman who is eight years out of chemotherapy and radiation. She is the wife of the boss of the friend I visited.
I was wearing my hat and showed what was underneath. She told me that about the length of my hair now was where it was when she stopped wearing a hat. I kept my hat off; it’s more comfortable that way.
Sisterhood is powerful, but let’s create bonds over other things than breast cancer. Misery does NOT love company when it comes to this disease.
I’ve been walking into the bathroom to get ready to go somewhere with an inclination to brush my hair. Still not necessary, but in another couple months I definitely will need to do so.
Can hair conditioner be far behind?
Onions, All Creatures & Me
Posted on: March 19, 2010
- In: Breast cancer | humor | women's health
- 4 Comments
What is it about a British drama that makes me automatically think the television program must be good?
That was true for “Upstairs, Downstairs,” which was a don’t-miss event in our home for years. Now I own the series and love seeing all 530,000 episodes, give or a take a few.
And I loved “Prime Suspect,” that British crime series that first made me aware of the wonderful British actress, Helen Mirren.
And then a few years ago I fell in love with “All Creatures Great and Small,” made from the books of the same name about the British veterinarian beginning in practice in the 1930s. I used to watch it early mornings while I was on the treadmill.
I reconnected with the series this week and I will forever be a fan because of a small scene that I saw Thursday.
Before I describe it, I need to take a tangential side trip to the first article that I ever wrote. It was a little essay at the University of Wisconsin-Madison for the Daily Cardinal, the student newspaper. It began something like this: “I learned two things from my mother: to strongly dislike Richard Nixon and to hate onions.”
With the exception of our son, Michael, no one in our family eats onions, particularly raw ones. Oh, Maggie’s husband wishes that were not true, but Mike (not Michael and yes it is confusing at times) has accepted this painful reality in his life.
Getting back to the “All Creatures” episode, it seems a dreaded customer of the veterinary practice was a Mr. Sidlow. He only called for a veterinarian to come to his farm when his animals were on death’s door. And that was only after he tried some pretty wicked home remedies.
On this occasion, when Mr. Farnam, the senior veterinarian, arrived on the farm, he discovered that Mr. Sidley’s home remedy du jour was to push a raw onion up the 25-year-old animal’s tush three times a day, for six days.
And surprisingly, it did not cure what ailed the horse.
Mr. Farnam told his client that the animal would have to be put down. “I’m not in the habit of seeing animals suffer needlessly,” he said.
The owner was convinced the 25-year-old horse had another five years of work left in him. When he protested having his horse euthanized, the veterinarian said, “If I put 18 raw onions up your rectum, you would be unhappy too.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Oh, I should add one thing. I learned that James Herriot was a pseudonym for veterinarian James Alfred Wight. He lived at a time when it was not appropriate for professionals to advertise their services, which writing a book would be considered. So he made up the names of the characters, including his own.
If you haven’t read them, you would be amazed at how wonderful these stories are. They make you smile, laugh, worry and tear up all in the same story or episode. They are incredibly good stuff and I’m not a great animal lover (although I do love my cats).
What does this have to do with breast cancer? Nothing. But it is a serious discussion of the timeless issue of onions. I’m glad I could bring clarity to it.
What Does It Mean & Me?
Posted on: March 18, 2010
Where Maggie graduated and Michael (and Jenny) will graduate in May. I just helped pay the bills.
On the night that I write the post about “Today is the first day of the rest of my life & Me” I have a college anxiety dream?
In this dream I am new to what I believe vaguely to be the University of Minnesota, where I never went. It was not Michigan State University, which I attended for more than two years or the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where I graduated.
It was the University of Minnesota, from which Maggie graduated and Michael will graduate in May. I was an adult freshman, who wanted so desperately in the dorm to be liked. But I insulted another woman suggesting she was a freshman when she was a professor. She looked young to me.
There was another kid at the table who came to Minnesota from California for the Jewish Studies Program. He looked like he was in middle school. The Jewish studies program? In the dream, I thought maybe that would be a good major for me. Why not? I had plenty, and I mean plenty, of majors back in my Michigan State days.
Yes what does that mean?
And then it’s the first day of classes, and I forgot about attending my first class and could not remember where my dorm room was. I was trying to convince someone at the desk of the elementary education library at the University to just tell me what my room number was; but she couldn’t get a hold of the right person.
Then I realized my second class of the day was starting and I had no idea where my class was, but just a vague idea that it was in the Natural Sciences Building. I also had nothing on which to take notes.
I ran to a building where I thought I could buy a notebook, but that didn’t work out quite right. I’m now running up hill in September in snow to get to my class. I stop at a local convenience mart run by – and I don’t mean this disrespectfully – but someone of Asian ethnicity. He gave me directions and I started running up hill again in the other direction toward the class (could it be uphill in both directions?). And then, and then, I woke up.
What is all mixed in this dream even if these experiences don’t appear specifically?
- The start of my life post cancer.
- Michael in New York with his GF, Jenny, visiting a couple campuses where he had been offered teaching assistantships in their Ph.D. programs for comparative literature. He previously visited the University of Oregon.
- Michael and Jenny visiting with the best friends of our family’s daughter and granddaughter in New York City, with Jean (the daughter) sending me photos that I got last night just before going to sleep.
- My creating the NCAA Basketball tournament bracket Tuesday for our small group. I won it last year so I’m eager to do this again.
- My attending the synagogue movie night, a winter series at friends’ house.
What the heck does it mean? I don’t know but if I have anxiety about the first day of classes, will I be killing off another grandparent (all gone) at the end of the semester when I forget to write papers, study for a test, etc.?
- Does it mean I’m feeling anxious about Michael’s grad school future?
- Does it just mean general anxiety about life at this point?
- Was it just a great dream to give me something to write about in this blog?
- All of the above.
It’s not a trick question. The answer is D, not that any professor at the University of Minnesota ever gave the answer away to me.
Where son in law, Mike, attended, where Maggie is getting her master's degree and I attended a six-week summer Spanish program (ole!) between my junior and senior years of high school
One of the schools that accepted Michael into its program.
Where I went as a Freshman, Sophomore and the first quarter of my junior year. (It was the quarter system, I didn't drop out in the middle of a term.)
State University of New York at Stony Brook, another place visited by Michael.
Pinky Pie 