Broadcasting today from Owl Chatter’s satellite office in Bloomfield Hills, MI. Spent yesterday in Annie Arbor after a sensational lunch at Boneheads BBQ in Willis. Ribs out of this world. Family platter through the roof with brisket, beans, et al. Crooked Tree Ale. Phil got this neat shot of the owner who was up on the roof for some reason.
Ever wonder what a good Celtic rock band would sound like with bagpipes and a fiddler? Me neither. But if you ever do, check out the Toronto group Enter the Haggis. They tore the roof off of The Ark last night. Here’s a sample, sans fiddle however.
Nassau County Executive, the right-wing bigot Bruce Blakeman, was ordered by NYS Attorney General Letitia James, to reverse his anti-trans edict barring trans women from participating in women team sports. Of course, Blakeman refused. Blakeman has engaged in culture wars in the past, for example, refusing to enforce the state’s mask mandate during the pandemic. It’s unclear how many lives his right-wing idiocy cost. His current hate-drenched cause is in clear violation of NY’s anti-discrimination laws. Courts should have no trouble reversing it.
As usual, the puzzle today, by Natan Last, had so much wonderful material in it. Do you baseball fans remember this? The pitcher who claimed to have thrown a no-hitter on LSD in 1970: Dock ELLIS. And how about this for you old-time TV fans: “The comedian who played Louie the Lilac on the old Batman show?” I had no idea – Milton BERLE! Hey, Uncle Miltie – good to see you!
Here are two quotes of his:
My wife and I have a perfect understanding. I don’t try to run her life and I don’t try to run mine.
I feel like Zsa Zsa Gabor’s sixth husband. I know what I’m supposed to do but I don’t know how to make it interesting.
Yesterday, this was a good clue: “One who has ways of making you talk …” The answer was SPEECH THERAPIST. And “They who shall not be named,” was a good clue for OTHERS. Rex commented on the “faux-folksiness” of the puzzle. Then he wondered about this portmanteau: fauxksiness. Not bad!
My beautiful daughter Caitlin, from whom emanated five of my gorgeous grandchildren, is an RN in oncology. She sometimes shares stuff from work with us, about her amazing patients. Then, yesterday, she posted this writing by one of her patients, who, very sadly, is no longer with us. Her name was Carolyn Messina. Caity called her a beautiful cancer warrior.
People with cancer are supposed to be heroic.
We fight a disease that terrifies everyone.
We are “strong” because we endure treatments that can feel worse than the actual malignancies.
We are “brave” because our lab tests come back with news we don’t want to hear.
The reality of life with cancer is very different from the image we try to portray.
Our fight is simply a willingness to go through treatment because, frankly, the alternative sucks. Strength? We endure pain and sickness for the chance to feel normal down the road. Brave? We build up an emotional tolerance and acceptance of things we can’t change. Faith kicks in to take care of the rest.
The truth is that if someone you love has cancer, they probably won’t be completely open about what they’re going through because they’re trying so hard to be strong.
For you.
However, if they could be truly honest and vulnerable, they would tell you:
1. Don’t wait on me to call you if I need anything. Please call me every once in a while and set up a date and time to come over. I know you told me to call if I ever needed anything, but it’s weird asking others to spend time with me or help me with stuff I used to be able to do on my own. It makes me feel weak and needy, and I’m also afraid you’ll say “no.”
2. Let me experience real emotions. Even though cancer and its treatments can sometimes influence my outlook, I still have normal moods and feelings in response to life events. If I’m angry or upset, accept that something made me mad and don’t write it off as the disease. I need to experience and express real emotions and not have them minimized or brushed off.
3. Ask me “what’s up” rather than “how do you feel.” Let’s talk about life and what’s been happening rather than focusing on my illness.
4. Forgive me. There will be times when the illness and its treatment make me “not myself.” I may be forgetful, abrupt or hurtful. None of this is deliberate. Please don’t take it personally, and please forgive me.
5. Just listen. I’m doing my very best to be brave and strong, but I have moments when I need to fall apart. Just listen and don’t offer solutions. A good cry releases a lot of stress and pressure for me.
6. Take pictures of us. I may fuss about a photo, but a snapshot of us can help get me through tough times. A photo is a reminder that someone thinks I’m important and worth remembering. Don’t let me say “I don’t want you to remember me like this” when treatment leaves me bald or scarred. This is me, who I am RIGHT NOW. Embrace the now with me.
7. I need a little time alone. A few points ago I was talking about how much I need to spend time with you, and now I’m telling you to go away. I love you, but sometimes I need a little solitude. It gives me the chance to take off the brave face I’ve been wearing too long, and the silence can be soothing.
8. Take nothing for granted. Enjoy the life you have right now. Take time to jump in puddles, hug your kids, and feel the wind on your face. Marvel at this amazing world God created, and thank Him for bringing us together.
While I may not be thankful for my cancer, I need to be grateful for the physicians and treatments that give me the chance to fight this thing. And if there ever comes a time when the treatments no longer work, please know that I will always be grateful for having lived my life with you all in it.
As we watch our amazing two-year old Morris run and play and eat and talk and sing, special thoughts go out for our recent losses: Susan, Hank, Bonnie, and Mitch.
Thanks for coming by everybody.
The Wellington Files 