I didn’t realize that I was missing, absent, until last week.
It’s been two years since I put make-up on…and, when I did…the reflection I saw in the mirror was not the pale, tired, transplant recipient that I’ve been. Nor was she the fear-ridden cancer patient.
She was me.
Over the years, I have had various opinions regarding cosmetics. At times, I felt that they were toxic, illness-causing. I have felt that they were just another way in which women (and men) are forced to adhere to society’s unrealistic beauty standards.
I have also felt the exact opposite—that make-up can be used to accentuate features, to highlight natural beauty. I have also viewed make-up as an art form; a creative way of expressing one’s individuality.
For the past two years, I have been buried under doctors’ appointments, surgical procedures, fresh scars, and Steri-Strips. I’m still trying to crawl out from underneath that wreckage…and, somehow, sable eyeliner makes me feel fierce, capable.
With the right blend of eyeshadows, I can see flecks of green in my eyes. I see trees. Nature. Magic.
Applying make-up might not be a natural process, like metamorphosis, but it reminds me of the proverb: “Just when the caterpillar thought that the world was over, it became a butterfly”.
Metamorphosis takes time.
And, sometimes, it requires unexpected tools:
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here. Thank you for allowing me to share my feelings and thoughts. Please continue to send prayers, light, and love.
We all have our own eccentricities. We have habits that we can’t remember when, or why, they started. In fact, our quirks may be so embedded in our day-to-day lives that we can’t even recognize them anymore.
One of my quirks (which I am aware of only because it involves conscious decision-making) is to pick my coffee cup each morning, not by how much coffee it will hold, but by what it says. For instance, I pick this coffee cup when I need to feel stability, positive energy, and/or need to smile.
“Live. Laugh. Love.” It’s the recipe for happiness. And, who doesn’t want to have a happy day?
You may remember this coffee mug from a previous post. Yes, I drink from this cup when I’m writing—and particularly when characters have some bad karma coming their way. I invest a lot of time and energy into crafting my fictional characters; it hurts to injure and/or kill them. Sometimes, though, the plot requires suffering. As a writer, I do what I have to do.
Similar to some of my characters, and the unfortunate events that befall them, I, too, need healing. It is at this moment, that I reach for this handmade coffee cup:
Made by Healing Touch Pottery, the stone embedded in this cup’s handle is believed to encourage healing. My body, mind, and soul need a lot of that.
And, let’s not forget the mugs that make me giggle:
As some of you know, I became a Harry Potter fan later than the rest of my cohort. I was in my late twenties when I finally sat down to read the second book of the series. From there, I couldn’t stop reading. For a time, I read non-stop, until there was nothing left to read. Fortunately, it’s a series that is easy to revisit.
You may not know this about me, but I have very little confidence. My self-esteem has flat-lined over the past few years. I don’t feel strong or brave, so, having a coffee mug that tells me, “I’m Fucking Magical”, gives me a much-needed boost. It makes me believe that I might accomplish good—or maybe even great things—during my day. It buoys my spirits, energizes me, and makes me feel special.
Of course, there are some mornings, wherein I just need love:
This mug helps me on the mornings when I feel as though my tank is empty, as though there’s nothing left of me to give or share. I take a sip of coffee from this cup, and, somehow, I feel loved and capable of sharing love with others.
I believe, Dear Readers, that love—to be cared for deeply by someone or something (i.e. a pet)—is as essential as food and water. So, too, is being kind and caring toward others.
As always, thank you so much for your prayers, love, and light. You have carried me through so much and I am so, so grateful for your presence here.
I wanted an older dog. I wanted an old soul that was house-trained, had good manners, and was slow-moving. Why? Because, in April of 2018, I was still slow-moving. The tumor in my spine (although radiated into oblivion) and the drop foot that I had developed while in the hospital, had left me unsteady on my feet. I couldn’t imagine taking an energetic pup for a walk.
In this, though, I firmly believe: we’re not always given what we think we want. We’re given what we need.
As is written in the Holy Bible: New International Version, in the book of Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
So, no, a puppy was not part of my plan. She was part of a bigger plan.
I needed a copper-colored puppy.
I needed someone to walk on a regular basis. I needed someone to challenge my pace. I needed a baby to feed and cuddle. I needed Luna.
Was it all cuddles and neat obedience tricks? Absolutely not. She tested my patience like no one ever has. She chewed up countless shirts and yoga pants (while I was wearing them). She destroyed all of her plush toys—even the ones that claimed to be “indestructible”.
Despite these growing pains, she has become a reliable and comforting presence.
She’s my little guardian—letting me know when there’s a stranger in the yard (i.e. UPS) or strange creatures (i.e. wild turkeys)
She’s my therapy when I’m anxious. One touch of her super-soft fur, and the world feels right again.
She’s my Netflix binge-buddy—curling up beside me on the couch, watching superheroes save the world, documentaries on Vikings, or whatever else I might happen to be obsessed with.
I cannot believe how much—and how fast—she has grown up! Born as a member of a “surprise liter”, on an April 1st that was both Easter and April Fool’s Day, she is truly special. I often wonder, “where has my baby girl gone”? She’s still here, just taller and weighing in at 55-60 pounds. Her bark has changed, too. It’s louder, it’s part howl, and it frightens wild turkeys away.
She has a big, beautiful heart.
Happy 1st Birthday, Luna! Daddy and I love you to the moon and back.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your continued prayers, love and light. Your encouragement sustains me.
Well, Dear Readers, I am feeling the need to do another free-write. Will any of the following make sense? I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out, together, at the end of this post.
There is a colony of rabbits (also known as, “The Colony” & “The Colonists”) that live in the cedar hedge surrounding our house. Some of The Colonists may also have a den underneath our porch. Everyday, when I go outside to retrieve the mail, I see their paw-prints in the snow. I see Mega-bunny’s tracks, and the junior-bunnies’ tracks. Their paw-prints weave between naked shrubs, and then disappear into the gaps in the porch’s lattice work.
And, then, I see cat tracks.
There are two neighborhood cats that occasionally visit us. I have decided to call them Sneaky Pete (he prowls the field across the road) and Tux (because he is a big, handsome, tuxedo-colored cat).
The paw-prints in the snow seem to indicate that they’ve both come calling recently.
Sneaky Pete’s paw-prints are much smaller than Tux’s, and he doesn’t seem to linger. He approaches the porch, turns around, and then follows the length of the driveway. He must cross the road there, to return home to his field and to the farmhouse beside it.
Tux’s prints, however, seem to document a calculated stride. He’s hunting, which disappoints me, because I have a soft spot for The Colony.
The rabbits and the cats aren’t the only creatures telling stories in the snow. The squirrel—the crazy one that prefers to climb the garage’s façade sideways—left tracks along the roof. They melted away when the sun emerged.
Luna leaves paw-prints as well. Her tracks document joyful leaps into snow banks:
Her hound nose also leads her to the porch’s lattice work and to the edge of the cedars.
I haven’t spotted any tracks or abandoned feathers, but the cedars are alive with the plaintive cries of blue jays. I have observed one, scarlet-feathered cardinal. A murder of crows sometimes flies overhead. Sporadically, a flock of mourning doves visit.
A spectator to all of these stories, is a cold, but wondrous, winter moon:
Well, what do you think? Do all of these little tales add up to something larger? Is winter a hunter, like Tux? Or, is it serene, like the moon? Can it be both?
As always, thank you, Dear Readers, for your on-going prayers, light and love. Your encouragement keeps me going. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
We’re only fourteen days into 2019, and, already, the new year has taught me some significant lessons.
While undecorating the Christmas tree, an angel ornament broke.
The dryer is screeching…not a little bit, but a lot.
I broke a tooth.
How can I be “okay” with any of these happenings? The answer is quite simple: most broken things can be fixed. With, perhaps, the exception of these ink-stained pajama pants:
There’s no saving these, but that, too, is okay. I only ever wear them to bed. And, if you look closer, what do those ink stains look like? Hearts. They look like hearts.
I was not happy about the angel ornament breaking. This ornament was actually a party favor from a friend’s wedding (forever ago). The angel has shown me, that although broken, she is still quite beautiful. Just a dab of hot glue, and she will be whole again. She will be ready to shine on 2019’s Christmas tree.
The dryer, of course, is another matter entirely. It’s teaching me patience (the lesson that I am given again and again. Someday, I’ll actually be patient). My fiancé has ordered replacement parts to fix the problem, but in the meantime, I have to hang our clean, but wet, laundry on a wooden clothes rack to dry. The drying process is longer, and the product is rather scratchy, but it works.
Let me tell you, when I can use that dryer again, I might just buy some sparkling juice to celebrate!
Finally, my broken tooth. This, was unfortunately, fated to happen. I can’t remember if I ever wrote about the dental evaluation that I had to have, prior to my bone marrow transplant in 2017. The short version: this evaluation resulted in having one tooth pulled and a few others marked as likely to cause future issues.
Well, here we are in the “future”, and a suspect tooth did as was predicted—it broke.
The break didn’t hurt, but unhealthy teeth are gateways for infection. So, Dear Readers, I will be visiting the dentist this morning for an exam. I’m not sure if any work will be done, but I will need to take an antibiotic anyways. PowerPorts—I still have mine—are susceptible to infection from dental work, especially if any plaque is disturbed and makes its way down the port line.
Similar to most people, I do not like having dental work done. The drill, the Novocaine shot…ugh. For me, though, it’s the overhead light that is most bothersome. It is a PTSD trigger. Sometimes, when I am sitting underneath that light, I think I can see other masked faces staring down at me—faces that performed my ICU surgery in 2010. These images bring me back to a time, and a place, wherein I was on Death’s doorstep.
That’s not an exaggeration. I nearly died, and no matter how much time passes, it is something that continues to haunt me.
How do you face a fear like that? I plan to silently recite a verse from the New InternationalVersion of the Holy Bible, specifically, Psalm 91:11a. I’ve written about this verse before. I find a great deal of comfort in these words, so I thought that I’d share them once again: “For He will command His angels concerning you…”.
So, 2019, I see this challenge, and I will view it as Exposure Therapy—which, in the end, will only make me stronger.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for continuing to send love, light and prayers. You give me hope and strength to see the positive in so many situations. Thank you, thank you, thank you.