Warriors Wear Pink

It's been four years since we learned. As always I accompanied my wife to her annual mammogram. We had been doing this for the past dozen years. I would sit in the waiting room while my wife would go into the radiology department and have her annual mammogram. I would typically read through a Readers Digest or whatever was available and before I could finish half of the book, my wife would be done. This time was different. I sat and read the book from cover to cover, then another, then another, then another. Finally my wife emerged and said "They found something." As soon as she told me, she was taken in to another room for an ultrasound, and I waited for what seemed like eternity. Then the doctor came out and said they found a lump the size of a dime, and we should make an appointment with a surgeon for a biopsy.

The biopsy was scheduled for the following week. And then we waited another week for the results. The follow up appointment confirmed our worst fears, yet we had prepared for the worst. It was breast cancer, and it would have to be removed. Two weeks of waiting and then the lumpectomy came along with sentinel lymph node biopsy. Another week and we knew it was in the lymph system. The terrible call came from her surgeon while we were shopping. We left the shopping cart in the aisle of the store and came home. Now came what we thought would be the hard part. Little did we know.

We were scheduled for a bilateral modified radical mastectomy. When it was done we thought "Wow, we made it!" Again, we had no clue. Chemotherapy was waiting for us behind the curtains.

Six months of chemotherapy followed. Loss of feminity, loss of hair, loss of appetite, energy, sexuality, being. Hospitalizations, pneumonia, anemia. The list was endless.

All together, I shaved my head at least a dozen times in support of my wife. I still wear a pink ribbon on my suit lapel to show support for those who have been affected by this horrible disease.
Now here we are four years later. We still see the oncologist every six months. I say we, because we are a team. Husband and wife. I have learned so much from my wife during this episode in our lives. I have learned strength beyond what I could have imagined. I have learned you can't run out of tears. I have learned to be humble. But most of all I have learned to accept what God gives you, and not be selfish, and to trust whatever hand you are dealt, and to play it to the best of your ability.
I have learned that I am stronger than I thought. I learned that warriors wear pink.

Cupcakes in Prayerville

I had put this road trip on hold for such a long time. Ever since hearing all the rave reviews about a quaint patisserie in Prayerville, California, I have been eager to go there myself.

Karen Marie's Cupcake Shoppe was my destination this clear blue-skied Saturday morning. I soon found myself driving south along the Eastshore freeway headed toward a tiny little town situated between Pinole and Berkeley. My GPS programmed earlier in the morning with my destination input as 111 Pink Pinwheel Road, Prayerville, CA.

The cupcakes in this tiny bakery were said to be unequaled in taste and in texture. Some would argue that cupcakes of this standard could only be found in Lyon, France...maybe Paris. But to many who had visited Karen Marie's, well...these cupcakes were the best.

The owner and propriétaire, Ms Karen Marie had been taught her culinary and baking skills by the famed five star Michelin chef Henri Lapin, master baking chef of Le Cordon Bleu culinary academy in Paris. Mademoiselle Marie learned early in her career to use only the freshest and most seasonal ingredients in her preparations. In fact, her menu at the Cupcake Shoppe changed daily dependent on what ingredients were the freshest. Today, I hoped the famed Apricot cupcake with fresh vanilla sugar was on the menu, but certaily I would not be picky about anything prepared by Mlle Marie.

As I took the Pink Pinwheel Road exit off of the Eastshore freeway I immediately spotted my destination. It was a beautiful small pink cottage with peppermint canes uniquely displayed in the front of the building. Each one paired with another to form the shape of a heart. A large pink spiraled door invited me in. As I took a seat at a little table in the corner I noticed the cupcake du jour was Apricot! The Buddhist in me smiled. I once again was reminded by some inner knowledge from a past life that karma makes the world go around.

A beautiful princess dressed in a diaphanous Cinderella gown and sparkling diamond tiara approached my table and said, "How may I help you kind Sir?" "Oh, I will have the most splendid apricot cupcake with the vanilla sugar topping and a cup of your most wonderful house brewed coffee please." As princess Karen finished taking my order, she turned and walked toward the kitchen and I overheard her say in a hushed voice "The Commander has arrived!"

Oh, by the way you might think this is a fairy tale, but it really happened! Yes, it was yesterday while napping. After I read a story of a sweet little girl and her cupcakes. And today, I still recall the most delicious cupcake ever tasted. I remember pouring creme into my coffee from a white porcelain rabbit creamer. But most of all I remember an angel named Mademoiselle Karen Marie, owner/propriétaire of Karen's Cupcake Shoppe. If you ever are in Prayerville she'll be saving you a seat at the pink little table. Until then...au revoir.

In Due Time - Gracias Ernest

I sat completely silent and motionless below the interstate overpass as rain fell and drenched my feet from the small riverlets of water that ran down the walls of my sanctuary. Thunder shook the earth, as streaks of lightning lit up the evening sky like an incandescent bulb being turned on in a darkened room. I understood why this was happening. I recognized God’s wrath. Oh yes, God was angry with me. I had been a glutton for many months since my wife left. I was mortally sinful of all things indulgent. I must make amends with God soon before my abhorrent life slips out of control...before it’s too late to salvage any goodness from my heart. But tonight I will wipe myself dry of the rain and drink wine. And with wine, she will find me. She will sing to me tonight I told myself. She will sing, and I will listen until we fall into each other’s embrace and become one. Afterwards I will sleep. Tomorrow she will be gone and I will speak to God if he is willing to listen I thought as I stood up from the damp earthen floor and found my way towards city lights once again.

Stellar Epiphany

I know it shouldn't be, but it is. It's 9:45 p.m. and the thermometer on my front porch reads 87 degrees. I really didn't need to look, because I was perspiring from being outside only for a few minutes.

Each night before bedtime, my grandson Bobby and I go outside and look for the moon and any stars we can view from our front yard. We sing the same two songs each night. One song to the moon and the other song to the stars. Tonight we didn't see the moon, so it was with great abandon that 'twinkle twinkle little star' would be sung in near harmony, then I could soon again find my place upon the sofa, grateful for the comfort of a cooler environment. Regardless, our neighbors would thank us that tonight it would only be one song instead of two.

As we looked towards the west, Bobby picked out his star and began to sing as I followed in verse. As I focused upon the star and the beauty of the night, I lifted Bobby upon my shoulders as if I were trying to get him a little closer to heaven. That's when the stellar epiphany struck me. I stopped singing and listened as he completed the verse 'How I wonder what you are'. The moment overcame me, leaving me to question the enormity of what my grandson had just sung.

Yes, I do wonder what you are! I wonder what I am, and how it all fits together. Where in the continuum of the universe does our coexistence come into play? What do I bring to the table and how can I be a positive influence in my grandson's life? Tonight my three year old grandson asks the question "what are you?" in the simplest and most innocent of ways possible...through a child's song.

As I lowered Bobby from my shoulders I knew the answer before his feet touched the ground. The answer to my question was simple. It's all about love, family, ritual, and yes...sometimes it's about looking toward the heavens...even if it is 87 degrees outside.

Deux Coquilles de la Mer

My granddaughter was at the beach yesterday and noticed two sea shells at her feet. She told her mother that the shells were kissing. What a statement coming from a young girl not yet two years of age. Her acute observation gave me pause to write something that I hope she can read when she is old enough, and recall her youth.

Deux Coquilles de la Mer

Look around, what do you see?

Two shells kissing at your feet!

Two shells meeting, sharing love,

as you watch them from above.

Deux Coquilles de la Mer

taking time...a kiss to share.

If shells can do it, why can't we?

Oui ma petite-fille, ah oui...ah oui!

Brave Princess

My granddaughter moved to Okinawa, Japan this past January. I always knew she was a brave little girl, and this photo just reinforces my belief. Life on the beach is hard to beat. I see a lot of Pennebaker in her. Fearless, independent, and if I may say so blessed.

...and if you notice the sky above in the top picture...well there's a heart. Exactly where I asked God to leave it.

Don't Fear the Reaper

I think it's quite insecure of oneself to fear aging. I recall turning thirty and thinking what a robust, intelligent person I was. Then forty came along, and those same feelings surged through my fiber, along with financial security, and feelings of grandeur and pomposity. And as I was busy feeling all the invincibilities of being king of the jungle, fifty hit me smack square in the gut.

Now fifty ain't forty by any means. Fifty brings on a whole set of circumstances that you slowly realize are new to you. You can't run as fast as you once did. You need glasses to read the paper. You take prescription medications for things you never thought you would be dealing with only a few years earlier. Getting out of bed, dressing, making coffee, and certain sundry tasks take an hour or more of your day. Oh well, I think I'll sit and take a nice nap, after all I've been up an hour by now.
The one thing that I do realize which gets better with age is a sense of humor. Finally I can laugh at my own misfortune. If the battery is dead in the family car, well at 30 I would have fumed over it. Now I just laugh and tell myself I'll have to get over to Sears today and have them check it out once the car is jumped by some kind neighbor.
Speaking of neighbors, I've got a great one. He's sixty nine years old, and full of spunk. That gives me hope that there are better things to come than just waking up, making coffee, and taking naps. I may after all be getting better with age, just like music. I don't like Usher, Beyonce, and Justin Timberlake. Give me a little Blue Oyster Cult. I got a fever and the only prescription is more cowbell.