Stranger in a Strange Land

October 22, 2014 is when I get to get a hole in my head and have the skin cancer removed. Because I have a jowly cheek on that side of my face the Mohs surgeon thinks she can pull up some skin and do a flap to cover it, but if the hole is too big she will have to do a skin graft. I have a droopy eyelid on that side of my face as well which might be worse after the surgery, but don't worry she can do a small plastic surgery eye lift to fix it  After my cruise and After Greenleaf.

When you don't speak the "common tongue" the Mohs doctor is used to speaking to normal people, with normal reactions, normal fears, and normal thought processes, I felt a little like a stranger in a strange land. Or a Taylor from Taylorland, different tribe, different tongue.

She kept telling me "not to worry," I'm not worried.

"Not to fear," I'm not afraid.

"She will make the scarring as minimal as possible," I don't care. 

"She will make me pretty," I'm not vain.

"It won't kill you," obviously, obviously, obviously, it's 25 years old.

She kept telling me it isn't the killing kind, everything will be fine, no need to worry, no need to fear, no need for anxiety, she has been doing this for years, she is skilled and it is a common procedure. 

I know this!

I mean she kept telling me and never heard my responses. She was so serious giving me pat answers to most folks common fears, I guess, in this language that I don't speak very well. The office gal, the doctor, nor the assistant had a sense of humor, or at least not my sense of humor. The humor Ian always tells every one "She thinks she is being funny." I guess they don't speak my language either. 

I found it exhausting.

They were all nice enough doing their job to the best of their ability, but can't a body laugh at themselves, the situation, the disease just a little. I didn't poke fun at them. Like I would be interested in plastic surgery to preserve my good looks? 

I've lost my patience and interest. I don't think like other people, I don't act like other people, I don't fear like other people. I can't listen, I don't care, it's immaterial, not interesting, out of my realm, petty, silly. 

I take full responsibility for this and blame no one. I'm the one who is different and don't need or want the "common tongue" explanations and platitudes. Telling me not to worry about a 25 year old situation seemed, well, silly, especially with a sense of urgency. Well, she guessed it could wait till after my trips, it would probably be okay and for me not to worry it isn't the killing kind of skin cancer.  Yikes! 

Looking at it from a customer service point of view, it is poor customer service to not listen to the customer -- me. Jane, I would bet my three sons you didn't do this. I'll bet you heard the customer and responded appropriately. Yep, my money would be on you.

Outside of my skin I'm not 100 % sure of anything, and I'm sometimes not sure inside my skin. The body and brain has ways of tricking us into believing one thing when the truth lies elsewhere. There is so much false logic, half truths, might be trues, sometimes true, maybe true, almost true, and hope it's true that I claim to know nothing as 100% true. The most I will admit to is; it seems true for now. And that's the truth.

Escapism vs isolationism and points in between. Withdrawal works for me, becoming more engaged works for others. There is no truth.

I drove to my doctor appointment before 7am and shared the road with all the hard working folks out there. There were utility trucks, maintenance trucks, delivery trucks, service trucks all off to work somewhere. It was fun and comforting somehow to see their vehicles rumbling to life, rumbling down the road, rumbling up and down hills heading out to the job at hand. Visually many races and nationalities, America at work. 

Come to think of it, many Americans at work, doctors, truck drivers, jewelry buyers, mechanics, administrators, but not this customer service agent. I went home and took a nap. I was exhausted being a stranger in a strange land. 

"To succeed you need the courage to fail."
How can I apply that to this day. 

Good luck Jean on your doctor appointment. 

It is squamous skin cancer not basal or melanoma.

Two side bars: More stranger in a strange land.

It seems the medical profession is taught that humor is fear in disguise -- with the Taylor's that just isn't so.

And here are the press releases concerning the sale of Onlineshoes.com. 

http://seattletimes.com/html/businesstechnology/2024070995_onlineshoesxml.html

http://www.geekwire.com/2014/onlineshoes-com-finds-buyer-merges-shoeme-create-zappos-rival/

http://www.bcbusiness.ca/retail/roger-hardy-buys-shoemeca-and-onlineshoescom

http://www.internetretailer.com/2014/07/15/e-commerce-veteran-buys-two-online-shoe-sellers

http://www.einnews.com/pr_news/213900720/coastal-com-founder-steps-into-shoe-business-with-acquisition-of-shoeme-ca-and-onlineshoes-com

Middle of July

"Dear Lord give us rest tonight, or if we must be wakeful, cheerful." a quote that spoke to me from the movie A Man for all Seasons. An old movie but worthy, about moral certitude, like I said, worthy.

Roger and I were going out to breakfast at a gourmet-ish place, The Rusty Pelican, we arrived about 7:30 and the place didn't open until 8:00. Roger asked, what kind of breakfast place doesn't open until 8:00 AM? I said a leisure class breakfast place. Roger said Oh, they don't want any Joe and Bob's from the construction site. We went to the Saw Mill Cafe instead, a little more working class and heartily delicious.

We had twelve days in a row with temperatures over 80 degrees, this morning it is a blissful 55. As Christian says, "I've turned into a Washington weenie." I talked to Jerry one afternoon when it was 85 here and 75 there -- what's up with that?

I've learned a bit more about deafness; my ears hear fine, my brain interprets fine, but the connecting corridors are a bit mushy. The Dr. likened it to a 10 lane highway that has several lanes closed due to construction, a traffic accident affecting some more lanes, and a slow driver in another lane leaves not much space for sound to get through. What an interesting fascinating world we live in. I said well I'm just glad deafness can't be blamed on being fat and smoking. Oh but it does, she said. Damn. Also diabetes contributes. Interestingly my downturn in hearing is just about even with my diabetes diagnosis.

I told her everyone in my family would believe my brain is a bit off. I can't hear because I have a mushy brain.

As I was leaving the doctor's office she asked me where in Oklahoma I was from? Seems she was a Shawnee girl. What an interesting, fascinating world we live in.

Due to life's little speed bumps; skin cancer, hearing aids, diabetes out of whack, Dr appointments, phone calls, work issues, company selling, a blister on my heel the size of Minnesota, from my new shoes no less, the ones I was going to wear for a few hours and wound up wearing for 24, don't ask, and other "stuff." And then the deaths of Dale and Aunt Anita which affected me in different ways I went into a deep silence. I just couldn't do people for a while. I was listening exhausted.

I felt like I was in the middle of a Louie L'Amour novel Death and Defiance in the High Country without a hero, a villain or any high county which left Death and Defiance. Now I am onto the resolution, the denouement, happy thoughts and happy places. Being cheerful.

There will always be bad news and good news. Sometimes it is the same thing; getting older/still alive. Feeling brotherly and brotherly-in-law love, the Arkansas birthday boys. Anticipating niece love with Amber and Nora's birthdays coming up. Appreciating the irony of choosing to work at a small local company so my job wouldn't be exported to Canada or Asia, and then my company exporting to Canada instead. Now that is ironic.

So here I am sitting in the middle of July wrapped up with cruise anticipation, planning taxis and bedrooms, watching the Sound fog lift, the mountains appear, appreciating a job to go to, a brain that works, feet for a sore heel, and shoes for said feet. Alive and enjoying breakfast, alive and enjoying the weather, alive and enjoying movies, hearing, feeling, working, thinking, imagining, maybe even listening.

Deep in July in deep silence, you can go into deep appreciation and deep love. It is a cheerful place to be.

True Story

When I worked at Washington Mutual a woman, let's call her Irene, came and said, "somebody has collapsed in the bathroom and is asking for you." I went and helped my friend with her high blood pressure incident, but for the next three years every time I saw Irene she told me and everyone else in hearing range what an awful experience that was for her. How unnerving it was to go into the bathroom and find someone collapsed on the floor. How it gave her nightmares. How no one could imagine the horror of it unless they also had found someone on the bathroom floor.

True story.

When I started working at Online Shoes Irene started working there also and her tale continued and grew. Finally our paths parted as she followed her yellow brick road to a different Oz. I'm afraid to say "our paths parted forever" because you never know.

Do you know people like that? People that every incident is always and only about them? People that 9-11 meant they had to cancel their Hawaii trip? People that a massive traffic accident with fatalities meant they were late for work? The person that when they stepped on someones toes they spilled their Starbucks? Yep, those people.

I hear folks talk about their passion for nature and it's about them -- not nature.
Their passion for volunteering and it's about them -- not the people they are helping.
Their tender heart that is always hurt because they are so tenderhearted.
If they love their pets, kids, spouses, job, family -- it's about them.
They somehow never get outside of themselves. Never into the world.

In my struggle to understand I came to a conclusion. We all do what we do to survive this life journey. I read where "the true nature of the universe is compassion" and I know that is simply not true. Not the true story.

I believe the true story of the nature of the universe is survival.

Survival, not compassion or love or anything else we humans have thrown into the mix. I believe you can weave human elements in. You can weave a lot of love, compassion, passion, tenderness, excitement, adventure into this true story of our life, but at the root it's still survival.

I would like it to be love: Love as the root of all. Spend love foolishly. Love is the benchmark of human capacity. No one deserves the love bestowed on them, it is given by grace.

So I am going to spend a little love on Jean:

Jean's 75 birthday is today. She deserves everyone's love. She has helped us all survive. Lovely woman. Lovely age. Lovely birthday. Have you ever had a Jean biscuit? A Jean cookie? A Jean seam repaired? Jean has cooked, helped, sewn, loved and wrapped folks up in her compassion for as far back as I can remember, probably about 5-ish or so. She made ruffles for dresses, cakes for birthdays, or strawberry waffles if need be. What has Jean done for you?

Jean has picked me up in more ways than the airport. Jean has let me drop my suitcase on her floor. Driven me to the highest road in Colorado just because I wanted to go. She drove me to Holly's, came to my rescue, made ruffles for dresses, listened, flown mercy missions more than once. She has been a family cheerleader, safe harbor, family matriarch and now she does coffee on her Greenleaf porch every morning, rain or shine, at family reunion for her siblings and any one else wandering by.

...And you can drop by her house unannounced, anytime, where she will welcome you, make you feel comfortable, feed you, take care of your kid, your dog, your heartache, your loneliness, your fear, your what ever. Actually Jean is simply quite a wonderful woman who survives with her love, her passion, her compassion intact.

True story.

No love is foolishly spent.
Keep on loving.
The capacity for love is a human benchmark.
No love is actually deserved, it is by grace.

We all benefit from Jean's grace as she survives her life journey her way.

In Defense of Family

Or maybe I should say in defense of my family. How can anyone assume their family is better than mine? Different, of course. Better?

There are so many kinds of family ties. Mary to her Montana roots, Carol to the Puget Sound area, Claire to her Irish Catholic school girl up-bringing, Lynn to her parents casting her horoscope when she was born. Me to the red dirt roads of Oklahoma. American all.

Red dirt roads, sandstone canyons, vines for swinging, trees for climbing, barns for exploring, fields for wandering, gardens for gathering, berries for picking, paths for walking, places to run, scream, fall, roll, dig, lay about or hide. A little rough and rangy. A little dirty and scratched. Unkempt, untidy, well fed and robust, not mannerly and correct. Just a little bit on the wild side.

I hear people talk about their family and their family growing up experiences so fondly. Nostalgically they recall it as a good life. The good memories of their parents when they were young and robust and healthy. They remember their childhood, their activities, their memories. Mary biked all summer, ice skated in the winter.

Mary talks about her parents and friends making special Christmas cookies early in the holiday season and then hiding sacks of them all over the house. They hid, and the children's job was to find all the secreted stashes, or as many as they could; Galette's, cooked on a cast iron devise.

Claire's mother would make strawberry jam in the summertime but it was off limits until the first snow fell. I can just imagine the joy and wonder of the first snowfall of Minnesota bringing out the joy of jam for Claire and her siblings.

No one's seems as poor as mine, but eventful. Family cabins in the woods, boats across the sound to camping islands. Bo talks about her childhood having no Earth/dirt in it, when she wanted to bury a dead bird all she could do was cover it with leaves. Stephanie's is full of boating memories. Tal's is full of Texas memories and Rhodesian Ridgebacks. Jane's is full of traveling cramped in a car from Texas to New York and back again. Mine is full of heat and dust.

Memories of forgiveness for misdeeds. I hear about Dad's in gardens, dad's drinking, dad's driving boats, losing kids. I hear about dad's infidelities, errant father's dallying on the side, or one too many cups, but all part of the single struggle to be a family. The landscape of family. Part of raising children, paying debts, making a living, to be a family. This is part of our DNA, our strength, our bond to the past and our link to the future.

No right or wrong, but dictated by elements, circumstances, the yearning and drive of fathers in a social world of life living. The motor and direction driven by fathers. The oil and comfort provided by mothers with the hand they had been dealt.

The skeletons of my friends lives are the same as mine. Only the flesh is different. We are born in a family surrounded by specific circumstances; mountains, plains, Puget Sound. We are surrounded by stories, memories; loving and otherwise. We continue with our progeny carrying our lives forward with stories and memories; loving and otherwise.

Climbing a sand dune, trips to Greer's Ferry, bass fishing at Tenkiller, converted bus, pow-wows, homemade kid wagon on the back of a bike, nervous nelly mothers, Southern California beaches, hiking tracks, all this belongs to our children. And Connor's will be different still.

What is the right way to raise a family? Culture, dynamics, siblings are all part of the mix. Always moving towards life -- light -- belonging -- caring -- loving.

Irish, German, Lithuanian heritage slowly ebbs away in America. My family came from the land. Our immigrant story is so distant as to not exist.

When I talk about my childhood poverty some people are disgusted. Poverty has become nasty somehow, socially unacceptable. It wasn't the poverty of Bangladesh, certainly not the opulence of a castle, it was just my life as lived growing up. I always loved Verla's quote, "Do you want me to tell you again how bad I had it growing up."

Can't spell -- genetics.
Red dirt road -- circumstances.

Family stories of romance, courtship, love, deaths, near death, hitchhiking to California, Jean mooning the camera because she didn't want her picture taken, Janice's arm pulled out of it's socket, Julia's anemia, guinea hen attack, Oink-Oink being bottle fed are our family stories.

I mentioned at breakfast with Claire and Mary that I was writing the blog about "family," and Mary posited the theory that summertime brings out strong family memories, ties, thoughts, nostalgia. She might be right. I have so many Forth of July memories that I won't even begin.

Now let's get this Jean's-Birthday-Family-Alaskan-Cruise-Circus rolling. We have memories to make here. My expectation is if I don't have a good time it will be my fault. I found the library in the ships schematics. Don't care about the casinos or nightclubs. I'm looking forward to people watching, a cup of coffee or two, gazing at the horizon. Food and water has it's appeal, good thing since we will be cruising the Pacific Ocean and it might involve some water.

Roger asked me if I had any cancer angst and I said NOPE, any cancer they can scrape off is fine with me. Can I call myself a cancer survivor now? Do I now have to wear a hat? When I went to get my haircut I told the gal my ugly skin wasn't infectious, it was biopsy, band-aid rash, and freezer burn. She said they taught her in school if it looks icky, don't touch it. As all my frozen pieces flake off I can't help but think who would have thought that frost bite would become a part of modern medicine.


Our own family lifeboat in a sea of family lifeboats, claiming supremacy because it is ours is tempting, but the truth lies elsewhere.