Surgery after surgery after surgery followed by complications, but what are you going to do?

Cancer has changed my life, my appearance, my attitude, my priorities. I honestly don’t know why I’m still alive when I already know of so many people diagnosed at the same time as me and even after who are not.

I can not say that I am in constant pain, but I am in constant discomfort. Surgery does that to a body. A reminder that life is short and we’d better do what we need to do NOW.

When I first started my cancer journey, I decided to mark each success with some kind of acknowledgement. I set up an altar of power.

I added figures of strong women as I passed significant milestones.

• Surviving one month after surgery
• Surviving 6 months after diagnosis
• Surviving one year
• Surviving two years

And today I will be adding my three year figurine.

It took some time to decide what I should place on my altar. Should I go funny? Mythical? Historical? Maternal?

In hindsight the answer was so obvious. I chose Elphaba from the book (and the musical and the movie) Wicked.

And so now Elphaba sits on my altar, a testament not only to my persevering but also to all of the others who have traveled this insane, terrifying, soul wrenching, and yet somehow life enhancing path.

As someone told me lately “Everyone deserves the chance to fly” – Elphaba

Elphaba—the so-called Wicked Witch of the West—isn’t your typical hero. But then again, real heroes rarely are. In Gregory Maguire’s Wicked, she’s the outsider with green skin and a spine of steel, navigating a world that doesn’t understand her and frankly doesn’t want to. Sound familiar? It should. Because if you’ve ever been through something like cancer, you know what it’s like to be marked, stared at, misunderstood, and shut out.

She’s born different. Not “quirky,” not “unusual”—green. She gets mocked, avoided, and misread from day one. The world doesn’t give her a break. Cancer patients know that feeling well. You lose your hair, your strength, sometimes your sense of self—and suddenly, you’re not just sick, you’re alien. People don’t know what to say. Or worse, they say the wrong things. But Elphaba doesn’t crawl into a corner and disappear. She stares the world down and walks straight into the fire. She owns who she is, and that kind of defiance? That’s power.

But she’s not just tough—she’s got a conscience. A big one. She sees injustice and actually does something about it. Not for show, not for applause, but because it eats at her not to. She pays for it, too. Loses safety, comfort, reputation. Cancer can turn people into quiet warriors like that—people who start fundraising, pushing for better care, speaking out when the system screws up. There’s no ribbon for that kind of fight, but it matters. It matters a lot.

What really sticks with you, though, is that Elphaba never sells out. Even when the world calls her evil, twists her story into something grotesque—she stays true. She doesn’t chase acceptance, she chases truth. That’s not easy when everything around you is falling apart. But if you’re sick, scared, and stripped raw by chemo or radiation, holding onto even a sliver of yourself can feel like the most rebellious act in the world.

Elphaba’s story may be wrapped in fantasy, but the heart of it is dead real. She’s a reminder that being different isn’t a curse—it’s a kind of freedom. That standing up for what’s right, even when you’re alone, is worth it. And that in a world that tries to box you in or write you off, there’s something deeply noble about saying, No. I’m still here. And I’m still me.

For anyone fighting cancer, she’s not just a character—she’s a damn anthem.

This is actually something I wrote as a fundraiser for my State Representative campaign. You don’t have to contribute but I’d appreciate you reading this story and hearing the message. It’s the kind of thing you’ve come to expect from this blog.

***

A cancer diagnosis is terrifying. It’s tough to not get sucked into the very dark vortex of fear. 

You need to find a way to keep your balance. To find your ground again. 

I had read an inspirational story about a monk who was able to find joy during a time of fearful chaos. I clung to that message during my cancer surgeries and treatment. I started looking for “strawberries” or joy when I would start to get overwhelmed – a puppy’s kiss, a flower by the side of the road, a brilliant sunset – I found that even though I didn’t know how things were going to turn out, I was still surrounded by strawberries.

I wore strawberry pins, necklaces and earrings, they went with me everywhere. My friends gifted me with strawberries and they even started looking for some strawberries in their own lives. 

I am pleased to say that a friend of mine and local artist – Melissa Hinebauch has painted strawberries for me. If you donate $25 or more to my campaign for NH State Rep, I will send you your very own hand painted strawberry to remind you that joy abounds. 

*****

Once upon a time, as a man was walking through a forest, he saw a tiger peering out at him from the underbrush. As the man turned to run, he heard the tiger spring after him to give chase.

Barely ahead of the tiger, running for his life, our hero came to the edge of a steep cliff. Clinging onto a strong vine, the man climbed over the cliff edge just as the tiger was about to pounce.

Hanging over the side of the cliff, with the hungry tiger pacing above him, the man looked down and was dismayed to see another tiger, stalking the ravine far below. Just then, a tiny mouse darted out from a crack in the cliff face above him and began to gnaw at the vine.

At that precise moment, the man noticed a patch of wild strawberries growing from a clump of earth near where he dangled. Reaching out, he plucked one. It was plump, and perfectly ripe; warmed by the sunshine.

He popped the strawberry into his mouth. It was perfectly delicious. The End.

***

During this time of upheaval and chaos, remember to keep looking for the strawberries, they are out there, you just have to keep your eyes and your heart open for them. 

If you would like to contribute (absolutely not necessary), here’s the ActBlue link – https://secure.actblue.com/donate/strawberry

Buckle up. This one is going to be a bit long (but I’ve included photos!) 

This is what I used to look like in 2019. Not proud, but it was what it was. 

Babies and orthopedic injuries add up. 

Then I got Covid in 2020. It hit my gut and never let go. For about a year and a half I couldn’t taste or smell food and my body couldn’t digest food. 

It became a struggle to eat enough to survive. I lost a lot of weight – 85 pounds. I even became malnourished. 

On top of this battle, In 2022 I was dxed w invasive breast cancer two weeks before I was supposed to sign up to run for state rep. 

What to do? What to do? I knew what cancer was. I knew it was deadly. And to put this on top of Long Covid? Yikes. 

I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble. 

But I also knew that I had a voice that needed to be heard. I had a fight with PFAS polluters that still needed to be fought.

So I figured, if I’m going to go down, I’m going to go down fighting. 

I signed up to run for my second term. 

During my campaign I had a bilateral mastectomy. 

Ouch. 

Before I went to the hospital I wore a shirt that said “I’m not dead yet” 

After the surgery I held a sign that said “Still not dead.” 

It became a “thing” 

During treatment and that surgery – I was elected by the good people of my town. 

Because of the high amount of PFAS chemicals in my blood, it was then decided that my ovaries and fallopian tubes needed to be removed. That was in December after I was elected. (My uterus was long gone, being destroyed by my sixth child on her way out.)

And then due to complications and scar tissue, I had to have a complete chest revision. 

(do not recommend) where I was literally cut in half. 

I saw Game of Thrones, I now know from personal knowledge that flaying is exquisite torture. 

You can see the exhaustion and pain in my face. I was still losing weight uncontrollably and was in so very much constant agony. 

This is when I started doubting if I was going to be able to kick this thing. 

(FYI – we had an important nasty bill to stop, so I was in the house chamber 3 days after this surgery, sitting in a metal folding chair for 8 hours so that I could vote. A rep’s got to do what a rep’s got to do.) 

When your body has been changed by cancer and long covid it takes a while to recognize yourself. I was a different shape and size, I could no longer dye my hair. For the first time in my life, I went grey. I ground 4 of my teeth into dust because of pain, I had large gaps in my teeth. My body was a wreck.

 I avoided mirrors. I hid my body. I wondered if I’d ever be happy again.

But then I realized that I had an opportunity here. I still didn’t know if I was going to survive, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do good things NOW. 

I forced myself to look in the mirror. 

And I started documenting what I wore to the state house using #NormalizeFlatsInTheHouse

Most people thought I was promoting @Vans (a shoe I adore and always wear in the house) 

But (and here’s the big reveal) I was really advocating for breast cancer patients (get it, “flats”) 

There are so many women with cancer. 

These women need to know that we can still get into good trouble and do good works. 

It may be tougher for us, we may have to take breaks or go about things in a different way. 

But we still have worth, thoughts and good deeds in us. 

Cancer does not take that away,

I made arrangements with the House Clerk, I was able to bring protein drinks on the floor. I always carried a barf-bag in my purse. I ate a lot of crackers. I made it all work.

This is my first “Bathroom selfie” Honestly, you could probably have pushed me over with a feather at this point. I was so weak. 

But I showed up. 

And I kept at it. Each time I was in Concord, I took a photo. I did it for me and for all the other people who could use some hope and inspiration. 

Yup, it’s tough. It’s really, really tough. But until our last breaths, we are still us. Cancer will never take away our true identities. 

I played around with color. 

I played around with shapes. 

And slowly, slowly, I started getting stronger. I gained weight. I found a new and stronger voice. 

I endured. 

I persisted. 

I am not the same person I once was. The old me no longer exists. Anyone who has gone through a life-changing challenge can relate.  

Parts of me are (literally) gone. 

My gut will never be the same. 

I have embraced a lesson taught to me by a good friend, I’ve learned to “Let go or get dragged.”

I learned that there is only so much energy I am given each day, and I’m not going to waste it on the small stuff. 

I’ve learned that waking up each morning is not a given but a gift. 

And I’ve learned that relationships and friends are our true blessings. 

Here is my last selfie of this term. My body is magnificent. 

I am magnificent. 

I made it.

Today, I am being closely monitored by my doc but there appears to be no sign of cancer. I realize that this is only due to incredible luck. I know of so many women dxed at the same time or after me who have already died. 

I have no explanation for why I am not in that group. 

I also realize that with the PFAS in my blood, it is highly likely that cancer will return at some point (you did catch that sneaky little word – Invasive, right?). But until that happens, I will keep on keeping on. 

Of course, there have been small people who think the best way to attack a woman is to attack her looks.

But all of those out there who think they can hurt me by calling me (us) in my “bathroom selfies” – ugly, gross, and old and who try their hardest to diminish my (our) worth? 

What those small people don’t understand is that you can never destroy something that has been forged by fire. 

Despite the uncertainty. 

Despite the pain. 

Despite the absolute misery. 

I continued to show up in order to do my job. 

I showed up. 

And if I can do it. You can do it. 

We aren’t dead yet.

In solidarity with all my friends who may be struggling, 

Wendy 

P.S. I’m happy.

It’s my two-year cancer diagnosis anniversary. My Canniversary. 

I should be celebrating – I’m mean I’m alive, right? 

But I’m not. I’m in a more … reflective mood. 

Two years ago, I got the phone call where I was told that not only did I have breast cancer but that there were multiple tumors and it was invasive. 

Not good. Not good at all. 

It started a series of truly unfortunate events. From doctors who blatantly disregarded my requests because they thought they knew better than I did about how I wanted to treat my body to people who refused to learn about the possible impact of PFAS on my body and illness (fired that one in a heartbeat.) 

It continued with horrible pain and even more horrible pain management because there is the mistaken belief in the medical world that “women can tolerate pain” and therefore we don’t need pain meds. 

And then there were post surgery body image issues. 

And more pain. 

And weakness. Unbelievable weakness. 

And fear. 

And anger – red-hot lava anger at not being in control of my own health and at the injustice of discovering that my cancer is most likely caused by the unGodly amount of PFAS chemicals in my blood. 

But there was the support of the cancer community who openly embraced me, and who then started dying one-by-one. Some people who have been diagnosed with cancer at the same time or even after I did have already died of their cancers. Not all, but enough to make my heart constantly hurt. 

I think of them often. Truly there, but for the grace of God go I. 

Tests indicate my cancer does not respond to chemo, I did not qualify for radiation, and I refused hormone-blockers and instead had all my reproductive organs removed (technically it was done because of the PFAS level in my blood, but it certainly helped in lowering my estrogen levels.) 

This is me apparently raw-dogging cancer. Other than supplements, I am not getting any treatment. I have no idea what my future holds. The only thing I know is that my docs think a recurrence or a new cancer is simply “a matter of time.” 

It is only through luck that I am still alive today. But as we all know, luck tends to run out at some point. 

My life is now constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop. 

A new ache – has the cancer spread to my bones? 

A new lump or is that a bug bite? 

A freckle??!!!

But don’t get me wrong. Although everything has changed in the last two years, not everything was bad. 

Even though I was at my weakest during this journey, I have also never been more committed to my values. I have found a new kind of inner strength. 

I understand, I truly understand that I am gifted with each day. I appreciate being able to wake up each morning. 

Cancer also tends to enable you to give “zero fucks.” I really don’t sweat the small stuff anymore –  you can carry that load, I’m not interested. If you are familiar with the Monk story, I have learned to put the lady down. 

My priorities have been sharpened. My previous ability to tolerate and not call out bullshit has been decimated. I just don’t put up with garbage anymore. 

Because I don’t have to. If I see it, I call it out. 

This is my life to do with what I please and I choose to spend it (however much longer I have) fighting for the rights and dignities of others. Fighting for what I believe in. 

Getting into Good Trouble. 

It’s why I filed to run for State Rep two weeks after I was diagnosed. I had no idea what was going to happen, but I figured, if I’m going down, I’m going down fighting. 

When I was first diagnosed, I set up a personal altar of inspiration and populated it with powerful, inspirational figures. I used milestones that some women never get to see. 

Six months after my diagnosis – I put kickass Wonder Woman on it. 

Six months after my first operation – I put the “strong one”, the sister who quietly endures from Encanto on it. 

One year after my diagnosis – I put Athena, the goddess of wisdom on it. 

So there is some kind of acknowledgement to this day. I’ve made it. I’m here to keep on keeping on. 

So for this 2 year “caniversary” I am adding a Woodland buddy to my altar along with her mushroom. It’s made by a friend (Hi Mel) who reached out early on to give support and who has continued to give me support. She has also walked this journey and helped to lead the way with her courage, creativity, and persistence.  

It also acknowledges that this journey has involved luck as well as, let’s face it, a little bit of organic magic. I have made some of the most amazing authentic connections during this journey. I have met friends that I never would have met were it not for cancer. I have heard truths that are not spoken in public. Truths of strength, inspiration and hope cautiously whispered from one person who’s been there  to another. 

We all belong to a secret club of resilience. 

We are here, even though fear and future illness forever sits on our shoulders, as long as we breathe we will continue to be active members of this thing called life. 

So happy canniversary to me and hats off to the many incredible, strong, brave and brilliant people who are also fighting cancer and chronic health on a daily basis. 

We are here. 

While going through my mom’s book club notebook, I found a small, folded piece of paper.

It turned out to be a certificate for completing a class with a final grade of “B” – Satisfactory.

And it was issued to my mom in 1995.

That’s right, mom took and passed an “Introduction to Computers Using the Macintosh: held at the Carteret Community College.

At age 68.

As much as my brother and I rolled our eyes when Mom couldn’t figure out to reprogram the remote after a power outage, as much as we giggled when she would leave text messages that started with “Dear” and ended with “love mom”, we had no idea that she was trying.

Mom was trying to understand computers. This is the same woman who welcomed a color TV into our family for the first time when I was little. The same woman who wouldn’t let us touch dad’s enormous desk calculator with the glowing red numbers because it “cost an arm and a leg.” A woman who saw incredible and at times unbelievable technological change just in her lifetime.

Even with taking a course, she was always so frustrated with Facebook and the internet in general “what button do I press?” and “How do I share my photos?”

But, as it turned out she was also the woman, who at the age of 68(!) took her butt to a college, enrolled in, and satisfactorily passed a course on computers.

She knew that computers were here to stay and she knew they held incredible information. Mom was thirsty for knowledge on how to tame that wild beast. She wanted to know more.

While she never really mastered the internet beyond reading and sharing things on Facebook, at least she tried. At an age when many people would have given up.

Mom tried.

The Giver by Lois Lowry 

The Giver, a Newbery Medal winning book was published in 1993 so I never read it in school. In fact, even though I think a few of my kids might have read it in their English classes, I didn’t read it until I found it on my Mom’s book club list. 

The book follows the life of Jonah, a 12 year old boy who lives in a “perfect society” where there is no hunger, no thirst, no suffering, and as it turns out, no connection with the outside world. Jonah lives in a utopian society where every need is taken care of and there is no reason to complain or question anything. 

It is a perfect society filled with compliant, perfect people. 

Until it isn’t. 

Jonah attends a “job naming ceremony” where he is assigned the job of receiving training from the Giver – a man who holds all of the town’s history through memories from the residents in the town. He alone holds the history. In preparation for his death,  each memory is transferred to Jonah who will eventually become the new Giver. 

All memories open Jonah’s eyes. Some of the memories are painful including physical and mental anguish – again nothing that belongs in a perfect society. 

While we’re on the topic of a perfect society, non-perfect people do not belong. Twins are seen as unnecessary duplication and so one is always chosen to, well essentially, go “live on a nice farm.” 

Babies who don’t thrive are invited to this “farm.” 

As are older people who end up outliving their usefulness. 

It’s all so civilized, until Jonah figures out what the “farm” truly is. 

When he discovers that a toddler his family had been fostering was being prepared for the “farm.” Jonah decides to escape his community with the child. 

In the middle of winter, with not enough clothing, food, or protection from the elements. Remember Jonah is only 12 so we have to cut him a wee bit of slack on this one and besides, it adds to the pace of the story. Jonah must reach his destiny before he and the child freeze to death – which would trigger the end of the perfect society. 

The ending – I wish I had read this in a book club because I’d love to talk about that ending. Was it a hallucination? Was it a memory? Was it death? Was he rescued by a new society? 

Or did he end up at the “farm”?  

I typically like dystopian, end of world kind of books. I’m intrigued by how people might behave (or not behave) when society has failed. Loved, loved, loved The Hunger Games (first book only). Loved The Handmaid’s Tale. 

This one? Was only meh. I mean it was okay and had a great premise, but…. I think it left too many questions.  And let’s just put to rest that I wasn’t captured by this book because It is Young Adult. I have read so many FANTASTIC young adult books. 

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just the wrong audience. Someone gave it an award, so I’m willing to admit that I’ve clearly missed something but, again, bottom line – meh. 

Mom’s Verdict 

I don’t read mom’s thoughts on her book club selection until I’ve read the book and written down mine. I was anxious to see what she thought of this book. Was she as frustrated as I was? 

Imagine my surprise when I found the page and this is what she wrote. 

The title. 

And nothing else. 

Apparently mom was a little underwhelmed with The Giver as well. 

Once again, like mother, like daughter. 

The last three years of my life have been an absolute roller coaster, between long COVID from a 2020 infection that destroyed my gut and caused me to lose so much weight, I actually became malnourished – to getting an invasive breast cancer diagnosis in 2022 that resulted in three extensive surgeries and a hell of a lot of pain (mentally, as well as physically). Put being a state rep on top of this and let’s just say – it has not been easy. I am not as strong as I used to be – that’s a fact I need to accept.  

I’m fortunate, I am in a stable place with both my long COVID and my cancer. Right now, we are monitoring symptoms and will treat any problems that might show up. 

I’ve entered the “waiting game” part of my illnesses. It’s kind of like watching a horror movie, waiting for the next danger to jump out at you. Waiting for the other shoe to drop is not as comfortable as you might imagine. 

I will NEVER say that I am grateful for either long COVID or for the cancer, but like many others with chronic illness, lessons have been learned. My greatest regret with all of this is that it took two pretty awful illnesses to learn these lessons. These are nuggets that everyone should embrace regardless of your health. Somehow we all have to get back to a balanced, meaningful life. 

Here’s what I’ve learned: 

Boundaries 

1. Set boundaries – learn how to say no but also learn how to prioritize. Every day you only have so much energy to spend, use it wisely. Decide for yourself if something being asked of you is worth the energy it will take to do it. This is especially true if you are still working. Figure out what your priorities are and focus on those. 
2. Set goals – why oh why does it take an illness for us to do this? I’ve sat down with myself and have listed day, year and 5 year goals. Some of the things are fanciful and may not come to be (live a season in Italy) but others will definitely come to pass, especially if I am reminded of them on a regular basis. 
3. Listen to your body – when you overdo it (and you will) take care of your body. You only have so much energy to use each day, sometimes you’ll dip into your reserves, like I did when I stood outside in the snow for 7 hours at the polls. The next day was useless for me. I had to cancel meetings and I spent the day laying low, refilling my energy tank. You will learn that naps are not just for kids. Take it easy. If you dip into your energy reserves and then don’t refill them, things are not going to be bearable. Also, let’s talk about pain – you don’t need to be in pain, you just don’t. No one gets a medal for enduring pain. If you hurt talk to your doc – there are resources out there, but you have to ask.
4. Establish a routine – sometimes it’s easy to be overwhelmed by it all. Chronic illness is a lot to take in. In order to not lose my direction, I spend the first few minutes of each morning at my desk writing that day’s “to do” list. Sometimes it says things like “wash dishes for 15 minutes” (not so much energy) other times it includes things like “prepare for a bill introduction” (a lot of energy.) My to-do list is the map of my day – it allows me to know where I am and what still needs to be done. It also allows me to push things off until tomorrow in case I don’t have the energy. 

Selfcare 

5. Watch your diet – it goes without saying that when you have a chronic illness, your body uses a lot of energy to manage it. You are literally in a fight for your life. Feed your body “hi-test” food. Organics if you can get them, filtered water, non-processed food, plenty of fruits and vegetables, and watch the sugar and alcohol intake. Your body is incredible, give it the quality food and water it needs to thrive. 
6. Move your body – look you don’t need to go to the gym every day (if you can, good on you), but you have to get up and use that body of yours. Go for a walk, get some fresh air into your lungs, move those large muscles. It’s not necessary to hit 10K steps every day, but it is important to gently move your body (yoga anyone?) each day. Dance to the song you hear. Do what you can – move as you can. 
7. Sleep – you simply can’t heal if you can’t sleep. I used to have chronic insomnia – took forever to fall asleep and then I’d wake up at about 3 and that would be my sleep for the night. I was exhausted and I hurt all the time. This all ended when I entered the therapeutic cannabis program. One gummy an hour before bed allows me to sleep through the night. That’s when I started to see some healing taking place. If you don’t have access to cannabis, try nighttime tea, limit being online before bed, read something that is pleasant (Sorry Stephen King, I don’t read your work before bed.) Figure out a ritual that works for you. 
8. Calm down – I’m not trying to be dismissive, I get it chronic illness can be terrifying. Trust me, I get it. But just like a lack of sleep will harm your body, so does holding onto stress and fear. Change the channel in your brain –  go for a walk, call a friend, spend time with your pet, do some yoga, read an inspirational book, or connect with a community. Meditation is not easy in this frantic life of ours but it is a literal life-saver, start with 5 minutes and work your way up to a regular practice. 

Connections

9. Family and community are huge – with chronic illness comes a host of attention both good and bad. Some people are addicted to terminal-stories and only want to hear the “gory details”. Some friends will not be able to handle your illness and they will disappear. You will discover who is on your team and who isn’t. Those who remain? Treat them like the treasures that they are. They are the ones who will cheer you on when you need it (as you would for them.) 
10. You don’t have to share everything – this is a big one and one that I tend to blow through far too often. Share your illness details with family and friends who are open to it, but you don’t need to share your medical history with everyone. I am a storyteller, I’ve always been one. I admit, there have been times I have overshared, but I’ve gotten better about this. In the past, I felt I needed to justify why I couldn’t do something, why I wasn’t normal anymore. I have learned. While I do still share a lot (you’re reading this article after all) I now hold back on a lot of my personal information. People may need to know the big picture, but they certainly don’t need to know the details. I don’t have to justify why I can’t do something, saying “no” is sufficient. 
11. Learn how to ask for help – with chronic illness comes incapacity. Your friends and family are there for you. You just have to ask (and yes, I know that it’s ridiculously hard for people to ask for help.) I assure you people do not think you are weak if you ask for assistance, they want to help you, they just don’t know how. At one point in my life, I was living on my own and had just gone through a tough orthopedic surgery that left me in a lot of pain, in a long leg cast and on crutches. I lived by myself and knew that if I didn’t get some help things were not going to go well. On my daily to-do list I put the task of “ask someone for help” every day. Sometimes it was something like, can you carry this bag to my car? Sometimes it was “can you drive me to the Doctor’s office?” or “can you take me to the grocery store?” No one (other than my stubborn self) thought I was being weak. We all have to look out for each other – that’s what community means. 

Mindset 

12. Don’t sink into your illness – there are days, aren’t there? Sometimes, it’s just so overwhelming. I mean we are literally talking about life and death aren’t we? But guess what? You are so much more than your illness. You are YOU who happens to also have a chronic condition. When possible, move away from your illness and do things that matter, read a good book, have a hobby, try a new experience, talk to a friend, spend time with a pet, make memories. Write “I am not my disease” and post it on your mirror. If you can’t distance yourself from your illness, consider going to a counselor – life threatening illness is a heavy load – there are resources that can help lessen that load. 
13. Recognize that life is a gift – I know, this is something that belongs on a Hallmark card BUT IT’S TRUE!!!! It’s too bad that it took chronic illness for me to discover this. I am in the cancer community – already there are some people who were diagnosed at the same time as I was, and in some cases, after I was diagnosed who have already passed. Do you know how incredibly fortunate I am to be able to wake up each morning? Appreciate and do what needs to be done today. There are no guarantees, we have today, no one, absolutely no one knows about tomorrow.

Security Question – Favorite Actor 

In my mom’s book club notebook, she had included a small piece of paper with her responses to some online security questions. 

Mom tried, as did Dad, to embrace computers, but it was just too much of a leap for them. I remember the first piece of technology to enter our house. It was my dad’s calculator. Large, black and it displayed glowing red numbers that seemed to glow out of the dark depth behind. 

We were told in no uncertain terms that we “WERE NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH DAD’S CALCULATOR.” It was not a toy, it was ridiculously expensive, it was a tool that allowed my Dad to balance our family checkbook and keep everything in balance. 

It was a tool, NOT A TOY!!

All I knew about it was that my brother showed me that if you entered the number 8, followed by two 0’s and then another 8 – it spelled the word “B00B.” 

This tool was clearly both magical and naughty. 

In my parents’ lifetime, they went from getting this incredible calculator tool that made their lives easier to color TV (I remember the day we got our first color TV – we watched The Red Balloon and I knew that another piece of magical technology had entered our lives). My parents got a microwave, washers and dryers became “smarter”. TVs ran with the use of impossible remotes that forever needed to be reset (lost power? Call my brother, he’ll help get the remote working again. Again and again.) Bracelets counted their steps and books could be read on a flat screen that you held in your hands. 

My parents adapted but like many of their generation, they didn’t fully “get” the internet. 

Each text message from mom began with “Dear Wendy” and ended with “love mom.” 

The same went for every voice message. 

Every. Single. One. 

Mom, you don’t need to say that, I’d tell her, it’s understood. 

But it’s the right thing to do, she’d reply. And by the way, she’d add, stop using “Thanks” and go back to using “Thank you”, it’s more respectful. 

Mom would get lost in the internet. She understood email and Facebook to some degree but ordering online was beyond what she could do. Stream a movie? Never. 

I constantly got texts from her like “how do I save my photos?” and “How do I share them?” 

That commercial where the older woman is “sharing” her photos on the wall with her friends (that’s not how it works) speaks the truth to many of our older members.  

Still mom tried. She dutifully signed up for different apps and she kept track of the relentless security questions. 

Which brings me back to this tiny slip of paper. On it she wrote: 

Security Question – Favorite Actor 

And under this question she added Paul Newman. 

Mom!!!!!! 

I had no idea. What I knew about Paul Newman was the following: 

• He lived in the next town over – occasionally we’d see him while shopping
• I and just about everyone else in my class had seen Cool Hand Luke (1967) – we learned that women’s breasts were something that drove men crazy and we also learned the line (that I still use today) “what we have here is a failure to communicate.” 
• I had to be told that Newman was the dark haired one in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid  (1969) (didn’t recognize him from Cool Hand.)
• Recognized that Newman was funny and had great chemistry with Redford. 
• Thoroughly enjoyed The Sting (but didn’t like that mustache) 
• Newman did other movies, other projects. 
• Then he created a company that made food where the proceeds went to charity. We constantly had Newman salad dressing and popcorn in the house.
• He raced cars and drank beer. 
• Seemed like a nice enough guy. 

But nice enough to be mom’s favorite actor? Remember this was before VHS, if mom saw Newman in a movie then she had to go to the theater or watch it on TV. She had to be ready for Paul to appear, not the other way around. 

What was it about this guy that caught mom’s attention? 

I found a short “Hourly History” of Paul Newman at a thrift store so I purchased it and settled down to read about this man who had caught my mom’s respect. 

Newman was born in 1925 (Mom was born in ‘27) in the middle of a snowstorm. Clearly, this was a being that already came to earth with a story to be told. 

He grew up in Ohio in the shadow of his father’s sporting good business. It was understood that Paul would someday take over the business. Newman had other plans. 

He went to college, followed his passion which was acting. Enrolled in the Navy and missed out on being a pilot because it turned out he was colorblind. 

Got married young, had kids and worked his way through television and movies. Found true love (while still married to someone else) got divorced, remarried, had more kids. 

Busy guy. 

For the most part, he was as handsome as they come and he was talented – a brilliant combination in Hollywood. 

But here’s the kicker that I didn’t know about, but apparently Mom knew. Newman was very involved in politics. 

AND HE WAS A DIE-HARD DEMOCRAT. 

He believed that people should have dignity at work. Kids should be fed. People (especially children) with illness should have hope and treatment. 

And joy. 

Mom was a democrat. Dad was not. 

When she was in hospice, my mother told me the story of her future brother-in-law asking to speak with her before she married my step-father. 

It was bad enough that Mom wasn’t a Catholic, but to be a democrat? Blasphemy. He asked my mother to not marry my future step-father. 

Mom pulled a bit of what I now recognize as a Newman move and basically told my now-uncle to “pound sand.” She had other plans which included not only marrying my step-father but absorbing his two kids into the marriage. 

This is the same woman who when confronted by the elementary school principal in yet another meeting of “what are we going to do about Wendy?” told them that willful children, especially girls, are the ones that go places and get scholarships. She told them that absolutely nothing needed to be done “about Wendy.” Leave her alone and let her thrive. 

I got a full scholarship to the University of Connecticut. 

Mom was right. 

These are the things you learn about your mother when you are an adult. That your mom really had your back. That she was political in a quiet but determined way. That she respected talent and drive.  

And that like we all do, your mom learned from role models –  how to fight for what is right, how to persist. 

Then she did what all good teachers do, she passed on what she learned, so that the knowledge would not be lost to others. 

***

 Hi mom.

This book was not on my mom’s Book Club list but I have given it an honorable mention and am including it here with her other books.

I usually don’t like action thrillers (which John Grisham is very good at), but I am a SUCKER for Christmas stories (Hallmark movies on paper). In fact, it’s a yearly tradition for me to ship the Christmas books I’ve read to one of my sisters in Texas who then shares them with her friends. 

In 2001 I couldn’t resist picking up a short book called Skipping Christmas. I sat down to read it and I honestly did not stop laughing until the last page (when I wiped a tear or two.) 

You’ve probably seen the movie “Christmas with the Kranks” (and whoever came up with that title should have been fired) which is good – excellent casting, but it’s nothing like reading the book. 

I enjoyed this book so much, that knowing my mom liked books, I sent her a copy. After reading the first chapter, she realized what a gem it was – parents trying to get free from their kids, parents trying to make their kids happy by having the perfect holiday, parents who know the importance of memories, that she and my dad decided to read alternating chapters to each other in bed. 

I recently reread this book (thanks mom) and while still funny, it hits a little different now that we are (almost) empty nesters, definitely bittersweet. But the humor and love (I will move mountains and earth for my kid) still shines through. 

So while this one wasn’t on my mom’s official list, while reading it, I kept thinking of my mom and dad giggling together in bed while enjoying this story. 

And every time I think of that – I smile. 

This weekend, I found my Mom’s book-club notebook where she took notes on 59 books before she passed. I’m going to read and in some cases reread each of the books and see what I think about them compares to what Mom thought.

It being mid-November, I decided to start with some of the Holiday stories from my mom’s list. First up was Christmas Letters by Debbie Macomber. 

Although I do enjoy a good Hallmark Christmas movie every now and then, I have to say that Romance is not necessarily my favorite book genre. Here’s how they all seem to go: 

• Young, independent, intelligent woman  with a job and friends is moderately happy BUT something is wrong in her life and she just can’t put her finger on it, but it’s definitely not a man missing from her life. 
• She gets introduced/runs into someone who is initially not her type. 
• She doesn’t like him. 
• He doesn’t like her. 
• There’s a little conflict. 
• Until they are thrown together by an event (play, party, date, baseball game…) 
• Turns out she DOES like him after all. 
• Turns out he DOES like her!
• They spend time together until a relationship disaster happens (complete with misunderstandings) 
• Looks like all may be lost. 
• But then things are seen from a different perspective and it turns out all is good again. 
• Oh NO! Another conflict! 
• Truly looks like all is lost. 
• She apologizes. 
• He apologizes. 
• Wedding bells! 

Extra points for having this all take place during the holidays. 

Christmas Letters does not disappoint. It pretty  much follows that universal template. Easy, cute, enjoyable read. 

K.O. is looking for a job that will utilize her PR skills. In the meantime she writes Christmas Letters for others as a way to get some money. Her skill is in turning a horrible year into a good one by …. stretching the truth just a bit. 

She meets a man who is an author on Childcare. He believes children should not have boundaries and that *gasp* parents should not indulge fantasies like… Santa Claus! 

Hijinx and hilarity ensue. 

In the end, both are looking for an authentic life based on no lies. 

Predictable and cozy like a warm blanket. 

Some minor notes on the book: 

• On their first date – a celebrity chef makes the new couple their dinner. The entree was “Grilled Scallops with wild rice and tiny Brussel sprouts with even tinier onions.” 

I must be getting older because my first thought? That’s taking quite the chance on a first date with a gassy meal like that. 

• I appreciated the metaness of this line toward the end of the book – “This man did things to her heart – not to mention the rest of her – that even a romance novelist couldn’t describe.” 

• And it took until quite near the end, but I found what I was looking for – “No,” she said. “Love should come first.” She stared into his eyes. “Love changes everything, Wynn.” 

And there you have it, the mantra of all Romance writers. 

When you come down to it, it’s not such a bad basket to put all of your eggs in. 

What Mom Had to Say

Funny Romantic Comedy 

Katherine O’Connor writes Christmas letters for other people

Dr. Wynn Jeffries, renowned child psychologist – “Free Child” recommends “Bury Santa under the Sleigh.” 

Argue a lot. They disagree in almost everything but still love each other. 

LeVonne – neighbor across the hall. 

Max Jefferies – Wayne’s father 

****

Mom didn’t write a lot about this book. I have some theories. 

First, I grew up in a blended family of seven (yes seven) kids. Fighting was daily but was not tolerated. If we fought about what channel to watch, she’d turn the TV off. If we fought about something, anything, we had to figure out how to resolve the issue – without her help. 

And if we couldn’t figure out how to get to peace, my dad’s threat of “the belt” always loomed large. 

Today that seems cruel and a clear example of bad parenting, but man was it effective in my day. 

If we wanted to know what was for dinner – we’d be told “food, and you’d better have your hands washe for it.” 

The premise of this story is that the child psychologist who was raised by hippies, wants no restrictions on children. They are the ones in control. The ones who decide what they want for dinner, what time they want to go to bed, etc. 

I’m quite certain that my Mom’s eyes were close to rolling out of her head when they were discussing this book. 

Nope, we had bedtimes, dinner at 6:00 pm, Sunday morning cleaned shoes, and we were allowed to play in the neighborhood, but when she rang the porch bell, we’d better find our way back home. Quickly. 

This is a cute story, but I’m sure my mom was biting her tongue at the ridiculousness of parenting a “free child.” It’s just not something you can do when the kids outnumber you (by more than double.) 

As a mother of six and someone who put into action the belief that fighting among my kids was a transgression too far, who got dinner (no requests) on the table at 6:00 (and you’d better have your hands washed as well as be wearing a shirt), who had bedtimes (non-negotiable) for the kids, and yup, who called my kids home with a porch cast-iron bell, I’ve got to say, I’m on team Mom.