#ThankfulThursday: Finding wonders
Human beings must always be on the watch for the coming of wonders. –E.B. White
Turban Snail shell in Goff Island Cove, Laguna Beach.
writing
#FrecklesFriday: Reciprocated gifts
To the vast blue ocean, I offered a single rose,
and whispered a simple prayer about gratitude and grace.
It was ushered into deeper waters by the outgoing tides.
The ocean swaddled it in velvet,
And sang to it sweet lullabies and old, familiar hymns.
Time passed. The tides rolled in and receded.
I waded in the shallows, watched the rosebud sink and rise again.
A deep peace washed over me, and when the tidewaters dipped to their lowest ebb, I discovered these treasures from the sea.
Is it any wonder that Freckles likes to lounge here, in Treasure Island Cove?
Conquering cancer, one step at a time
This is the face of a woman who shows the world her best side: friendly, confident, brave. Even when her insides are wracked by nausea. Even when her legs feel Gumby-ish and her ch-ch-ch-cherry-bomb shoes are cushioning the stabby pains of neuropathy. Even when her hair’s gone missing, and her puffy cheeks bear silent witness to the cumulative effects of cancer-fighting pharmaceuticals.
This is the face of my friend Donna–a woman who’s fighting cancer with every fiber of her being, and who challenges every stereotype you might have about that battle. Peek behind her mirrored sunglasses, and you’ll see the fierce look of determination in this warrior woman’s eyes.
Donna’s the pinniped-loving member of my posse. You might remember her from previous blog entries, including the one where she advised Secretary Clinton to “Let yourself be great!” She’s not one to ask many favors, but she’ll always support your dreams.
This is the point where Donna’s chemo buddy enters the story. Had you already noticed the woman in blue, with the beaming smile and sunny yellow laces? That’s Marilyn. An inspiring woman in her own right, she’s been waging war against cancer for more than two years now. If you’d asked me beforehand, there’s no way I could’ve predicted what they’d accomplish together in Boston, last Sunday.
The sun was strong and the humidity was almost unbearable. Even worse, both women were feeling the lingering effects of their latest chemo treatments. But Donna agreed to walk a “mere” six miles of a 26.2 mile marathon, alongside Marilyn. She wasn’t entirely sure how (or if) she’d make it, but they’d pledged their mutual support for The Boston Marathon® Jimmy Fund, and it’s not like either one of them to renege on a promise.
Check out the sweatshirt! When Donna spotted it at the starting line, she just about fell out into a fit of laughter. Happenstance, or a secret nod from her harbor seal friend, Freckles? Food for thought. For sure, it fueled a few miles’ worth of discussion, as Donna explained to Marilyn the longstanding joke between the two of us. (Donna: You need to take a pail of herring to Freckles! Me: No way! It’ll stink up my car! Donna: Then roll down the window…let him smell you coming!“)
Marilyn’s granddaughter, Molly. Posted with her mommy’s permission.
Donna followed through on her promise, and then some! She walked the entire 26.2-mile route with Marilyn–one foot in front of the other, from Hopkinton School to Fenway Park, to the top of Heartbreak Hill and around the corner, until (“Don’t ask me to tell you our time”) they finally crossed the finish line at Copley Square.
This is the medal they placed around her neck last Sunday–a token of achievement for having accomplished something very few people manage, even when they’re healthy. It symbolizes the whole of her life: refusing to run from her diagnosis, but electing, instead, to move forward every day with a healthy sense of humor, generosity, and positive intentions.
Author Brené Brown once said, “You can’t get to courage without walking through vulnerability.” My friend Donna lives this quote every day, and this is her race to win.
Summer’s end: a meditation and celebration
The tides are shifting, and there are subtle changes in the slant of light that shines through the sycamore trees at dawn. Summer’s waning, and here we are again, drifting slowly into autumn.
In Southern California, the changes are more subtle. And yet every season brings ashore its own treasures. This is just one of the secrets I learned by reading Ann Morrow Lindberg’s beautiful book, Gift from the Sea.
I thumbed through my copy again last week…familiar passages, fresh insights. Like this one, which speaks to me of nature’s transitions, and to the more intimate changes in our own lives.
Perhaps this is the most important thing for me to take back from beach-living:
simply the memory that each cycle of the tide is valid;
each cycle of the wave is valid;
each cycle of a relationship is valid.
And my shells? I can sweep them all into my pocket.
They are only there to remind me that the sea recedes and returns eternally.
Then and Now: A huge fan, backing a winner
THAT WAS THEN…
(June 2017): Chemo, radiation, chemo, radiation–my friend has battled the ravaging effects of cancer for the better part of a year, now. She’s managed to stave off the inevitable hair loss, but given her increasingly aggressive treatments, it came as no surprise to either of us that molting season had finally arrived–for my friend and her pinniped pal, Freckles.
“No way am I going to wear a wig,” she said.
“Of course not.”
She’s a bare-faced beauty, 100% natural. Synthetic hair? Don’t be silly.
“I’ll still be me,” she said. “If someone doesn’t want to see my bald head, not a problem. They don’t have to look at me!”
“Yep,” I said. “But hey! You could decorate your scalp with temporary tattoos…”
Red Sox logos, we agreed, would be just the ticket.
AND THIS IS NOW…
Freckles is back to his sleek, handsome self.
And my friend is sporting a new look.
The face of a champion, nearing the one-year anniversary of her first cancer treatment.
A lifelong Red Sox fan. A warrior woman, with unflinching courage. A winner.
Extra innings? No problem! Surprise plays? Easily handled. Grit, determination and a healthy dose of humor…these are her superpowers, and my friend’s using everything in that arsenal to beat back cancer.
Tattoo images via her hairstylist, Karen
Want to place your bets on the winning team? Lay odds on her.
No question in my mind: She’s got this.
One Wish
If we were sharing a quiet dinner in a neighborhood restaurant, I’d lean forward at some point, speaking in a lowered voice so our conversation didn’t carry. “Are you as scared as I am?” I’d ask.
You might rest your hand on mine, a reassuring gesture. But if you’re someone with a penchant for upheaval, you might brush aside my concerns with a dismissive wave. “We needed someone to shake things up!” you’d say, and even though we might disagree about that underlying premise, we’d find a way to navigate our differences. As friends do. And at the end of the night, we’d hug it out, energized as always by a shared commitment to the greater good.
But virtual meet-ups are different, aren’t they? We can’t read facial expressions. We can’t hear the subtle changes in pitch and tone, and we miss the subtle pauses. We can’t meet each other’s eyes, and we can’t translate what we don’t see.
I’m going to trust you, though, to push past those limitations. As friends do. I’m not expecting you to compromise your own views, but at this virtual dinner, please allow me this moment of grace.
You’d probably notice my furrowed brow, were we to sit across the table from one another. “What’s on your mind,” you might reasonably ask, and while I’d probably start by talking about seals and such, I’d eventually wade into rougher waters.
What’s on my mind? Lemme tell you… I’m deeply concerned about the direction our country is headed. I am mourning the fact that we’ve lost our way, and I’m frightened about the cold, dark place in which we’ve found ourselves this weekend. I hear the drumbeats of war, drawing ever closer. White supremacists roam our streets unmasked–emboldened by a president who refuses to condemn their actions and instead offers a statement against “violence on all sides.” Politicians refuse to step into the breach, and religious leaders are strangely silent. I’m as scared as I’ve ever been, and oh, how I wish Hillary Clinton had shattered that highest, hardest glass ceiling!
This isn’t a fresh concern, mind you. I’ve been troubled by this presidency since Day One.
I worked for the Hillary Clinton campaign for a reason. She represents my deepest hopes and highest ideals. Plus, she’s smart and sassy, and better-equipped, by far. Not without her faults, but who is? She’s as imperfectly perfect as they come. Like many Americans, I was elated about her winning the popular vote, but when she ultimately lost the electoral college to a huckster, that elation quickly turned to despair.
No surprise, when I read the prompt for Susanne Conway’s photography challenge, those emotions bubbled to the surface again.
One Wish.
God forgive me for not thinking of my grandkids first, but this is the first image that came to mind.
My friend and I spent countless hours supporting the Hillary Clinton campaign. How exciting, to be on location for this event! We were joined by countless Americans, gathered around their television sets (or and hunched over their electronic devices), fully expecting that we’d be celebrating a big win. But there was a deep rumbling that night, and a shaking. Our dreams were crushed by the weight of unseen forces.
We walked back to the hotel together in silence, blanketed by wooly clouds that offered little in the way of comfort. I zipped my coat against the cold, wrapped my scarf a little tighter. An outsized rat skittered across the sidewalk, baring needle-sharp teeth as it defended its right to the trash bags heaped at the curb. The Empire State Building–alternating floors glowing blue and red before the polls closed—was awash in angry red.
That was then, and this is now. I’m not dwelling on that night, but I’m mindful of its significance. I’d be hard-pressed to explain how much our country has shifted, folded in on itself, and slid backward. And tonight…well, I’m glad tonight for the warmth and glow of your friendship, because my typically optimistic outlook is a bit faded around the edges.
Everything looks brighter in the morning–that’s what my Nana always said. But if we were to linger over coffee tonight, we’d probably explore this at some length. We’d laugh; we’d cry. I’d give you side-eye and you’d tell me to hush. We’d eventually fall into a comfortable silence, but not before I asked you to share your One Wish with me. As friends do. Then we’d ask the waiter to bring us a gooey, guilt-free slice of cake. With extra forks, please, and glow-in-the-dark candles.
Z Yang’s “Summer Staycation,” and an American Girl doll giveaway contest
Spoiler alert: I’ve posted an amazing prize giveaway contest at the bottom of this entry. Enjoy! Enter! Share the link with your friends and family!
Suzie “Z” Yang is American Girl’s newest character doll– a Korean-American beauty from Seattle. She has warm brown eyes that open and close, sleek brown hair, and a beauty mark on her left cheek. Her outfit’s camera-ready.
©American Girl. Used with permission.
Z’s a visual storyteller–a photographer who enjoys videography and blogging. In her companion book (THE REAL Z, by Jen Calonita), she learns how to use her creative voice in new ways:
Explore the world from different vantage points.
Do you, but don’t be afraid to try new things.
Snap selfies, but also look for the magic beyond your front door.
A short while back, Instagram user @5HensandaCockatiel (aka Sydney) put the spotlight on Z in her hometown of Seattle. That inspired me to create a video of my own.
What was I thinking??? Mastering new software, combining images with audio, creating a story board, and blending several images into one …fun stuff!! See also: huge challenge! But I took to heart the advice offered to Z by her biggest fan. “Trying new things allows the filmmaking magic to happen,” Z’s mother said.
I had a support crew, same as Z.
Collaborative image, ©Donna Sullivan & Melodye Shore
They encouraged me to experiment…proving that yes, you can teach an older puppy new tricks! Sneak peek–I used iFake Text Message for this:
I’m not a pro, but I had fun with this project and hope you enjoy watching it!
And now…drum roll please! Thanks to Mattel’s generosity, I’m hosting a Z doll giveaway contest! To qualify, please post a comment to this entry, answering one of two questions:
1) What do you like best about Z Yang?
or
2) What’s the coolest picture you’ve ever created with your camera?
All entries must be submitted by midnight on Thursday, July 13 (Pacific). I’ll post the winning entry on Friday, July 14th, so be sure your sign-in includes an easy way to reach you. Good luck, everyone!
Thankful Thursday: Blueberry Scones and Serendipitous Encounters
Flowers perfumed my neighborhood market, splashes of sunshine on a summer morning.
Tempting…
…but after a long walk on the beach, I had a single purchase in mind.
“One blueberry scone, please,” I said to the woman behind the bakery counter.
She chose the pastry with the plumpest berries, swaddled it with parchment paper before sliding it into a paper bag. Brown eyes twinkling, she presented it to me like a gift.
“Thank you,” I said. Just then, I caught my reflection in the bakery case. My eyes were bright and my cheeks were rosy, but my clothes were rumpled and wet. Hair clung to my scalp in limp curls, tousled by salty breezes and dampened by fog.
“Beach hair,” I said with a shrug.
“Ah, sí!” she said, “I get that, too.”
“Do you go down there on your breaks?”
“No time,” she said, “but my family goes down to Puerto Vallarta in July…”
“Oh! That’s really soon! You must be excited!”
She turned away, wiping invisible crumbs from the counter and blinking hard. “Not this year,” she eventually said. “No money.”
There weren’t any other customers around, and –here’s the real gift–she felt safe in telling me the whole story. Mexico is her birthplace. Her father lives there, still. Her siblings have scattered to the winds, but the family reconvenes in her hometown every year. In beautiful Puerto Vallarta, they shrug off their worries and embrace their cultural traditions. Mañana will take care of itself; for one week every year, they’re able to live together in the moment.
“But not this year,” she said with a sigh. But then she brightened. “We have great memories though! My daughter is really little, but she remembers…”
I wanted to give her daughter the memories of a life time, but that’s not within my power. “Oh hey, I know!” I scrolled quickly through my cell phone, showed her some recent pictures of Freckles.
She admired his tender brown eyes and giggled at his goofy poses. “¿Dónde?” she asked.
“Not more than five minutes from here!” I said. And then I let her in on my secret. I told her a little bit about Freckles, showed her how to coordinate the tide tables with his haul-out times, and pinpointed his lounging spots on a map.
“Oh, my daughter will love him!”
I nodded. “You, too. We all do.”
She eventually rang up my order, and when she counted back my change, we mirrored each other’s smiles. As new friends do.
****
I slid the scone onto a pretty blue plate–a “happy” for my husband. He smiled, but his forehead was wrinkled with worry. “You’ve got dark smudges under your eyes,” he said. “Go look in the mirror.”
Mascara was sliding down my face, swirled together with saltwater tears. I laughed at my reflection, and I swear, my heart grew three sizes.
Here, another serendipitous encounter–seemingly random, but maybe not. I don’t claim to understand it, but I am grateful for yet another gift from the sea.
Rx: More Vitamin Sea
What we instinctively know, scientists can now confirm: Spending time at the beach is an all-natural, proven remedy for physical and emotional stress.
In his recently published findings, marine biologist Wallace J. Nichols speaks to the meditative, healing effects of the ocean. He calls it “blue mind.” I call it “Vitamin Sea.” If you’ve ever sat at the water’s edge–salty breezes ruffling your hair as the incoming waves swirl around your feet and the seagulls serenade you–you’ve probably experienced the side-effects: slowed breathing, peaceful thoughts, openness to others, and an overall sense of wellbeing…cures for almost everything that ails you.
If you don’t live close to the ocean, other water sources will do. Lakes, rivers, even bathtubs and rain showers can reap positive benefits. “Our brains are hardwired to react positively to water and being near it can calm and connect us, increase innovation and insight, and even heal what’s broken,” Nichols says.
A low-cost prescription for my dear, sick friend, and for anyone who’s feeling the slightest bit under the weather. As the good doctor says, “I wish you water.”
PS I’m experimenting with memes, as a storytelling medium. So fun! This image memorializes my first encounter with Elegant Terns, at Laguna Beach last winter. Love those Groucho Marx toupees!
Thankful Thursday: Molting Season
She raked her fingers along her scalp, stopped abruptly when hair came away in her hands.
We stared at our cell phone screens, eyebrows lifted. Close friends from opposite coasts, facing together a new truth.
“Well, that’s not good,” she said, “I was hoping to keep this hairstyle for at least a couple of weeks.”
I can’t say that I blame her. It’s a super-short, sassy ‘do, well-suited to someone for whom every day’s a physical struggle.
A recent photo, but her hair is clipped much shorter.
“Must be molting season.” I teased.
“Shutttttt uppppp!”
I flinched, just a little. Whenever I used that phrase as a child, hellfire rained hard upon my head. Even as an adult, it evokes the faintest hint of sulphur. But my outspoken Irish Catholic friend isn’t one for censoring her thoughts. She exemplifies the lessons I’m (re)learning: that conformity is a destructive influence, and speaking your truth is a healing balm, with mostly positive side effects.
Our video chats are lighthearted. Aside from that sobering moment, this one was no different. We extolled the virtues of salt water taffy, and discussed the “catastrophic molt” that harbor seals undergo every spring. Her favorite pinniped was shedding his winter outerwear, and would soon be sporting a sleek new coat.
“Oh hey, you’re just like Freckles!” I said.
The phone went silent for a moment. She wiped the falling strands from her face, swept the hair tufts from her pillow. “My spirit animal,” she eventually said.
“Yes,” I answered softly. “Your spirit animal.”
She was hooked up to an IV when Hillary Clinton called to wish her well. Imagine, if you will, talking to a presidential candidate while you’re undergoing chemo! But she quickly turned the spotlight back to Hillary. “Let yourself be great!” she said to the former Secretary of State. A simple affirmation, served without any fanfare during a hard-fought campaign. That’s the unique brand of compassion my friend is known for.
Chemo, radiation, chemo, radiation–my friend has battled the ravaging effects of cancer for the better part of a year, now. She’s managed to stave off the inevitable hair loss, but given her increasingly aggressive treatments, it came as no surprise to either of us that molting season had finally arrived–for my friend and her pinniped pal, Freckles.
“No way am I going to wear a wig,” she said.
“Of course not.” She’s a bare-faced beauty, 100% natural. Synthetic hair? Don’t be silly.
“I’ll still be me,” she said. “If someone doesn’t want to see my bald head, not a problem. They don’t have to look at me!”
“Yep,” I said. “But hey! You could decorate your scalp with temporary tattoos…”
Red Sox logos, we agreed, would be just the ticket.
That was the last I heard of her hair loss, until our phone chat on Wednesday morning. She mentioned, with no small measure of pride, that she was able to stomach real food at dinner time—roast beef, potatoes and cooked carrots.
She was dressed, same as always, in what I’d call casual chic: black pants and a turtleneck, and a FDNY hooded sweatshirt that helped protect her from bracing winds and rain. Her hair was bristle-short but tidy. It was her first real outing in over a month, the first meal she’d kept down in weeks.
Comfort food. Fresh air and warm hugs, shared among long-time friends at a neighborhood diner. Everything she needed, to help stave off the worst side effects of chemo. Small but important victories, cut short by losers.
Two delivery men hunched over their plates at the next table, shoveling food into their mouths as if they were afraid someone might steal their food. They wore uniforms that identified them as employees of a home improvement store. They were loud and coarse, with unkempt hair that fell below their shoulders.
One workman caught his partner’s eye, hitched his thumb in the direction of my friend. “What is that?” he asked.
Her cheeks blazed.
His partner shrugged. “Can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman,” he said.
They slapped their thighs with glee.
She met their smugness with a steady gaze, rose slowly from her chair, and sauntered over to their table. With surgical precision–think Edward Scissorhands, shaping a topiary from an unruly hedgerow—she then stripped those bullies of their power.
“Are you really making fun of my hair?” she asked. “Well, let me tell something. It’s short because I have cancer. It’s patchy because of chemo. I’m enjoying my first real meal in a very long time. If that’s not okay with you, I suggest you leave, right now!”
The manager scurried over. She engaged both workers in a stare-down, maintaining her resolute posture as she gave him the Reader’s Digest Condensed Version of her story.
Didn’t matter that he was a friend; the facts spoke for themselves. “It’s best that you get out of here.” the manager told them.
They beat a hasty exit.
My intrepid friend? She tucked into her meal again, as if nothing had ever happened.
“I’m so proud of you,” I said, although I wasn’t the least bit surprised. It’s the type of behavior I’ve come to expect from my friend. But I’m still thinking about it today, with no small measure of awe and gratitude. When she rose to her feet, she lifted the rest of us onto her shoulders. When she said her piece, she spoke for everyone who’ve suffered abuse in silence. When she stood her ground, she built a solid footing for the rest of us.
Random recollections, maybe, but they paint a beautiful portrait of my friend. I’m featuring it on this page, where she can’t easily slough it off. She’s a good egg(head), and we’d do well to learn from her example.