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A Joyful Noise

courage

Conquering cancer, one step at a time

September 27, 2017 by Melodye Shore

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.

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Posted in: Boston Marathon Jimmy Fund, cancer, chemo, Jimmy Fund, Let yourself be great, writing Tagged: Boston Marathon Jimmy Fund, brene brown, cancer, chemo, chemotherapy, courage, Donna, freckles

Outspoken courage and quiet grace

May 6, 2017 by Melodye Shore

I did something yesterday that was so completely out of character that it left me shaking–and smiling, just a little.

It all started when I emerged from a framing store, rummaging through my purse for my errant keys as I headed for my car. A woman glanced out her driver’s side window, staring straight past me as she put her poshly appointed, yacht-sized pickup into reverse.

CRUNCH. She ran smack-dab into the family van that was parked behind her. An older model, with oxidized paint and a couple of missing rims. Someone’s trusty mode of transportation, marred further now by a shattered tail light and back-end damage.

She wheeled around to see if anyone had noticed. When I caught her eye, she lifted her hands in a shrug, as if to say, These spots are so darned small. What are you gonna do?

Suspecting her intent, I made the motion of someone writing their insurance information onto a piece of paper.

She lifted her middle fingers, tires squealing as she returned to her emptied parking stall.

I waited patiently by the driver’s side door, listened quietly when she positioned herself as the hero in a made-up story about a little girl running loose in the parking lot, venturing dangerously close to her oversized tires. “Thank God I hit the van instead of her,” she said.

“Maybe you could explain that to the owners,” I said. “But you should definitely leave them a note.”

In a flash, her demeanor went from faux-concern to fierce anger. “Who do you think you are? God’s policeman?”

I met her eyes with a leveling gaze. “You hit their car,” I said in a calm, quiet voice that camouflaged my growing unease.

“I’m a Christian,” she screamed, about two inches from my face.

Confused eye blinks. “That’s irrelevant,” I said.

“You think I don’t know right from wrong?” she asked. “F*** you.”

“Look, I don’t know anything about you. I’m just a witness to an accident. Please…leave them a note, so we can both get out of here.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, came at me with flailing arms. “Go f*** yourself,” she said.

A woman wheeled her shopping cart past us, made a U-turn, and situated her purchases in the small space between me and the truck driver. “Are you okay?” she asked me.

I nodded, just slightly, without dropping the truck driver’s gaze. “I’m okay,” I said, with an appreciative smile. “We’re just talking about hit-and-run accidents, that’s all.”

At this point, the truck driver decided it might be a good idea to inspect the damage she’d caused.

“Look at this van,” she said derisively. “They must be very poor.”

Where was she headed with that comment? No telling, but I didn’t want to go there.

“You hit their car,” I repeated. “Just leave them a note.”

I think she finally realized that I wasn’t going anywhere until she did just that.

She hoisted herself into the jacked-up truck, retrieved an envelope from her designer handbag, and scribbled something onto the flap. It wasn’t with a cheerful heart, I can tell you that. She was dropping verbal carpet bombs all the while, and wiping spittle from her mouth.

She then waved the scrap of paper under my nose, flounced over to the van and jammed it under the windshield wiper.

“Thanks,” I said sincerely. “You did the right thing.”

She answered me with screeching tires; left long, dark skid marks at the stop sign.

As I watched her tail lights flash red, I melted into a puddle of relief. My good intentions could’ve gone terribly wrong. But in hindsight, I doubt I would’ve have done it any other way.

In retrospect, I’m just now realizing why I did something so totally out of character, so completely out of my comfort zone.  It came of feeling helpless to affect any positive change, especially after the House voted to repeal the Affordable Health Care Act last Thursday. Despite the effort I’d put into convincing our legislators to do the right thing, they chose otherwise– stripping good-hearted people of their right to quality health care, and separating ordinary citizens like me from their hard-earned dollars. If this triumph of meanness isn’t stopped in the Senate, millions of Americans will suffer very real, extremely dire consequences. The “least of them” especially, while the wealthy stuff yet another tax break into their Louis Vuitton handbags.

So if I were to guess my deep-seated motives, I’d describe this situation as a one-off opportunity to set things right again. For one family, at the very least.

Make no mistake: I don’t feel one bit heroic about any of this. But as a spiritually minded optimist, I see this as an affirmation of what I’ve always believed to be true: Speaking up for the causes we believe in, and standing our ground in grace–that’s how we turn bad choices toward the good.

Posted in: affordable health care, car accident, courage, grace, Hope, outspoken courage, Politics, quiet grace, writing Tagged: affordable care act, courage, grace, parking lot accident, politics

The sky’s the limit (Art Challenge of the Week)

May 15, 2016 by Melodye Shore

Spread your wings/ It’s time to fly/ Make the leap/ Own the sky. —Ms. Moem

I took Sara to the beach on Friday. We stopped at the market first, though, to grab a picnic dinner.

It’s kind of a big deal, at Sara’s age, to choose your own meal. I got a small container of basil pasta salad, with sundries tomatoes and olives. She grabbed a Lunchable, grapes, medjool dates…and a croissant.

Croissant: a hint of something delicious on the horizon. Sara’s taking an all-girls trip to France next week, with her grandmother and mommy. Oooh la la!

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Sara’s growing so quickly now, in every single way. Take on the boys in a game of Nine Square in the Air? She’s on it!

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Wade in the water? Look at that smile!

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When the waves arch and froth at the water’s edge, she just roots herself in the sand.

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A not-so-random thought eventually bubbles to the surface.

“Mommy says we’re going to eat snails in Paris,” Sara tells me. “Sorry, escargot.” She describes the dish as it’s been related to her: tiny snails, smothered in heavy sauce. “I don’t know yet if I’m really going to eat them,” she says.

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I tell her that I chickened out when I had the chance.

“I wish I hadn’t,” I say.

“Sometimes,” I’m quick to add, because it’s always best to be honest.

“Give them a try,” I suggest. “Even if it’s just a teeny tiny bite, you’ll be proud of yourself for being brave. And who knows, you might decide you like them!”

Food for thought…

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Hungry seagulls snatch the last of the grapes.  Church groups are staking out the fire pits, and the lifeguard — zipped into a red jacket, now–is standing watch.

Who’s chasing whom? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

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Sara falls on purpose, soaks her dress in ocean water. She tries to pull me down, too, but I caution her against it.

Next time, I tell her. “I don’t want to get my camera wet.”

Thing is, I like wading in the tide pools. I love digging my toes into wet sand, and I don’t mind water swirling around my ankles. I took swimming lessons after my sons were born. Basic lifesaving techniques, for my sake and theirs. But –and — I always make sure I’m within very close range of the lifeguard station.

I nearly drowned when I was her age. I don’t tell her that.

I tell her instead, that she can achieve whatever she sets her mind to–the sky’s the limit.

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And it occurs to me that maybe next time I could, maybe should, venture just a tiny bit further into the waves.  I’ll be proud of myself for being brave enough to try, I tell myself, and who knows, I might decide I like it.

The prompt for this week is sky. You’ve invited to join the party here, and/or peek at my previous weeks’ entries here. 

Posted in: aliso creek beach, beach, courage, Sara, Sky, swimming Tagged: aliso creek beach, courage, sara, swimming

Thankful Thursday: A joyful noise

February 27, 2014 by Melodye Shore

The call went out on Facebook on Tuesday morning:

“Anyone know of someone that would like to perform a song for the Dalai Lama today or tomorrow while one stage with him?? We have some time that freed up.”

Here, a long-ignored yearning, knocking again at the door to my heart.

I stared at my computer screen, watched the cursor blink in the empty comment box below it.

My first response was absolutely sincere, but it ignored completely my inner whisperings:

“Sharing with my vocal coach, ‪Stacy Pendleton. She'd be perfect, and would no doubt choose a beautifully suited piece for the Dalai Lama's visit.”

My hands hovered over the keyboard, a safe harbor in which I’ve oftentimes reconciled Present Reality with Distant Memories.

You can do it! You’ve got years of singing experience behind you. Plus, voice lessons.

Yes, but it’s a scary thing. My heart’s pounding in my chest, my hands are trembling, and…and…feel my palms! They’re already sweating.

Yes, and yes. But. It’s a remote possibility, so what’s the harm in asking?

The battle was swift and fairly painless, and in the end…Courage for the win! I whispered a prayer, rolled up my sleeves, and typed my way past the unspeakable memory that kept its tentacles wrapped around my singing voice, for lo these many years.*

“I would be thrilled—deeply honored!—to participate in some way, if you decide to include a choir of voices.”

(*Some of you know that story already, which I won't reprise in this post. I offer you, instead, a picture of my earliest vocal ensemble. Apropos, seeing as how it's also Throwback Thursday.)

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That's me, wedged in the middle, with the faraway look in my eyes!

For much of that day, my stomach was doing backward flips and cartwheels, which so often happens when I find myself on that cutting edge/bleeding edge of Something Big.

What’s your experience? the event facilitators asked me, What can you bring to the table?

"I performed with my sisters at my father's revival meetings, traveled with choirs and ensembles, took private lessons…It's a dream of mine, to sing at a special event such as this.” I left out the part about having lost my singing voice for a very long time, because—as it occurred to me later—it no longer mattered.

For several shining moments (hours, really), I visited the realm of Possibility. I crossed my fingers, paced the floor, contemplated the deeper significance of what I'd signed on for. Alone in the anteroom between Now and Future, I texted my voice teacher, and I posted this note to Facebook:

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prayer flags at Land of Medicine Buddha

It's a small chance, but not outside the realm of possibility. A dream realized, not memoir-related but close. If you're so inclined, please help me send good vibes into the world, in hopes it comes to pass. If not now, then when the time is right. (Sorry to be opaque about this, but I don't want to jinx/jeopardize my chances.)

The responses were swift, and so affirming. Here again, I had a big ol’ lump in my throat, but in my heart, I was singing!

In the end, they chose someone who’d already been cleared by Secret Service. Makes sense, seeing as how the event organizers didn’t know me from Eve. Too, it was very short notice, and I don’t have a wide repertoire at the ready. And come to think of it, I’m more of a backup singer than a soloist, anyway.

I’m sure the person they chose did an amazing job, and that His Holiness was blessed by her musical performance. But I volunteered, too, and that was a gift in itself. No, I wasn't selected, but I offered up my singing voice to serve the greater good, and that’s the main thing. And that I’ve reclaimed my ability to make a joyful noise—that’s the best feeling, ever.

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His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Image via Sean Lourdes, of The Lourdes Foundation
Posted in: Uncategorized Tagged: courage, dalai lama, facebook, singing, thankful thursday, the lourdes foundation, voice lessons

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