Ordinary Days
Cathy had her fifth of twelve additional chemo treatments on Friday. She felt lousy on Saturday, but she’s better today. I dealt with my own medical issue on Saturday. I had an irregular heartbeat all day and night, but I got back into normal rhythm this morning. This happens from time to time with me. My doctor says it’s a nuisance more than anything. Yes, I see an electrophysiologist who keeps an eye on things, and my general practitioner has me on the proper medications to help prevent another stroke. Still, in the tradition of my Martin relatives, I worry about most everything. Today, though, I decided to just go on with my business. Cathy and I drove to the orchard for more apples. Then we decided to go to the garden center to get a mum and some pumpkins for our front porch. We put it all together and then cut back our peonies, another fall chore that’s been on our list. We do these things to convince ourselves our lives are ordinary even though, as we age, we understand they’re not. Cancer comes calling; heartbeats go whacky. We do the best we can to keep moving.
I remember when my parents’ health began to fail—my mother’s TIA’s, my father’s heart disease—and the way they still found things to give them pleasure. On the day of my father’s first heart attack, he drove home from our farm where he’d been harvesting soybeans, and he took to his bed. He asked my mother for some Longhorn cheese, a snack he’d always enjoyed. He’d yet to admit he needed medical attention. He just wanted to eat that cheese. Often, we hang on to the pleasures of our lives because we don’t want to acknowledge how precarious they are. My father survived that first heart attack. He lived three more years before a second one took him. During those three years, he had much that he enjoyed, as did my mother. I don’t mean to say they didn’t worry; I’m sure they did. They worried about who would be the first to go, and they worried what would happen to the one who survived. This Friday, I’ll turn seventy-one. I’m learning such worries come with the territory. Still, there are days like today when apples, pumpkin donuts, mums, and decorative pumpkins bless us. We learn to cherish such ordinary details. We wish for as many days as we can get, days like this one—nothing special, just an ordinary day spent in the autumn sun.
Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reading!
You write the truth, and it is good. It’s so important to continue having fun, experiencing joy, doing the small mundane things. Just to be able to WALK and BREATHE is such a gift. Sending you both good wishes. Cancer is scary but it’s not a death sentence, necessarily, and one must LIVE in the meantime. The moment is ours. Read some poetry! That’s the way. And pumpkins, mums, porch decorations, and longhorn cheese.
Cheers to you both! Patricia
Cathy and I are doing our best to live in the moment. Thanks, Patricia!
❤️🩹❤️💝
Thank you!
Happy Birthday, and I hope you and Cathy make it to the Pumpkin Show!
We’ve been to the pumpkin show a couple of times. Impressive! Due to Cathy’s illness, we’ll probably skip it this year.
Lee, I have just “met” you, and at first glance it appears that your writing will be a pure blessing to me. I celebrated my 74th brithday in August, my husband is a few years ahead of me at 80. Although we continue to try to put age behind us, every now and again the reality of life sneaks in.
This past weekend brought me much joy as my now Texas resident son (I am in Illinois) and two of his boys came to visit for a few days. Monday was tour day at Wheaton College as college is approaching, and I was asked to join them. While they walked the campus with a 19 year old college sophomore I got to know some of the staff and volunteers at the Welcome Center in lieu of me trying to keep up with those much younger and fitter than me. During the course of my time there, I was able to observe the ebb and flow of student traffic as they meandered to and from class, their other commitments, and activities of the day. It was a stark reminder to me of the rapid passage of time, how quickly our hair grays, our joints ache, cancer becomes a part of our lives, and family and friends leave us for the other side.
For a short time I was jealous of those young lives full of hope and promise, while the bulk of mine is behind me. Reflection on the joys that I have experienced and the path that I have walked eventually reinforced the fact that I am grateful to be exactly where I am today.
Please continue to tell your stories, and grace the world with your gifts. I look forward to reading your books and other writing. Thank you.
That message is very beautiful. Thank you for sharing with the other readers…and with Lee.
He is talented indeed and a kind man.
Thank you so much for this comment, Rebecca. If you don’t mind my asking, where are you in Illinois. I grew up in the southeastern part of the state, just across the river from Vincennes, Indiana, but I also lived for six years in Oak Forest, Illinois, a southern suburb of Chicago.
I look at young people today, especially those embarking on writing careers, and I know how much excitement they have ahead of them, and, alas, so much heartache as well. I wish them as full of a life as I’ve had.
Take good care–Lee
Happy and blessed Birthday Lee! May it be filled with all that is beautiful…even the rain.
Live every moment!
Thank you, Jane. I had a wonderful day on my birthday.
I’m new to your blog and I really liked this post. So put me on.
Michele, thank you for your comment. I’m afraid I don’t know how to put someone on. Are you on Facebook? Each Sunday, I let folks know the topic of the next day’s blog. If you’d like to be in that loop, please ask to join my fan group at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/14139544589