Late June, 1963

 Back in the early 60s, two horse crazy girls attended the huge horse show in Johnson's Park in New Brunswick, NJ.

It was what they looked forward to every year...must have gone to the show for many years, though I cannot number them now. At least from 1961, that's for sure.

They reveled in the fact that they bore "exhibitors" badges, obtained from a local horseman who frequented the tavern owned by one of the girl's fathers. It made them get into the festivities and the horses without question.

Too bad neither had a horse to exhibit.

Too bad they had nothing other than love of horses to keep them going through the heat of early summer.

But it was wonderful, being there among the riders. The smell of the horses surrounded the girls. The thrill of watching the events. Rising on invisible saddles when the horses performed so beautifully by clearing a jump. Seeing what they wanted for themselves but never obtained.

Reaching for the moon.

But for three days at the end of June for so many years, they were as close to heaven as they could get.

These people were so far beyond them. The wealth involved in keeping a horse, much less several, as whole families rode in numerous events. Their tent stables were lined with expensive tack and ribbons from events won. The jangling of the bridles as these wealthy few got their horses ready to show or removed the tack that would have to be cleaned for the next day.

Three days of heaven for little, silly, love struck girls.

I would go back in a second!

Because I could not stop for death, it kindly stopped for me

 Not me, not really. I mean, we're all dying slowly, right? Some faster than others.

I learned today that one of my sorority sisters passed away suddenly.

I am very upset.

She was one of the most talented individuals I have ever known. I was not close to her after her marriage, which produced two girls, but I recently started hearing from her on FB. A little now and then. But I consider that keeping in touch.

I don't know how she died or the cause. But I am saddened that the world and her family has lost someone so precious.

So sorry, Fitz.

Forensics

 Several years ago, my mother gave me one of her back brushes.  She had two or three, so she gave me one.

I never used it, put it away meaning to use it if I ever needed to scrub my back.

Well, my back itches. Getting old, I guess. Itchy and itchier!  The doctor told me it was because of old age. Humph!

Yesterday I found the back brush and took it to the sink to see if it needed to be washed or at least dusted.

Oh, it needed more.

There were silvery white hairs stuck in the bristles.

My mother's hair.

All that is left of her!

All her own DNA.

Not what was cremated. Not what was dumped into the lake behind her house. Not what was buried next to my father.

Hers. 

My mother's last remaining bits.

The girls and I removed the hair from the back brush and put it into a small plastic bag.

It's almost wrong. It's almost pathetic. 

But it is her.

Passing the word

 My bank password was screwed up because I didn't log out of my last session which was about, oh, I dunno, months ago.

Some nice people at the bank helped me.

Only took 20 minutes.

Now, I ask, why did I have to change my password yet again?

Because this computerized banking system is bullshit. At least I got to talk to human beings to straighten things out.

Now I have another problem...getting paid from PayPal, which doesn't believe I got sent money.

I am perplexed. I hate this shit. Send me a check........

Yes, I am no angel.

We found our 1968 Buick Grand National listed for sale on some internet sale site.

It is not for sale. It never has been, was never listed, but if it were, considering the money put into it in the past few years, I'd want $60,000 for it.

So, however it got listed on a national selling site, if it doesn't get taken off or down or whatever, if somebody is willing to give me that amount of cash for it, I'll consider.

 

Oncologist today 

This is the first time I will be actually in her presence in over a year.

So many things have happened since then.

I thought all my physical problems were psychosomatic, but they aren't.

So, naturally, I'm scared. They will draw blood and she'll look me over and hopefully say, hey, you're okay, nothing to worry about, even though it has been twelve years almost since your last chemo treatment.

They never say "cured". They never even say "in remission" anymore.

Because they know cancer is evil and will lie in wait for years and years to come back in another form.

This time, I am worried about my skin. Bumps and little scabs and sore parts. And recurring shingles. Or....

Always that OR.

Always wondering when that other shoe will drop.

Glimmers

 I don't want to jinx anything.

I really need to express myself in some way, so here are current thoughts and observations on the world and me.

Something seems a little bit better. Yes, I got vaccinated. The rest of my immediate family is half vaccinated. Today, there is some kind of problem with my type of vaccine, but I guess if I were going to die from a blood clot caused by maybe this vaccine, I'd be dead already as I got the vaccine on 12 MAR 21.

Fortunately, I am still alive.

Moving on, the trees are shedding pollen and starting to get green around the edges. Our day lilies have reached at least a foot above the dirt and the gladiolas are shooting up, along with bits of those two other plants I cannot remember, but one gets really tall and has purply pink bunches of flowers and the other has spindly leaves and loads of yellow flowers. All is good there. The lilac bushes have leaves.

That cheers me.

What also cheers me is that some of the skin infection that has plagued me all over my zaftig bod seems to be clearing. I don't want to go into detail, but it is not fun, has not been cured through three different types of cream meds and antibiotics. Perhaps it is because I am not all that bothered by the news, well except for the useless killing of people, but that irritant has quieted and I feel a huge wave of calm washing over my psyche.

Is it my imagination?

Are things getting better?

The numbers of COVID illnesses keeps rising. I still don't go anywhere. I talk with friends via Facebook and telephone and email. They send photos. I try to remember to take photos to send.

I see my oncologist next week. I do not want to be complacent because cancer comes when it wants to.

I've been so lucky to have lasted eleven years beyond a stage 4 lymphoma diagnosis!

And I keep fighting. 

We all keep fighting to survive. We all try to do our best in these trying times and we all want to go back to our lives the way they were. 

But, well, you can't go home easily. And even when you do, it isn't the way you remembered it was.