Category: Connections

What’s on Your Bucket List

What’s on your bucket list? Mine was very loosely formed in the back of my mind until recently. Then a series of seemingly unrelated events coupled with curiosity, facing feelings and taking action resulted in hope found in a bucket list.

Radiation for Cancer

Yesterday, my husband, Wayne, and I met his radiation oncologist, Shravan Kandula, M. D. Dr. Kandula explained the reasons, procedure and side effects of radiation therapy for Wayne. This first appointment was upbeat, encouraging, and easy.

We also met the social worker, Maria. After reading all the information for patients and their families while waiting for the doctor, I noticed a lot of references to psychological difficulties surrounding dealing with cancer. It seemed it didn’t refer to our situation. No, emotional distress was for those dealing with the big ones; breast cancer, lung cancer, colon cancer. Wayne just had a rare Stage 3 cancer in his parotid gland. And the surgeon removed it completely, no cancer in the lymph nodes or anywhere else. But.. radiation will hopefully zap any cancer cells that escaped his scalpel.

But then I started crying today while writing this blog.

Wayne sat next to me, eating cereal, as I’m crying. He’s not into acknowledging feelings.

“Oh, you’re writing your blog. What does blog mean? I assume it’s an acronym.”

Great! Here’s an easy opportunity to turn my feelings off and search for the meaning of blog. It’s short for weblog. Remove the first two letters and you have blog. Phew! That’s better. Now I can get back to writing about these seemingly unrelated events.

Starting a Bucket List

Do you have a bucket list? When did you start it? How do you add to it? Are there completed items? Did your list start accidentally?

Right before writing this article, I was searching online within my local newspaper for articles about native Florida plants in the landscape. The results were so broad, I tried to narrow it down using the category where I expected to find the gardening column, Lifestyle.

The top link returned was an article titled, From Desert to Sky, See it all in the New Mexico Mountains. I saw no correlation with my search phrase, ‘Florida landscape native plants’. Rather the original purpose for my search disappeared when I saw the photo of desert flowers blooming with the Organ Mountains in the background. I immediately thought, “This should be on my bucket list!”

The stark reality of Wayne’s cancer coupled with the picture of the Organ Mountains – Desert Peaks National Monument encouraged me to create a formal bucket list. Seems like life is so much more precious today than a few months ago before cancer became personal. Isn’t that what a bucket list is about – a reminder that time is limited, so get busy living it to the fullest? Does that sound a little negative or laced with worry? I see it differently. For me, a bucket list represents hope.

What About Your Bucket List?

What’s the coolest thing you’ve accomplished on your bucket list? What are you most looking forward to? I’d love to hear about it. Leave a comment below or email me. Better yet, signup for my newsletter and we can have a weekly conversation.

Back to my list,
Dawn

Sweet Scent Memories Still Exist

This week I was reading two novels that mentioned sweet scent memories. They were extra special because I have the same memory, my father’s Old Spice after shave. Yet, as sweet as this memory is, there is a sweeter one. The aroma of cherry pipe tobacco smoke.

First Seeds of a Memory

At just two weeks old, I didn’t retain full memories, but these early weeks were when my bond with my father formed. It was the time between Christmas and New Year’s, when I imagine Dad had received the special cherry pipe tobacco as a Christmas gift, perhaps from my mother.

Mom was dealing with two baby girls in diapers and asked for help from her husband, my father. Although he put in long days as a farmer, an orange grove caretaker, he was happy to help with me. I was an easy baby; no colic, no difficulty taking a bottle.

I have a visual memory of a photo of my tiny self, propped on my father’s thighs as he holds my bottle in one hand and cradles his pipe in the other, smoke tendrils winding heavenward. He’s dressed in a white Hane’s t-shirt and still has on his work pants as he props himself against the wall behind the master bed.

How Specific is Scent Memory?

Sweet scent memories are very specific for me. I don’t care for all pipe smoke, only cherry pipe tobacco will do. How specific are your scent memories? I’ll bet they are very specific too. Is it cinnamon raisin bread baking, whole wheat or white bread in the oven?

Do you take action to expose yourself to your sweet scent memory? I sure did. Near the end of my Dad’s life he still occasionally smoked a pipe. He preferred Captain Jack in the gold pouch. And I always bought his preference, but I’d pick up a bag of cherry tobacco, hold it close to my face and take a big breath in. I think it brought me back to my two-week old self, securely cradled in my Dad’s lap, my tummy full of nourishment.

Books That Take You Down Memory Lane

The two books that stirred my memories this week were Tiger Drive by Teri Case and Stillwater by Mary Jo Hazard. Tiger Drive depicted a very different life than my own, but I identified with seventeen-year-old Carrie in many ways. Teri built her characters fully, giving me plenty of reason to care about the Sloan family. I highly recommend it.

Stillwater took place in a small town in upstate New York, during the approximate time of my childhood. The twelve-year-old characters in Stillwater spent a lot of time in activities my sister, cousins, and I enjoyed; playing in clubhouses or trees, riding our bicycles, and listening in on grown-up conversations. Both these books took me on a trip down my own memory lane. And isn’t that what books should do? They allow your own sweet scent memories to waft in and around the words on the page.

Are you reading a book that stirs your memories? I’d love to hear about it. Leave a comment below or email me. Better yet, signup for my newsletter and we can have a weekly conversation.

Onto the next book,
Dawn

Last Walk in the Yard

One week ago today, our thirteen-year-old Brittany, Dubba, took his last walk in the yard. The decision to end the suffering of a beloved pet is hard, very hard. Carrying out that decision is a burden shared by many. This article is in appreciation for Dubba and the love he showed me, once he got to know me.

A Sporting Life

I’m a supporter of rescue dogs and my life before Wayne has included many. In contrast, Dubba was bred to point birds, specifically quail. He was a master of his craft, teaching many young Brittany pups the art of trailing the scent, pinpointing the hidden location, and then standing stock still until released by the bird taking flight.

Once the hunter brought down the bird, Dubba retrieved it carefully with a ‘soft mouth’, responding to the call of his master, my husband, Wayne. I traipsed behind the hunters one cool Spring morning and watched the symphony of man, dog, and quail in a field, dotted with palmetto islands.

Wild quail hunting is a thing of the past, their natural habitat replaced by housing tracts with cement walls and names like, “Quail Trail Preserve”. Now there are quail breeders and quail brokers. Wayne or his friend, Fred, purchase the birds right before the hunt and place them in the field. When I first saw this, I was taken a back. Consequently, I understand and appreciate the joy of our Brittanys when they are on the hunt.

A Man and His Dog

The bond between Wayne and Dubba was deep, born when Dubba was born in the same home Wayne and I now share. I’ve know Dubba four years. At first he was a bit intimidating. Within a few months, he was seeking me out, rubbing his head against my thigh.

Although Wayne had hopes of breeding our puppy, Sugar, with Dubba, that never happened. Dogs have preferences too. Dubba did not care for Sugar. I breathed a sigh of relief. The thought of raising puppies kept me up nights.

Many years ago, Dubba was a house dog, like his sister, Marilyn and Sugar are today. Dubba, however, insisted on marking his territory inside the house. He received his own house in the yard with an elevated, enclosed and covered area, front entrance, and steps down to the cool cement floor of his spacious kennel. Soon after, a lost, injured American Bulldog found Wayne in Georgia on a deer hunting trip. After diligent efforts to find the Bulldog’s owners failed, Wayne named her Daisy, and brought her home to live with Dubba.

Dogs Have Feelings Too

Wayne and I were worried about Daisy’s reaction to the absence of her friend, Dubba. At first, she was very subdued; barking and eating less, sleeping more. We’ve given Daisy extra tummie rubs, more exercise and attention. She is responding well and seems as happy as she was before. Wayne and I feel better too.

Life Moves On

For all of you who experienced your dog’s last walk in the yard, I feel your pain. I also feel your warm memories of sloppy dog kisses, endless games of fetch, and tender moments. Goodbye dear friend, Dubba.

Love,
Dog Mama Dawn