If you could simplify your life, would you? I don’t know who Mark Buchanan is, but apparently he knows me. Because I’m pretty sure he wrote this about me:
I cannot think of a single advantage I’ve ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing … Through all that haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away.
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I didn’t know I was marrying the most thoughtful and kind man in the world. I didn’t know he would keep me laughing until the end. I didn’t know he’d always put me and the kids first.
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Always.
With love in the air and roses on sale for $25 per dozen and Valentine’s Day looming up ahead, this question:
Would you still marry your spouse if you knew you would walk beside him/her with aching heart as they endured cancer treatment; loss of appetite, loss of weight; became childlike before taking a final breath sooner — oh, so much sooner — than you had imagined? Would you still marry?
Of course you would. Because the sweet years with your husband, your wife would be worth the pain of loss.
When Hubby was first diagnosed, we asked about diet and exercise. “That’s like closing the barn door after the horse has gotten out,” said one oncologist (not the oncologist we ended up hiring).
One urologist said, “I heard lycopene is good for prostate cancer, and tomatoes have lycopene, so you might want to eat more tomatoes.”
“Good,” said Hubby out of earshot of the doctor. “I’ll add more tomatoes to my Big Macs and I’ll be just fine.”
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My adult children encouraged me to get back into public speaking. But Hubby and I had always told our story together and I was somewhat fearful to present alone. What if no one laughed at the humor?
And then an invitation last week to speak to nursing students. Who laughed in all the right places. (And I may have made a couple of them cry, which wasn’t very nice of me.)
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Daughter Summer is losing her playfully-sarcastic edge. Last week I sent her this text: “Today I moved my wedding ring to my right hand.”
Summer: “Wow. Big step.”
I’m not sure who this girl is. The daughter I know would have shot back with something like: “Does this mean I’m getting a new dad?!”
My friend, Mike, emailed a couple of photos of the first hike he did with us, before he was the official hike leader. The photos sent me pouring back through old hiking pictures that represent the hundreds of miles Hubby and I put in together.
My favorite pair of boots were in desperate need of new heels. “You’ve been having fun,” commented the shoe repair guy as he studied the damage.
“I walk with purpose.”
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“A lady on a mission with determination,” he responded with a smile.
Why, yes. Yes, that would be me.
Snow falling cold and beautiful. Warm fuzzy scarf wrapped two and three times around my neck. Hot lunch in a fire-lit restaurant with new and old friends.
Noticing blessings and naming them is one of the things that saved me while standing watch as Hubby slipped away, as I stumbled into widowhood.
Thanksgiving lists. Not just for the month of November, I’m thinking. But rather a year-round sport.
I now know everything there is to know about curling, that most fascinating of all Olympic sports.
Four players to a team. The first player bowls the 42-lb marble stone, which glides down a long runway where it can careen off the other players’ stones and send them sprawling (the stones, not the players). The closest stone to the intended goal earns points. While a whole lot of sweeping is going on.
Basically, a combination of bowling, pool, horseshoes, shuffleboard and janitorial services. On ice.
Janitorial services on ice at the new Bend Parks & Rec ice rink
Copyright © 2025 Marlys Johnson
