My luggage got lost somewhere in Airportland. The return flight from New Jersey was by way of Chicago to Los Angeles to Oregon. I de-planed in Chicago to this v-mail: “Due to delays, you won’t make your connection in LA and so we’ve rescheduled your flight for tomorrow.” What?!
A quick phone call to the airline established a new route home. One seat left. I made the flight. My luggage didn’t.
Pixabay stock photo
In years past, I drafted lists of goals at the beginning of each new year. In several categories. And then Hubby got cancer—which wasn’t on any of my lists—and our main objective was to live as fully as possible while he still had life.
Photo credit: Unsplash
And then my uber-efficiency kicked in and I started reverting these unwritten *live-well* goals back into written lists. In several categories. (A control issue, do you think?)
The New Jersey fam and I went ice-skating earlier this week. First time the three Ugandan-born grandchildren have ever been on skates. Of any kind. First time they’ve seen ice this big.
Daughter Summer: “It’s not Christmas until Santa photobombs your family picture.”
As you already know, this time of year can be a no-tidings-of-great-joy sort of season, especially if you’re dealing with cancer. Or the aftermath of cancer. Or if you’ve lost one of the most valuable treasures ever entrusted to you.
Photo courtesy of Pixabay
If I had to sum up the message of this blog in one sentence it would be something like this: “The reason to not give up on life is because you are needed.”
But let’s get down to the details.
The perfect winter—as I used to imagine it—would be Hubby and me snowed in at one of the mountain lakes in our area. With an overflow of firewood stacked on the front porch of a woodsy cabin. Reading. Writing. Knitting. Cooking. Putting together puzzles. And a daily outing that would require strapping on snow-shoes — to identify wildlife snow-prints and refill the bird feeder emptied overnight by the deer.
And then sitting here — alone — in my lovely living room with the tall pine growing just off the second-level balcony rail and the expansive views across the valley, I discovered something about myself. I would never survive the winter scenario as painted above. With Hubby, yes. But alone, um … no. Because as much as I relish my alone time, I also need to be around people.
Photo credit: Pixabay
What if this holiday season you spent less and loved more? What if you did something totally out of character that she would love, that would say, “You are special to me.” That wouldn’t cost much money?
Like, what if you packed a picnic dinner, a thermos of hot chocolate and maybe those favorite chewy molasses cookies she likes? And what if you didn’t tell her where you were taking her, but told her to dress warmly? And what if you drove out to a lake or river or scenic overlook, brought a bundle of firewood, extra blankets, candles, a CD player or iPod for some background Christmas tunes?
Aiken House and Gardens
How memorable would that be?
My friends stayed one day longer in Oregon so we could meet for coffee as they were passing through on their way home.
And I stood them up.
I’m going to blame it on my niece who had her baby the day after Thanksgiving. And I’ll probably also blame it on my bro- and sis-in-law who talked me into staying in Boise longer.
But really, it was my own flakiness. And despite this flakiness, my friends left gifts. This Life is Good mug. And two boxes of yummy teas.
It’s normally a five-and-a-half-hour drive across the high desert from Boise to Bend, including a Chai tea stop. Yesterday it took seven hours to get home because of all this beautiful white fluffy stuff that had decorated the landscape. And the mailboxes.
It may not be as safe driving alone across this barren land in winter as it is in the not-winter months (although Daughter Summer is quick to point out it’s not yet winter according to the calendar and they still have autumn color on the east coast). But the adventure is worth it. Always.
When Hubby was diagnosed with stage 4 prostate cancer—because he was relatively young and in good shape—they gave him two years. So what do you do when you’re told, “Maybe two years of life left”?
The truth is, no one knows how much time he/she has. Cancer or not. So maybe the question ought to be: “Given that none of us are going to live forever, how, then, should we live?”
Photo credit: Pixabay
The company where Hubby was employed as Data Processing Manager was bought by a competitor. He was in his mid-50s. Two years went by before he finally landed a job. But it paid less than half his previous salary and with no benefits.
Meanwhile, we sold our home, cashed out our 401(k), depleted our savings and accrued some debt.
Photo credit: Unsplash
And then the news: “You’ve got cancer. And you’re probably going to die of it.”
Copyright © 2025 Marlys Johnson
