A Cerebral Story

I love a party. One of my greatest joys in life is having something to celebrate with people I love. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy to constitute a party. Okay, it doesn’t actually even have to be something real. Sometimes I invent things to celebrate, just for the fun of having a party. This year, Anna and I attempted to make fortune cookies in honor of the Chinese New Year. The attempt was fruitless and the cookies were a disaster. I later reflected that it might have been the Universe’s attempt at letting me know I shouldn’t try and co-opt a holiday about which I have absolutely no knowledge, heritage, or history. That could be it. Or maybe I just don’t follow directions very well. Regardless, we had something of a celebration, despite of the unfortunate cookies.

The same spirit of celebration overtook me a few years ago when I had a party to honor my friend’s uterus. She was scheduled to have a hysterectomy and I thought, seeing as how her uterus had served her well in housing two precious sons during gestation as well as admirably performing whatever other duties a uterus performs, it was only right and proper to have a party to celebrate it before it tottered off into oblivion. Well, the proper part might be questionable. Nevertheless, our party consisted of poetry and songs for her uterus and, in general, a spirit of thankfulness for a uterine job well done.

Weird. I know.

I’m not sure how many people actually have parties in celebration of their organs. I suspect not many but, somehow, in my social circles, it just doesn’t seem to be that peculiar. Hence the recent Brain Party, honoring the grey matter of a dear friend. Whereas the Uterus Party was intended to say goodbye to a beloved body part, the Brain Party was in celebration of a generous cerebral healing.

I live in a neighborhood that has been home to many wonderful people. Some have come and gone but, typically, those attracted to buying a house in our neighborhood are true ‘salt of the earth’ types. If the world were full of people as lovely as the ones I’ve been blessed to live around, it would forever be a most gracious and kind place. When our children were growing up, we had several families on our block which made up a community in the truest sense of the word. We looked after one another’s kids, loved and cared for each other, and shared what we had; wheelbarrows, articles of clothing, ketchup. Whatever one person needed, someone else had it to loan. We knew, instinctively, when marriages were strained, when finances were challenged, and when sitting on the porch with a glass of wine for some conversation, laughter, and tears was no longer a luxury, but a necessity.

Over time our community changed as the children grew up and families moved to other neighborhoods, but many of us maintained our friendship long after addresses changed. In particular, we’ve stayed close with two couples who lived across the street from us and last year we were shocked to hear that our friend and former neighbor, Kathy, had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. We watched in wonder as Kathy unflappably planned for surgery and a lengthy recovery. Because she is, by nature, painstaking and giving with others, she was surrounded by people eager to help in whatever way they could. Long lists of friends volunteered to prepare meals and provide whatever support was necessary. Her family was sure to be well taken care of during the ordeal, which was nothing short of what Kathy would offer to anyone in similar need. The day of surgery arrived and Kathy’s family and friends nervously waited for results. The benign tumor was successfully removed and Kathy began the arduous process of recovery. The months passed with ups and downs but recently Kathy and her brain fully returned to health; her healing complete.

And so, it seemed only natural to have a party to celebrate Kathy’s amazing, healthy, and tumor free cerebrum! Amid much food and wine we shared stories and memories and laughter. What wonderful laughter, ringing out loudly and joyfully in a house full of friends and love. As I listened, I realized that all six adults were there as well as all eight of our children. Everyone was together, taking part in and enjoying the varied and lively conversation, the shared memories woven together through time, and the comfortable sense of being with those we love. And there in the middle of it all sat Kathy, as beautiful as ever, with her sharp wit, her disarming humor, and her ever-present munificence.

I paused in the midst of the clamor to take in the blessing of relationships, and families, and healing, and health. Those things we often take for granted in spite of their precarious existence. It was a celebration of Kathy’s healthy brain…and so much more.

I’ll probably find something else to celebrate soon. Maybe I’ll co-opt someone else’s holiday again. Or maybe I’ll throw another party for a body part. Perhaps I’ll have an impromptu celebration of a pretty new string of garden lights the way I did a few years ago. It doesn’t much matter the reason because, in the end, all it really boils down to is a celebration of life.

Fragile, beautiful, and fleeting….life.

Party on.

Don't Try This At Home....

Life has a way of soothing our weary souls, just when we need it, by giving us little things that force us not to take ourselves so seriously. Simple situations that encourage us not to be uptight, but to laugh instead, and remember that few things are worth losing our joy over. It’s those little snippets that change our perspective and add some much needed color.

I’ve been forgetting that lately. For every day I think I’ve got the upper hand on my dissertation revisions, I have another day when it seems like it will never be finished. For every day I’m confident I know what I’m doing, I face another one that leaves me feeling utterly inadequate. I lose sight that it will be finished soon. It won’t always be looming over my head. Some days it feels endless and insurmountable, when I find myself with piles of books and articles stacked around me, trying to discern what is important, what is tangential, what is vital, and what is just noise. Many days I forget that it’s just a dissertation. It isn’t life or death. And then I have a welcome reminder.

Yesterday hadn’t been the worst dissertation day. In fact, as dissertation writing days go, it had been pretty productive. But I was tired and feeling like all I ever do is sit in front of a computer and revise. I felt fat. And sluggish. And humorless. And boring. The house had been quiet all day with the boys at work, Steve out of town, Anna with laryngitis and the cats, well, … monosyllabic cats. In all, I was feeling rather dull. Thinking a nice relaxing cup of chamomile tea before bed would help, I put the tea kettle on to boil and began thinking about ways to make tomorrow feel less like a prison sentence and more like a party. How to start anew. Tomorrow I’d wear something nicer than a paint-spattered grey sweatshirt to write in. I’d put on a cute sweater. And do my hair. And apply lipstick. I probably write better in lipstick.

As I stood in the kitchen being all Annie about tomorrow and waiting for the water to boil, my cat, Princess, wandered in for a little snack. Princess lives up to her name. She’d wear a tiara if it wouldn't fall off and she prefers to take her meals on top of the refrigerator away from the rowdy, messy, distasteful boy cats. It is bad enough that we ask her to live with them but eat with them? No, thank you. I, the indulgent pet servant, oblige. Her food bowl sits atop the refrigerator and she jumps up there for a dainty little nibble every so often. It typically isn’t a big deal. It does involve her jumping up on a small section of counter en route to the refrigerator. And yes, that is gross if I think about it. So I don’t.

Anyway, the water began to boil and I took the kettle off the burner and poured some of the boiling liquid into my cup. I mindlessly dropped the tea bag into the steaming mug, dunking it rhythmically a few times. Things were feeling pretty Zen just before I turned around and saw that Princess had jumped up on her little section of counter but, for whatever reason, she hadn’t proceeded to the top of the refrigerator as normal. She was sitting primly on the counter as though it were her throne, staring trancelike at absolutely nothing. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, cats tend to zone out and stare blankly more often than not, except that her beautiful black tail was stretched out behind her like a wooly caterpillar lying prone after a long journey, right across the hot burner. Smoking.

Oblivious, Princess sat gazing while her furry appendage was engulfed in a plume of smoke. I shrieked and ran to the stove. Startled by my uncharacteristic aggression toward her, Princess flew off the counter and streaked up the stairs. Fortunately her fur was the only thing that got scorched. Her skin was fine but the damage had been done and the house started reeking of burning cat tail.

Somehow, as the air took a on a decidedly burning feline stench, the whole scene struck me as very funny. And I started to laugh. My family has grown accustomed to me burning things in the kitchen; although never before had it been one of the pets. Moments later Charles came upstairs from the basement to investigate and Anna came downstairs and croaked out, “What’s burning?” I had to respond with, “the cat,” which just made me laugh harder. As I explained what happened we all started laughing and at that moment life seemed very joyful. And certainly no longer dull.

A dissertation is just a dissertation. It isn’t my life. For the moment it is challenging and consumes a large portion of my life but my life is these people, laughing heartily with me amid the smell of burning fur, and all the meaningful little moments that make up our days. I needed that perspective last night. Funny how life knows just how to give us what we need.

So, today I’ll wear a little lipstick while I write. It will add a bit of color.

But then, so does cooking the cat.