Monday, June 1, 2015

Ten Years Gone

Happy June... a month to celebrate anything and everything that makes the soul stronger. I won't lie, this will be a tough one: Dad's birthday, Father's Day, the day after Father's Day (aka - Diagnosis Day), the too-few sunny days here in the Finger Lakes, the electric bill (old A/C), and my obsessive search for a job that offers an acceptable work/life balance. More on that later. But if you do know a nice place for me to land, I would be grateful for the lead - meet me on LinkedIn!

On the upside...
So we're halfway to The Chase and I am thrilled with the entries so far... so many favorite drivers (in Bobby's absence, I choose #TeamPenske). I do loves me my NASCAR. I love our annual weekend at The Glen. I love the way Bobby Labonte smells when he exits his car after practice (I do NOT love the way the media have treated him), I love that he let me kiss him for a closer sniff...
I love that every race is different, like Grateful Dead show, and I can let my Freak Flag(s) fly, I love that Kurt is now a bigger a**hole than his brother (although I am a Stewart-Haas fan), and I love knowing that someday, I WILL make it to another track to see the green flag drop and the checkered flag wave for someone other than Jimmie Johnson.

Ten Years Gone. Everything relates to music. Hmmmm, now I have an urge to put on The Song Remains The Same - nothing beats a live version of Stairway to Heaven. Because I do remember laughter (which begs the question, in #AlmostFamous, is Sapphire a little premature in welcoming the other Band Aids with "Does anyone remember laughter?"). Just wondering... but Cameron Crowe would NEVER mess up something that crucial. Hmmmm, as I Ramble On...

Happy 10th Anniversary. Now I can turn this pink ribbon into a bow, and hope I don't have to take a corporate job where I have to keep my tattoos covered.

This photo was taken to celebrate two years. Man, what a long strange eight years it's been since then. Hair is longer, hopes are higher, and my husband has stuck around despite the changes in my physical, emotional and practical self. I may not be the most sane patient in the ward, but I will always be grateful for the chance to break down and be rebuilt. Better. Faster. Stronger. Just kidding, I still can't ride my bicycle to the stop sign and back.

Does anyone remember stamina???

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Alex's Pink Boxing Gloves

Sometimes it seems like the best hugs are from people I just met. And I don't think I'm the only one who feels that way. But it's a "life lesson". Is it realized too late?

It's not just hug - it's the portrait painted in that moment. It's a Venetian urn. It's what keeps us civil.

Thank you, Alex.,.. "Coach"... for the trifecta! And we WILL do a photo shoot with those pink boxing gloves. I am lighting the candle for your mother as I write this. One brighter star in her sky.

That is why we walk.
New beginnings.

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Be Careful What You Wish For!

The Evolution of My Boobs
From huge to smaller to none to fish bowls.
Be careful what you wish for.
I loved my Angelina Jolie arms, but I paid the price to wear that tank top and not be self-conscious of  the bunting I call my upper arms. Size 2 - what a great few months of blissful ignorance. Then I got a mammogram. Oh, well that explained a lot.

from big to small to none to fish bowls

Have you had your mammogram this decade?

Live from Victory Circle...

This year will mark 10 years since I fell down that stupid PINK Rabbit Hole. Maybe if it had been Bunny Hop Pink! (remember Stagelight Cosmetics lipstick?) Or Bubble Gum Pink! So PEEEEEEENK that Pantone would HAVE to make it a color of the month, or at maybe Breast Cancer could copyright it! 

Victory is more than a checkered flag, or a circle in which to celebrate at the end of the race. It's a trophy to be (gently) hoisted as a symbol of overcoming obstacles, pain and fear.

Besides, what would I do with a grandfather clock? Thanks, Martinsville, but no thanks. The Gibson guitar at Nashville would be cool, though, and I know better than to try to smash it like Kyle Busch tried... and tried...and tried... to do. I bet he wishes he could take THAT moment back. 

Dude, only Pete can be Pete. And that is one heavy guitar. Get the story here, as reported by the NY Times. #boob