27 November 2016

The Trick, William Potter, Is Not Minding That It Hurts

Today we’re going to jump around while discussing my experience with the year 2016. Alert one: adult language is involved.
I’m in love with John Oliver. If you don’t know who John Oliver is, you might just stop reading now. Of course I’m truly in love with my husband and friends and family; but John Oliver holds a special place in my heart. 

I understand the Constitution of the United States, but I simply cannot and will not accept that John Oliver should be prevented from being President by something as silly as his birthplace. Again, if you don’t grasp the implication of this opinion, you should certainly stop reading now.

We own flags. We have dear friends here in Costa Rica who tease us about our flag collection. Member of Norway’s royal family celebrating a birthday? We’ve got the flag. Bayern’s futbol team doing well? We’ve got the flag. But when packing all of these flags during our move from Texas, I questioned seriously why I was taking our hurricane flag. After all, Costa Rica is too far south to experience a hurricane. Or is it? 

This week the hurricane flag was hoisted. The prognosticators for Hurricane Otto know little more than those for any tropical depression. Hurricane experts are like the pollsters . . . their work of late is unpredictable. Like snow in Texas . . . I’ll believe it when I see it. Nevertheless, the idea of a hurricane on Thanksgiving day brought a delightful sense of anticipation, which was one of the few delightful things about 2016. Tomorrow I’m going to begin work on a new flag for the year 2016. A flag for whose sentiment I can take no credit – you got it: John Oliver.

So Otto isn’t the real reason for this posting. Hey, I said we’d jump around. I’ve not penned a word in over six months and it seems time to resume what is ususally therapeutic for me. I was recently in Texas and a dear friend bluntly asked, Have you lost your muse? Yes, Stacey, very much so. Why? Well . . . . 

Deep breath here.
  • Our dog died. Say it with me: Inconsolable grief.
  • My mother died. Blessing.
  • I had ten (10) months without a drink of alcohol . . . not a sip. Inconceivable.
  • I was separated from my husband for no less than four months. Utterly lost. 

But wait, 2016 wasn't done with me. I’ve been living with leukemia for the past four years, and since early 2016 my health has required a great deal of attention (thus the stay in Texas and separation from Rusty . . . and yes, attention is the nice word for chemo, two (2) bone marrow punches, hospital stays, and more fun with which I won't bore you). I’m told that it’s the good kind of leukemia . . . good being like the term clean coal – no such thing.

I’m well aware that no one reads or cares about my blog -- not even John Oliver. People I don’t even know in Costa Rica have made a point of telling me how little they care about my musings. Now how thoughtful is that? Their efforts strike me as bizarre because one has to read at least one post to determine that not only do they not care about the post but that they do care enough to let me know just how much they don’t care. Is it just me, or is that bizarre? But back to that new flag. Hey, I said we'd jump around.

Thursday was Thanksgiving in the U.S. I don’t have enough words to express the things and people for which I’m thankful (not to mention the drugs) . . . and I probably wouldn’t bother, because I’ve got a flag to make. 

As we approach the end of 2016 and as I look forward to a less devastating 2017 (and a new puppy), I await the hoisting of my new flag. Thank you, John Oliver for the new flag’s sentiment: FUCK YOU, 2016 [envision hand gesture here]. If you don't get this you must have missed that episode.

For those of you who so dislike my blog, ye be warned: I'm back. Yes, this is the last you'll endure on the subject of leukemia -- after all, indeed the trick is not minding that it hurts. Plus, we've got so many other topics about which I can rant. Lo que hay.