JUST ROCKIN'

Just rockin' in my little boat out in the sea. It could be a lazy afternoon in early fall, except for the storm clouds of boredom gathering on the horizon. Boredom, the ultimate denial of living. I've even allowed myself to shed a few tears, as in bored to tears. Or maybe I was weeping over the loving cards from friends in today's mail, which remind me of a little story in two parts.

Part One: When I was growing up in rural western Montana money was often tight. Once a month Mom laid out the bills on the dining room table and wrote checks in full for only a few of them. The other creditors received a small payment to carry our accounts foward. Bill night was the one time our usually calm mother was snappish. Still, she made it clear that as long as we had our health, we'd be fine. Then, one day she lost her health. The last years of her life she was bedridden, unable even to hold a telephone. She bore her situation with grace, only rarely allowing herself to weep. We learned there was a corollary beyond health. We learned when health is gone, love remains, and love saw her through. Her love for us and ours for her.

Part Two: When Jeff and I left Salem, I told him it needed to be our last move. It takes us 3-5 years to really feel at home in a community. I didn't want to find myself in a hospital in a new place with no one to visit me. Guess what? I ended up in a hospital in a new place. But the fact was, I was too sick to greet anyone but family. The fact was, my friends from every place I've ever lived found me. That's you all. You let me know with flowers, loving words in cards and telephone calls that you were thinking of me. You've cleaned my house, cooked me dinners, made me a healing quilt, sent me a personal spa, offered to drive to Vancouver to take me to chemo treatments. New acquaintances in Vancouver have also come forward, assuring me there are good people waiting everywhere I go. End of story.

As for my little boat, rockin' like a cradle, I'm feeling like it's time to do some rowing. To gather the wool of my brain together and focus on small goals beyond eating protein and taking pills on time. Writing seems a world away right now, but my piano is not. Today I opened a music book I bought last Christmas when I had the piano tuned for the first time in years with the hope it would entice Valarie and Nathan and Jesse to play while they were home. I don't remember that they did, but I do remember that the book I bought, which had a passionate piece I'd longed to learn since college days, turned out to be far beyond my skill level. Nevermind. Today I turned to that piece-- Malaguena-- and vowed to master it, measure by measure. Today Malaguena. Tomorrow, the world.

Diane