We have been holed up in this house for days. And days. And weeks. And days. It has literally stepped into the realm of feeling almost a kinship to prisoners in one of the ancient high-tower castles, where they literally lock you up and lose the key.
You can look out and maybe talk to people between the bars of the high window, but there is nothing else. Nothing else.
I have dreamed about vacations like this. I have been in jobs where by the time you talk to all the staff, all the clients, all the phone calls, you can literally talk to 70 people a day, depending on that day's busy-ness. For high level introverts like me, that's about 68 too many people-interactions.
So I have dreamed details about a special vacation, taking Scott and going to a mountain cabin and just *being alone* and *away* for a week. Or two. Or maybe a lonely beach somewhere. Just don't make me talk to a lot of people for a few days.
And maybe the first two weeks here went ok - I am not feeling good enough to see anyone anyways, so turn on that tv, get a good blanket and recover. You don't really want to see too many people when you are looking this bad to boot, so it was all ok. The first couple of weeks..........
TV is a bore that doesn't make sense to me a lot of days. I have lost my concentration skills for any movies. With my blood work low, we can't do one of our favorite tricks and go to the local coffee shop / grocery, get a latte and sit, read the newspaper, watch people, just to get out of the house. I cannot even go into Walmart and buy myself a tube of chap stick. I have to write down the color of the little box, the name and the type for Scott to pick it up when he gets groceries.
We have hit isolation here folks.
So Saturday, long time dear friends show up with a TREADMILL!!! It . is. awesome.
But what was even better, was that they stayed and visited for a while. Other than Morven thinking she was going to clean for us Friday morning, they were the first ones to walk into our little germ-free-high-castle-tower for a long time.
We should have hung out a sign that said "Beware - Haven't Seen Anyone for a Long Time - Enter at Your Own Risk"..... The sign might have had some sense of the feeling of the movie Jumanji - somewhat sinister looking vines wrapping around it making you wonder if you just might end up downright ensnared.
But dear friends walked through that door of ours, and it was the best medicine ever.
We were downright giddy. Some might even call it manic. Scott and I talked over each other. We talked and talked and talked. Bob and Lisa's eyes were darting back and forth trying to catch the conversation from us - we were a little out of practice.
I was on day 8 away from any chemo treatment, trying to do everything to plump up my poor blood and just starting to feel a little better. A little lighter. A little more like myself. It was the biggest chemo break I have had - well, since the last treatment rejection. I was ready - and heaven help me here because I am not sure I have ever said this phraseology out loud, let alone think it - but I was ready for some good old "human-to-human-interaction"..... I needed friends.
And along with the treadmill, they brought another most wonderful gift - and what I have always, always loved about them - they laughed. And laughed. Life is crazy, stupid, funny, hard, mean and nasty at times, but with Bob and Lisa through all of that, you laugh.
Laugh like hyenas.
The low pressure movement from the south was going to meet up with the high pressure movement in the north and there was going to be some window rattling, fast blowing wind, cleaning out all things not nailed down, all things dreary and heart heavy.
Lisa has a wonderful laugh that is so contagious, I'm guessing she could make some Hollywood money and be on the laugh tracks for any sitcom. People would laugh at Animal Kingdom if she got them started.
We even talked for a while like I did not have cancer and we might visit them in a faraway location someday. For a while, it was like the sting of this present time was soothed, and we just talked and laughed.
Bob and Lisa are some of the most generous folks you might run into. Bob was a Kiowa-chopper fighter pilot, then taught those skills on an Army Base. They have been lifetime military which is incredibly hard for any family, but they made it a bonus. They have been to a lot of places, seen a lot of things, have a lot of interesting stories.
They have what I have seen in other military-war-hard-times-folks -- a very tender heart. You would think the Army could stomp that out of anyone, instead, it sometimes seems it promotes it. If you have seen the ugliest things in life, it makes some not hard nor mean nor uncaring; but makes them instead very tender. Still tough as nails, but tender.
When I noted on my blog that I was looking for a treadmill - I meant like Craigslist or something. Bob posted "I've got a treadmill, a truck, and we are going to be in your area on Saturday and will drop it off". How's that for military command for any given situation? "Being in our area" meant they were kind of like taking a 60 mile round-about on an already long trip on their way to a wedding, but they did it.
When our kids were little, Lisa and I spent numerous hours on the phone trying to figure out the best way to raise our little savages into God fearing and God loving adults. I mean, there are lots of books written about it, but when you have the little "Things One, Two and Three" in your home, you find great holes in those books and their idealistic thinking. It's more like watching 'Cat in the Hat' balancing the whole playroom on his nose while riding a bike - what's a mum to do?
We talked it out a lot.
Someone got us an extra long phone cord because I kept tearing the phone from the wall while talking. I could do a lot of things then while on the phone. With a cord. Yeah, I'm that old.
We talked about life. We talked about making rent and house payments in the early 80s recession. We talked about God. We talked about everything.
They were closer than family to us. We loved them.
We spent a lot of time together going to each others home and would kind of just eat whatever any of us had on hand - we were pretty poor together. Scott and Bob were both on the same work shift for a while so we would have conversations like -- "I've got a leftover pie"; "I've got beef and noodles" - and there you have it - we had a get together. The kids would play, sometimes we would play cards or talk or commiserate with each other about the hard things in life; but it was all good.
We had boatloads of "free fun". I found that I am not much of a tennis player (I *ahem* prefer *badminton* instead), but they would round up some balls and rackets, and we went to the local tennis courts. I secretly think Bob and Scott chose that particular one because they might have been the least bit embarrassed by my play-action-swings that rarely made contact with a tennis ball, but they said it was closest to the playground. For the kids and all.
I mostly just tried to stay out of the line of fire of Bob's and Scott's wicked-fast serves. Like we were at Wimbolden or something.
Our little two-year old son loved Bob. Like unabashedly run-up-and-jump-on-him-and-hug-him-hard-and-kiss-him-on-the-lips love him. He loved "Weesa" better. He would yell "WEESA" when they walked in the door, and she would open her arms wide and yell "SCOTTY" and he would just hug on her. I always kind of did a subconscious car check when they left our house to make sure he was not deciding to change allegiances and join their family instead.
We didn't know then looking back one day how sweet those times would look in the rear view mirror.
Lisa called me one day and said Bob was signing up to go back into the military. He was going to learn to fly *helicopters!!*. I didn't know anyone else int he military at that time.
Stop. Stop. Stop. I didn't want to hear it - my heart was hurting bad.
They had given it their best try to stay here but there was nothing in Ashland in a stagnant early 80's economy for them, so he was signing back up.
I didn't like that piece of news one bit. I hung up the phone and cried and cried. I was afraid. I had grown up watching Walter Cronkite and the Viet Nam war every evening in my parents living room. If I remembered my news stories correctly, helicopters were shot down pretty regularly in war time. I told them I didn't think it was a good idea.
They were like family to us. Closer than family. We had played cards and had fun and talked earnestly and worshiped together a lot of times, and I knew I would never find another Bob and Lisa.
But they left. And I know some times were more lonely, and more difficult for Lisa than she ever let on. I know even though Bob loved the Army, he needed both hands to count the number of Christmases he had missed with his family.
And that's the beauty of life -- they have had some hard times - but they were the brightest and giddiest and most fun folks and they gave us the best gift ever on Saturday - we laughed. We laughed like I didn't have cancer. Laughed like even if I did, it didn't matter. Laughed like life was good.
Sometimes the best healing and best medicine God can give one, is old friends, and good talk, and good laughter. We drank it all down.
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