When its time, it's time, and it's time.
This is how it goes at the Robinson's when food prep is starts. Someone pulls something out of the pantry. The jar of spaghetti sauce has a exp. date of, oh...lets say 2013. That person looks at the Mom and says "Is this ok? It's a hundred years old?." This is what the Mom say's, "Cindy'd use it." And we use it, and we have never had a horrifying result (lets face it, food poisoning is ALWAYS horrifying.)
My dear friends wanted a quick, but decent read for book club this month. They chose a book I gave away last year without giving a second glance. (I'm such a snob.) The title of this book is The Christmas Jars. So wanting to move it along quickly I take it to Slab Pizza (not worth it) and gave it a good start. Within, oh, maybe five pages we discover that the main character, a single mom has cancer, which always makes this girls heart rate increase, but to make matters worse, or maybe better in the long run we learn she has Ovarian Cancer.
The words Ovarian Cancer strike more fear in me than just about any other of the bizillion cancers there are out there.
Let me tell you about my friend Cindy (referenced above). Cindy has been a friend of mine for, as far as I can figure, about twenty-five years. At least. Cindy was one of the friends you have that you live very close to, but don't always see a lot because we were both so busy raising lots of kids, and if you are Cindy McDonald, you don't sleep. Cindy and I would catch up standing on the corner on the way home from church, once a month or so, or later not even that frequently.
Cindy didn't sleep much. I'll tell you why. Cindy was busy. She was busy serving in every possible way that she could. She raised seven kids to adulthood, and taught them by example. She bottled a million or so bottles of everything. She made killer salsa, she made PEAR JAM! What a colossal pain in the tushy, (I was her greatest fan and miss my jam!) She attended a million activities, always supporting her children, grandchildren and neighborhood kids. She and her husband ran the concessions at MVHS football forever, she went to every single wedding reception she was invited to, and that was a lot because everyone knows the McDonalds. Really. She sang in the choir, she taught when asked. She did this without a single complaint that I heard anyway. She chatted on the phone with her daughters living far and near every single day (I thought that was excessive till my own daughters weren't just downstairs.) Cindy was a stellar advocate for scouting, she even earned her Silver Beaver! All while I just played 500 with my cubs. Cindy was the BEST dutch oven cook ever! I'll tell you what...that woman went to girls camp year after year after year and spoiled my girls rotten with her cooking. One year I was asked to go to camp and be her cooking assistant. Well, friends, let me tell you, I have never in my life worked so hard and another thing...Cindy did not clean one single dutch oven the whole week. She broke me in but good! A little story here. One particularly dry year at Camp Shalom, Cindy and I decided to both go to amphitheater. Usually someone stayed back. Well, we put a big 'ol pot of water on to boil and forgot about it and it was under a lovely dry pine. I referred to Cindy's heating source as Cindy's Butane Pillar of Fire! We came back early (Thank the Lord above) and saw it flaming away under an entirely empty pot! WE TOLD NO ONE. It was a miracle we did not set the whole forest on fire. Mortified, that's what we were.
So you know what kind of person my friend was. She quietly went about doing good. Always.
If you haven't guessed, my friend Cindy got the gosh-awful worst diagnosis of advanced stage Ovarian Cancer. She cruised over to the beautiful side two years ago. I had the enormous honor of helping her a little as I am a whiz with a needle and vomit and all sorts of semi-useful nursing skills.Thankfully I had lots of back-up. I spent hours and hours watching Kelly and Michael during the long mornings, and her game shows during the longer afternoons. Cindy's family had her covered. They, as my own family were all over this nasty illness. I say nasty because my friend endured a huge hell of a lot! I could not for the life of me understand her. I would try to get her to complain! I would try to drag feelings out of her and guess what...that is not how she was going to play it. She would just humor me as I plopped down right next to her on her bed as she would sleep, sometimes smile a little, maybe once in a great while a big smile if I said something entirely inappropriate. She was beautiful without hair, I would tell her her lovely olive/tan skin was NO FAIR! She trooped into that damn bathroom long after I could imagine she had the courage and the strength. She put up with my clumsy first attempts at hooking her up to her feedings. If I ever complained for her what a sucky card she had been dealt, she always said the same two things. 1-It is what it is, and 2-What can ya do. One time, during her last week or so on this tough old earth she was getting a little um...loopy and she was all about her Dr. Pepper that she would suck down and we would suck right back out (she didn't really eat for all those months) She had all these hospital mugs and insisted she had two more upstairs and she wanted them really bad. There were no mugs upstairs but she was pretty insistent so I said OK..I'll go get them. I zipped home so fast, grabbed two mugs from my many inpatient visits and zipped back. I set them down, and she looked at them, looked at me and accused me of getting them from my house. Sheesh, she was not as under the influence as I had thought. I did not confess.
My friend Cindy was grace under pressure to the end.
She never missed my birthday, or Christmas. Ever.
She always, always went down the list and asked about every single child of mine.
She never complained.
She had a rock solid knowledge of her truth.
She worked harder than anyone I have ever known.
She loved her family and put them first always. They adore her.
She was loyal to a fault.
She would would be mad if she knew I was putting this out there for you to read.
She would be happy to know it was something waiting, just waiting for me to do.
So, my friend, I raise that freaking dutch oven rubber scraper to you, and miss you, alot. With so much love.
Always.
The words Ovarian Cancer strike more fear in me than just about any other of the bizillion cancers there are out there.
Let me tell you about my friend Cindy (referenced above). Cindy has been a friend of mine for, as far as I can figure, about twenty-five years. At least. Cindy was one of the friends you have that you live very close to, but don't always see a lot because we were both so busy raising lots of kids, and if you are Cindy McDonald, you don't sleep. Cindy and I would catch up standing on the corner on the way home from church, once a month or so, or later not even that frequently.
Cindy didn't sleep much. I'll tell you why. Cindy was busy. She was busy serving in every possible way that she could. She raised seven kids to adulthood, and taught them by example. She bottled a million or so bottles of everything. She made killer salsa, she made PEAR JAM! What a colossal pain in the tushy, (I was her greatest fan and miss my jam!) She attended a million activities, always supporting her children, grandchildren and neighborhood kids. She and her husband ran the concessions at MVHS football forever, she went to every single wedding reception she was invited to, and that was a lot because everyone knows the McDonalds. Really. She sang in the choir, she taught when asked. She did this without a single complaint that I heard anyway. She chatted on the phone with her daughters living far and near every single day (I thought that was excessive till my own daughters weren't just downstairs.) Cindy was a stellar advocate for scouting, she even earned her Silver Beaver! All while I just played 500 with my cubs. Cindy was the BEST dutch oven cook ever! I'll tell you what...that woman went to girls camp year after year after year and spoiled my girls rotten with her cooking. One year I was asked to go to camp and be her cooking assistant. Well, friends, let me tell you, I have never in my life worked so hard and another thing...Cindy did not clean one single dutch oven the whole week. She broke me in but good! A little story here. One particularly dry year at Camp Shalom, Cindy and I decided to both go to amphitheater. Usually someone stayed back. Well, we put a big 'ol pot of water on to boil and forgot about it and it was under a lovely dry pine. I referred to Cindy's heating source as Cindy's Butane Pillar of Fire! We came back early (Thank the Lord above) and saw it flaming away under an entirely empty pot! WE TOLD NO ONE. It was a miracle we did not set the whole forest on fire. Mortified, that's what we were.
So you know what kind of person my friend was. She quietly went about doing good. Always.
If you haven't guessed, my friend Cindy got the gosh-awful worst diagnosis of advanced stage Ovarian Cancer. She cruised over to the beautiful side two years ago. I had the enormous honor of helping her a little as I am a whiz with a needle and vomit and all sorts of semi-useful nursing skills.Thankfully I had lots of back-up. I spent hours and hours watching Kelly and Michael during the long mornings, and her game shows during the longer afternoons. Cindy's family had her covered. They, as my own family were all over this nasty illness. I say nasty because my friend endured a huge hell of a lot! I could not for the life of me understand her. I would try to get her to complain! I would try to drag feelings out of her and guess what...that is not how she was going to play it. She would just humor me as I plopped down right next to her on her bed as she would sleep, sometimes smile a little, maybe once in a great while a big smile if I said something entirely inappropriate. She was beautiful without hair, I would tell her her lovely olive/tan skin was NO FAIR! She trooped into that damn bathroom long after I could imagine she had the courage and the strength. She put up with my clumsy first attempts at hooking her up to her feedings. If I ever complained for her what a sucky card she had been dealt, she always said the same two things. 1-It is what it is, and 2-What can ya do. One time, during her last week or so on this tough old earth she was getting a little um...loopy and she was all about her Dr. Pepper that she would suck down and we would suck right back out (she didn't really eat for all those months) She had all these hospital mugs and insisted she had two more upstairs and she wanted them really bad. There were no mugs upstairs but she was pretty insistent so I said OK..I'll go get them. I zipped home so fast, grabbed two mugs from my many inpatient visits and zipped back. I set them down, and she looked at them, looked at me and accused me of getting them from my house. Sheesh, she was not as under the influence as I had thought. I did not confess.
My friend Cindy was grace under pressure to the end.
She never missed my birthday, or Christmas. Ever.
She always, always went down the list and asked about every single child of mine.
She never complained.
She had a rock solid knowledge of her truth.
She worked harder than anyone I have ever known.
She loved her family and put them first always. They adore her.
She was loyal to a fault.
She would would be mad if she knew I was putting this out there for you to read.
She would be happy to know it was something waiting, just waiting for me to do.
So, my friend, I raise that freaking dutch oven rubber scraper to you, and miss you, alot. With so much love.
Always.
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