A million years ago, I had the very great pleasure to spend time with a team of 25 Indians who traveled to the US to work on a project. Today, I was ordering pastries (at a Paris Baguette) from a young Indian man and he did something that made me feel such melancholy for that team from so very long ago. The work? I don’t give two hooey’s about that anymore, though at the time we were making history. Today, I miss the people on that team. 

So, what did that young Indian man do? Well, it’s a little hard to describe but basically it’s a head motion common in India, a sort of head nod/shake. The first time you work with a large group of Indian men, you’ll wonder why they appear to be shaking their heads in a sort of “no” gesture when you’re talking to them. They aren’t, in fact, saying “no.” They’re telling you to continue, that they’re with you, grasping what you’ve said. 

When that young barista did his nod/shake, I had to hold in the outpouring of *something* that tried to spew forth in a glory of half-sentences and laughter. Yes, I did, in fact, keep it to myself. As memories go, it’s a little inexplicable, a memory that one holds close because no one else will really understand. I doubt that I’ve thought of that head shake movement in ten years but today, in a second, I was transported right back to a huge room at the top of Highmark’s Pittsburgh building, leaning over a table as I tried to convince one of the men that I was right about the enrollment process. I did not win that argument.

Have you read Project Hail Mary? I’ve been having difficulty finding time to sit down with a book but I was on a longer drive recently listening to it. And I’m speechless. It’s that good. I’ve only cried twice but there’s still three hours left in the book so, you know, plenty of time for more tears.

 I spent a good part of two days in the company of a person with cognitive decline. They were having some work done in the house but sometimes can’t remember the work that’s being done and can’t answer questions about the work. So, I’m there, keeping them company, and providing support when there’s a question. It’s exhausting. Part of it is answering repeatedly the same question without getting annoyed. When I was in training at Disney World, our trainers would remind us that we could never be frustrated over the number of times we answered a question–about the time for the next show, the location of the bathrooms, why they couldn’t bring their ice cream into the theater, why they couldn’t take their beer from the building–because, as the trainers said, that was the FIRST time that person had asked ME that question. 

What, however, does one do when the same person asks the same question or a variation thereof about 16 times in an hour? Well, one still cannot get frustrated because the cognitively declining person thinks they’ve never asked that particular question before. Mostly, frustration isn’t the issue for me, to be honest. Coming up with interesting distractions IS. My daughter gave me a big container of buttons–yep, buttons–and suggested that, as a project, this person might enjoy sorting the buttons by color and putting them into another container (with compartments) that Haley also thoughtfully provided. It was great. Worked like a damn charm. They found it soothing. I had a solid 30 minutes of peace to just take a breath. I owe my girl BIG TIME for the idea. 

On the flip side of cognitive decline symptoms, I was visiting my not-my-aunt Ginny and she decided AGAIN that we needed to make a break for it. She concocted several very elaborate plans to get us out of the facility and into my car. The woman can’t walk anymore but she’s somehow maneuvering herself FASTER THAN I AM toward the exit. I keep trying to turn the wheelchair but she’s digging in her heels. How is she this strong?! 

Feeling rather melancholy recently in the run up to the quarterly scans, I decided it would be a good idea to think about all the strong women in my family who have left this earthly existence. There are so many. I don’t know if that means I got more than my share or if, more likely, we all have had strong women in our lives that we just, maybe, didn’t realize were so amazing because we were children at the time. I was calling on them, I guess, to give me strength, lift me out of the doldrums, who knows…. The mental exercise accomplished none of those things but did make me miss them more than ever. 

Scan-wise, I have no updates to share. Scans were December 1st because nothing says “Happy Freakin’ Holidays” like starting the month by checking one’s body for bips and bops that don’t belong. I follow an author, breast cancer remission, who, this week, talked about the cruelty of the wait. She has a mass that might be nothing or might be something. She has a biopsy in two weeks. When she said that, in her Insta reel, I felt that same stomach drop that I get every single time I have scans. Disease takes normalcy as well as health. It steals peace and quiet moments of joy, if it can. 

I know the strategies of distraction and mindfulness but I am also deeply familiar with the anxiety of the wait–for news, for treatment, for results, for appointments. Even when the news is good, there is regular checking for the possibility of new bad news. GAH. It’s a relentless battle. And then well-meaning scientists conduct a study to see if cancer patients are more likely to be depressed than healthy people…. I’m sorry. Was that a question? What could their hypothesis have been other than–OBVIOUSLY? What are they going to do with those incredibly obvious results in a grotesquely under-funded mental health industry? 

Anyway, happy December to all who celebrate the last month of the year. I’ve always thought that the end of the year should come with a sticker, like a checkmark or a big smiley face, and then we should get recess. Instead, we start the year with taxes due, a new deductible on our health insurance ($9,100 for me), and debt from holiday extravagance. I’d much rather have the recess, thank you.

A Frank Nowalk original is up for auction this week. I desperately want it to be purchased by someone who will love it as much as he loved making it. It’s an incredible homage to Pittsburgh and currently has NO BIDS on it.

Also, if you look at the rest of the catalog, you’ll find some Ed Eberle art. If you don’t know who he is, check him out!! The Eberle Gallery is still in Homestead and very active in supporting growing artists. 

Musical interlude–”Christmas Time Is Here” by Bela Fleck and the Flecktones. The whole Jingle All The Way album is delightful. New takes on familiar music. Lots of banjo, some didgeridoo, and more. You won’t be sorry. And if you buy now, you’ll get this set of steak knives, sharp enough to cut through this can of cranberry sauce. 

Much love…and maybe some good luck?