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surreality

Piper’s dad, my brother-in-law, has oral cancer. It’s on his tongue. It’s rare. It’s serious. It’s aggressive. It may be at stage IV already. The mortality rate is high. He’s only in his 40s. He’s never smoked. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t chew tobacco. He doesn’t engage in the “typical” risk factors here. It’s all just surreal.

The last two weeks our lives have completely turned upside down. He is scheduled for surgery next Thursday, July 15 at 8 a.m. We’re not sure of the stage yet. If there’s lymph involvement — which is looking likely — it’s stage III or IV; he’ll need radiation.

If that happens, it will be 7 weeks of hell and that’s just the start. They will make this mask that custom fits his face and bolt him down to the table for those treatments because he is not allowed to move whatsoever. The slightest centimeter of movement means they irradiate something they don’t want to irradiate. It’s delicate and small and they just cannot let him move. He is not allowed to lose weight because it will affect the fit of the mask. He will lose teeth. Hair. Part or most of his tongue. His ability to taste, temporarily or permanently. He will have speech issues. Swallowing issues. He is a psychologist. He makes his living talking and he may not be able to talk well after this. At minimum, he will not be able to work for a few months. Because of the economy, my sister and her husband — both psychologists — have already lost a lot of clients. Things were hard before this. Elder Nephew is supposed to be heading to college in the fall. Who knows now?

I’m sorry to be such a horrible bummer, but the news over the last week has been so much worse than we all hoped for. The kids! Those kids. The boys understand a lot more than Piper, of course. She’s only 9 and they gave her a 9-year-old’s version of things. The word cancer hasn’t been on her radar as a 9 year old. They just gave her the bare minimum.

“Daddy has a growth on his tongue, Pipey, and he needs to have it taken out,” they said.

She was very serious and big-eyed.

“He might have some problems talking while he’s getting better.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Remember when you had your tonsils taken out?”

“Yeah.”

“And you couldn’t talk too well after?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that will happen with Daddy too.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause as she looked at her parents. Then she spoke again, her worried blue eyes on her dad’s face.

“Well, Daddy ….. do you want to borrow my little white board so you can talk to us while you get better?”

That girl. Always looking for the loving thing, the kind thing. Sweetest girl in the world. I can’t bear it.

Will you please pray, pippa? We are scared out of our minds.

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fortrait

The Banshee saw it first and mentioned it because she’s The Banshee. A very forthright child.

“Tee Tee,” she said, “why is there a big hole in your sock?”

Oh.

I’d taken off my Converse to jump on the giant trampoline with her, you see, forgetting about the big hole in the heel of my black sock, mainly because I really don’t care about a big hole in my sock or a big hole in your sock or a big hole in anyone’s sock. Holes happen. That’s just life. Besides, most people never see the big hole in my black sock because it’s covered with a shoe that doesn’t have a hole in it. Yet. And lest you think I have nothing but holey socks, I should inform you that this is my only holey sock, which I mention because it’s important that you’re still impressed with me even though I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed long ago. Somewhere in the wilds of the bedroom closet, there’s another black sock, hiding whole and happy, but only God knows where and it would seem he doesn’t want to tell me. Besides, if I had a whole sock, this post wouldn’t exist and then everyone loses, right?

“Tee Tee! What about your sock?” The Banshee was very concerned.

“Oh, well, sweetie” ….. Tee Tee’s a pathetic loser? …. “that’s there so … I can draw a face on my foot and have a nice frame around it. Pretty cool, huh?”

She furrowed her freckled brow at me.

“That’s not why, Tee Tee.”

“Sure, it is.” I was straight-faced.

“Nooooo …..”

Less sure now.

“Well, how else can you draw a face on your foot and frame it then?”

“Uhm …… I don’t …. know, Tee Tee.”

She scrunched her little face. She was actually considering how one might do this.

“Well, this is how you do it, I’m telling you.”

“Let me see your foot.”

“Okay.”

I held my holey foot up to her. She examined it like a doctor. All she needed was the white lab coat.

“Yeah. That’s a big hole, Tee Tee.”

“Yup. That just means I can draw a big face.”

“Really?”

“You still don’t believe me? Okay. Gimme a pen.”

She sprinted across the room, grabbed a pen off the counter, and sprinted back to our perch at the table, her expression wavering between resistance and surrender. The Banshee doesn’t come along for any ol’ ride just because it’s offered, just because the door is open and the engine is running. Nope. She likes to be wooed. She has to be convinced. Basically, she likes to feel that she is the commanding monarch and you are her groveling minion. Sure, I was the one with the big stupid hole in my sock which definitely carried more than a hint of eau de peon but, whatever, kid. That’s fine. We’ll see how this plays out, but you’re in control, okay?

Humming God Save the Queen, I took the pen and began to draw on my foot. This, pippa, is called “committing to the bit.” I must commit to the bit or The Banshee never will.

After a second or two, I glanced up and watched her eyes, sky blue marbles, sliding their gaze to my foot, my face, my foot, dubious but mesmerized too.

Suddenly she furrowed again.

“Tee Tee! That’s not a smiley face!”

“Of course not. I’m doing the eyes first.”

“Ohh.”

She watched me, her blue oh’s getting bigger and bigger and bigger until she could take it no more.

“Gimme the pen, Tee Tee! Gimme the pen!! I wanna draw on your foot, too!

Haha. Got her.

So she drew a bulbous nose and a wry mouth and some smudgy cheeks, and then it was done. The big stupid hole in the sock had served its stated purpose: framing our foot portrait. Our spontaneous collaborative art project.

Our fortrait.

footface.jpg

Yes, it’s a crummy cell phone photo, but please feel free to admire my flexibility. Not bad for a withered crone AND a groveling minion.

Although I am dismayed at how shifty my left foot is. I had no idea.

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prayer

Hey, pippa.

I have two immediate family members with serious health issues. These do not involve me or MB. One has stabilized for now. One has just been discovered and is potentially life-threatening; we don’t know yet. I don’t want to go into details and I won’t be talking about this regularly on the blog, but I would like to ask you dear people to please pray.

I’m saying thanks in advance because I know you guys will pray.

So thanks.

I do promise this will NOT become the “serious health issue” blog because … well, ew.

I mean, I don’t want this to become “A Very Special Episode of Beyond the Pale” every cottonpickin’ day — because again with the ew.

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the smiling casual graduate

Prepare yourselves to gorge on photos. Elder Nephew graduated high school this week and Tee Tee just got an email full ‘o’ pictures!

jsmile.jpg

Killer smile, kid. I don’t think you should be allowed to inflict this on those helpless college girls. It’s unfair.

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the graduate + one

Elder Nephew graduated from high school on Wednesday. Sniff sniff.

Top 20 student in a graduating class of over 700. Not bad, kid. You’re way too tall and grown up and your eyes are piercing blue and your heart is funny soft and I love the way you love your little sister and Tee Tee just can’t take it.

jpgrad.jpg

I’m proud of you.

Do more face smushing, please.

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checking the queue

So my dad now has Netflix.

Now this is your basic mini cultural revolution, believe me. He once was blind but now can see kind of thing. As I’ve said before, only half-jokingly, I am Amish — Amish by association with a dad who grew up in the heart of Amish country and would be Amish if he didn’t like electricity so durned much. In his heart of hearts, he is Amish. Because my dad, at 73, is an innocent. I don’t mean this as a negative. Not at all. Never. It’s endearing to me. The thing about him that most tugs at my heart. He’s incredibly smart, but he’s just an innocent about certain things. In business, he’s been a real crackerjack, successful and still working, I might add. Yet in other ways, he’s a bit of a Walter Mitty, creating his own world where he stacks rocks in weightless, tip-to-tip formations and turns wood into delicate lacy eggs and creates flowing stained glass lamps to make you weep, doing each until he’s mastered it and moved on to the next thing to master. He’s almost a savant in certain things. The ease with which can master things. If he can see it in his mind’s eye, he can create it in reality. He never questions whether he can. He simply does.

On the other hand, the majority of mainstream culture eludes him. Movies, TV shows, texting, iPods, all of that. It’s outside of his life. Beyond him in most ways. Well, I take that back. He does have a Kindle now and ….. well, I seriously need to monitor him, I think. Check his pulse. Take blood pressure readings. Chart his intake. I’m not kidding. He’s like a little kid who’s never eaten sugar finally tasting it for the first time and discovering an instant addiction the minute it hits his tongue. No one eaaaased him into it. Nope. BAM! He tasted the Kindle and his eyes spun round like pinwheels and he was gone. Nutso. There’s a bit of a feeding frenzy going on. A teensy maniacal binge. He’s now almost conjoined with his Kindle, one with it. Clearly, the man’s forays into mainstream culture need to be monitored and I’m just the smug little prissypants to do it. You just can’t be too careful.

I mean, in The Fly that Brundle guy becomes one with a freaking house fly, making him Brundlefly, which is disgusting, and eventually Brundledead, which is tragic not to mention messy, and generally not how you want your scientific experiments to go, I imagine. So I’m just doing my due diligence as a daughter by regularly checking in with dad to make sure he’s not actually becoming one with his Kindle.

I want a dad, not Kindledad.

So he called me Friday to announce he’d signed up for Netflix. Another foray into mainstream culture — albeit a very belated one — that makes my blood click like I’m watching a little kid cross a street by himself.

The conversation goes like this:

Dad: So we got Netflix.
Me (hmm): Hey, that’s great, Dad.
Dad: Yeah. We’re queueing up all the classics.
Me: Cool.
Dad: The first one we got was Citizen Kane.
Me: (uh-oh) Oh, yeah?
Dad: Yeah. (pause) I didn’t like it.
Me: Oh? Why not?
Dad: It was boring. I didn’t get it. I mean, I got it, but I didn’t get it. Why is it such a big deal?

I explain why Citizen Kane is a big deal. He is unimpressed.

Dad: Well, okay. I just didn’t like it.
Me: That’s okay. It’s not for everyone, Dad.
Dad: But I’m supposed to like it.
Me: Oh, who cares? I mean, you like what you like.
Dad: That’s true. So we’re just going through their list of classics.

The word he fails to mention here is “indiscriminately.” He is going through the Netflix list of classics, adding them to his queue indiscriminately.

He continues.

Dad: Yeah. Midnight Cowboy is next.
Me (what??): Oh. No, Dad.
Dad: “No,” what?
Me: You won’t like that.
Dad: I won’t?
Me: NO. Trust me, Dad.
Dad: But it’s already been sent.
Me: So what? That doesn’t mean you HAVE to watch it.
Dad: Well, yeah.
Me: So don’t, okay? TRUST ME ON THIS.
Dad: But I like cowboys.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus in the manger. He’s not kidding, either.

Me: Not really about cowboys, Dad.
Dad (he will not let it go): Oh? Is it too violent or too sexual or something?
Me: Well, okay. One of the characters is a male prostitute.
Dad: Oh.
Me (laughing): You asked.
Dad: I think I’ll skip that then.
Me: Funny. That’s what I just said.
Dad: Wanna know what else is in my queue?
Me: Yes, actually. I think you’d better tell me.
Dad: Okay. Um. Rear Window.
Me: Great! Hitchcock. One of my favorites. Jimmy Stewart. Grace Kelly looking gorgeous. You’ll like it.
Dad: Blazing Saddles?

Literally, the man is rattling off movies without the slightest clue about them at all.

Me: Uhm …. not sure if you’ll like it. It’s Mel Brooks. You might think it’s stupid funny.
Dad: Okay.
Me: Try it and see.
Dad: Chinatown.
Me: Uhm ….. (incest alert, etc.) …. well …. it’s a great movie. Hmm. Try it out, Dad.
Dad: Ooh. We watched Lawrence of Arabia.
Me: Yeah? What did you think?
Dad: Well, we had to watch it in installments.
Me: Yeah. It’s long. That’s okay.
Dad: But I thought it was fantastic!
Me: Great! Yeah, I just love that movie.
Dad: Let’s see. What else is in the queue? Oh. A Clockwork Orange?
Me: No, Dad.
Dad: No?
Me: NO.

A Clockwork Orange?? The man is Amish. Not in a million, Ephraim. Good grief. He needs my hovering involvement more than he could possibly imagine.

Dad: Okay. North by Northwest?
Me: Another Hitchcock. Plus Cary Grant. Put all of Hitchcock in your queue, Dad. I think you’ll like him.
Dad: The Godfather?
Me: Well, it’s violent, Dad, but you’re a guy. You HAVE to watch The Godfather. You just do.
Dad: Breakfast at Tiffany’s?

I tell you true: He will not even catch the gay thing.

Me: Hm. Well, there’s Audrey Hepburn. Sure, Dad. You might like it.
Dad: Well, I like her.
Me: Watch it, then.
Dad: Okay. I’ll let you know how it all goes.
Me: Great. Yeah, keep me posted.

Seriously. Keep me posted, Dad.

I can’t have you watching movies all willy-nilly. I do not want Hollywood stealing your innocence at 73. Plenty of time for that when you’re older. And someone needs to be the parent around here, young man. Nothing R-rated without my approval. I mean it. I have your cell phone number and I WILL be using it.

I will not have your Amish eyes spinning round like pinwheels, mister.

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thumbs

My right thumb was the beautiful pale bride in a lacy white wedding dress. My left thumb, well, my left thumb was stark naked so I just had to imagine him as the dapper groom in a sleek black tux. The ceremony was brief but touching. The little thumb bride wept during her vows. The little thumb groom spoke in a gruff voice, choking back his emotions. When the moment came, the two kissed with abandon, channeling all those emotions into a slow lingering moment.

“STOP, Tee Tee!”

The Banshee wasn’t buying it.

“What? They’re married!”

“They’re THUMBS, Tee Tee!!”

“I know. Isn’t it cool? They’re married now.”

“They CAN’T be married!”

“And why not?”

“They’re THUMMMBS!”

She tugged at the tiny doll wedding dress covering my thumb. I gasped.

“Banshee! Are you taking her wedding dress off?!”

Shaking a naked doll in her hands, she declared, “It’s supposed to go on HER!!”

“Oh? Hm. I think it looks nice on me, don’t you? And look how the veil wraps around my little thumb. So pretty.”

I lovingly stroked the tiny tulle veil on my thumb. The Banshee started to laugh.

“Tee TEEEE! This doll is naked!!”

“She has underwear.”

“JUST underwear.”

“Yeah, I see that. Sheesh. Put some clothes on her.”

“Your thumb is WEARING the clothes!”

“Does that doll want to marry my thumb?”

“Noooo!”

I sighed. A big drama sigh.

“Okaaay. Well, I guess she can borrow my wedding dress.”

“Good. Your thumbs are now UNmarried.”

“Oh, no. They’re still married. They’re not unmarried just because this thumb changes clothes.”

“But they’re THUMMMMMMBS, Tee Tee!!!!”

“Happily married thumbs. See? They’re always together.”

I looped my thumbs together.

“Do you want your thumbs to get married now?” I asked. “I’ll be the preacher.”

She hesitated for the tiniest second. She was considering it. She was.

“NO, Tee Tee!!”

But she smiled, she giggled, she almost let her thumbs get married.

Almost.

Maybe next time.

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snow banshees

MB and I were up in the mountains with the Banshees last month. We went sledding, as you can see.

Uhm, I’m sorry. Baby Banshee’s little cap slipping down over her moon green eyes, it’s too much. Too much, I tell you. And her pink snow boot feet. She needs to come here right now so that I may smush her.

banshees_arrowhead_10d.jpg

Sunday, during their Easter egg hunt at “Nana” and “Pop Pop’s” (my parents), the girls found that some of the hidden plastic eggs had money in them. Oh, quarters and dimes, the occasional dollar bill. Baby Banshee opened one of her plastic eggs, found a dollar, and jumped up and down, proclaiming, “I have a MILLLLION DOLLARS!!”

Tee Tee would like to know how she even KNOWS about “a million dollars” in this economy, but whatevs. It was cute.

If you ever have a million dollars, kid, remember your old aunt, Tee Tee.

She smelled your diaper once.