Nothing like being forced into passivity by illness (or treating it) to make us sit still and notice the world around us. Most of the time, we’re just too busy to notice the little things that make life worth living in spite of how the world seems to be screwing up daily. And, being forced to lie on your keister for days at a time feeling lousy lets you see things that need to be done around the house, like “damn, that window needs to be washed,” and “when I feel better I’m going to straighten and dust all those crooked books on the cookbook shelf!” Why do things bug me the most when I’m unable to do them?

Thanks to Hubby’s new blog writing fever I’ve been able to devote much of my “feeling good” time to doing some of those things. Among my accomplishments are the most organized closets I’ve ever had. And I have a new color regimen planned for the guest bedroom which I can hardly wait to accomplish, I am redesigning the guest bathroom to transform it from a kid size bath (where even I, at 5’4″ have to bend over to wash my hands) of a ’50s style turquoise, to a more contemporary adult-sized fixtures and upgraded bathtub that will be fabulous–someday! All this while a contractor is preparing to knock down the wall of the master bedroom and enlarge it to Hubby’s specifications. Anything to keep me from worrying about which percent I’ll fit into when my chemo and radiation and the other stuff is done. I guess what is at issue here is that I have only today and tomorrow before I have to face another round of rotten stuff. I’m trying really hard to convince myself that this third round will be better!

It’s interesting how fast you can forget (almost) the pain and discomfort when you start feeling more normal, then as treatment day gets closer, the memories start to return. Needless to say I’m dreading things already, yet it’s hard to think about other things.During my not so good days, and after two full treatment rounds I’m seeing a pattern: a day or two feeling “semi normal”, then a week or so feeling lousy. During those times, I have two choice spots to vegetate from. My favorite, if I feel like sitting up, is the family room where the French doors and long side windows not only let me watch (but not hear) I-15 traffic, but the Great Salt Lake as well. What I really like is the narrow porch outside that let me hear and watch the walkers in the neighborhood pass by when the weather is fit. I can also watch little sparrows flit about looking for nesting materials and nesting sites. Like people, it seems those sweet little birds get all in a twit when too many of them come around at the same time. Like gangs defending their turf, they fight. They’ll spar mid-air and eventually chase the weaker ones off. So  like people they are. (I forgot to mention I’ve been reading a lot of history, too, “Hail to the Chief,” (the real story of 40 of our presidents), and “Lies My Teacher Told Me,” (a more complete history than that taught to most of us in public schools. to say more, I would digress, but I’ll have a lot more to say on this one of these days.)

One day, after I figured out that the birds were actually looking for more nesting materials than sites, I decided the might like some of the hair Hubby had clipped from my head that I’d saved (for what reason, I cannot tell you) in a plastic bag. When I felt like it, I went out and tucked some here and there in nooks and crannies I thought might attract their attention. For good measure I went down to my sewing room and salvaged those clipped threads I collect in a trashcan and tucked them in also. Last week I went out to see if I’d had any takers, imagining my soft blond hair and threads of various colors interwoven and keeping baby Sparrows all warm and happy while their parent were off gathering food for them. Disappointment is a weak word for what I felt when just about everything I’d tucked so carefully here and there seemed to be mostly intact. The word is rejected!

I looked about trying to see what it was that would attract so many sparrows to our porch since they obviously didn’t care for my suggestions of thread and hair. What did they find so attractive that they’d fight and chase each other and act like little sh*t a**es over? I found it hard to believe when I figured it out. It was the fake bamboo roll-up shades Hubby installed (on the porch) so we could block the sun from the family room during the spring and summer. They were shredding the edges, presumably stealing it for some nest function or other. So now instead of seeing tiny baby birds all snug and warm in hair interwoven with colorful threads, I instead imagine tiny shards of sharp plastic along with sticks  and whatever else Sparrows use to build nests poking their babies little bellies.

I see my time for semi-normal activity has dwindled down now to little more than a day and a half. As Snuffy (Smith from the old-time funnies) used to say: “time’s a wasting.” I hope to be back sooner than later. In the meantime, I’ll keep coaxing Hubby to remind you all that I’m still hanging in there.