Kettle Corn

My friend has cancer. Not just any cancer but Stage 4 breast cancer that has spread throughout her entire body. And not just any friend. She is my soul sister, my mama hen, my bff. She is the kind of friend you always feel comfortable with no matter what.

She has been fighting stage 4 cancer for almost 17 years- can you even believe it?! This woman is a fierce warrior. The doctors have recently finished trying the last strand of chemo that they can give her. They are out of options. What awful words. Unacceptable.

I know she is in pain. Not because she tells me-she has never ONCE in all our years of friendship complained to me about having to go through all of this. She amazes me. I know she is in pain because of tumor markers, doctors appointments, how much hair she has, the way she may walk/her gait, her level of energy and how much she is able to move about.

In life, most of us have a small circle of people that we are truly close to and within that circle, there are one or maybe two people that we consider our soul sisters (or misters). It is that person you meet and you know almost instantly that you both are kindred spirits. You click. You gel. You understand each other without even having to speak. You just “get it”.Ā  This is my friend. You don’t get many of these in life, so when you find it, don’t let go for all the money in the world.

My friend does not ask for anything. She is a giver to the extreme. Her heart is so kind and her thoughtfulness in a selfish world is such a breath of cool, fresh mountain air. So when she asked me a question about getting her some kettle corn if I came across some at any Fall events, you know I was going to do whatever it took to be sure she had that treat.

We all have this desire to want to fix or make things better for those we love. I can’t fix this. I can’t make it better. But girl, you want kettle corn? I’ll move mountains!

Today we went to an event where there was kettle corn.

We decide to get it on the way out so we don’t smoosh it while apple picking. As we are heading out of the orchard, we see that the vendors are beginning to shut down. My hubby knows this vendor though so he says, don’t worry, he pops extra.

We get over there and my husband says hello and asks him if he has any kettle corn. The kind elderly man standing by his copper kettle says that he sold completely out. Internally, my heart dropped. This one thing. This one simple thing. And I want to do it so badly for her. To say, “here, I helped!” (in some tiny way). But in that way I hope that maybe, just maybe, that it will be a balm to her tired and beautiful soul.

Just as my heart is moving down the elevator from my chest to my gut, a girl shows up and says “Here you can have my bag; I haven’t even opened it.” I could have cried. I asked her a couple times if she was sure and she confirmed that she was certain. She didn’t know the story. She didn’t know why we wanted kettle corn. She simply came by and gave us hers.

I am so excited about this bag. I placed it safely in the front seat of my blue mom van. I gave the kids a different snack so they wouldn’t be eyeballing “The Precious”. And home we went, where that bag now sits on my kitchen table until it goes over to my friend’s house tomorrow where I will excitedly present the bag of kettle corn and tell her that I know without a doubt that God saved this bag just for her.

FB_IMG_1540081288670

The Signs Are Unclear (to say the least)

I am pretty sure I talked in my sleep last night- and by talked, I mean urgent yelling. I had a dream that I was on my way to the airport. I kept trying to tell Google the address so I could get the directions, as I knew I was drawing closer to my exit but I wasn’t sure which one it was. Every time Google would repeat back to me what I said, “OK, find the airport…” it would be full of fuzzy background noise like a radio station that isn’t tuned and it would give me the address to someplace with a similar name but in the wrong state.

Since GPS was letting me down, I knew I had to figure this one out on my own. I was almost certain that last time I drove to this airport, there was a sign off the interstate indicating which exit to get off for the airport. Well surprise, it wasn’t there anymore. All the signs seemed to be in the wrong places.

I ended up having to turn around in some busy parking lot and backtrack when I figured out that the signs were nowhere to be found. I go up this hill and there it is- finally I find the airport. It is a hot mess. People everywhere, all with somewhere to be. The airlines are in alphabetical order- easy enough, right? Yes, if they were in a straight line. But instead they sort of zig-zagged throughout the parking lot.

I don’t even know which plane I’m on or where I’m going at first but as I’m running through the zig-zagged airline portals, it comes back to me that I am looking for United Airlines and I am heading to Hawaii- no wait, San Francisco. Yes, that’s where I am going. San Francisco. (Though I have no idea why I am going there and I am pretty sure I would prefer Hawaii…) I do know, however, that I have 30 minutes before my flight boards. For some reason my parents are suddenly at my vehicle (well hello there, how did you sneak up on me again? šŸ™‚ )Ā  when I arrive to the airport and as I take off into a run to find the airline, my parents are supposed to be getting things settled with the car and bringing me my luggage.

So there I am at United’s counter, and the lady is trying to sell me this one-way ticket that is way over my price range. I’m racking my brain thinking, didn’t I already buy one- a round-trip one?! Finally she finds my ticket and I am paying to stow my bag. As I am leaving the Kiosk, my father comes up with a smaller version of my purple Liz Claiborne suitcase that could easily be stored on the plane. Thinking that he must have put it all in an easier-to-manage bag for me, I feel filled with good feelings of the cozy sort that someone is taking care of me, and I run back to the counter and tell the lady that I won’t be needing to stow my bag after all. She says no problem and begins typing on her computer to get things switched. I unzip the bag and find all my husband’s dirty clothes and shoes in my bag.Ā Dang it, dad. Didn’t you even look?? It seemed like such an easy task- just bring me my suitcase. Sending my dad back again to the vehicle with those instructions, I head toward my gate.

Remembering I still need my bag as I arrive to the gate and the airline attendant begins boarding call, I run to the escalator and look down to see if my dad is there with my luggage. IĀ  know I can’t go down there or I will have to re-go through TSA and there is no time. I see my dad and I yell to him. He is waving a turquoise cooking pan that looks like a Rachel Ray. Though a nice cooking utensil, it is NOT my suitcase! At this point, the frustration builds to explosive emotions and I begin yelling that the pan is NOT my suitcase and I have to board NOW!

I am pretty sure I yelled this into the real world because my kids are suddenly waking me up in real life and asking me if it is time to get up. My voice fells a little hoarse. I feel exhausted. Tired. My body feels like lead. And I’m irritated.

Getting up, my focus turns to the kids and getting them ready for school, though in the back of my mind, I am feeling pretty dazed and feel like I need to go back to sleep since that entire dream felt like pure stress, extreme pressure and nonstop running.

The signs are all so unclear. The road signs are not in the right places. The Kiosks are in some semblance of order but not really. Everyone around me is doing something but seemingly having trouble getting it right. I am getting through by the skin of my teeth but I don’t have what I need.

In my rational, awake mind, I know I can’t blame anyone for me not having my suitcase or being late to the airport or even the airport’s crazy set-up. It is my life to live and if my father brings me my husband’s dirty work clothing and then a cooking pot as luggage and the airport is set up in cartoon proportions, I should have planned for that… right? I should have just brought my bag with me instead of trying to save time, right? I should have planned for missing signs and crazy airports… right? But… can you ever really plan for some of these things?

But on the other hand of that same statement is the insinuation that you can only trust yourself to get it right and that somehow there is a way to get things “perfect.” And we all know that’s a farce because none of us get it right all the time. And if we think we do, then we are wrong a whole lot more than we realize. Thinking only we can get it right is like having mud all over our face and thinking that we look amazing. The only person we are fooling is ourselves.

What a dream. Missing signs. Stress. Oddness. Unplanned craziness. People who let you down. Letting yourself down. Maybe I made the flight or maybe I didn’t. I don’t think the flight was ever the point. The process was.

Life is unpredictable. Sometimes stressful. Definitely crazy. Sometimes the path we are on makes complete sense and we are filled with such clarity. And sometimes we can’t find any signs, we can’t find the road, everything is zig-zagged, out of place and we don’t feel like we have what we need for the journey ahead of us.

Sometimes the path will be smooth and it will feel like we are gliding- maybe even gracefully waltzing, through life.

Other times we will be at an airport with a pan and no plan. I think it’s fairly easy to see which path I am on right now. šŸ™‚

I suppose I could always find the courage to put that pan on my head (without being mad at those around me for “getting it wrong”) and waltz my way onto the plane, where I will fly into the unknown with grace and humor. It would be way more fun than grumbling and being stressed. And it looks like I’m going for a ride either way…

šŸ™‚

Path splits two directions, fork in the road