A Humorous Look at the Bright Side of Cancer...
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November 25, 2017

Letter #43 To My Benefactor

November 21, 2017

Dear Benefactor,

Guess what? I finally went for another hike. Maui, this time.

It took Ken and me about two hours to get to the top in the burning hot sun. In case you want the details, the Waihee Ridge Trail is 2.1 miles up with a 1563-foot elevation gain. In other words, it was freaking hard. For me, anyway. Ken barely broke a sweat. I huffed and puffed like an old granny.

Five minutes after we made it to the summit, the clouds rolled in. One minute back down the trail, it started pouring. And we started sliding. I thought I was going to die.

Fast forward two days. We celebrated Thanksgiving with a quick turkey sandwich at the airport, waiting to board our plane home.

That’s when the fun began. First, our freezer broke. As I related on Facebook, “Reality check: came home from Maui to a broken freezer. On our way to town on a Black Friday to go shopping. Shoot. Me. Now.” We bought a freezer, had it delivered, and spent all day throwing away hundreds and hundreds of dollars’ worth of meat and trying to save any fruit that was still partially frozen.

Today, the fun continued. Both dogs had explosive diarrhea all over our laundry room. Must have been the thawed cherries they dug out of the compost pile.

So, in addition to the complaining I did on Facebook, I now felt like swearing my head off and complaining some more.

Instead, this is what I know:

1. I just got to go to Maui for 12 days.
2. I hiked the Waihee Ridge Trail and I did not fall and break my neck in the mud on the way down or fall off the cliff.
3. I have not had a reoccurrence of cancer like I thought I would.
4. I have a new freezer because I had the money to pay for it.
5. I have a house over my head, a warm bed to sleep in every night, and cupboards full of food. Not everyone is so fortunate.
6. I have lots of friends who care about me.
7. I have a family who loves me.
8. I have a benefactor who, several years ago, paid for my hiking boots.

In other words, I am content.

Sincerely,

Marie

By |November 2017|Letter To My Benefactor|

November 17, 2017

Letter #42 To My Benefactor

Steamboat Rock State Park – August 10, 2017

Dear Benefactor,

The last time I wrote you, I mentioned that Ken and I were going camping with some friends on the other side of the mountains (with our new RV) and I would try to go hiking, using those boots you bought me.

Remember how I also mentioned my fear of rattlesnakes?

Someone in our party got stuck up on the hilltop blocked by a rattlesnake—the hilltop depicted in this picture, in fact—and by then, any inclination I had of going hiking went out the window because I just couldn’t conquer my fear.

I went biking every day instead.

Sincerely,

Marie

By |November 2017|Letter To My Benefactor|

August 6, 2017

Letter #41 To My Benefactor

Fragrance Lake with wonderful friends from Ontario, Canada – July 17, 2017

Benefactor! Benefactor! Benefactor!

So much stuff has been happening around here, I hardly know where to start.

I definitely have not been having any extra time to wallow around feeding into my survivor’s guilt.

First of all, I told you (in my last letter to you) that I would go hiking again soon, and I did. I’m not sure how I managed to squeeze it in with all the crazy stuff happening around here, but I did.

You would be so proud of me, because I made it to the top of Fragrance Lake the very first try this year. Granted, I was with three other people and there was a lot of huffing and puffing going on—I didn’t want to get embarrassed by lying down on the side of the trail for a nap (or death)—but I did it.

Here’s the picture for proof.

Okay, big digression there, but here is what’s been happening:

a) We bought a travel trailer. Never ever thought we would own one of those, but we do. In fact, the maiden voyage of this wonderful contraption is happening in half an hour. Another fact, Ken will be coming into my office to yell at me any moment that it is time to go, so I am typing 100 words per minute right now.

b) Item #5 on my bucket list will probably be fulfilled while we are camping on the other side of the mountains with our new travel trailer. We are finally getting a concrete patio.

So, I’ve been doing a lot of hiking—not with the shoes you bought me—but mainly back and forth to the RV and prepping the ground for bucket lists, but my Keens are coming with me. They are in the trailer as we speak, waiting for me.

There are rattlesnakes where we are going, so I hope I can get the courage up to hike. We both know how I feel about bears and cougars and murderers in the woods.

Gotta go. If you never hear from me again, it means one of those rattlesnakes got me. I beat cancer, so what’s a little rattlesnake, right? Right? Hello?

We’ll hope for the best, eh?

Sincerely,

Marie

By |August 2017|Letter To My Benefactor|

July 9, 2017

Letter #40 To My Benefactor

Dear Benefactor,

Another reason I have not gone hiking recently is because I have been doing mundane things like going to the dentist.

On Friday, I arrived at my teeth-cleaning appointment promptly at 8:00.

I sat in the chair, waiting for the procedure to start. I admit, getting your teeth cleaned is better than having a filling done or a root canal performed, but still, I would much rather be shopping for Lane Bryant underwear than spending my precious morning getting my chompers scraped.

I waited for the dental assistant—we’ll call her Bertha #3—to start working on my mouth. Instead, she talked about how much she loved my books. For ten minutes. “The part where you talk about your husband burying you in the compost pile? That was so funny.”

I recalled that she had four copies of my books: two for herself and two for a friend of hers.

“How’s your friend?” I asked. “Did she like the books as well?”

“She died.”

I didn’t even know what to say. Here I was, sitting in this wretched chair internally complaining about being there and this young woman—turns out she was only 54—was…dead.

Betsy and I then started talking about my Aunt Ann. She had gone to this same dentist before my family had. “I never met your Aunt Ann,” Betsy advised, “but I’ve met your Uncle John. He’s a sweetheart.”

Yes, and now he’s a widower. They should be traveling the countryside in their RV together. He shouldn’t be gallivanting around the east coast on his own as we speak. They should be…together.

Like I said, there I was, complaining about my teeth, while people around me were dying. Dying of the same disease that I had bonked on the nose and conquered.

Well, my good sir, maybe I should go on a little hike by myself this week and as I meander through the woods, I should give myself a little attitude adjustment.

Sincerely,

Marie

 

By |July 2017|Letter To My Benefactor|

July 6, 2017

Letter #39 To My Benefactor

Dear Benefactor,

I cannot believe that the last time I wrote you was December 14, 2016.

It’s not like I’ve been sitting around on my couch all winter and spring watching Netflix every day (and thereby not having the time to write you). Admittedly, I haven’t been spending my time hiking either.

I’ve been gardening and gardening and gardening since February. Our puppy broke his leg, so I have had to stay close to home and keep him tethered so that he doesn’t re-injure himself. (One vet bill is enough.)

In other good news, our daughter just got home from Australia (where she is based as a missionary). She will be staying with us for six weeks.

One of the first things she said to me is, “I’m taking over all the cooking and baking” to which I replied, “Yeehaw!”

I notice she did not offer to clean toilets to which I say, “Boohoo.”

However, I will now be able to meet my deadline for getting “Cancer Is A Funny Thing: Book Three” to the editor.

I will also be forced to sign up for Weight Watchers if she keeps making yummy rhubarb/raspberry pies like the one that she’s holding up in this picture.

I will start hiking again soon, I promise. That way, I can get away with eating a piece of pie once in a while.

Sincerely,

Marie

By |July 2017|Letter To My Benefactor|