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A Humorous Look at the Bright Side of Cancer... and There Is One

August 6, 2009

I Love Lucy… I Mean, I Am Lucy

I made it to my weekly writing class yesterday… barely. My daughter, Adriana, and her friend, Abby, drove me and dumped me off at the coffee shop on the pier. I proceeded to the class, minus my laptop for once because I felt so yukky. This chemotherapy was not being any easier to tolerate, if you ask me. In fact, it seemed to have a cumulative effect.

A fellow writer, Brett, handed me a bunch of loose-leaf paper and I stumbled outside into the fresh air by the boats and managed to scratch out a poem for my husband… nothing profound in the literary sense, but meaningful to me and, hopefully, meaningful to him. I rewrote the poem carefully onto another piece of my borrowed paper and shoved it into my purse.

After the class, a few of us decided to eat dinner together. We got to talking about the annual writer’s conference. We began brainstorming about how to keep it afloat in this economy. Now, those of you who know me well, know that I live for that conference (okay, okay, I love my family and friends, too). I’ve only gone twice, but it’s the highlight of my year.

Brett–the same writer who loaned me his paper–is on the board for this conference and he was getting frustrated with all the work he had to do. I grabbed a piece of paper out of my purse, slapped it on the table, and said, “Write down a few of these ideas.” I didn’t mean to be pushy, but that conference had to happen this February, especially with all that had been happening in my life.

I noticed he was writing on the back of the paper and thought it was odd, but hey, to each their own. I would have written on the front side, but that’s just me. I went back to trying to eat my meal and contributing something worthwhile to the conversation around me.

It wasn’t until I was at home that I realized why Brett was writing on the back side of that paper. Now, I had to tell my husband, “Hi, honey, I wrote you a poem today and gave it to a strange man.”

Things like this happen to me on a regular basis. I feel like Lucille Ball from I Love Lucy. Other people have even mentioned the similarities of our lives; it’s actually quite embarrassing.

Brett has since e-mailed me a copy of the misplaced poem. Maybe I can manage to hang on to it long enough for my husband to see it when he comes home from work today. I’ll call him “Ricky Ricardo” and he’ll think the chemo is really getting to me.

 

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5 thoughts on “I Love Lucy… I Mean, I Am Lucy

  1. Now I see why AJ got her license… it’s not so you can stop driving her places, it’s so she can start driving you places! Nice to have your own personal chauffeur, right?

    I’m making myself a note now: “When you write Rachel a love poem, don’t use the paper to explain math to a student.” :)

  2. Marie, I love your stories – they reflect the everyday incidents of life. You inspire me!

  3. How funny! I hope you do get to have that writing conference. It would be wonderful to get away. Take care, still keeping you in our prayers.

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Marie de Haan

Marie de Haan

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