I just don't get it...

Tonight I found out that an old friend of mine lost her battle with cancer. Even though I knew that there was nothing more the doctors could do for her, I didn't expect it to be so quick. I thought somehow that she was going to be miraculously healed, that she would beat it simply with the strength of her spirit.

I had not seen Jolee in many years. I had reconnected with her on Facebook a few years ago. I spent many many hours, days, and nights at her house when I was growing up. Jolee was exactly 6 years older than me, but she didn't treat me like I was that much younger. She didn't exclude me when I was the youngest one in the group.

I will remember many things about her. I remember her laughter and her smile. She was filled with so much joy that it just burst out of her. I remember doing stall duty with her at the Fair, and how she had to wear a dust mask because of her asthma, and she was embarrassed about the mask, so she wore a bandana over it like a bandit.

I remember how in her home you were not allowed to say the word "Fart." It was a bad word, instead you said "Farkel." And every time I see the game "Farkel" I think of that and I smile. I remember spending the night there, and hoping that her mom Margi would make popcorn because she made the best popcorn. I have always wished that I could make it like Margi. She made it on the stovetop, and it always turned out perfect.

I am so sad to know that Jolee is gone from this world, and I'm so angry at cancer. I wish that I was a runner, because tonight I would go and run and run until I didn't feel so angry. But I am not a runner, and I know that by the end of my block the pain in my heart would become much worse, and for an entirely different reason.

Right now I keep thinking of the scene in Steel Magnolias where they are gathered for Shelby's funeral and Malynn says how mad she is, and how she wants to hit something until it hurts like she does. I felt that tonight too. I just wanted to hit something.

I can't help but think of everyone that cancer has stolen from my life, and those who it has tried to steal.

When I was 11 my father had cancer, and I was talking with my Mom tonight about how thankful I am that my memories of that time are blurred together and indistinct. My Mom begins her radiation treatment tomorrow because she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months ago. I am so grateful to God that hers was caught so early and that with two surgeries, they have removed it all from her body. It is my most fervent hope that in a few years this whole time will also be a blur of indistinct memories.

I think that Cancer is like a tornado. It doesn't discriminate. It doesn't care who it hits. It doesn't care about the damage it wreaks or the lives it destroys. I hate Cancer. I just hate it, and I wish Cancer would die and leave the rest of us alone!

Joy in the Journey

For the last several days I have had a song called "Joy in the Journey" stuck in my head. Sadly very few people that I know will have ever heard this song. It was written, performed, and recorded by an acapella group at Trinity Western called Soul Devotion.

I've been dealing with some stressful things in my life lately and as hard as it has been, I take such comfort in knowing that I am not dealing with it alone. As I go along through my day, this song is playing on repeat in my head, and unlike most times when a song gets stuck in your head and you go insane trying to get it out of your head, I have welcomed this song being in my head.

The words of this song seem to have been written precisely for me and how I feel right now. And even as I type that I think of how selfish that must seem because there are so many people who are dealing with far worse things than me. I think that sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own life and I think that what is happening to me is the worst thing ever, and then I get a reminder that so many people are struggling, so many are hurting, and so many are dealing with loss and hardship. And then I stop and think about what others are going through and I feel so much pain for them, and my brain starts to overload.

So anyway, the other day I was getting a little overwhelmed with all these thoughts, and then this song, that I haven't heard in years, came into my head, and there it has stayed.

I thought I would share this song with you, (any of you who read this, that is.)

Joy in the Journey (Words and Music by Ché Cowan and Tim McCarthy)

Show me the joy in the journey

'Cause I need strength to carry on

Sometimes the load seems so much more than I can bear

Show me the joy in the journey, show me the joy

Show me the vision in the voyage

Because these waves have battered for so long

Sometimes my bearings seem to get lost in the storm

Show me the vision in the voyage, show me the joy

Show me the joy in the journey

'Cause I want to carry on

Help me forget all the things I've left behind

I want to press towards the mark

Of the calling set before us

Show me the joy in the journey, show me the joy

Show me the purpose in the process

Because I can't see where you're taking me

And yet You've promised it will all be for my good

Show me the purpose in the process, show me the joy

You walked this earth in shoes like mine

You feel the pain that I now feel

It is finished, yes the work's already done

Why should I carry what You've lifted off of me?

I've found the joy in the journey

I've received strength to carry on

I've learned that casting all my burdens at the cross

Gives me joy in the journey, I've found joy

I've found joy in the journey, I've found joy.

I don't claim that every single day I find the joy in the journey, because there are lots of days that I struggle, but the reminder that He feels the pain that I feel, that He's walked in my shoes, and that I don't have to carry my burdens alone really helps on the days when the joy isn't overly apparent.

May we have the envelope please?

I was looking for something in my fridge the other night, and I realized that I really needed to clean out my fridge. In a bad bad bad way. As I began digging things out of the fridge, I started mentally composing a letter that I imagined was on its way to me any day now:

Dear Mrs. Munden,

Congratulations!! You have been selected to be featured as July's winner in "The Horrible Housekeeper Gazette." We are pleased to present you with the "Worst Housewife in Whatcom County" award. You have been chosen for this honor because of your achievements in every category of consideration.

We choose our winners based on a number of categories, and we have stringent rules applied to each category, and you completed every single category, above and beyond our expectations.

At this time we wish to highlight some of your skills that brought you to our attention and earned you this award:

Your "Shove it to the back of the fridge, that'll make it go away" theory is simply brilliant. The resultant, "I didn't know that a cucumber could completely liquify" revelation was illuminating. The "Oh Wow, here's that leftover frosting that was made in FEBRUARY!" was nothing short of greatness.

Your "don't worry, just flip it over and hide the dirty side" attitude was an inspiration to aspiring Horrible Housewives everywhere. The only strike against you was your feeble attempt to deflect by mentioning the fact that you work full time. For that we had to deduct a couple of points, but you did earn the "Suck it up Buttercup!" award from the Crybaby Chronicle which is our sister publication.

So, in closing, we offer our heartiest congratulations and wanted to let you know that we are in talks with TLC to start filming on our "Horrible Housekeepers" television show, and hope that you will consider appearing in our first season.

Also, please accept our congratulations on your meteoric rise through the ranks. We have just been informed that you have skyrocketed from PFC Horrible Housewife straight up to 3 Star General Horrible Housewife, a feat that has never been accomplished before.

Sincerely,

Susie Slacker

Editor in Chief

Horrible Housekeeper Gazette

Isn't that special?

My mother once taught me a joke about a woman who got together with her friend after 20 years and the friend kept bragging about her life, her husband, their wealth, and all her material possessions. After each thing she says, the woman says, "Isn't that special?" When it is the woman's turn to tell about her life she says that her husband sent her to finishing school. The friend asks why he would do that, and the woman says so that she could learn to say "Isn't that special?" when she really wants to say, "Who gives a @#*&?"

Now, with that understanding in mind, I can tell my story from today. I was at work, and it was super duper busy, and I got paged to the paint department. I was greeted by an extremely cranky elderly woman who told me that her husband got the wrong product and the wrong color, but that he'd already opened it. I looked at the can and realized that not only had he opened it, but it was custom tinted and he'd used a third of the can. I tried to explain to her that we can't take back custom tinted paint, especially when it was a third gone. She snapped at me that it wasn't a third, he'd only used "this much," indicating a spot about a third of the way down the can. She said, "Don't you just sell your returns at a discount?" I told her, again, that we don't take back tinted paint, and we don't have returns. She indicated a group of cans and snapped, "What about those returns?" I told her that those were cans that were waiting to be picked up. (Isn't that special?) At this point I took the can and went and talked to my father. I was more inclined to smack her in the head with the can then to give her credit. But we agreed to make her a can of what she wanted and give her $10 off. I went and offered her the deal and she rather snottily conceded it was better than nothing. So I pulled up the formula for the color she wanted and tried to make it, while answering the phone, the radio, and tell someone that I'd be right over to my (now fully functional) licensing terminal to sell a park pass. I called my mother in and she made the paint for the customer and I sold the park pass.

A few hours later, the couple came back and they had a piece of wood and their new can of stain with them. She told me that it was the wrong color and that it was way too blue to match her house, not the sample she chose, but her house. (Isn't that special?) I opened the can and dried a sample so that I could compare the two. While I was drying the sample, she kept trying to ask me questions. I told her that I could not hear her over the dryer. I took the samples outside and looked at them. I went back in and told her that it was definitely a lighter gray than her color, but it wasn't blue. There was no blue in it. She argued with me, so I just kept smiling and working to fix it. At this point I compared the stain we made to the color card that SHE had chosen. It was an exact match. So now we had made 2 different cans of stain for them, both of them being the exactly right color that they had ordered and neither time was she happy. Somehow it was MY fault that her husband picked a color that didn't go along with her color scheme, OR that SHE picked a color SHE thought would match her house, and we made it perfectly and it didn't match her house. I managed to correct the new stain so that it matched her board PERFECTLY! While I was drying the latest sample, her husband walked up and asked me a question. She informed him that I couldn't hear over the dryer, and they left me alone while I finished. I went outside and compared the samples in natural light, and they matched seamlessly.

I went back in and showed them the samples and told them it was fixed. She said, "We'll owe you BIG time IF this matches." (Isn't that special?) I informed them that to my eye it matched perfectly. She said, "Well, we SHOULD be happy with this, shouldn't we?" And her tone made my fingers positively ITCH to grab the rubber mallet and start playing Whack-a-Mole with her.

A few minutes later, as I running back and forth getting change for tills, and ringing up customers, we had a brief pause and Tyler says to me, "Wow, you're way busier than me and you're so cheerful and happy." I told him, "Only on the outside Sweetheart, only on the outside. Inside is a dark and scary place!!"

Wanted: A vacant padded cell, happy pills optional

So my life has felt pretty crazy lately. For starters, I managed to give myself whiplash, a strained shoulder, and a hyper-extended finger by trying to be She-Ra, Princess of Power and move a 12' fiberglass step-ladder by myself. When I went to open the ladder, it started to shift on me, and then I realized I couldn't catch it, I just let it go. It was on uneven ground, and when the top of the ladder hit the ground, the bottom popped up and smacked my left index finger and it bent back past where it should have bent.

Then, last week on my day off, I went to my friend Rachel's house and we worked out together, and then when I got home, Matt and I decided to take Lucie for a walk. We walked her up to the elementary school and when we got there, Matt let her off leash. When we had completed our loop of the field, he decided to work on an obedience refresher with her. They were both getting frustrated with each other. Finally they ended on a good note, and he said, "OK!!" That is her signal that she is now off command, and she took off running great big circles around the field. I clapped my hands to call her to me to play with her a little, and she came running to me at full speed. I didn't really have time to change my position, or brace for impact before she ran straight into my knee, at full speed. All 85 pounds of her, leading with her solid rock lab head. I doubled over and gasped for air. For a split second I thought she'd broken my leg. It took me well over a minute to be able to stand upright again, and attempt to put weight on my leg. It hurt like blazes, but I was able to wobble along. We made our way home, me limping about halfway there, and then tried to decide what to do with the rest of our afternoon.

We were talking about some chairs he'd seen on sale, and I went to my computer to try to look them up and my internet wouldn't launch. I tried twice and nothing happened, so I decided to restart my computer and see if it would help. It didn't. In fact my computer wouldn't restart. It just made strange whirring noises. Matt determined that my hard drive had died. So we decided to go to Bellingham and look at the chairs. We got in my car, and I plugged my iPod into the tape-deck adapter and off we went. I noticed that my music sounded weird. It sounded like the harmony was the main sound, and there was no melody audible. I had no idea what was going on, and Matt figured out that my adapter had died. He asked me, "What?? Did you magnetize your fingers this morning or something?"

I got to work on Friday morning and had to deal with a broken fishing license computer. I have been dealing with problems with my barcode scanner since before Memorial Day. I have called and talked with technicians and they sent me a new scanner. I packed up the old one, and plugged in the new one. It worked for about a day and a half, and then it let out a series of three birdlike chirps, and then died. I unplugged it, plugged it back in, and it repeated the cycle; worked for a day, chirped three times, and died. I called the technicians again, and they determined it must be a software issue and they wanted me to plug in the usb key attached to the back and reload the software. I searched the terminal, there was no key. They shipped me one, and we got the software reloaded. My scanner worked for a day and chirped three times and died. They sent me ANOTHER new scanner. I packed up the old one, plugged in the new one, and the light flashed spasmodically for about 36 seconds, and then it chirped three times and died. I called the technicians and they determined that they needed to send me a new computer, and another new scanner. It arrived on Thursday (the same day that my computer and iPod adapter died.) Now we flash forward to that Friday morning. I spent all morning on the phone with technicians trying to make the new terminal work. It wouldn't connect. Finally we ended up with the old computer plugged in with the latest scanner plugged into it. Everything started working like it should. At this point I mentally did the Chester Cheetah "Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay!!!" head-shake. But I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and just accept that it is working.

So now I'm trying to figure out whether I truly have turned into Maggie Magnetron, the electronics killer; or if selected electronic devices in my life have banded together in some sort of suicide pact? Either way, I've been somewhat reluctant to take out our laptop and try to write down my woes.