Happy April!

Easter weekend is behind us, and the chill is barely lifting from the record breaking cold weather of the past week. I am hoping that my hydrangeas will recover from the freeze... can they come back when the leaves look like wilted spinach?

Spring, even with a cold snap, continues to inspire me with joie de vivre.

On March 11th, we welcomed a new member to our family of furry creatures - Yoda, pictured here, is Jojo's great-grand-nephew. My survivorship view of life reminds me daily that time and experience wait for no one. We have to plunge towards the life we want to live, contrary to the human tendency to live life in suspension, i.e.,waiting to get "our ducks in a row."

As today's quote in my Franklin/Covey planner reminds: "We can't do much about the length of our lives, but we can do plenty about its width and depth." (Evan Esar)

Here's to reveling in this glorious spring, and living wide and deep.

The Music Of Life:

Journal Entries of a Cancer Survivor

The past month has been tough on cancer survivors, with the news of Elizabeth Edward's cancer returning, and also Tony Snow's recurrence of colon cancer. These prominent news stories sent a chill through my body as my first, post chemo check-up with my own doctor approached, the last week of March. Every person's cancer and story is different, of course, and in the big picture, we are each a statistic of one. And yet, all of us who have battled cancer felt a connection with these recent news stories. As Elizabeth Edward's eloquently expressed in the joint news conference with her husband - this is what it is like for every cancer survivor - the wondering and the waiting on tests, and the worry about it coming back.

My acupuncturist shared with me a clipping from the NY Times Magazine, a story written by a cancer survivor about how the simple pleasure of hiking with her daughter took on new meaning after her illness. Jenny Allen writes, "For a long time, we couldn't go (hiking): I found out I had cancer, and I underwent various treatments and operations. After many months, my doctor pronounced me "cured," meaning that I could now take up a spooked, lifetime vigil against the disease's return."

I laughed out loud when I read this sentence, because the writer had perfectly described the complex, difficult, reality of survivorship.

I am happy to relate that my first check-up was fine - all tests normal. I didn't expect to hear anything else, mainly because I've been feeling so darn good! But it was still a relief to have my continuing good health confirmed by my doctor. I felt a surge of elation, and gratitude for my very good fortune.

In the wake of cancer being so prominently in the news, I have also been grateful for the gift that courageous survivors - like Lance Armstrong and Elizabeth Edwards and Tony Snow and countless thousands of others - give to the world by choosing to share their stories openly, without self-pity, without grandiosity, but with honesty and positivism. They remind me, in my fledgling remission, that the journey through cancer is paved with hope. As does this quote by Lance Armstrong, posted on my closet door: