The STUFF Sisters

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

I was frustrated last night. Angry frustrated. I wanted to walk in a charity walk with my Dad, and everything in my life conspired against me all afternoon and into the evening. I didn’t have a pity party, but I did throw a private hissy fit.

I was frustrated last night. Angry frustrated. I wanted to walk in a charity walk with my Dad, and everything in my life conspired against me all afternoon and into the evening. When I called him to finally tell him I just wasn’t going to make it, I got my stepmom on the phone. My voice broke when admitting I wasn’t going to make it. I didn’t have a pity party, but I did throw a private hissy fit. It went something like this:

Why is this city getting so big and busy that I can’t get to Corporate Woods in 20 minutes at the end of rush hour?

Why would a charity hold an event on a Friday night and have it begin at 6:30? Don’t they know people own businesses that don’t close at 5pm?

Why did I have a child? Didn’t I know he would grow up and have a busy life and need rides?

Why did I marry a man who is always busy with his own small business?

Why can’t I just do what I want to do and not have so many people demanding so much of me? Don’t they know I just want to walk in the dark with my Dad and remember his incredible journey through cancer? Don’t they know I want to hold a delicately glowing balloon in the quiet of a wooded suburban setting?

Then the moon came out. The biggest, most beautiful moon of the year so far. By that time of my night, I was back at my business sneaking in a few important tasks between car rides for my young man. I stepped out into our back alley to get something out of the car and was blown away by the brightness of the night sky. Then I saw the monster moon. I turned, locked the door to the store, and walked around the block.

Quietly. Slowly. In the glowing night. By myself. And, in every way, my Dad was there with me while I quickly put the hissy fit to bed.

p.s. At the end of the evening, I realized I was where I was supposed to be last night. When my final pick-up of the golden child occurred, the first thing he said to me was, “Mom, did you see that moon?” I told him that indeed I had and that I had bathed in her amazing powers. That’s when I got the look that only a sixteen year old can grant.

p.p.s. I know you’ve been humming The Stones while you read this. That makes me smile!

Remission. The word that makes your heart soar.

We just got the call. Our Dad is in remission!

Thank you all for your support, words of encouragement, prayers, wisdom, hugs and kindness.

Cancer. The word that stops your heart.

This Friday I will have a surgical procedure to remove cells that, left alone, could turn into cancer. These pesky cells were discovered during a routine yearly exam…

This Friday I will have a surgical procedure to remove cells that, left alone, could turn into cancer. These pesky cells were discovered during a routine yearly exam with my gynecologist, after which she called to let me know that my test results showed an abnormality and she wanted to take a closer look. During this second visit, after a look-see, she calmly said, “I am going to take a couple of quick biopsies.”

What happened next is a bit fuzzy, because when I heard “biopsy” my heart stopped beating and my head started to spin. My family doesn’t have great history with biopsy results. And, in my experience, biopsy spells CANCER.

I don’t have cancer. I may never develop cancer. And I am more than willing to have these cells cut from my body later this week.

I think I may even survive the heart stopping attacks I have suffered during this process. First, biopsies. Then, waiting for results. Then, being told I have high grade cancer-causing cells. Then, the call to let me know the amount I will owe the hospital Friday after my very expensive health insurance is done accounting for the 80/20-out-of-pocket-co-pay-deductible-not-covered-under-your-plan-matrix-of-go-screw-yourself-lady-coverage.

But talking about CANCER in relation to my body has changed me forever. I will learn to live with the reality that my body carries a virus that causes cancer sometimes. I will learn to forget about it for long periods of time. I will learn to not live in fear of cancer. I will re-read all the anti-cancer lifestyle books I have read because of my mother’s breast cancer and my father’s lymphoma. I will make more lifestyle changes. I will feel blessed that I had the resources to have preventative care. I will get more sleep. I will continue my journey to control my anxiety and my stress. I will eat my fruits and veggies. I will walk thousands of miles for my health. I will show up for all my exams and tests in the years to come. And soon I believe I will feel lucky that I don’t have cancer.

But I will never again walk into my doctor’s office with the same confidence I did before this happened.

This week, my father is travelling to MD Anderson in Houston for a battery of tests to find out if his 18+ months of chemotherapy is working to put his lymphoma into remission; my mother is at home without an ounce of breast tissue left on her body; and I am joining some of my friends that have been in my same situation.

I am writing this blog to continue the public conversation about cancer, and to help remind myself that we are finding treatments and strategies for prevention and that every day we are closer to a cure. To encourage everyone to get yearly exams, and to educate yourself on your own health.

And I am writing this blog to bolster my own strength in the fight against cancer. I know I should feel like one of the lucky ones, but I don’t yet. I believe I will soon.

A random act of kindness note from my daughter. — This week my daughter’s class is practicing “random acts of kindness”. This is one of her acts of kindness today. And it is exactly what I needed. I get a big smile out of her using “Mumsie”.

Good luck flowers. — These are the flowers my father and stepmother sent me on their way to Houston for my Dad’s lymphoma testing. I am deeply touched by their thoughtfulness.

Thankful

With all our love, Happy Thanksgiving.

Every time a stranger applauds us for bringing them a smile during the public radio fund drive, we are thankful.

Every time our Dad reaches another lymphoma milestone, we are thankful.

Every time a customer thanks us for donating to their school auction, we are thankful.

Every time an employee verbally appreciates payday, we are thankful.

Every time our Mom says another year of being cancer-free is behind her, we are thankful.

Top-02 — Sloane calling home from The Big Apple.

Every time a new artist joins the mix in the store, we are thankful.

Every time you say our name lovingly in a group of friends, we are thankful.

Every time our children remind us what unconditional love is, we are thankful.

Every time the store fills with customers, we are thankful.

And every year we thank our lucky stars for getting the chance to try and make a difference for local artists, for American hand craft, for community charities, and for small business.

With all our love, Happy Thanksgiving.

Wide-01 — Kicking off the AIDS Bicycle Challenge.

Tall-01 — Our children asleep on a road trip.

Wide-02 — A bit of fun at inventory time with Ryoko.

Tall-02 — Pretending to be Vanna White with Women’s Employment Network.

Wide-03 — Ladies & Gentlemen: The Red Ribbon Regatta

Tall-03 — Casey giving it her all at KCUR’s fund drive

Wide-04 — With our parents at the Rising Stars of Philanthropy Luncheon

SuperWide-Cropped — The Family Load Out from the Smoky Hill River Festival.

Top-03 — Casey and her daughter having a good hair day.

Heaping Pile of Generosity

In the noisy jumble of a handcraft market stands a man we can count on to take our order, make us smile, and send us on our way. One day a few weeks ago, that same man made me cry.

In the noisy jumble of a handcraft market stands a man we can count on to take our order, make us smile, and send us on our way. One day a few weeks ago, that same man made me cry. His name is Mathias.

2005 Wings of Hope — Casey, Sloane & Susan, Wings of Hope 2005

A larger-than-usual pile of boxes was delivered that day, and that alone could have made me weep. In the pile was a smaller box. Smaller than the others. It was the second box I ripped into so that I could feel a sense of completion by getting it dealt with. However, it was the magic in the box that brought productivity to a standstill. It held a pile of lovely hand crafted pewter art pieces, a note in an envelope, and an invoice outlining that the art was a gift. Many gifts to be shared with our customers. The note was opened first, and the waterworks began.

Casey, Susan & Sloane, Wings of Hope 2006

One year – not so far back – we got to talking to Mathias about our Wings of Hope event when we saw him in New York. He is a great listener, and, when we were done telling him about the change we make with our holiday open house, he told us he wanted to give us special pocket tokens to give to our customers during the event. Mathias doesn’t talk much; hearing what people say is his strength.

2008 Wings of Hope — Casey & Sloane, Wings of Hope 2008

Mathias wrote the note that made me cry. He had a hand in the invoice adjustment, and he probably packed the box himself. But what blew me away – what has never happened before in the 16 years of our business – is the $100 check he included from his company. No company we represent has ever sent a donation to our yearly fundraiser. Ever. When I got Casey on the phone to tell her about the heaping pile of generosity we had received, she had to pull her car over because driving and crying is bad.

Together – here at STUFF, in a studio in Rhode Island, and in a research lab at the KU Cancer Center – change is in our hands. That goodness is what made me cry.

2010 Wings of Hope — Sloane with Einstein & Casey with Emma, Wings of Hope 2010

Join us on November 10th and 11th when our holiday open house, Wings of Hope, will magically fly again.

2011 Wings of Hope — Sloane & Casey, Wings of Hope 2011

Power of Transference

I have never been one for morbid sensibilities. I don’t dwell in sadness, nor do I dabble in unwholesome thoughts. I am not gloomy.

Early this morning, before the sun was up, cancer consumed the life of a friend’s father. I had time last night to hold her and sway a bit in a hug that didn’t want to end. She was moving quickly towards the silences that would come with her father’s death, but we were taking a few more minutes to talk about things that had nothing to do with the tasks at hand. Several good laughs, a few inappropriate comments, a touch of bad behavior and moments of quiet in an overly-bright waiting room.

I have small town ways about me. They have to have come from the branches above me in my family tree, as I was not raised in a small town. One of those “ways” is that I stop for funeral processions. I pull over. No matter what. When they are coming toward me and when they are on my tail. I take these moments for contemplation about the people I have lost in my life. I remember myself in dark and quiet limos. I remember deep sadness and overwhelming relief. I give these moments time, because it’s what I have to give. Time. What can my hurry possibly be that I can’t stop to honor a family in pain? It’s minutes, really. Blinks of an eye.

So, this morning, I took a moment and spent time looking for pictures of my father. He is living with cancer and doing a bang-up job at it. It’s hard, and it will be his forever. My friend’s father has just ended a very short dance with a wicked disease.

I ache for my friend. I can never feel her pain, but, through the power of transference, I can weep for her loss and be there when the smiles return.

“Hold ’em tight,” I said to myself and others this morning. “Time is fleeting.”

p.s. Here are photos of my Dad and members of my family over the past year. Some of these I have used in previous blogs, and some I have not.

family portrait 2011 — Thanksgiving 2011

Heart of a Champion

Today we learned that one of our amazing artists – Lori Hale – passed.

Today we learned that one of our amazing artists – Lori Hale – passed. She battled cancer with the heart of a champion. She was inspiring to us all. We were so deeply blessed to be chosen to share her creative spirit, ideas, joy and work with the world. We will miss Lori. We will miss her little company Blue Raven. We will miss her art.

Art is life.

Life is art.

Turning Blue

Today I exhaled. It took a trip to Houston – and good news – to realize that I had been holding my breath for a year. And I had been turning blue.

Today I exhaled.

It took a trip to Houston – and the receipt of good news – to realize that I had been holding my breath for a year. And I had been turning blue.

Today we found out that my Dad finally has his lymphoma on the run. It’s not gone, and he’s not in remission. But it is being shown the door.

This past year I have been breathing, just not deeply. I had been taking shallow breaths and waiting for the good to arrive. I had been hoping that my life wouldn’t experience great loss. I had been holding my breath while moving forward and all the time wondering why I was winded. Why climbing the stairs was such a strain.

from the shuttle — M.D. Anderson Cancer Center, Houston

Because when you are hoping beyond hope and wishing beyond the stars, you really don’t have time to take a deep breath.

But today I did. I reached the bottom of my lungs, held it there to feel the burn, and then let it all out.

Cancer on the Run

On achingly beautiful days – days full of falling leaves, crisp air and sunshine – cancer lives with us. It doesn’t present itself, it just waits for us to find it.

On such a day not many days ago – with his cancer apparently on the run – our father met with two tumors that didn’t play with the team on the first go-round of chemotherapy. It was a day mixed with a little bit to celebrate and a whole lot to continue to deal with and worry about. Our dad needed a mental and emotional break from cancer – we all did – before starting his next therapies. He will now have to wait longer for that much needed break.

We at STUFF spend months preparing for our holiday open house – Wings of Hope – every year. This year, November 5th and 6th will be the days at STUFF that are meant to remind us that when one of us has cancer, we all have cancer. The days will be full of laughter, tears, food, drink, smiles and friendship.

Wings of Hope is special to us: we remember our family and friends lost to cancer, we re-commit to our fight to find a cure, and we thank the universe for keeping our parents – both cancer survivors – standing with us on these special days.

We hope you will join us at Wings of Hope and shop. We will proudly donate a part of your purchase to benefit cancer research at the KU Cancer Center. Our friend Susan Henke Miller showed us the way years ago – to keep cancer on the run we need piles and piles of research.

It has been the loss of friends and family and the battles in and outside of our tribe that have taught us that we can’t stop looking for cures and treatments.

Join us this weekend at Wings of Hope. Together, on these two special days – and every day – we can help find a much needed cure for all cancers.

Sisters, Co-owners and Believers in Hope

Steve Jobs’ Death Pisses Me Off

Personally I am tired of cancer taking amazing people from me and from our glorious world. Steve Jobs’ passing makes me sad, but it also pisses me off.

Personally I am tired of cancer taking amazing people from me and from our glorious world.

Steve Jobs’ passing makes me sad, but it also pisses me off. And I think this is a good thing. Because it will, once again, renew my passion for being part of finding a cure for all cancers.

My grandmother died from cancer, my mother has survived cancer more than once, my father is in Houston right now undergoing chemotherapy for cancer, and this week I have deeply needed one of my business mentors that died a couple of years ago from cancer.

Cancer Crew Cut — Me and my Dad. I shaved his head when the chemo started causing it to fall out.

That’s it. Cancer has got to go. That is why today I am going to make a donation to The Susan Henke Miller Breast Cancer Research Fund (the same charity our annual event Wings of Hope supports) in honor of Steve Jobs.

I don’t want to feel powerless today. I want to feel empowered and inspired by Steve’s legacy. Owning his inventions are not enough for me today. I want to kick back at the loss that cancer has brought us all.

Until there is a cure….