The STUFF Sisters

Our Thanksgiving Letter

“F**k, I glued my fingers together.”

“It will be okay. Don’t panic.”

“F**k, I glued my fingers together.”

“It will be okay. Don’t panic.”

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The Weight of The World

My younger sister believed in angels. Since her death over 20 years ago I too like to think they exist and that she is now among them.

My younger sister believed in angels. Since her death over 20 years ago I too like to think they exist and that she is now among them. When I see a white feather on the ground or blowing by I like to believe it has fallen from an angel’s wings. That maybe my sister or her winged friends have passed my way.

My parents are both terminal cancer patients. Continue reading “The Weight of The World”

Stupidest Humans

We had already seen one snake slither across our path, which we were sticking diligently to as the map at the trailhead had prescribed.

When I got to the top of the hill, I turned to him and said, “We are the people that you read about in the paper. You know that, right?” I threw the word “paper” in for dramatic effect, knowing full well that most of us, sadly, read news on small screens.

The day was simply gorgeous in the Flint Hills. Big round clouds in crisp blue skies. Of course the hills were green with all the rain. Flowers were blooming at all heights within the tall grass. We were past the hottest part of the day, but it was not cool at 93-degrees.

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Sanctuary

I feel an overwhelming and powerful inner peace when I am where the ocean meets the land. It is my place of worship. It is my church. It is where Mother Nature is the most accessible to me.

Last week I found myself on a beach in February. A rare occasion for me in the dead of winter. I was there because my father has cancer and there is a new challenge to face. I traveled to be with him when he met with yet another cancer specialist. Something that we have done together as a family many, many times before and in many cities.

I didn’t bring a swimsuit or any of my beach gear. I didn’t plan to be on the beach more than a handful of minutes. I told myself that one long walk was all I needed.

When the time was right, I took my walk and headed “up island” (as it is called by the islanders). I kept my eyes on the water as I walked. I didn’t look around. I just listened and watched the waves. I wanted no distractions.

On my return “down island”, I again kept my head turned to the ocean. I found a spot at the water’s edge and kneeled down. I said what I needed to say. I did my best to lay down my fear, pain, and sadness. Mother Nature and the waves listened.

I continued my walk, slowing heading back to the house. Again, eyes on the water.

The tide came in stronger unexpectedly and I ran onto dry ground. As I did, I turned to look at the low slung dunes. The most beautiful sight was right before my eyes. A crude collection of broken shells hung from barren branches. I had walked past it on my journey North. I must not have been ready to feel it or see it when I began my walk. Only on my return did I discover this special spot.

I felt like I had entered a sanctuary. It was mystical and magical. Built by many, for anyone to share. I just explored it without touching anything. I looked into the branches from all angles. I listened to the sound of the waves and how the wind made some of the shells clatter. I sat down and looked up into the branches. I found a spot where I could see both the hanging shells and the water. I sat still and just took deep healing breaths. Before I stood, I thanked Mother Nature for answering my prayers so quickly.

I walked back to my family.

Casey

Note: Only as I started to see the path that leads off the beach did I remember I had my phone hidden with my shoes near the base of a tree. I grabbed it and ran back to take the photos you see in my post. I was thankful I didn’t have it when I came upon it the first time. I had picked up a few broken shells on my walk, I added them to the branches.

I did sneak back out for a sunset the next evening and one last visit to my special place.

Cold Air & A Voice

“Arctic air is not to be trifled with.” His words when I asked about the slightly grimy cardboard after I sighted it the first time. I was in my early twenties.

My grandmother and grandfather lived in two homes during my childhood that I vividly remember. Both had carports, which as a child I found mesmerizing. Our old homes in the big city did not have these “modern” features. Low brick walls and a slick concrete floor defined the second and last carport.

In the heat of summer and on breezy days, they could be known to park the car further back in the driveway and not under the carport. This signaled that part of the evening would be spent in aluminum-framed folding chairs with the plastic webbing reforming our thighs.

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Renewed Commitment

Last week, we celebrated STUFF’s 22nd birthday. Several months ago, we signed a new 10-year lease. We are here to stay, and we are excited. It’s a renewed commitment.

Last week, we celebrated STUFF’s 22nd birthday. Several months ago, we signed a new 10-year lease. We are here to stay, and we are excited.

When you start a business, people talk a lot to you about plans. “What is your business plan, your 5-year plan, your 10-year plan, and what is your exit plan?” “What if it doesn’t work; what is your plan?”

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Unlucky in Love

I have never been lucky in love. I have written a collection of tragic love stories. They are heartbreaking because I love without limits. I throw myself into love wholly and completely. The crashes are devastating.

I have grown hesitant and protective since my last failed attempt. But, I still dream of love stories to be written by me. It takes a certain kind of bravery to keep trying and I like to think I have that type of courage.

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Finding Signs

Thus far, it has been a calm that comes from seeing something with new eyes and in a new way.

Several weeks ago, a friend reached out and used the word I have come to despise.

Cancer.

I read a bit more of what was written, and I set the phone down, screen still bright. I was in a place packed with noise and strangers. A place I had visited only once before. A place where a path was not always apparent. The one thing in this large room that was a constant to me was my sister.

I had been silent for a few minutes, as we were both checking our phones and grabbing handheld lunches. My quiet must have touched her as different, as she asked, “What is it?”

I said, “Cancer.”

She knew it wasn’t a cancer of my own, and she knew to say little and to briefly touch my shoulder.

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Pumpkin Spice

The picturesque mascot of all things fall makes me abundantly happy.

Truth: I do not like pumpkin spice anything. Except I do like the spices I mix into the pumpkin pies I make from scratch at Thanksgiving. I like pumpkin pie. I like pumpkin pie with whipped cream, to be precise.

Larger Truth: I love pumpkins. Un-spiced. Big Love. This fruit of the gourd family and the picturesque mascot of all things fall makes me abundantly happy. That’s saying something, because I am a summer person through and through.

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Never Just Chairs

When stripped of their cushions and placed seat to seat, these chairs were a houseboat that could hold all three of us on the coursing river – the Persian rug – as we moved downstream.

Our parents are lovely people and provided us with lovely things when we were children. Comfortable & well-furnished homes. Our own bedrooms. Good public educations. Happy & joyful childhoods.

A divorce rocked my world at the end of high school. My parents made sure that as little of that list changed for us as was possible. At the end of the divvying up, my mother ended up with these chairs that had lived in our large living room for years and years. We decided to take them out of her house and get her new recliner handles but didn’t realize that there are a number of side effects when sitting in a recliner for so long.

This year, in late June, my mother sent my sister Casey and me a short text that said, “Curb?” The resounding answer from both my sister and me was a combination of, “Wait.” “I want to see them,” “We might want them,” and, “Are the back pillows still around?”

They are still at her house awaiting a final decision. Mothers are patient souls.

Continue reading “Never Just Chairs”