Cancer and Walking a Mile in Their Shoes.

Shoes have a story, a life that winds around a day filled with thoughts, ideas, fears, hopes and living. They are bought new, used and sometimes borrowed to never come home again instead finding a new life somewhere else.  I had a pair of beautiful, very comfortable black shoes that have moved to Indianapolis with my blessings. This event gave me pause for thought at the time since I loved the shoes which were not inexpensive but since I loved a dear friend far more the shoes flew away with my anxiety growing that she would lose her bags with the shoes until I asked her to wear them on the trip home as I had a lot more confident in her not losing my shoes when they were on her feet.   

Which brings to a posting about shoes for you see my mind wanders at odd moments either leading me to deep philosophical discussions with myself or a simple staring off into space about things that we see every day.  I have gotten use to it to the point that I can engage myself quite easily with wondering about practically everything I see. There are many things that have affected me quite deeply as I watch the lives about me drift this way and that.  I am in constant wonder at the sadness and the strength as we struggle in our days of existence enough that I am striving to share a part of this with myself and someone who just might be listening or reading.

Here is short discussion with someone I know that had the experience of being a breast cancer survivor.  I will begin with a question that I asked her.  We have all heard the expression of wait until you have walked a mile in their shoes.

What was your greatest concern?

“No, no, no. I kept saying no. I was in denial. This is not happening to me. Until finally I stopped thinking of me, what was happening and started thinking of my children.  I had adopted them.  I wanted to watch them grow. Even now I feel bad and start to cry.”

But you are here now.

“Yes, I am here now.”

We are all here now and maybe, just maybe that is all that counts.

Clouds

When driving back from grocery shopping with my husband’s ninety year old mother I was absorbed by the beauty and contrast of the wispy clouds in the very blue sky.  A rare event here on the Oregon coast where we live with a heavier cloud cover most of the time except when it is raining and no one dares to look at the sky for fear of drowning.  I remarked to my family, “Who makes the clouds.” As I said it very softly, no one answered.

                It was a rather silly thought that opened up a lot of various ideas spinning in my head ranging from the scientific explanation of water vapor in rising air parcels condensing to form cloud vapor to the more fantastic version of elemental beings dancing in the wide expansion of air painting with water droplets to angels on holiday relieving boredom.  I rather like the idea of little spirits dancing about and painting as they go.  It happens to settle right there with my beliefs of spirits inhabiting plants and helping them to grow into something quite miraculous but I could go on and on about the day to day miracles in our lives.  As my mother-in-law says up where she lives in a retirement community if you wake up it is a good day.