Recovery

A great many women have helped to shape who I am today and the life I have been blessed to lead. One woman, however, has had a great impact than any other.

My mother is so many things....

A daughter.

A sister.

A wife.

A mother and a beloved grandmother.

A Rotarian.

A caregiver to those less fortunate, as evidenced by her involvement in Meals on Wheels and a variety of other community-focused activities.

A neighbor.

A friend.

But just after Thanskgiving, my mom -- my role model and one of my truest, closest friends -- was diagnosed with cancer.

In the face of cancer, one can chose to crumble, to give up, to refuse to fight, to adopt a negative attitude. Those choices are available. I don't know whether they ever crossed my mom's mind. I don't know whether she locked herself in her room and cried herself to sleep after she heard the words. 

I know that the selfish part of me was furious with this disease -- what right did it have to threaten my mother's life? My friend's life? And the worst of thoughts crossed my mind -- what if I were to lose her? And not just me, but what about dad? Tim? All of her grandkids? Why have so many people I loved been threatened by this disease in the past? Why? Why? Why? Questions to which there were no answers.

Somehow, through the agonizing months of waiting for test results, through the weeks that passed as she waited for her surgery, my mom, with dad at her side every step of the way, remained amazingly, remarkably positive.

I wonder if that was just because she's my mom... as a mom, I know the need to spare your children negative thoughts, concerns and worry. But I believe in my heart her faith and her general positive energy were what showed -- true and clear, as always.

For those of us sitting in the waiting room -- my dad, my grandpa, two of my uncles, fellow Rotarians and mom's friends -- the surgery, which took place one cold morning in late December, seemed to take forever. Few words were exchanged. I tried, and failed, to focus on a journal submission I was editing. We shared coffee and tea, tried to eat something.

The not knowing -- that's hard.

What would the surgeon say? Would she get through the surgery ok? What would her prognosis be?

And then, suddenly, he was there, the surgeon, standing at my side, in his scrubs.... he talked for what seemed like an eternity about things that weren't really relevant to the immediate issue. Was she OK?

But finally he said the words we all needed to hear. "The surgery is over. It went well. I'm very pleased." Relief. I was flooded with utter relief. She survived.

And the news that followed brought us joy beyond anything we'd expected. "The pathologist was in surgery with me. He's examined the tumor. It hasn't spread beyond the uterine wall. I expect her to make a full recovery."

We peppered him with questions about lymph nodes and further treatment. We thanked him with words that failed to express the gratitude we all felt for the gift he had given us. And when he left, we cried.

Cried with joy at the news that our mom -- our friend, my dad's wife, my grandfather's daughter, our children's grandma -- was going to be ok. And we cried with the knowledge that we would be able to take pictures like this with her for many years to come.

I left Chicago a few days later to celebrate Christmas in Denmark with grandpa (who joined us -- thank you grandpa, for spending the holidays with us. It meant the world to all of us), Steen, the boys and our Danish family. I left Chicago with a new perspective. With a desire to live for today, to tell those around me how much they mean to me. With the knowledge that I am so absolutely, incredibly lucky to have been born into this amazing life.

I also learned that if you a post-menopausal woman, you should see a gynecologist immediately if you experience bleeding or spotting. This is the message the surgeon asked me to spread -- so there you have it.

125 years worth celebrating

A few weeks ago, my grandfather turned an amazing, healthy, fun-filled 85.

A few days before that, I turned 40.

To celebrate, grandpa, mom, dad, Steen, the boys and I took a wonderful week off, and we spent it in the sun and warmth of St. Thomas.

Being able to celebrate my birthday and my grandfather's birthday with so many people who mean so much to me was amazing. The week was one I will never forget. Here are a few highlights... in random order, as I seem completely unable to control how they are shown in this blogging tool.

Having lunch in downtown Charlotte Amalie. Some guy we met on the street recommended this little sports bar on a side street. Personally, I thought the atmosphere and the food were great. The boys loved the chance to sit on bar stools. As this was one of the few days of the year when there were no cruise ships in port, Charlotte Amalie was relatively empty, so we could actually get a seat.

Nicholas keeping an eye on the pirate ships in the background. He couldn't wait to tell the other kids in his daycare that he'd see a pirate ship!!!!

Playing at a beach on St. John. We took the ferry over and spent a day visiting a number of different beaches, where we snorkelled, built sand castles and played in the water. As long as he was in his ring, Nico had no problem surfing the ways into shore.

 The big boys building a fortress...

Our hotel....

Grandpa's 85th. Here he is being serenaded at breakfast by our amazing waitress, Althea, and some of her colleagues. He's holding the traditional hand-crafted birthday chocolates in his hand.

Grandpa's 85th birthday lunch at the grill on the beach. The chef made us a special treat after he heard of my grandfather's history. He also and learned a few tricks of the trade from my grandfather, who was an executive chef for 40+ years....

The boys checking out the caves on Devil's Bay Trail (Virgin Gorda). We rented a boat (and a captain) for a day to go to the British Virgin Islands.

After a great birthday that Steen had filled for me with water aerobics and a relaxing, mind-calming visit to the spa, I had the most amazing 40th birthday dinner ever. Steen had planned a special night at a terrific place, the Old Stone Farmhouse. We had a tour of the kitchen, met the head chef, wrote our names on the wall, and drank champagne that the waiter opened with a sable. It was one of the most memorable, happy nights ever... Oh, and we got to eat a meal that was as beautiful as it was scrumptious. My mouth is watering just thinking of it... 

The boys got tons of quality time with their grandmother. Here's Nico reading his noisy Halloween book with grandma.

Breakfast on my birthday -- the ladies at the breakfast singing me a birthday song.

 Mom, Dad and Matthew taking a dip.

On a final, non-St. Thomas-related issue, here's a photo of Matthew's paper bridge that he had to build for science class. The requirements were the following: had to cover an open span of at least 50cm., had to be able to hold 2.5 kg of weight without falling apart or dropping the weight, could be made with a maximum of 20 sheets of paper and school glue. Glue was to be used for attaching pieces only, i.e., not for reinforcement. Impressive, don't you think?

The traffic jam grows

Nico was thrilled to get countless Hotwheels cars from his grandpa for Christmas. And a carrying case to boot! As you can see, these cars have joined their numerous predecessors in the Nico-created, daily traffic jam that occurs in various shapes and sizes in our living room.

Saying goodbye to a great man

I am slow to post and I have been absent from my blog for far too long.... there are so many things I want to do, and it seems often that I never have time to get half of those things done.

But this post is important to me. I'm so very sad that I must write it.

Several weeks ago, the world lost yet another great man. A strong man. A man who resonated peaceful, knowing strength to his very core.

My Uncle Mike passed away in mid-September following a long, unfair and I suspect painful struggle to remain in this world day after day, to hold his wife's hand for as long as he could, to sit and enjoy his blueberry pie or a bowl of soup, and to read the daily paper.

Aunt Ruth and Uncle Mike

My Uncle Mike wasn't really my uncle at all. He was my grandmother's brother and my dad's uncle. But he's been a vital part of my life... he has always been there. At family events, when he'd call my brother and I to the side and quiety place a rolled up $5 dollar bill in our hands and say, in that beautiful, low baritone voice of his, "Put that in your pockets and don't tell your parents." At my grandmother's house, where he often visited for a meal or a talk. At graduation parties, on the phone, wherever we might need him or want to share with him, he'd be there.

He was, I think, very, very close to my grandmother. I know that when my grandmother was taking care of their parents after they fell ill, he would come one night every weekend and take over the caretaker duties so my grandparents could have the evening together. After my grandmother passed away without warning several years ago, he held me in his great, bear-size embrace while I sobbed at her wake, and from that moment on he was there for my grandfather in every way he could possibly be. They shared weekly lunches with his wife, my Aunt Ruth, and they took good care of each other.

For my Uncle Mike, family was everything.

To me, Uncle Mike was always almost more than a man, somehow larger than life. He seemed, somehow, all knowing, and remarkably at peace with the world. Maybe this was the result of his years behind the wheel of Mac trucks. Maybe it was the influence of my wonderful Aunt Ruth (or sweet Aunt Betty, God bless her soul). Maybe it was the result of growing up in an Italian family in Chicago. Maybe it was caused by something about which I know nothing.

But that inner peace, that wonderful joy that he always expressed when he saw us, that happiness to just be alive...those are things that I shall always try to emulate.

He was a man I loved and respected, and the world is so much less in his absence.

Farewell, Uncle Mike. You are in our thoughts, in our hearts and in our prayers. Until we meet again...

The most amazing fishing trip EVER!

When I was a little girl, my parents taught me many valuable lessons when we were in the vicinity of water.

They taught me how to swim and made it possible for me to be a competitive swimmer for much of my pre-teen and teen years. As they attended hundreds of swim meets, they taught me how important it is for parents to just be there for their kids. They celebrated me after every race, regardless of how good -- or bad -- the race had gone.

But of more relevance to this post is that they taught me how to fish and to enjoy the act of fishing. Somewhere in my mom's photo albums are buried  photos of me proudly holding pint-size bass, catfish and a perch or two, smiling the biggest smiles a girl can make.

I've spent countless hours with my dad in the pristine silence of a fishing boat or on the shore of one lake or another. Over the years, these hours have brought me a piece of my dad that I don't think I would have had otherwise. I've gotten to know him, to understand so much more about him, than I think I would have otherwise. Whether we're chatting or just staring in silence at the ripples on the water, when we're fishing, we completely accept each other. It's some form of pure happiness, if you ask me.

Anyway, every year dad heads up to Birch Island Resort in Canada, where he's been going fishing on a chain of freshwater lakes with friends or family for the past 20 years. The resort's motto is "Everyone deserves a little island time!", which if you heard in any other context would conjure up images of piña coladas and Jamaican drums, rather than some of the best fishing in North America.

This year, I was the lucky one to be invited along. Lucas and I flew to the States. He spent some terrific quality time with his Grandma, who spoiled him rotten. Tim, Uncle Joe, dad and I piled into the car and drove the 14-hour drive north and across the border before parking the car on the edge of one of the most beautiful, peaceful places I have ever been.

Here you see my brother and my uncle "fishing" with their guide, Phil. Notice there are no fish to be seen! :)

Here I am with our guide, Davey, and my contest-champion walleye. It was the biggest walleye any of us caught the entire week... too big too keep, so Davey had to spend 20 minutes trying to coax it back into the water.

Dad and Phil with one of Dad's catches.

Phil and I with one of Phil's catches that he let me reel in (what can I say... every fisherman has a slow day once in a while). I have to mention here that Phil was such a great, down-to-earth person. He shared many funny stories with me about his camping trips in Mexico. I was sad to hear that this will probably be his last year as a guide. When I asked him if he'd ever lived or worked anywhere else, he looked at me with a wise gleam in his eye and said "Look around you. Why would anyone want to live anywhere else?"

We were amazingly lucky with the weather -- sunshine and heat. Not the best fishing weather, they say, but we did ok... You can see the water is like glass.

Davey and I and yet another champion fish (although this one just won me the bets for the day).

The best fishing buddy in the world!

Two more of the best fishing buddies in the world. We had a terrific time.

So, one morning just before lunch, Dad was reeling in a walleye. He looked over the side of the boat as it came near and said "What the heck is that?!". It was a northern chomping on his walleye. Here you can see the bite marks around its belly if you look closely.

The area in which we were fishing looks, in many ways, like the Swedish archipelago. We met pelicans!!!

And a bunch of other birds. They met up every day in the hopes of getting the scraps left over from our shore lunches.

Davey making up the shore lunch. I will go back to Birch Island someday, even if it's just to get the shore lunches!

Uncle Joe roughing it while waiting for lunch.

The birds dive in after we've had our fill.

Dad and Phil preparing the fish.

The early morning view from outside our room.

Tim, Uncle Joe and dad waiting for lunch.

Let me end this post with a great big thank-you to my dad for an amazing trip and memories that will last a lifetime!

The summer that was....

So, I've fixed, or at least figured out a way of dealing with, the rotating picture issue.... Finally!

However, now I have photos in random order, regardless of how I load them -- aren't you lucky? I'll try to keep them to a single subject.

As the title implies, this post covers part of our summer vacation -- the week we spent in Jutland (the Danish mainland) with our good friends Ulla (Steen's cousin and one of my closest friends) and Lars-Ole and their children. We had a terrific week, filled with laughter, smiles, excellent food, and great conversation. Here are some of the highlights...

Lars-Ole, Ulla and Emil on the train at Fårup Summer Park. This was Nico's favorite ride... "mom, can we ride the train again?", "mom, let's go on the train!", "mom, how about another train ride?"

Lars-Ole, Nico and I on the beach on the west coast -- as you'll see in some pictures below, you can drive on this beach. We even managed to get our cars stuck and were saved by some sweet guy who came with some boards and helped us out again.

Luke on the beach -- this kid is all legs!

Matthew and his good friend Emil on their way back from exploring the dunes.

A tea and cake break in the summer house we rented... Nothing says "cozy" like a good cup of tea and some cinnamon rolls...

Frederik and Lars-Ole on the beach...

A pre-stuck-on-the-beach photo -- such a great scene!

Matthew building, or attempting to build, a card house for the first time.

The kids at play in Frederikshavn -- Frederik here....

Luke here...

Nicoline, Steen and Nico strolling down the street.

My cute little one...

Oh, Matthew at play too!!!

Beautiful Nicoline.

Nico on his first pony ride.

Emil waiting patiently in line at the summer park.  A great seat for people-watching!

Nicoline is ready for that license!

Matt and I on the rapids ride. This one was great fun!

Nico and Steen on the way home. Poor kid was sick all night long before we left... then, on the ferry, he was sick again. In fact, this photo is taken 10 minutes or so before he spilled his guts, literally, all over me. Lovely for me, but even better for the woman sitting next to us who got splashed. I felt so sorry for that woman and for Nico!

Nico trying for his license too.

And Emil. Aren't our little drivers cute?

Enjoying the pool in the summer house, slide and all.

Steen & Nico waiting patiently in line for a ride at the summer park.

Back to the pool. (See, you can't get bored with these random pictures.)

Enjoying splashing in the puddles with Nicoline... for Nico, there's nothing better than a puddle, except for -- maybe -- ice cream!

Out for a swing.

Puddle -- despite the order, this picture and the one above are not the same day.

Emil and Ulla enjoying a special moment.

Water gun fight!!!!

 Steen heads of to explore one of the many German bunkers left over from World War II.