Happy Monday!

Monday is one of my most dreaded days, and one of my favorite days, all rolled into one.

The dread is for the same reasons many of us are not fond of Monday. It is the return to work; an abrupt halt to the weekend's pleasurable pursuits; going from what I want to do to what I have to do. And most Mondays mean lots of time spent in meetings that usually don't feel very productive. Meetings to organize the work week; meetings to catch up with on-going projects; meetings for the sake of meeting it seems.

Then, coming just when I need a break, is my Monday evening golf league! It is a sweet reward for having endured the merry-go-round of Monday meeting mania. Leaving the office a tad earlier than usual -- in contrast to all the days I am there past quitting time -- I break free and am suddenly outside in the sunshine, with green grass and fresh air all around.

The pleasure I get from golf is highly disproportionate to the skill I display. I should be much better for how much I love it. You can't be very good at golf when you usually play only nine holes a week, with an occasional spurt of a couple of full rounds a week on vacation or during a work retreat at a golf resort. Even so, my game was helped by our June vacation to Mississippi. My son and sister fixed my grip -- making it more of a golf swing than a remnant of my years growing up with a baseball bat in my hands.

My guide for a decent round over the years has been to shoot my age for nine holes. It was a decent target before I turned 50 but now isn't much to brag about. Last week I shot just under my age! I can't turn back the clock, but maybe I can continue taking strokes off my game.

Lots to smile about

The week ahead will be special.

Ben will be home for a few days to attend my niece's wedding next Saturday. I have the great honor of doing a reading at the wedding. Our grandson's paternal grandmother will be visiting from Texas.

Last, and I hope not the very least of all, I will have my next round of CT scans. If there are no signs of cancer recurrence when I see the doctor on Friday, he will extend the CT scans from two-month intervals to three months apart.

I have no reason to expect anything but a positive outcome. I feel as healthy and almost as strong as I did a year ago. Getting back to the gym a couple mornings a week these past two weeks has been a nice high point of my recovery. But for my short curls and the scar up my tummy, there are few reminders of my cancer ordeal in my daily routines now.

It will be wonderful to gather next Saturday to celebrate Lauren's wedding and welcome Ryan to our family. I will proudly carry my grandma's book of photos of baby Dodge, and I will wear the smile of a thankful cancer survivor.

Perfect!

I can't count the number of times in the last few days that I have stopped to marvel at the miracle that is my grandson.

For starters, he is just beautiful! I know every grandparent says that, and now I understand why. It is true you can't appreciate how wonderful it is to have a grandchild until you do.

The contentment I feel at this moment is almost overwhelming. I have taken another day off work to try to be a good grandma. Baby Dodge is sleeping a few feet away in his Pack 'n Play, Mandy and Andy are getting some much-needed sleep upstairs and even their dog in sleeping quietly in his bed next to my chair. What peacefulness and joy!

My son commented a few days ago about all that has transpired since we first learned Mandy and Andy were expecting this wonderful blessing. Ben has graduated from OSU and moved into a new phase in his life, with good signs of promise for his future. I had successful surgery and have recovered well, with no signs of recurring cancer. We will soon celebrate my neice's wedding.

The nice thing about the tough times in our lives is how sweet they make the good times. I feel very blessed by all the experiences I have had.

Oh baby!

"Let the spoiling begin!"

Tom and I hadn't even met our new grandson this morning when the brand-new grandpa uttered those words. The doctor had just popped into the maternity ward waiting room to tell us our grandson had been born, and the baby and our daughter were doing fine.

We shared some joyful tears and hugs and then couldn't wipe the silly smiles off our faces while we waited to go greet the little guy. I still can't stop smiling!

His name is Dodge, and he wears it well. He weighs 8 pounds and an ounce, and stretches out 21 1/2 inches long. His skin is a beautiful pink and he has a nice cap of dark hair. Could he be any more beautiful or perfect? I don't think so.

My mind keeps wandering ahead today, picturing the many firsts we look forward to experiencing with this amazing new person in our lives. The perspective of being a grandparent is fantastic -- we have an idea of what Mandy and Andy can look forward to and the experience to know they'll get through even the tough times just fine.

One of their biggest challenges will be to keep us from spoiling the kid rotten!

Gym dandy

It is strange to wake up with sore arm pits, and to smile about it, but that is my situation this morning. The soreness is pleasant because it is a souvenir of my overdue return to the gym.

The tiny ache at the corners of my chest remind me of the bench presses I did yesterday morning. The weights I used were half what I had hoisted easily before my battle with Cancer 2.0 -- just five pounds on each end of the heavy bar. And the repetitions I did were far fewer. But at least I was back!

My gym buddy from work had also gotten out of the morning exercise habit during my hiatus as she dealt with an injury that also sidelined her for a while. Now she has recommitted with me to renew our workouts. As with any challenge, tackling this with a partner makes it a little easier to accomplish. We made it to the gym one day last week, committed to three days this week and should soon be back to our five-day practice.

I am returning to the gym with extra resolve. In the Anti-Cancer book that I have become such a fan of this summer, regular exercise is noted as a key health strategy. Lifting weights is lifting me up as well!

High expectations

Yesterday was the date Mandy had calculated as her due date, and her baby stayed stubbornly in her womb. Tomorrow is the doctor's estimated delivery date, but it is not likely the baby will come then, either. At her weekly appointment on Friday, the doctor told Mandy there had been no progress toward delivery since the week before.

I know this is not an easy time for Mandy but I am absolutely blissful. It is not only the excitement of expecting my first grandchild. My high spirits are also due to my amazingly strong state of health.

It wasn't so long ago that I wondered if I would be well enough to even hold my grandchild at this point. There were times I contemplated being in the hospital concurrently with Mandy -- me receiving follow-up chemotherapy while she delivered her baby.

The vigor I feel now is incredible. The healing I have experienced is a miracle; running a close second to the miracle of birth. The circumstances of this past year make me all the more determined to carefully nurture this wonderful machine that is my body -- not just for me but also so I can fulfill my duties as a grandma!

Wash day revelations

I was about to start washing a load of clothes this morning when something on the agitator in the center of the washing machine caught my eye. I looked closer at the brownish mark and realized I needed to wash out my washing machine.

Residue had built up inside the fabric softener dispenser and turned into an unsightly gunk that was keeping the dispenser from draining completely. I fiddled with the dispenser until I was finally able to pull it apart. Peering down, I was horrified to find a thin layer of smelly water at the bottom. Triple yuck! How in the world could we expect to clean clothes in a stinky washer?

As I scrubbed the dispenser and the rest of the washing machine, it struck me there was a larger lesson here. It was more than just the old adage -- take good care of your tools and they will take care of you. Something bigger was beckoning.

I think it was this: What residue builds up in our lives when we go about our routines without taking them apart every now and then for closer inspection? Where do we let little things accumulate unnoticed until they turn stagnant?

Those seem to be good questions to ask on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

Flying dog hair

When Mandy was about to be born nearly 30 years ago, my mother was hovering anxiously, offering all kinds of help to get ready for the baby. I was pretty calm, especially in contrast to her nervous energy, and I declined her offer to give my house a good cleaning. I tried to assure her that we were ready for the birth, but her exasperation came out as she blurted, "You can't bring a new baby home to a house with all that flying dog hair!"

Mom's endearing comment has come back to me many times over the years and especially as I try to keep from uttering a similar declaration.

I understand now better than ever what was at the heart of her warning. It had nothing to do with dog hair and everything to do with the difference in our experiences. She spoke from the perspective of having raised five children and knowing all the challenges and rewards I faced. My view was naively confident, knowing nothing about parenthood but believing I was prepared for whatever it entailed.

I am trying not to hover too much in these last few days before my daughter delivers her son, nor is there any need. Mandy and Andy have done a wonderful job preparing their house, and their hearts, to welcome a baby.

But if I slip up and make an anxious-grandma proclamation of my own, I think they will understand. In our family, "flying dog hair" has become legend as just another way to say, "I love you."

Freedom

What are you celebrating on this Independence Day? For me, freedom is another way to view my many blessings against the backdrop of this past year.

Last year's 4th of July was not especially remarkable, I hate to admit. I'm sure there was some sort of celebration and family get-together, but I had lost that edge of being thankful and appreciative for the big as well as the little things, that edge that being a cancer survivor gives you.

My view of freedom today is sharper. The freedoms I am celebrating include not only our amazing civil liberties but also the freedom to seek and find great medical care, the freedom to travel for second opinions, even the freedom to share my cancer experience in this blog.

Looking ahead, I anticipate celebrating many more freedoms in the coming year. At the top of the list will be freedom to spoil a new grandchild silly, freedom to pursue my health with new vigor and freedom to live my life with new fullness and purpose.

Living in appreciation of our blessings may be the best way to celebrate freedom every day.

Call me Curly

There's something liberating about going away for a few days and coming back with a new look. In my case, it is my newly regrown short, curly hair. Just as winter was a good time to have wigs warming my scalp left bare by chemo, summer is a great time to sport my still-short regrowth.

I tested the look in the safety of family and strangers while visiting my son, sister and brother-in-law last week. It still needed some work when I returned home. My daughter and another sister encouraged me to try some hair paste to give it a bit more body.

In church on Sunday -- a place where I always receive encouragement -- several people commented favorably on the new do, giving me the confidence to go wigless to work the past two days. More compliments greeted me at the office.

The big test was last night when I gathered with dear friends from high school for a girls' night out. Their smiles and hugs were all the more approval I needed to put my wigs back on the closet shelf.

I have enjoyed my wigs for the past eight months but it's nice to have my own hair back again. The short curls may not be my most-desired look, but they are another nice reminder of the good direction my life is headed.