The Sun Has Set On Another Weekend To End Breast Cancer
I am sitting on my deck reflecting on the past 72 hours. The sun is melting into the horizon in beautiful shades of pink and orange. How appropriate it is to watch this beautiful sunset after a very emotional and challenging hot weekend for all the walkers, volunteers and crew who participated in the Calgary Weekend to End Breast Cancer Walk.
The sun has set on another successful walk. The news sound bytes have emphasized that 2036 walkers and an approximate 700 volunteers have raised 5.6 million for the Alberta Breast Cancer cause. And buried deep within these articles around the news making manly pink tutus, the glittering pink costumes, the hot pink bikers and the brilliantly decorated bras is an allusion that these participants may have raised awareness in the community.
This was my third year of participation for this event. On its inaugural event in Calgary in 2005, I blindly signed up to walk the 60 kilometers just for the challenge. I followed a grueling regime of practice walks and amazingly raised more than the two thousand dollars for breast cancer.
I was prepared. Or at least I thought I was! No one prepared me for the emotion that surreptiously ran through the weekend. The survivors’ stories and their spirited participation were inconceivable to me. Throughout the walk, I followed participants who lovingly and with forethought had the pictures of their loved ones pinned to their back. Some were living legacies but most were not. I wanted to know more about these loved ones because up to this point, I had not personally known anyone who was diagnosed with breast cancer. However as a nurse, I knew many patients in the office who courageously fought their cancer battle with hope and optimism.
At those low points along the route where one had to dig deep to put one foot in front of the other, morale appeared from the least likely spots. Neighborhoods along the route bedecked their homes in simple pink ribbon and pink balloons and left their sprinklers on to refresh the walkers. I thanked them for their awareness in our cause. Others made huge signs that they held up for us to read. They read “Walkers Rule” and “You Make a Difference.” They seemed to be aware. The children of the impromptu pink lemonade stands may not have been aware, but I walked that they may never fear the words, Breast Cancer. There were too many signs that wrote their poignant words; “I lost my mom to breast cancer. Thank you.” They were all too aware.
I was being thanked and all I was doing was walking.
The kilometers melted together as I came to a sudden realization that this was bigger than me and my ability to walk 60 kilometers. It was about the toll that breast cancer takes on those diagnosed with it. It was about the loved ones left behind to mourn their loss. It was about those one in nine people yet to be diagnosed by this dreadful disease. It was about the powerful stories yet to be told. I was aware and it humbled me.
I finished the walk and never felt the same after it. The emotional closing brought forth the tears that came not only from knowing that one can achieve goals they set their sights on, but those goals can metamorphize into something bigger if one opens their eyes and hearts..
The past two years, I have worked crew in the medical tent. I can empathize as the walkers hobble up to the medical tent and wait patiently for one of the “Blister Buster Crew” (as we are affectionately known) to come to their aide. I blindly work on their feet as I urge them to tell me their stories. The survivors talk to me about their choices of optimism and hope. The daughters and granddaughters who lost their mothers and grandmothers tell me about their empty lives without them. The husbands shed tears through their stories sharing with me the love they had for their brave wives and their final moments in their battle against breast cancer. I met Chad from Ontario who was participating in his 18th Weekend since its inception in Canada in 2003, because as he tells me “he just wants to make a difference.” I wanted to know why they did this and they told me.
I found it somewhat poetic that as I poked their blisters on the soles of their feet and bandaged them with care and loving attention that it is definitely easier to look after the soles of the feet than their blistered souls that breast cancer has left them with.
The sun’s pink hues have left the sky just as the rich tapestries of the pink participants of the Weekend have gone home to rest. The orange glow remains in the night sky in the dying moments of the sunset. Orange is the color of passion. It is passion that will bring the walkers, crew and volunteers back next summer to do this all over again.
It is a burning passion to defeat breast cancer.
WKH
Monday, July 30, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
Ice Cream
Ice cream.
I love it. I love its smooth creamy texture. I love its cool sensation against my lips and inside my mouth. I love the gentle vanilla flavor that is neither too sweet nor too bland. I love the way it complements all flavors that accompany it.
My love for it started when I was 7 or 8 years old. We lived in a young neighborhood. There were children at almost every home. It stands to reason that an astute business person would set up an ice cream business in our neighborhood.
There was a truck which I believe was called The Softie Ice Cream truck. Like clock work this white cube truck with its pavlovian music idled its way up our neighborhood serving up its cones to the lucky few. My sister and I would run home from school (which happened to be across the street from our home) and divide and conquer our mother for the ten cents it cost for the cone. Although he came around every day we did not get treats everyday.
Mr. Softie stopped coming to the neighborhood. However my addiction to ice cream never stopped. We now had to work on dad to drive us to the local Dairy Queen. The hot summer days in Saskatchewan made this an easy task to accomplish. Some assortment of my siblings, mom, dad, me and our 50 pound white Samoyed dog would hop into the car and head for the closest DQ.
As much as I liked ice cream, Chief, our dog loved it more. Dad or mom would go up to the outdoor window and order each of us a cone. Chief would be hopping from paw to paw waiting for his cone. One of us would hold it for him. I can still see him lick the soft ice cream all the way down to the bottom of the cone. When the last drop of ice cream was gone, he would eat the cone. It caused a stir outside of our car as people watched amazed that the dog would get his own cone.
Even now ice cream holds me in its trance. I have been known to sureptiosly drive through McDonalds for their ice cream cone that I have enjoyed before ever arriving home to the family. This spring, the Dairy Queen began an advertisement campaign on TV for its newest treat, the waffle cone sundae. It was marketed just for me and it worked as I knew I had to try it at least once this summer. And I did.
A few weeks ago on a very hot and sultry Sunday afternoon, while driving around in our air conditioned car to cool down, we approached a Dairy Queen. Bill knows my love for ice cream and every once in a while will stop without announcing his attention. Give me ice cream and my heart is yours. Without the need to ask, he bought us the waffle ice cream sundaes. We drove to the shadiest tree and shamelessly left our car running while we attacked our ice cream treats. Folks, it was heaven. It was poetic. It was indescribable.
Later in the week while I was shopping with my sister, her daughter and granddaughter, I asked them if they had tried the waffle sundaes. They hadn’t. We were waiting for an elevator to take us to the carport. The only other person was this elderly white haired woman. She wore wonderfully bright pressed clothes. Her matching white purse was clutched next to her body. She was staring at the numbers waiting for her elevator. In the meantime, I started to describe the chocolate, caramel, strawberry waffle sundae.
The bowl is made of a light freshly baked waffle which has the thinnest layer of a glistening chocolate coating. In the bowl they carefully add the soft mound of cool creamy white ice cream. They slowly pour the sweet caramel and strawberry sauce filling in the space between the ice cream and the bowl. They pour the thick chocolate hard sauce over the ice cream and for the sheer cheekiness of it; they add three dollops of whipped cream.
I explained with great flare to my sister and niece that it was love at first taste. It was a little piece of heaven sitting there just begging to be eaten with purpose and enjoyment. It sent me to another plane of existence. After the first few spoonfuls, I told Bill not to talk to me until I was done and when I finished, I was all his for whatever he wanted.
I explained that as each spoonful was a little taste of ecstasy. I felt that if I could have I would have been that cartoon character called Precious Pup who when he was given his treat would hug himself and moan in happiness as he floated skyward. I was reliving the waffle sundae as I explained it to them.
In the mean time the elevator came but was going down when we wanted up. The elderly lady got on and then quickly came off. She realized almost too late that it was not the direction she needed. When she got off the elevator she came over to me. “Excuse me, but I was wondering where you got this wonderful dessert?”
I felt this faint smile cross my face and told her, the Dairy Queen.
I will never know if this sweet lady ever bought this wonderful ice cream treat. I will never know if she felt the same about it as I did. I only felt that I had just played out the classic scene in the movie “When Harry Meets Sally”, when the lady at the next table to Harry and Sally said to the waitress that she would like to have what Sally was having.
Summer is too short; go out and enjoy ice cream.
WKH
I love it. I love its smooth creamy texture. I love its cool sensation against my lips and inside my mouth. I love the gentle vanilla flavor that is neither too sweet nor too bland. I love the way it complements all flavors that accompany it.
My love for it started when I was 7 or 8 years old. We lived in a young neighborhood. There were children at almost every home. It stands to reason that an astute business person would set up an ice cream business in our neighborhood.
There was a truck which I believe was called The Softie Ice Cream truck. Like clock work this white cube truck with its pavlovian music idled its way up our neighborhood serving up its cones to the lucky few. My sister and I would run home from school (which happened to be across the street from our home) and divide and conquer our mother for the ten cents it cost for the cone. Although he came around every day we did not get treats everyday.
Mr. Softie stopped coming to the neighborhood. However my addiction to ice cream never stopped. We now had to work on dad to drive us to the local Dairy Queen. The hot summer days in Saskatchewan made this an easy task to accomplish. Some assortment of my siblings, mom, dad, me and our 50 pound white Samoyed dog would hop into the car and head for the closest DQ.
As much as I liked ice cream, Chief, our dog loved it more. Dad or mom would go up to the outdoor window and order each of us a cone. Chief would be hopping from paw to paw waiting for his cone. One of us would hold it for him. I can still see him lick the soft ice cream all the way down to the bottom of the cone. When the last drop of ice cream was gone, he would eat the cone. It caused a stir outside of our car as people watched amazed that the dog would get his own cone.
Even now ice cream holds me in its trance. I have been known to sureptiosly drive through McDonalds for their ice cream cone that I have enjoyed before ever arriving home to the family. This spring, the Dairy Queen began an advertisement campaign on TV for its newest treat, the waffle cone sundae. It was marketed just for me and it worked as I knew I had to try it at least once this summer. And I did.
A few weeks ago on a very hot and sultry Sunday afternoon, while driving around in our air conditioned car to cool down, we approached a Dairy Queen. Bill knows my love for ice cream and every once in a while will stop without announcing his attention. Give me ice cream and my heart is yours. Without the need to ask, he bought us the waffle ice cream sundaes. We drove to the shadiest tree and shamelessly left our car running while we attacked our ice cream treats. Folks, it was heaven. It was poetic. It was indescribable.
Later in the week while I was shopping with my sister, her daughter and granddaughter, I asked them if they had tried the waffle sundaes. They hadn’t. We were waiting for an elevator to take us to the carport. The only other person was this elderly white haired woman. She wore wonderfully bright pressed clothes. Her matching white purse was clutched next to her body. She was staring at the numbers waiting for her elevator. In the meantime, I started to describe the chocolate, caramel, strawberry waffle sundae.
The bowl is made of a light freshly baked waffle which has the thinnest layer of a glistening chocolate coating. In the bowl they carefully add the soft mound of cool creamy white ice cream. They slowly pour the sweet caramel and strawberry sauce filling in the space between the ice cream and the bowl. They pour the thick chocolate hard sauce over the ice cream and for the sheer cheekiness of it; they add three dollops of whipped cream.
I explained with great flare to my sister and niece that it was love at first taste. It was a little piece of heaven sitting there just begging to be eaten with purpose and enjoyment. It sent me to another plane of existence. After the first few spoonfuls, I told Bill not to talk to me until I was done and when I finished, I was all his for whatever he wanted.
I explained that as each spoonful was a little taste of ecstasy. I felt that if I could have I would have been that cartoon character called Precious Pup who when he was given his treat would hug himself and moan in happiness as he floated skyward. I was reliving the waffle sundae as I explained it to them.
In the mean time the elevator came but was going down when we wanted up. The elderly lady got on and then quickly came off. She realized almost too late that it was not the direction she needed. When she got off the elevator she came over to me. “Excuse me, but I was wondering where you got this wonderful dessert?”
I felt this faint smile cross my face and told her, the Dairy Queen.
I will never know if this sweet lady ever bought this wonderful ice cream treat. I will never know if she felt the same about it as I did. I only felt that I had just played out the classic scene in the movie “When Harry Meets Sally”, when the lady at the next table to Harry and Sally said to the waitress that she would like to have what Sally was having.
Summer is too short; go out and enjoy ice cream.
WKH
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
A Different Kind Of Parade.
Yee Haw
Or maybe it is Yahoo! I am never sure which one to use. That is not to say that I go around yelling the Calgary Stampede rallying cry very much; well maybe never. Folks it is Stampede and unlike most Calgarians, I have not found my “cowboy hat, plaid shirt, and denim” spirit.
The closest I come to this, is the Stampede parade. That is part of what living in my downtown condo calls a perk. Yes the parade marches down my street and turns south. If I miss it through the north window then I can catch it out my west window. It is an interesting viewpoint from the eleventh floor balcony. The horses and steers may look small, but they can still give off a real authentic smell of days long ago.
I was quite surprised when on the eve of the parade I saw people along the parade route chaining their lawn chairs to a tree claiming there front row shaded spots for the parade. I finally realized why people buy old lawn chairs at garage sales, so they can chain them to a tree downtown on the eve of the parade.
It was eleven pm. There was much activity on the sidewalks below our condo. I watched one couple as they looked for their spot on the parade route. First they sauntered up and down the street carrying their lawn chairs and inspecting every square inch of the available sidewalk. They found a tree across the street and set up the lawn chairs besides it. They sat down and I guess tried out the view. After a few moments I witnessed some kind of discussion and suddenly the woman got up and took her lawn chair across the street as the man just sat in his. He looked way too comfortable to move. She found another tree and set her chair up. I watched with amusement as the two of them stared at each other across the street in some kind of win or lose battle. He finally followed. This time they sat on either side of the tree; that poor tree. A few minutes passed while they sized up their view. Next thing I noticed was the woman taking her chair to the next tree over. Having lost that game once before, he followed without pause. Once again they sat in their lawn chairs on either side of the tree. They sat and they sat. I believe they visualized in their mind’s eye the parade as it passed by their prime spot. It must have passed inspection as the chain came out and the lawn chairs were tied to the tree.
This piece of real estate was there’s.
All along Tenth Street there were similar chairs tied together or chained to a tree. Some boldly labeled the chairs and others well it was just there’s. The land claim was a done deal simply by placing the lawn chair in situ. There was this little urchin inside of me that wanted to go down in the middle of the night and rearrange their chairs, but that would not have been neighbourly of me.
I watched the next morning as the people claimed there special spots and I wondered if there was this much order to claiming land when Alberta first came to be claimed. There were no fights, no finder’s keepers, and no hassles at all. It did not matter if they came much later than those who sat passively behind these empty chairs. I was looking for that gun fighting, rope twirling, steer wrestling attitude to show up. Alas, there was only an orderly, polite take over the land.
I must surmise then that Calgarians are not the country bumpkins that some folk may see us as. We are just another group of polite Canadians whose cowboys are not too tough to wear pink.
Happy Stampeding
WKH
Or maybe it is Yahoo! I am never sure which one to use. That is not to say that I go around yelling the Calgary Stampede rallying cry very much; well maybe never. Folks it is Stampede and unlike most Calgarians, I have not found my “cowboy hat, plaid shirt, and denim” spirit.
The closest I come to this, is the Stampede parade. That is part of what living in my downtown condo calls a perk. Yes the parade marches down my street and turns south. If I miss it through the north window then I can catch it out my west window. It is an interesting viewpoint from the eleventh floor balcony. The horses and steers may look small, but they can still give off a real authentic smell of days long ago.
I was quite surprised when on the eve of the parade I saw people along the parade route chaining their lawn chairs to a tree claiming there front row shaded spots for the parade. I finally realized why people buy old lawn chairs at garage sales, so they can chain them to a tree downtown on the eve of the parade.
It was eleven pm. There was much activity on the sidewalks below our condo. I watched one couple as they looked for their spot on the parade route. First they sauntered up and down the street carrying their lawn chairs and inspecting every square inch of the available sidewalk. They found a tree across the street and set up the lawn chairs besides it. They sat down and I guess tried out the view. After a few moments I witnessed some kind of discussion and suddenly the woman got up and took her lawn chair across the street as the man just sat in his. He looked way too comfortable to move. She found another tree and set her chair up. I watched with amusement as the two of them stared at each other across the street in some kind of win or lose battle. He finally followed. This time they sat on either side of the tree; that poor tree. A few minutes passed while they sized up their view. Next thing I noticed was the woman taking her chair to the next tree over. Having lost that game once before, he followed without pause. Once again they sat in their lawn chairs on either side of the tree. They sat and they sat. I believe they visualized in their mind’s eye the parade as it passed by their prime spot. It must have passed inspection as the chain came out and the lawn chairs were tied to the tree.
This piece of real estate was there’s.
All along Tenth Street there were similar chairs tied together or chained to a tree. Some boldly labeled the chairs and others well it was just there’s. The land claim was a done deal simply by placing the lawn chair in situ. There was this little urchin inside of me that wanted to go down in the middle of the night and rearrange their chairs, but that would not have been neighbourly of me.
I watched the next morning as the people claimed there special spots and I wondered if there was this much order to claiming land when Alberta first came to be claimed. There were no fights, no finder’s keepers, and no hassles at all. It did not matter if they came much later than those who sat passively behind these empty chairs. I was looking for that gun fighting, rope twirling, steer wrestling attitude to show up. Alas, there was only an orderly, polite take over the land.
I must surmise then that Calgarians are not the country bumpkins that some folk may see us as. We are just another group of polite Canadians whose cowboys are not too tough to wear pink.
Happy Stampeding
WKH
Saturday, July 7, 2007
London Pictures
Hey everyone, I finally posted some of our London pictures. Please enjoy.
Just link to:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/turtle_lady/
wkh
Just link to:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/turtle_lady/
wkh
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Today
It is summer.
The sun is bathing me in a gentle warmness. My feet are bare. I am listening to my favorite Jan Arden album on my ipod.
The 11th floor balcony allows me to see summer played out before me. A raft load of adventurous souls are drifting down the river allowing the river to take them away. I am watching the in line skaters. The new skaters are wobbling back and forth like some kind of “hokey pokey” dance. Friends are walking the paths of the Bow River hand in hand. Cyclists and joggers are vying for the front of the line.
The grass is very green. The trees are leafed out. The summer flowers are showing there astounding colors.
My laptop is on my lap. Life is good.
Today I am not worried about eating.
Today I am not worried about having shelter.
Today I am not worried about health.
Today I have been richly blessed and for that I am eternally grateful.
WKH
The sun is bathing me in a gentle warmness. My feet are bare. I am listening to my favorite Jan Arden album on my ipod.
The 11th floor balcony allows me to see summer played out before me. A raft load of adventurous souls are drifting down the river allowing the river to take them away. I am watching the in line skaters. The new skaters are wobbling back and forth like some kind of “hokey pokey” dance. Friends are walking the paths of the Bow River hand in hand. Cyclists and joggers are vying for the front of the line.
The grass is very green. The trees are leafed out. The summer flowers are showing there astounding colors.
My laptop is on my lap. Life is good.
Today I am not worried about eating.
Today I am not worried about having shelter.
Today I am not worried about health.
Today I have been richly blessed and for that I am eternally grateful.
WKH
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