Positively Phoebe

So many Clevelanders knew Brother Ed well.  To me, he was but an acquaintance.  An AWESOME one, but an acquaintance all the same.  That, however, does not change the ache in my heart knowing that Ed lost his battle with stupid fucking cancer today. He was a fighter, though.  One hell of a fighter.  His diagnosis came to him many years ago - and along with it came a grim prognosis, as far as the "how much time" question was concerned.  But Ed outlasted those projections fucking tenfold.  Because he was an amazing, positive and strong man.  Because he had a loving family, and a gajillion friends holding him up through it all. He left behind a beautiful wife and child.  And more friends than  most of us will ever know.  He left a hole in Cleveland.  A hole in many a heart. Goodbye, Brother Ed.  And good luck.

When I wrote the other day about that thing that was upsetting me, I actually woke up all amped to write this glowing happy post about my amazing and wonderful weekend - filled with positive, wonderful, spontaneous awesomeness.  Going to do that now.  (Unfortunately, it will likely include less detail as my short term memory still suffers from a fog that I cannot tell whether is post-chemo or menopause based.) Saturday. I texted my friend, Ruth, early to try to take care of some business and she ended up inviting me to go thrifting with her.  I LOVE thrifting, I had no real plans, obviously I said "HELL YES!"  It was an afternoon of scores including, but not limited to, a maybe-worn-three-times pair of $125 Dansko clogs for eight bucks, a majorly Mad Men-esque, beautiful vintage dress that I can ALMOST fit into (maybe another 5 pounds and I'm in it), for $3, and a pile of crazy silverware for an as yet un-revealed home improvement project.  While we were poking arou

...because something else really got under my skin today and I clearly need to vent about it or I won't be able to focus enough to do the things I need to do today. So... let's go back in time, shall we, to late last summer.   One of my best friends ' first child was born with some issues.  Lil Spencer spent many a day in the NICU.  While he was there, his terrified mother and my dear friend repeatedly made requests on facebook and the like that if people were so inclined to pray for her newborn son.  Or if not the praying type, to send positive thoughts, good juju, whatever was right for them to send.  I liked that.  I liked the way she did that.  "Please do what makes sense for you and within your beliefs to send some hope to my child." Now jump ahead a few months to when I was sick.  From day one, people were praying for me.  To a god (or gods) I don't believe in - not even in the slightest.  But those prayers made sense for them - and I truly believe t

That's right.  Fvck it.  That's, you know, Roman... or Latin or whatever... for "fuck".  In case you were wondering. So last week, I went down to Voodoo Monkey Tattoo to finally get my cancer tattoo!  The whole thing came about in an odd and convoluted way.  Which I am going to share with you now. So, in case you don't recall...  right after my diagnosis, my ex-step-mother and still very huge part of my life, Mary Pat, went to visit the Monastery of the Poor Clares on my behalf.  I am not Catholic, Christian, anything of the sort, but I do believe in the collective power of prayers, positive thinking, and living the best possible life you can when you want something bad to turn around.  So Mary Pat asked the Poor Clares to pray for me, which they said they would.  And then they gave her a Saint Peregrine medal to give to me.  I have, despite my lack of religion, always loved religious icons and whatnot.  I immediately put that medal on and I STILL wear him, to

Ryan is a pretty closed mouthed dude when it comes to expressing emotional type shit.  This whole cancer trip has given him the opportunity to be a little more vocal about his feelings and fears and stuff, but still, overall, he's pretty quiet. Today he posted something on facebook, though, that really made me smile.  Something so "him" that was right in front of my face this past week but I did not really grasp until he put it out there.  And it was... about a car. Backstory:  Before I got sick, we had decided that we really wanted to get me into an all wheel drive car before the winter came.  I am a nervous snow driver, and Ryan liked the piece of mind he felt he would have if I was in a car that could kick a blizzard in the ass.  We picked up an older BMW 325ix, and I really liked it.  We sold my Volvo wagon (still miss that guy...).  And almost immediately after, I got my diagnosis.  And then almost immediately after THAT, the timing belt went on the bimmer.  So s