• The boys and I

  • A Little ‘Bout Me

    I’m 44, married and live in a sewerless small town on the central coast of California. I am an Inflammatory Breast Cancer survivor. My passions are reading, knowledge, shopping and photography – in varying order depending upon my mood. Though I’ve always wanted to be really good at something, I find that I’m just pretty good at most things. I live with my husband, Daddy-O, and our sons, Ben and Danny who are 10 and 5. Ben has ADHD and enough natural energy to power the Pacific Time Zone… and he’s not afraid to use it. Danny has Norries – a rare genetic disease causing him to be born blind. It’s a crazy, hectic life but I can’t complain any more than usual.
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Sweet slumber

There was the most adorable baby black bear. I was keeping him in our bathroom so he wouldn’t tear apart the cabin. He was tiny, about the size of a 2 month old golden retriever puppy. Pure, roly-poly, frolicking fun. B was there (for a short time, anyway, just to ogle to bear cub). Daddy-O was not in attendance. I don’t think he existed yet.

Mama C and I were in some strange dream melding of my childhood haunts and Low’s old stomping grounds. I found myself disenchanted with some significant other and (as there was a bear cub in my bathroom) making use of the neighboring cabin’s shower. For one dream-reason or another I was showering in a fairly open shower with a white t-shirt on (purely for dramatic effect, I’m sure) while talking with the neighbor guys who just happened to be – Steven Webber and Matthew Perry from Studio 60. They were brothers and quite sympathetic. I happened to glance down at myself while in the shower (when I opened the curtain and Steven Webber gaped at me) to see that my girls were gorgeous. The were highschool boobies complete with nipples. Oh, I haven’t had nipples in so long. I miss my nipples. I also miss that hungry look from the opposite sex.

Zap! Now we are slowly rafting down a creek, Mama C and I, talking of the old days (which we never shared so that was kind of weird). I whipped off my bikini top laying face down floating in the sun, soaking up the rays. Oh, I’d forgotten how lazy and g-o-o-d that feels. We’re talking of people from before and after this mystery point in time as if the whole concept of a timeline was nonexistant – as if all the people in my life co-existed in the same space and time. I came upon a deck and town, disembarked, topless and without self-consciousness. I dressed. I spoke to my old friends and current friends. I was physically whole. It was shocking to realize. So shocking that I woke up and saw that I had over slept.

It’s the first dream I’ve had in the 15 months since my first mastectomy about my breasts. Hard to believe. I’ve not had one dream about them. Not a bad dream. Not a good dream. None. Last night we pulled out some old pictures to look at with my brother in law. I’m sure that seeded the dream. But it was a nice sweet warm dream while it lasted.


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