Confession of a Bad, Bad Blogger Who Looks to the Russians for Salvation

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last post.

Surely I am a very bad blogger who does not deserve readers. But keep reading anyway. Perhaps you can lead me to redemption.

Know that the only reason I am back tonight is because -- wouldn't you know it -- I checked traffic on this site and MY RUSSIAN READERS ARE STILL HERE! Despite my absence this past two weeks, my loyal friends from the other side of the globe still checked in and, finding nothing new, at least perused previous posts. And for that, I am forever grateful. After all; who needs fickle fans with attention deficits? Bring on patient readers who understand the ebb and flow of blog posts.

Methinks my faraway friends best understand the tidal nature of my life right now. The challenges of supporting my husband with late-stage, inoperable cancer; gingerly guiding an only son as he experiences his first year at college; managing my own auto-immune disease, which strikes unpredictably and without mercy. All lifelines are welcome, including the attention of faraway readers with whom my words seem to resonate. Thankfully, the human experience transcends geography.

Catching my breath between waves is somewhat easier these days. The previous shock after learning of my husband's condition has been tempered by a routine of doctors appointments and maintaining daily logs of chemo side effects, vital signs, and changes in bodily functions. It is a labor of love.

My hope is to maintain an interesting voice while honoring my family's very personal journey. Prior to the cancer monster, my voice used to prattle on about all sorts of topics that resonated with readers and reflected shared experiences. That voice is not lost, but it is having a hard time surfacing these days.

Hang in there, readers. I am still here. And I need for your to be here as well. Stated simply, I need you.

Please leave a comment. What draws you to this blog? What can I write for you?

Blessings, Dee

The Simple Art of Conversation

I'm in an ill mood and that yields grumpy writing. Here is one of many things on my mind:

Today's writers are required to be bad ass bloggers, meaning that they only need to have a modicum of writing skills. In our postmodern word, literary competency has become less important than the ability to talk techie in one's sleep. I estimate that the average blogger spends 10% time writing and 90% time designing, tweeting, pinning, etc., ad nauseum. 

Sort of like musicians. Once MTV pushed the broadcast button and aired Video Killed the Radio Star, singing took a back seat to visual appeal. It's always about image and occasionally about substance. 

I doubt I will ever end up on Google's list of hot trends or be offered a blog spot by Huffington Post. I lack edginess and anger. At 54, I'm simply not sexy and sell-able. Fortunately, my ego is well-defined and I can handle this lack of celebrity. And, I do have a modest following of readers in RUSSIA! This continues to astound and humble me. 

Keep reading my blog posts if you want. I may not be edgy, but I am always available for the simple art of conversation. 

Life and Death in Paris

I found a jump drive with photos from a 2008 afternoon spent at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris with my young friend, Allison. My little camera tried, but could not capture the hues and history of this remarkable place. Perhaps it was the photographer's fault. Through the following collage of photos and quotes, I share with you some poignant images from a most memorable afternoon. 

"It may have been in pieces, but I gave you the best of me."

JIM MORRISON

"Simplicity is the highest goal,

achievable when you have overcome all difficulties" 

FREDERIC CHOPIN

Motherless Blogger Kept Afloat by Russians

I'm rather waterlogged. After all, my sweet husband was hospitalized three times for a total of fifteen days in January. I tried hard to keep up with the blog, but my Wonder Woman skills assessed my life, got overwhelmed by the heavy tides, and made a quick exit.

At least the utility bills got paid on time and that is quite a feat these days, given the frenzy of - well - cardiogenic shock, life-threatening potassium levels, and bouts with little stuff like neuropathy.

I did manage to steal a few minutes and check this blog site tonight. What a joy to find that my Russian readers continued to check in, despite several days of silence on my end. I'm serious, folks. The fact that people on the other side of the globe visit my meager site when I am unable to provide content, is about the most uplifting thing I've felt in weeks. How very humbling. 

Tomorrow is my dear mother's birthday. She passed in 2008, at the age of 86, and my heart still skips more than one beat when I think of her. She absolutely sparkled. Indeed, her glow intimidated most people, particularly during those decades when the shine of a woman was supposed to be a reflection of a man. Anything outside of that norm signaled an aberrance that unsettled both those who mattered to my mother, and those who did not. 

Every day, I feel the influence of my mother in my life. Don't we all? Most of what I learned from her was amazing, but I confess that life as the daughter of a woman with an independent yet bullied spirit was not always easy. 

I'm quite certain that my mother is with me now as I do my best to help my husband battle the cancer monster. My own Wonder Woman skills may have fled, but my mother is here - in sparkling armor - making sure I stay afloat.