It's been a tough week for the musical world of my childhood. Two larger than life figures left us in the last couple days, Eddie Money and Ric Ocasek. I sure enjoyed their tunes, from the time I discovered them in the late 70s. It was comforting to hear that people thought of them as kind, generous humans, and the stories that came out immediately after the news of their deaths were positive tributes rather than snotty "yeah, that guy," comments. My favorite memory of Ric Ocasek/ the Cars was the first night I heard Touch and Go. I'm pretty sure it was on one of those Friday night music shows on network television, and I was a little freaked out by it. I thought it sounded so punk, and at eleven or twelve years old, I wasn't quite emotionally ready for that particular genre. (It really wasn't, but that's neither here nor there.) That unease didn't last long. Within a year or two, I had fully embraced punk and new wave along with my rock and roll, and Touch and Go became one of my top songs of early teen years, partly because of that memory.
I've already benefitted from the work I did to sort and organize my pantry yesterday. When T invited us over for steaks and football, I was able to put together a side dish (or more accurately, a "hot dish," as his girlfriend from the upper Midwest calls it) entirely from things I already owned. I was craving broccoli, and I got it in my head I'd find a way to make broccoli rice casserole gluten free, without using a can of condensed soup. I looked for inspiration online, but when I got down to it, it was all me. Once it baked, it smelled like the best garlic bread ever. It was fantastic. I'll use this same version of "cream of soup" for green bean casserole this fall too.
My energy levels didn't last long next door. I was mostly enthused for the Chiefs game, but I had to leave at half time of the Falcons-Eagles night game. I'm doing well most of the time, but when my energy gives out, it just drops off a cliff, like it did tonight. I stumbled home, immediately put on jammies, and crawled into bed early. I start radiation early in the morning, and it's going to be on an intense, concentrated schedule. Making all the appointments will be challenging on its face, but the doctors and nurses promise that the real fatigue will come the week after. This is the last big treatment phase for a long time (hormone blocker pills and surgical reconstruction are yet to come), and I'm pleased that it's almost done. I've already switched my language from "cancer patient" to "cancer survivor," even though treatment hasn't concluded. Don't care. I can tell it's not in me anymore. Energy and hair and all that other stuff will eventually come back. I declare that the war is won.
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