An improvised life

Alder and I had a rockin’ dance party in the living room this afternoon. I looked and felt like a cross between the Tin Man and a shy sixth grader at her first dance [i] , but it felt great. We blasted CDs made by Brian and Nell and, when those ran out, we blasted top-40 on the radio. I got so sweaty I had to take a break on the balcony. When I got tired, I laid on the floor and danced with my legs in the air. Then I sat and accompanied Katy Perry on our new garage-sale drum.     I’m sure we looked ridiculous, Alder doing running flips onto the couch and showing off his “moves,” me needing my hips oiled, but my body and soul rejoiced. I thought of Deborah Cohan, whose video went viral after she and her surgical team danced in the operating room (OR) before she hopped on the table for her double mastectomy. I don’t know Deborah, but she’s my age and had surgery about the same time I did (and it turns out we have mutual friends). Several people sent me a link to the video of

I’ve been corresponding with a friend who, like me, experienced traumatic loss. When she returned to her church, she said, people gave her forlorn looks and asked, "How are you doing?" While everyone meant well, it was stressful. Finally, someone came up to her with a smile and said, “We’re so glad you’re here.” That felt better.       I can relate, I told her. Not long after John died, I was invited to a holiday party. I wanted to go – I wanted to be surrounded by warm laughter and smiles, to soak in the good energy. But I dreaded the pitying looks and meaningful “How are yous.”  Finally, I got a marker and an 8.5” by 11” piece and wrote, “I’m ok, thanks! Can we talk about you?” I taped the paper to my chest and went to the party.   It worked. I saw people catch my eye, begin to assume crestfallen demeanor, then take in the sign and – smile! I had an evening of laughter and escape, and didn’t have to talk about myself.   One of my mother’s key pieces of