The Obstacle Course Adventure

 Life is...

...navigating the obstacle course.

Hi Friends!  We know we're just dating casually and that we've all agreed to see other people and all.  So maybe it's too soon for another post, but we miss you! We've just got to share the adventure we're living now. 

This adventure has flashbacks and a subplot, so buckle up!

Flashback to Fall 2020, the Epiphany of the Cabin Bedroom Design Project 

 

Immediately after Darrell's GBM diagnosis, we hit the road.  For those early years we wanted to be anywhere but home, it seems.  A certain sense of freedom and distraction came with our travels.  We had great adventures and learned lots about not sweating life's small stuff.  We were happy to lay our heads down at night in faraway places.

 

Our attitude shifted some just recently.  Despite the fact that we bought our mountain cabin in 2008, we had limited our changes to infrastructural updates and upkeep.  

 

That all changed last fall when we had the startling insight that we might continue to lay our heads down together each night in the big bedroom.  So we started rearranging the room to Darrell's taste, ushering in the  Cabin Bedroom Design Project of fall 2020.  Buying a new bed is pretty much the direct opposite of wanderlust, yes?

 

Flashback to Winter 2021, the Text Conversation between Sisters

Andi:  This five-year cancerversary is hitting me hard. It's been five wonderful but long years of uncertainty and caring for each other through cancer.

Meridyth:  It must be exhausting.  Does it feel like, if you let your guard down for a second, the whole house of cards will come tumbling down?

Andi:  It feels more like the ground keeps shifting under my feet.

Meridyth:  Ummm.  Because it is?

 

Modern Day:  The "Help!  We're Trapped in Our Bedroom!" Adventure

Credit goes to Zachary for suggesting this post and its title.

You know how we said we have made few design changes to the cabin, post diagnosis?  We've made even fewer to our house. We've kept it clean (enough) and watered.  And we made sure to lock the door on our way out of town.

 

A month ago, we looked around and saw how much upkeep we'd been neglecting in favor of travels. We suddenly and seriously considered the possibility that we'd both be around in the near future. Maybe we should stop ignoring the tired paint.  (Just to reemphasize how much our perspective shifted, up until now, the post-diagnosis idea of painting the walls felt similar to rearranging the deck chairs on a ship in danger of sinking.)  

 

We committed to spending our travel budget on refinishing our hardwood floors, repainting the interior, and replacing the interior doors.

 

A good guy named Jesus agreed to do the floors and lined up the paint and door guy.  Then Darrell and I carried the contents of the entire house...out of the house. By ourselves.  By choice.  We filled up the garage and then the van.  

 

We went away for a week, celebrating some more, while Jesus did the floors.  Then we came back and started living in three sawdust-covered rooms.  Of course three rooms are plenty, but it's disconcerting to search for one's pants in the garage. And I can't find my sweatshirts.

Our lives have become a shifting obstacle course.  Above you see Darrell crawling under the living room curtain rod, currently residing in the family room, to make it to his spot on the couch.  For days the family room has been taped off; we get to it by entering its exterior door by means of the backyard.  

As we say, the course shifts.  This shot is in our bedroom, which we had just entered to shower before an array change.

When we walked in, there was no plastic.  Suddenly we were sealed in.  Help! We're trapped in our bedroom!

On the other side of the plastic was Ruben with his paint sprayer.  Here he is in the dining room today.

(By the way, behind him is the sealed off family room.)  By the time we turned the water off in the shower, the bedroom plastic was gone.  Fortunately.  And today Ruben took down the plastic sealing off the family room.  Tonight we'll enter the family room by walking through the dining room.  Where's the challenge in that?

Subplot:  The Pirate Stitches

Our Obstacle Course Adventure was heightened by the fact that--early in the adventure--I had some skin cancer surgery.  This is a crowd with many who love stitches, so here you go, the pirate stitches:

Pirate stitches are no big deal EXCEPT that to recover from them, I was forbidden from any activity that would stress the stitches.  Basically, I could do nothing that would result in escape from the Obstacle Course.  No gardening, no laundry, no working out, no walking at the park.  No searching for sweatshirts in the garage.  Nothing.  For a week.

So "making the best of things" got harder.  Darrell did a truly commendable job of keeping me distracted for seven days.  "Hey! Let's watch a T.V. show!"  "Hey!  You should take another art class!" "Hey!  Sparkly stuff!"  Gotta love him.

It's always easiest to talk about the obstacles when we're almost past them.  The floors look great, and I've adjusted to the gray paint (yes, I picked it, but that doesn't mean I liked it).

Some adventures have a moral.  The moral for the Obstacle Course Adventure seems to parallel what we've learned from living through the five-year cancerversary:  

The ground is, literally, shifting.  We need to expect it to keep moving.

So:  We're keeping our knees soft.  And when we hit the ground, we'll keep rolling.

Thanks for seeing this story through, Team D!  Bend your knees!

Today's Blooms

Welcome back, Chinese ground orchids!