I used to get so happy when I saw Steve Jobs.  He was given a new liver and is doing so well.  His new lease at life was going to be my dad’s new lease at life as well.  Once the transplant got rid of the cancer he could have another 20 years or so. A whole new chance. Steve was like..my hope…and not in a “man, I can’t wait to see what the next generation of ipad is like” kind-of-way. He really truly meant much more than that to me.

And then dad’s cancer spread and the new chance was taken away, and now seeing pictures of Steve smiling at iphones angers me in a way that I’m not proud of.  It’s not that I resent Steve Jobs, not that I am not happy that he is doing so well. Its just feels so unfair.

…not just like a night of fun, I have those, but something to look forward to or be excited about or just off-set the complete shittyness that is going on around me right now a teensy bit.

Arghh…

Last week a friend and co-worker of mine was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer.

She has been given only a few months.

Though that news is terrifying and devastating for anyone, what makes her story more heartbreaking than most, is that she is the single mom of a 13 year old.  One who lost her father to cancer just three years ago.

Resources are limited for her, and in our desperate attempt to do anything to help her, we created a website to raise funds for she and her daughter.  The last thing we want her worrying about right now is how to pay the rent, or the medical bills, or…well, anything for that matter.

Anything given will be matched by my employer, so we are hoping it adds up soon.

Every dollar will help. 

Thank you in advance for anything you are able to do, and, if possible, for passing this along

Friends of Cathy

I’m going to steer clear of getting too emotional on this Father’s Day. For the most part, it was pretty quiet anyway. My dad’s new chemo is leaving him not feeling that well, so we pretty much hung around the house, watched movies, swam and enjoyed a lazy Sunday.  For what it’s worth, it was actually pretty great.  

My dad is amazing.  And my hero. And one of my very best friends.  

I don’t know that many girls who can say that…so, regardless of our luck lately, I consider myself lucky.  

Every year I talk about how June 16th is the worst day of the year for me. 5 years ago I was dealing with something so hard don’t talk about it, 6 years ago dealing with a horrible moment at the end of a hard relationship.  Last year, even as I complained about the past, my dad was diagnosed with cancer on that wretched day.

So, this year I started out the week optimistic. I was going to make this a good week.  Regardless. I was bucking the past and starting fresh.

Except, I guess that’s not how it works.  But my June 16th came a day early. 

As I mentioned, I started the day with a pretty bad reaction to my antibiotic.  Head to toe hives and wanting to crawl out of my skin.  And I thought, “well this can’t be good.” 

But it got worse.

As the day wore on, we got devastating news.  A co-worker and friend, one of the sweetest women you could ever know, was diagnosed with a terminal illness.  She is in her 40’s and has a 13 year old daughter who will be orphaned.  To say we were all heartbroken is an understatement.  It was horrifying.

And so, I’m going to put a strong face on for tomorrow, but I’m going to be honest-I’m a little afraid.

Waking up to find I am having a sudden and new allergic reaction to my amoxicillin, which includes hives and every inch of my body itching.

Please, just shoot me.

I’ve decided that, even though the 2” stack of papers on my desk is telling me otherwise, this is going to be a good day.

I can feel it.

I can feel it for you, too.

Let’s do this thing!

Or, more realistically, because I enjoy my narcissism, I am giving Dailybooth a spin.

Its pictures of ME, ALL THE TIME.  I mean, it sounds terrif.  I’m still playing around to get the hang of it.  More work productivity…out the window.

I had one of the most fascinating afternoons I can remember today.  Not exciting-just precious.

I went to check on my dad, who started his chemo yesterday, and we ended up watching a  two-hour documentary about the hippies on The History Channel.  The documentary was fascinating enough, but the truly great parts were the stories my dad told.  Because he was there.  And not just “there” as in alive-I mean there…in the Bay Area. In Haight Ashbury, the music festivals, the marches. Everything that I love about that generation, everything I would have given anything to bear witness to…my parents were a part of it.

He told me of being at the Monterey Pop Festival, with Jimi, Janice and The Who.  Of showing up at 3:00 am after a late-night shift at Jack-in-the-Box to the Human Be-in… just in time to see Grace Slick walk out on stage and wake the crowd with a solo version of White Rabbit. He told me stories about the drugs they took, and the music the listened to, and the people they knew. 

Some of the stories I had heard before.  But some surprised even me.  Like the night that he met my uncle-now quiet and conservative-and they took some of my uncle’s mescaline and stayed up all night playing chess. Or how my mom was the perfect hippie wife, who cooked the food and rolled the joints and generally speaking just laughed off the whole thing.

This generation, which built off of my beloved Beats, was beautiful.  How they rebelled against a world I still don’t believe in, against a war I still don’t believe in, conformity and living an unhappy life, and with determination of non-violence set out to make a difference. These wayward kids that no one took seriously ended up changing the world after all.  And all of it is just incredible to me.  

“Yeah,” my dad said. “You’re definitely the product of just a couple of hippies.  I guess I’m sorry about that.”  

“Are you kidding me?” I said.  ”Nothing could make me more proud.” 

I wasn’t lying.