Four Years Ago

Yesterday Facebook reminded me it was the anniversary of my last chemotherapy for breast cancer. It's been four years. I still remember the metallic taste of the heparan that was injected to clean out my port. That was the first taste in my mouth and remained along with fuzzy cotton for the next couple of weeks. Actually, if I remember correctly (and I can't be trusted on that these days), I think by this time the fuzzy cotton mouth never left.  I do remember wondering what it will be like to not have a three week cycle, to finally allow time for  my body to fully rebound against the attacks of chemo.  All I had to do was endure one more massive beating. My body was weak, my red blood cell count was pitiful, and I was out of breath, achy and tired all the time.

I would continue to go back weekly for infusions of Herceptin, the miracle drug which helped defeated the aggressiveness of my Her2 positive breast cancer. Then starting in October, I would go back once every three weeks instead of weekly until a year was out. Fortunately my main side effects from this drug were a running nose and insomnia, both easily tolerated.

I remember this day in 2012, hopeful that the chemo did its job, but so tired to think of anything but lasting until bedtime. The kids were all still homeschooling and busy with soccer, church and other activities.  Friends graciously transported them to places because all I could do was sleep. The nausea hadn't set in yet, and the steroids only gave me a bump of energy. That weekend I would miss soccer games and church. Besides not being able to eat or barely drink, I would need to swallow a gigantic potassium pill because now those levels were also low. Walt would bring me back to the clinic for fluids on Monday while friends transported my kids to their co-op classes. We did the best we could. We survived, barely.

It felt like that week would never end, perhaps because it was my last time and I was finished. Done. No more. Finito.  And I couldn't wait to start feeling better.

Once the nausea subsided in about a week, I still felt run down. I tried to eat red meat and spinach and kale to try to boost my iron and combat the anemia. My doctor said it would just take time. I couldn't go on walks during this time, out of breath just walking up the stairs to my bedroom. Even after a few days when I ordinarily would start feeling stronger, I was so weak. I wanted to start walking again, but it needed to be on a flat surface. Hills destroyed me. The track at the high school wouldn't work because of the stairs leading down to it. Everything had to be considered. If I went this far, would I be able to make it back?

Eventually, I caught my breath again. The metally taste and nausea subsided. My stomach was still sensitive so I had to continue to cook my vegetables and avoid anything hard to digest. In a few weeks, I would meet with Dr. Hunter, the radiation oncologist, and learn about radiation. I remember how wonderful it felt three weeks after my last chemo to be going in for just Herceptin. I would continue to improve, not crash again.

I remember back then how going to church, after missing so many Sundays, was magical. Every song, every word, every embrace by friends meant so much. Sitting at the boys' soccer games, soaking up every moment. Looking in the mirror, wondering, will my hair grow back?

Becca singing in church one Sunday during this time--so grateful I could be there

Watching Ben's soccer games

And Nathan's... so thankful to be able to participate in life again

Still wearing my hat and scarf

I am also sensitive, then and now, of those cancer patients whose treatment do not have an end. These are metastatic cancer patients, where the cancer has spread from the initial site. Some people were diagnosed that way from the beginning, and others had a second diagnosis after finishing their first rounds of chemo treatment. When the cancer has spread to other places, mostly the bones, liver or brain for breast cancer patients, you are considered stage 4. There are no further stages. Cancer can be conniving, too, jumping stages with no rhyme or reason. Just because you start at stage 1 or 2, doesn't mean you have a couple of stages to go. This also means that unless the cancer miraculously goes into remission and becomes dormant, the stage 4 cancer patient will be on chemo for the rest of his or her life, either until the drugs stop working or they can't be tolerated anymore.

One other thing to know, just because someone has no breasts, it doesn't mean the cancer won't return or spread. Even the most skilled surgeon cannot remove all breast tissue in a mastectomy. Even after surgery and chemo, cancer cells can lay dormant in someone's body, sometimes for years, and suddenly spring to life.

When I considered between lumpectomy and mastectomy, I elected to take a conservative approach. My surgeon stated that the overall survival between the two is the same. Lumpectomy would require radiation and had a slightly higher recurrence rate than mastectomy. The rate of metastasis was the same. So, we prayed through the decision and felt the less aggressive approach was right for us. The recovery time from the surgery was shorter so we could attack any rogue cancer cells sooner with chemotherapy.

Sometimes this decision between mastectomy and lumpectomy is taken away from the woman because the tumor is too large or there are multiple small ones. Sometimes it's not the invasive tumor that is the concern but DCIS, a type of cancer that is still contained in the ducts and considered stage 0. When this area is extensive, the doctor will often recommend removing the breast.

Each woman will look at the facts, consider whether she wants radiation or not, consider the stress of continued screenings and fear and decide to remove the cancerous breast and sometimes even the healthy one. Each woman will decide what is right for her. I don't regret having a lumpectomy, even though radiation did cause problems in my shoulder. My bi-annual screenings have gradually become less scary. It was the right decision for me.

I also know several women who choose a mastectomy and that was the right decision for each of them. The last thing any woman needs is to be questioned about her very difficult, emotional decision made at markedly one of the most stressful, fearful, emotional times of her life.

As I look at my day today, one spent at the computer writing, anticipating a walk later and then watching Ben at his tennis match, I can't help but feel an overwhelmingly emotion of gratefulness. Four years ago, being bald and weak, seems like a lifetime ago. I'm thankful that God had me walk that journey because of the lessons I learned, but I so appreciate today. Right now. This moment of health and peace. Today, I'm rejoicing in the Lord's mercy.

"It is good to give thanks to the Lord, and to sing praises to Your name... to declare Your lovingkindness in the morning, and Your faithfulness every night." —Psalm 92:1-2

Interrupted From My Plans

Last week I stayed at a beautiful, five-star hotel in the heart of Oregon wine country, enjoying a leisurely free couple of days while Walt was in long planning meetings.This is my second time on this annual retreat, every year a new place.

I remember how hard I avoided it the first few years I was invited. I mean, if my avoiding this getaway was an athletic competition, I would have won a medal. My heart was firmly planted at home. I homeschooled. I needed to help the kids. Who's going to drive them to activities? Feed them? Wash their clothes? Get them up in the morning and make sure they finish their homework?

Actually, we have friends who were more than willing to help out with all of this.

I have nothing in common with the other wives.

Ouch. Finally, the truth. When I pushed away all my other reasons for my reluctance, I uncovered the real one. I felt unworthy. Who was I to go to a fancy hotel and interact with people much more sophisticated than I am? Who was I to say I was anything but a stay-at-home homeschooling mom?

Two years ago, after lining up places for my kids to go and rides to all their activities, I was on the verge of actually attending the conference. Then Ben started feeling sick. I can't remember exactly, but perhaps a sore throat. What if it gets worse? I couldn't let him infect my friends' kids who had graciously offered to have him stay with them. I played the mom card and jumped at the chance to cancel my plans.

What I remember most from that time was Ben's cold was pretty minor and talking with Walt during his long days at a conference without my support. I realized I let fear guide me. It wasn't a good feeling.

Last year, Walt urged me to go. It would help him. I should get to know the other wives. I knew I let him down the year before. So, I bit the bullet....and had an absolutely marvelous time.

Mostly, I discovered that I had more in common with the other wives than I thought. Peel away the fancy haircuts and designer clothes (which only a few actually wore--most of the others enjoyed their jeans and yoga pants as much as I did), they were wives, mothers, some with interesting careers and others who were tending their home and families, like me. Like me. I found I used that phrase much more often than I expected.

So this year, I eagerly packed a large tote bag full of books, pens and podcasts, planning on whiling away long, leisurely days by myself before joining everyone for the evening dinners.

God had other plans.

When we arrived at the hotel, our room was not ready. Walt needed to head into a meeting at noon, and I had planned on going for a walk before my massage appointment in a few hours. (Okay, even writing this makes me feel spoiled and indulgent. Last year I opted out of the chance to schedule a massage or even a pedicure because it wasn't me. Too fancy. Too girly. Too....much. This year, I bravely took the plunge and scheduled a massage to see if it would help with my achy joints. More on that later.)

So instead of slipping away to my room to change and explore the grounds by myself, I took my tote bag out to the patio and sipped on water, expecting a phone call any minute that my room would be ready.

One of the other wives, Gretchen, spotted me and I invited her to join me. She had a glass a wine and had ordered a light lunch. Because of my upcoming massage, I politely declined her offer to join her in eating, but nonetheless we shared a delightful conversation about our kids. I met Gretchen for the first time last year and immediately connected with her. She loves being a mom--so do I. Her last one just left for college--that'll be me in about four years. She now has time to travel with her husband and decide how she wants to spend her time. She is someone I easily admire and learn from. It was a nice way to spend my interrupted afternoon.

Soon, I broke away for my appointment, carrying my heavy tote bag, the books still unopened. After filling out paperwork, I was led to a locker which held a robe and slippers, then to a lounge area to wait for my therapist. Even though this was way out of my normal life, I certainly enjoyed it. I think I I imitated someone who knew what she was doing sorta well.

The inspiration to book this massage, to push myself out of my comfort zone so to speak, began last spring. I was sharing an update of my cancer story at our women's retreat and mentioned the aches and pains from taking Aromasin (the medicine which prevents estrogen in my body). One of my friends from church, a fellow breast cancer survivor, suggested I try massage since she found it to be surprisingly helpful for her aching joints. I took that advice in hand, and promptly tucked it away to do something with it some day.

Well, when I discovered we were staying at a spa which offered therapeutic massage options, and my massage would be paid for by the company, I couldn't not act on it. Even though, I was nervous calling to make the appointment. I was nervous walking down the steps to the spa. I was nervous sitting in a luxurious robe, drinking lavender-infused water and trying to act like I was supposed to be there. On the outside, I think I faked it pretty well. As I looked around, I wondered if it was only me or if everyone else belonged there.

The therapist put me at ease immediately. I could feel the muscles in my shoulder and hips loosen and lengthen. She advised I might be stiff the next day as my body releases the toxins. Instead, for the first time in too long I could do pushups without pain. When I moved after sitting for awhile, I felt no aches. My morning walk to the bathroom did not resemble a 90-year-old's shuffle. It was pure bliss. The aches have slowly returned, but the results of the message might be enough for me to find a therapist at home.

If I can find the time. And the money. (Although, I plan to talk with my doctor to see if I can get a prescription for massage...) Anyway, I'll keep you posted.

The next day was my free morning and afternoon of no plans except to read and walk and maybe even nap. After the heavy dinner the night before, I didn't feel like starting the day with a big breakfast, but I did want a cup of the freshly brewed, locally roasted coffee offered in the lobby. At the coffee pot, I smiled hi to one of the wives, one who I have seen around at various events through the years, usually a few drinks ahead of everyone else. Clearly, she was not someone I had much in common with.

As I wandered out to the same patio I sat at the day before with my coffee and book, she followed me. With a smile, she said, "I hope you don't think I'm stalking you."

I smiled back and invited her to join me. With my hair tucked into a baseball cap and wearing my favorite stretchy pants, I wasn't planning on staying long. Besides, she also had a paperback in hand.

We started talking.

And talking.

And talking.

This "party girl" and I had a lot more in common than either of us would have imagined. She loves being a mom. Her mom went through both ovarian and breast cancers. She fears the same future.

We talked about hopes. And dreams. And frustrations. We shared a little about what we believed in God. She described what she loves about being home with the kids and what she hates. I understood both.

We went to refill our coffee cups and discovered the coffee was gone. It was approaching 11 already. Both of us, now starving, sat down to eat lunch.

Three hours had passed. My book remained unopened. My plans of a quiet morning interrupted.

It was a case of an introvert (me) meeting an extrovert (her). It was meaningful and rich.  Just as God planned it.

I said goodbye and headed back to my room. I spent a few quiet minutes reading before I decided to get in a walk first. After some exercise and a bit of exploring, I would feel better about spending the rest of the afternoon reading and maybe napping.

My earphones connected to a podcast, I wandered into the lobby to find a handful of the wives gathered there. "We are heading out for a five-mile walk," Kelly, the president's wife, offered. "Want to join us?"

Of course I would. A five mile walk was more than I knew I would do on my own. Plus, how fun would it be to find out more about these women as we walked, no fancy shoes or jewelry to get in the way of real conversation. In fact, some were not even wearing makeup.

We headed out, lost our way, turned around, headed back. We still weren't sure where we were supposed to be, but it sure was fun. Two of the women dropped out when they spotted the huge hill in front of us, but some of us continued on. We spotted alpacas. From the top of another hill, we enjoyed vistas of orchards and vineyards. We tramped into the grassy ditch as cars passed us on the narrow road. Eventually, several hours later, we managed to find our way back to the inn.

What was supposed to be a five-mile walk probably turned into six or seven. It was hard to tell because I was hearing the stories of interesting women as I breathed in the fresh, fall air.

Our final push was up these stairs leading to a container filled with ice-cold water. Then we said our goodbyes as we headed to our rooms for showers and the remaining quiet minutes before we would gather for dinner that night.

Yes, the day was not as I planned but more than I hoped. Most of my books remained unopened during the days I stayed here, but my soul was filled with rich connections. I realized that by asking questions and listening, I found similarities and common ground to begin a friendship with people I would have never thought possible.

Mostly, I discovered that when God interrupts my plans, it's for a purpose. I might even learn that I was indeed worthy of being there, not because of what I did, but who I was. I was enough. I am enough. And so were the people I met. And so are you.

Things I Learned This Summer

Nathan and Ben on Lake Crescent

In August, our school has a couple of start up days where I have the privilege of writing big checks to pay for ASB cards and yearbooks, and the kids get their class schedules. It's been the beginning of the end of summer for our family the past three years. We mourn the end of summer at our house. Ben, while on the cusp of starting high school for the first time and wanting the summer to be longer, aptly pointed out, "It seems like time is speeding up. Each minute is like a half of minute."

I heartily agree with him on how fast the summer seemed to whiz by.  Now that the weather is inviting cozy blankets and sweaters, and the kids have started back to school, it sure does feel like summer has left the building. Before it leaves us entirely in its wake, I wanted to reflect on five things I learned this summer.

1. God has our backs. Sometimes He may choose not to answer our prayers the way we want, but I know He always has our best.  When I question His actions or inactions, I can trust His heart. I relearned this again this summer.

Despite the blurriness in this picture, we were
 having fun

We were vacationing in Florida. My oldest in particular was not happy being away from her friends. Walt and I were determined to make this trip, which could be her last summer with us, as memorable and fun as possible. One afternoon we rented kayaks and paddleboards and set out for adventure on the Guana Preserve in Jacksonville. We were having an absolutely marvelous time, the sun not too bright, fish occasionally surprising us with leaps out of the water, the sounds of oars splashing and kids laughing. Suddenly, an errant oar sent two cell phones in the water. The water was only about thigh high, but it was murky. Despite fervent prayers, Walt's best attempts at recovering the phones were defeated. I couldn't understand why God wouldn't answer this simple prayer and increase the faith of my kids who doubt that He cares for things like this. One of the phones was my daughter's, and being so far away from friends, it was a lifeline.

Walt responded brilliantly, reminding the kids that we lost something we could replace. Other than a few pictures not backed up and a phone case from Barcelona given by a friend (hard to lose, of course, but not devastating), our situation was remedied by a quick trip to the AT&T store and a few dollars.

Waiting for our ride back (the pre-kayaking pictures are in the water)

Enjoying the sun nonetheless

Later in the trip, as I drove  the kids south to Orlando where our flight was departing the next day, we saw clear evidence of God's work in our lives.

I was entering the freeway and a car came from nowhere, sped up along my left side, then dangerously veered into my lane, barely missing my front bumper. The kids and I watched in shock as the car recklessly entered the freeway, crossed four lanes of traffic and bounced off the guardrail. Time seemed to slow down as prayers were sent and cars braked and swerved to avoid a collision. The car, its hubcap bouncing down the road, continued its precipitous maneuvers. I slowed, as did most of the other cars on the freeway, allowing as much distance as possible. Becca called 911 to report the reckless behaviour, and all I could do, blinking away tears, was praise God for saving us, for saving the others on the road.

As I reflected on what just happened, I'm convinced that one of God's angels deflected the car from my bumper, and kept the car from causing a major accident on the fast-moving freeway. God was there. His purpose for us that day was not only be spared an accident but catch a glimpse of Him.

2. Sometimes we parents take too much credit when our kids are successful and too much blame when they make poor choices.

Family picture at our friends' summer wedding

 I've been known to puff with pride when I witness how well my kid performed on a test or played a sport or helped out that person. I love hearing comments from teachers and counselors at schools about how much they like my kids. Parenting has been the most amazing, emotional experience I could have ever wished for. However, as my kids enter their last years of high school, I realize that they will make choices I wouldn't prefer. They will stumble. I have one who is pushing, challenging, looking for things outside of what we have taught. We pray. We talk. We love. We establish boundaries, and when tested, pull them closer. We make mistakes. We start over. We pray again, often, constantly.

I know some parents might think we should be more involved with our kids, to limit their choices, to forbid them to see a certain friend or group of friends. Others may think we are too involved, too controlling, too in their business. The beauty of parenting is it is not a competitive sport. We all do our best, we love our kids like crazy, and my winning doesn't mean your losing. And vice versa.

Frankly, I long for the days when a timeout would stop a tantrum. I miss the days when I knew all their friends and their friends' parents and where they were every minute. Now as my kids spread their wings, they choose friends over hanging with  mom. I know it's normal. I want them to spread their wings. It doesn't mean I'll always enjoy it or stop fervently praying for their safety, their wisdom, their friends.

Ultimately, good or bad, right or wrong, successful in the world's eyes or successful in God's, it'll be their choice. Their actions. Their overcoming or giving up. Walt and I will always be their number one fan, be their greatest prayer warrior, but we need to give over the reins of their life to them. I pray they turn those reins over to God. I pray they recognize how much God loves them. That His plan is better.  That a life outside of God's will is not as amazing as it may seem. But, ultimately, it's their choice. Watching on the sidelines is not easy, but then I remember the power of prayer and return to my main job on my knees.

3. I love summer. This is actually not a new lesson, but I just needed to get this out. I will never be one of those moms who celebrate having their kids go back to school. I enjoy lazy mornings where the sun or the birds wake me, not my blaring alarm. I enjoy leisurely days choosing to pick up a book because the laundry/cleaning/bills or whatever can wait because my schedule isn't jam packed with things. I love the longer days, where an after dinner walk is bathed in lots of sunshine.

I love time with  my kids. Even when they prefer to be with friends, or prefer to be in their rooms, or prefer their independence. I enjoy my kids. Laughing at the dinner table. Standing in lines at Universal Studios in Orlando, trying to squeeze in as many rides as possible before heading to the airport. Going to church together. Celebrating birthdays. BBQing in the backyard. Roasting marshmallows or chatting around the fire. Even shopping (which for this non-shopper just means a reason to hang out with one of my kids.)

I love spontaneous conversations about nothing and everything. I love the people my kids are becoming.

I miss the simple moments that are swallowed up by the busyness of fall. You will never convince me that more quiet moments to write or to get "things done" while the kids are at school is better than hanging with my kids. I'm just saying.

4. I've learned it pays to be fearless, to risk, to push myself away from my comfort zone.  I wish I could say I operate under this policy all the time, but quite frankly, I'm a coward when it comes to stepping out of my little bubble I've created. Yet, isn't it true that fear can make our world extremely small?

On this recent trip to Florida, Walt had to leave a day early for a business meeting. I was left with the responsibility to drive the 2 1/2 hours south to Orlando with the kids. Now, I've flown with the kids when they were little, so of course flying with teenagers is a breeze. All I had to do is rent a car in Jacksonville, plan out the distance, allow for ample room for getting lost or traffic, and get on a plane. I can do this.

Then Becca asked us about going to Universal Studios while we were on this trip. We were there a week, after all, surely we could fit it in. The logistics of driving over five hours round trip and a full day at the park wasn't happening. Too much. Too far away.

Then Walt asked me innocently, "What about going to Orlando a day early and go to the park prior to flying out?" Our flight was scheduled for seven. Universal Studios was minutes away from the airport. Our kids would be easy travelers. It could work. In his eyes, it seemed simple enough.

Then fear set in. I would need to do the planning. The driving. The scheduling. All on me. Yes, the kids would be great helps, but right now they were lightheartedly swimming in the pool or watching Netflix while I made the decisions.

Then I remembered, this could be Becca's last trip to Florida, her last big trip with our family. This could be a great family memory, something to look forward to before the long plane ride home, a reason to be glad we were flying out of Orlando and not the closer Jacksonville airport.

So I prayed and felt immediate peace. I double checked with God, "You will be with me, right?" God's word promises, "Surely, I will be with you always." (Matt 28:20). This is not a conditional promise, if I do this, then God will do that. No, this is a promise. Period. This is not something I need to doubt, to even pray for, but sometimes, it doesn't hurt to make sure. Sometimes it just feels better to know that I won't need to do this on my own.

I searched for a hotel nearby Universal, found an excellent deal and booked it. Then I talked with the kids to get their feedback on which of the two parks to explore, since we had just one day, and not a full one at that. Quick texts to their friends brought upon a consensus. We chose Islands of Adventure.

Then a bit more investigating found a place to stay where we could get into the park an hour early. It would cost a bit more. Again, further discussions brought the consensus that we would regret it if we didn't. Which ended up being true. So, fortunately I was able to cancel the first reservation and rebook us into a new place.

Then more research on tickets and directions and logistics. I spent a lot of energy thinking and debating and wondering. This is where Walt would just head down and figure it out on the fly. Nope, I needed to think through as much as possible, too much, in fact.

Then we had that scary almost accident as we drove down, got lost for a bit as the kids' Iphone app didn't update the directions fast enough, pulled into the wrong place, navigated around construction and rainstorms, checked in, and finally made it to our room, exhausted.


All through this, I kept reminding myself that God was with us. That it was evident He was caring for us. That fully replacing my fear with trust smoothed out my emotions and gave me energy for the important things. Although Nathan still believed I was freaking out a bit when all I was doing is talking through my decisions and praying.  Is it only me who does this? Walt advised him on the differences between how women process challenges and the silence men usually exhibit. Or at least my men.

All in all, it was well worth the risk to experience the thrill of one last amazing family memory. I learned that when I step out to the cliff, God securely has a grip on me.

Our first glimpse of Islands of Adventure

Wondering why the Green Eggs and Ham restaurant is closed

Soaking wet and in line for King Kong.
Amazingly fun adventure with the kids

We sang a song in church that reminded me of this, titled You Make Me Brave by Bethel Music. Here are the lyrics that spoke to me:

So I will let you draw me out beyond the shore

Into your grace

Into your grace

As Your love in wave after wave

Crashes over me

Crashes over me

The key point is we won't experience God's grace safely standing on the shore. It's only when we step out in faith that we see God's grace, that we feel His love crashing over us. That will be my challenge as we head into the fall, to live fearlessly.

5. Summer is for reading.  Again, this isn't anything earthshaking or new, especially when the term "beach read" is splashed over almost every new novel that is launched in the summer. Yet, I made reading a priority this summer, above Netflix and household projects, and just below spending time with God and family/friends.

I read several nonfiction books this summer. Tops on this list were Restless: Because You Were Made for More  by Jennie Allen (actually listened to this on audio while I repainted our front door) and Rhinestone Jesus: Saying Yes to God When Sparkly Safe Faith is No Longer Enough by Kristen Welch. Both of these challenged me, inspired me to say yes to God and listen for what He has for me.

I also read some incredible memoirs, notably When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. If you haven't read this book, I suggest you go to your nearest library and check it out, although it'll probably have an unbelievably long waitlist for it. What makes this book so enriching is these were the last words penned by Dr. Kalanithi, a neurosurgeon who aspired to be a writer. Although it is undeniably sad, it is more aptly described as a beautiful, poetic portrait of a life lived well.

Two other memoirs worth noting from my summer book pile is Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed and The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels by Ree Drummond. These two women couldn't be more different that I can't even believe I'm grouping them together. Yet, they are connected by my summer of 2016 reading adventures. I picked up Strayed's book awhile ago,  before the movie came out, but couldn't get past the first chapters which dealt with her drug use and out-of-control life choices. Yet, for some reason I decided to listen to it on audio and persevered through to the end. I am not sure if I fully recommend this book because I felt she lived a life that was all-consuming of self, but her adventures on the trail and the people she met were very interesting.

The Pioneer Woman, on the other hand, was an easy, breezy read, full of interesting stories and mishaps as she began her life on the ranch. This was an impulse grab at the library that turned out to be an enjoyable read.

Now, while nonfiction can be an ignitor for growth in me, I often find myself getting lost in a well-written novel. I believe fiction feeds my soul when the writing flows with beautiful images and a smart plot. A surprisingly enchanting book I just finished is A Man Called Ove by Fredik Bachman. How does a story of a grumpy  man (I can't use the word elderly since he was still in his fifties, although I've seen it used other places to describe him) with staunch principles and an orderly life find his way into one of my favorite reads of the year? It's a nice story that turns into an endearing one as Ove triumphs over difficulties, fights for what is right and becomes a hero to a struggling family. I won't say a peep more or I'll spoil the fun unraveling of this tender, memorable story.  This is exactly what I mean when fiction feeds my soul.

Other highlights of my book-filled summer was The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom (not an easy summer read but very well-written about a white servant girl indentured to the kitchen on a slave plantation) and The Lake House by Kate Morton. This is my first Kate Morton book, and it will not be my last. I really enjoyed the multi-layers of her characters, the vivid descriptions without being excessively wordy, and the twists and mysteries of her plot. This was a fun book which I took along on my own summer adventure to Washington's coast.

So, as we switch gears into fall, I am glad for this chance to reflect back on what the summer has taught me. On the calendar, it's still summer, although the first soccer and football games tell me differently. So as I close, I'll remind myself of one more thing I've learned this summer, that even though it feels like fall, smells like fall, and tastes like fall, I shouldn't forget to put on sunscreen when I watch afternoon tennis matches on a sunny Saturday. My first sunburn of the season snuck up on me as a last summer lesson.

Ben serving during Saturday's tennis jamboree