First year teaching.  Route 89 South.  Go.

My son's tears could be felt through the phone.

"Mom, one of my students died in a car crash."

This is every instructor's nightmare.  How do you mourn while your students need you at their most?

I immediately thought of my second year teaching, when a friend of two of my students was killed while rollerblading.  Talking to one of them in the bleachers of the football stadium...

"Why wasn't it me?  How come?"

Nothing in teacher education prepares you for the loss of a student.  To this day I have in my wallet the Mass card from a student who passed while in college.  He was no longer under my tutelage, but you think...

What if?

Why?

I believe we are put in these situations for a reasons.  Kidlet B was given this teaching job to help his kids get through this tragedy.  One soul leaves as another ascends.  

All day my thoughts were with Kidlet B, his students, his fellow teachers, their administration.  

Celebrate life any chance you get.  YOU are amazing.  You are loved.  Hug people.  Give kisses (even if air kisses!). Pet dogs.  Pet cats.  Pet hamsters.  

Know that you are the reason someone had a good day...

Birthdays and Memories and This

 Today is the twentieth anniversary of 9/11.

As I type this my new Puerto Rican kitten, Koda, is trying to jump on keyboard.  

It is my grandfather's birthday today, Carroll M. Berg, Sr.  His thoughts when the events unfolded?

"I hate my birthday.  I will always hate my birthday."

I could never have Gramps do that.  In his memory I send birthday cards each year to a service member who has the same birthday, letting them know that this date, although clothed in sadness, also spreads so much amazing power.

A man who had four children who went on to be unique individuals.

A man who served at Check Point Charlie, at a time when Berlin was divided into East and West.

A man who would do what he could with what he was given - which was his incredible intelligence and ability to question.  I like to think I have inherited that.

A man who stood to his principles, believed in them, yet respected others.  He loved our country.  My grandfather loved Vermont.  I still have the postcard he sent me from the 802 when I was maybe seven years old. The beginning of an addiction for that paper format? Probably so.  

A man who told me the funniest story of a monkey who chased him through Berlin, and shared this with my toddlers, who would, "look for the monkey under the bed!" when we would visit him.  After hearing this tale, I understood where my fear of monkeys came from!

This photo of us is from my brother and sister-in-law's wedding years ago (hence I had long pre-cancer hair!).  The smiles.  Love.  

I miss my 5:00pm phone calls with Gramps.  The exchanges of the Jumbles from the newspapers.  I went forward with his influence and now send and give so many people clippings from the Boston Sunday Globe.  He taught me to explore everything - not just what I studied in school. Be a learner of all.  Be an independent female (he was adamant about that)! He loved that I had a menagerie (all my pets) and would probably laugh today at all the animals I have, as he himself grew up on a farm.  

I wanted to honor him on his birthday, my grandfather, Grampy, Carroll.  Tomorrow I will be attending an Honor Flight to support veterans as they go to visit Washington, DC.  It's the least I can do for the people who have made this country what it is for my sons and I.  Is the USA perfect? Heck no. Is any nation? Never.  But we grow  And my grandfather taught me that - with his tomato plants and telling those damn squirrels to get out of his garden.  You grow.  Life gets better.

Grampy, yesterday after the 9/11 silence I told my students about your service.  They were humbled and asked questions.  To me this was just one more influence you have had on the world.  Let us continue...

I miss. I miss. I miss.

 July 31st.  Or July 32nd?  Yes.  August 1st.

Augustus.  

(You knew it wouldn't be MausiGal without a lil' bit of Nermal!)

My mood.  I am drinking iced French Press coffee with Vermont Coffee Company beans.  And if the irony doesn't continue, I just found out they SOLD OUT to Stonewall Kitchen!  As in, WTF.  Mass produced, semi-authentic Maine jelly and jams et al.  Now I need to search out new beans.  I guess, as y'all say, everyone needs a hobby.

Summer has suckethed.  The weather.  Damp. Rainy.  Hey! Sun's out? Wait a minute for it to give you a downpour again.  That apocalyptic haze that you see?  No worries!  Just the fires from the west coast REACHING ALL THE WAY OUT HERE!

Kidlet A was spot on in telling me to no longer refer to this as "Climate Change," but a "Climate Crisis."  About a week ago I drove through Manchester, New Hampshire, early in the morning, to see the fog with its orange tint.  Creepy.  Same thing.  You immediately get the feeling of listening to "I Know The End" by Phoebe Bridgers and everything is OVER.  And yeah.  I had that on as I went through Manchester that morning.  So much.  The end.

I miss...

The list I made I deleted, perhaps for self- preservation.  I miss so much that my heart aches.  There is a void and I wonder how it can ever be filled, or helped, or made to smile on a sunshine day.

Lately I feel I express myself better through photos, so perhaps mausigal will go with that.  The words possibly will follow.

Love you all.

xoxo

Kreplach!

 

KREPLACH!

Here is the Kreplach recipe I learned from my cooking class at my Congregation's Sisterhood retreat yesterday.  Oh so yummy!  Enjoy!  Thanks to Noah A. for providing this recipe and leading the class!

Sisterhood Retreat Cooking Class with Chef Noah 

~ Kreplach for Chicken Kreplach Soup ~ 

Ingredients: 

● 3-4 quarts of your favorite chicken soup 

● 1 ¾ cup Flour 

● Salt and pepper 

● 2 eggs 

● 2 Tb vegetable oil 

● 3 Tb olive oil or butter 

● 1 onion diced 

● ¼ cup fresh dill 

● Lemon zest 

● Nutmeg 

● 2-3 chicken breasts cooked and shredded 

Tools: 

● Skillet 

● Bowls 

● Rolling pin 

● Forks 

● Knives 

Directions: 

1.    For the kreplach: Combine the flour and 1 teaspoon salt in a food processor and pulse to combine. Mix the eggs, vegetable oil and 2 tablespoons cold water in a spouted measuring cup. With the processor running, pour in the egg mixture and process until the dough forms a ball on the blade, about 30 seconds. (If the dough doesn't form a ball after 30 seconds or is too crumbly, adjust with a tablespoon or so of flour if too loose or a tablespoon or so of water if too crumbly.) Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and let rest at room temperature while you prepare the filling.

2. For the filling, heat the olive oil in a medium skillet over medium-low heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until deep golden, 10 to 15 minutes. Add to the shredded chicken along with the chopped dill, lemon zest, and nutmeg. Season with salt and pepper and mix well. 

3. Cut the rested dough into quarters, then cut each quarter into 3 pieces (12 pieces in all). On a floured surface, press, pat or roll a chunk of dough to about a thin 3-inch round. Hold the round in the palm of your hand and add 2 tablespoons filling. Press the dough closed to encase the filling and form a ball, twisting and tearing off any excess dough. Set twisted-side down on a floured baking sheet and repeat with the remaining dough and filling. (Any remaining filling can be added to the soup!) 

4. Add the kreplach (dusting off any excess flour) and simmer until the dough is tender, 7 to 8 minutes. Serve the soup in bowls with slices of lemon and garnished with fresh dill.

Chao, MausiGal

 Chao, MausiGal

There are times and places for everything.  Oh, so cliché, yet ever so true.  For me, the time for MausiGal is to close.

I began this blog back in March 2013.  Although I did a wordplay on "Sugar Mama,"  this was more a post about my baking addiction.  Posts would follow in a similar manner - is MausiGal joking about her love all things flour, or more about, well, those things doth we wish not to speak?

Years have gone by - for all of us, and perhaps for those just looking for the first time.  Do not pretend.  You are in no means immune to the minutes, hours, days, weeks, and years that are stolen from us, and from the loved ones that are taken from us.  So many of the students I teach experience this madness so much earlier than I ever needed to.  To them I think, I hope, I truly pray that they can do more for the world that I every tried to. Yet yes...each of our experiences are so different.  So unique.  I respect each and every one.

MausiGal.  So many years ago the woman who was happy go lucky, filled with determination, yet at the same time not as all jaded as the one who is alive now. Who has seen the humiliating conditions the elderly must live in, in our country, a first world country.  My father was lucky enough to have a caring family and support system (thank you, Senior Angels!) thank always made sure he felt loved.  The others?  What are we doing for the elders in our nation? The ones who have survived atrocities and are able to tell us, above all...

HISTORY NEED NOT REPEAT

I have decided after this to move forward with a different blog with photos and poetry lines.  Why?  To be honest, I am fearful in this current society that my lines from my simple blog will be twisted, distorted, to gosh knows what means. Many of you have noticed I've been staying away from social media.  Yes. The fear of having my words twisted to someone else's means is too much.  Am I up for the fight? As always. However, I feel that fighting against idiocy is just a waste of my precious time when I could be tutoring students to graduate from high school, learning more about diversity and inclusion, or, even better, helping my amazing sons be better for their future.  

To those of you who are brave enough to use words, I applaud you.  Keep up the fight.

I want to end MausiGal with the words I have had at the end of my outgoing emails on my school account for months.  I cannot even begin to tell you how much these resonate.  

"The teacher in me says to my student: Just think, perhaps you are the only hope I have.  

Fulfill it." - Elie Wiesel

Be safe.  Be happy.  Be well.  BE YOU!

xoxo MausiGal

luz y paz

 Luz y paz

Luz.  Paz.  

Light.  Peace.

As a non-native Spanish speaker I'm drawn to the sounds of those two words together.  The three letters ending with the softest of zees, subtly escaping into the air to worlds of possibility.  I often wonder if those raised with hearing their basic words for our "light" and "peace" would find me crazy to be mesmerized by the combination of such simple sounds.  

Luz.  Paz.

This first evening of Hanukkah I prepped to light my menorah - alone.  My niece texted me, "Happy Hanukkah!" which warmed my heart.  I am the solo practicing Jew in my family, and to have my twelve year old niece recognize my holiday at her age made me feel not so lonely.  Earlier in the day I'd decorated cookies with the Jewish Student Union Club, and later attended my synagogue's "Giant Menorah" lighting, as one of my students described it before.  The feelings of luz...of paz... were present for all these occasions.  

(Yes, this is a Menorah cookie and you'd love it b/c is is FULL of sugar!)

Here in front of my menorah now, I wonder if I'm breaking some rule of the use of technology while the menorah is lit.  I'll admit - the idea of being alone while celebrating Hanukkah - and before Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah - has been a bit daunting.  But tonight as I look at the luz, the light, I feel a true sense of paz, of peace, that I have not felt in a very long time.  When I listened to the music and read the prayers for Hanukkah, a sense of calmness...paz...came over me once again.

There are ups and downs and sideways to life.  When I was at Lawrence University for undergrad I was fortunate to hear Elie Wiesel speak.  His words have become a beacon - una luz - many times to the darkness I face as I work as an educator.  This quote especially is the backbone to my soul.

"Think higher.  Feel deeper." - Elie Wiesel

Be the luz.  Bring about paz.

I'M GOING TO MAKE IT THROUGH THIS YEAR!

 

I'm going to make it through this year

If it kills me

The Mountain Goats - This Year

This song came up randomly on my Spotify list today.

This is what many call a "G_d wink." Why? Because for me, music gets me through each and everything I need to.  This song may refer to a seventeen year old's issues, but I can relate.  

I broke free on a Saturday morning
I put the pedal to the floor
Headed north on Mills Avenue
And listened to the engine roar

So many times.  Even just to go to the post office, the supermarket, during COVID, as a cancer patient.  Do people freakin' get this?  To hear the engine of my Volvo XC 90 once again? The car that I love? It is amazing! I don't even care if it's 25 mph.  It's my baby.  She's mine.  And yeah. Watch out.  She's badass.  Just like her owner.

I am going to make it through this year
If it kills me
I am going to make it through this year
If it kills me

There is so much this year that has been, well, wow.  For me, personally, it goes way and beyond COVID.  I appreciate all who are struggling with the pandemic.  This is like no other.  I truly wish we could have more compassion for each other - above and beyond political lines.  Humans be humans be humans. 

My dad.  In hospice.  Not being able to drive  him to the library and post office anymore, and joke about the horrendous drivers on the Chelmsford rotary.  His cane out the sunroof, giving the M@ssholes something to think about.  He and I - the four wheel crusaders in a Swede mobile!  

People tell me - "It's for the best."  But have you ever thought what it's like to have your best friend taken away from you? The one who has believed in you since you were little?  But now isn't sure what's up?  Alzheimer's.  The worst.  

I'm angry.  Yet at the same time I refuse not to be.  Please STOP IGNORING THE ELDERLY!  They have so many stories to tell us! We're in the craptacular situation we are now because we haven't listened to history - haven't learned history.

LEARN

LIVE

LOVE

Little Sis Taylor & the Journey of Tears

We can never go back to the way it was.

I can never, ever go back to the way it was.

Some may have read the above lines and immediately thought of COVID. They are appropriate, aren't they?  I think of teaching in this new world, and remind myself again and again that I will move forward.  Change.  

This.  This life.  My life. Since mid-June of 2019 when my diagnosis came my idea that days could progress they way I wished they would?  Shattered.  

About a week ago I started thinking about freedom.  I challenged myself to take photos of ordinary things that I usually don't notice, and how someone who lacks freedom - those in elder care, incarcerated, those who have lost their sight - no longer can experience.  Looking at these photos tonight I realize how magnificent details are.  Concerts, festivals, parties, weddings.  These are all monumentous.  The ordinary are truly extraordinary.  The things we all take for granted.  As well as the people...

Taylor Swift seems to know ***just*** when to release an album.  I joke that she's the little sister I never had, with her own emotional ups and downs that many times have mirrored my own, except with bank accounts in excessive digits.  Last night at midnight she released "folklore."

Peace.  

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly this summer, it's clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

And it's just around the corner, darlin'

'Cause it lives in me

I have been losing my father for a long time because of CLL, and then Alzheimer's.  Now we are spinning towards a place.  A location where time, memories, at times logic, do not exist.  For my beloved dad, his life is the here and now.  Some days that here and now is simply what has gone on within the past hour.  Yet still, like tonight when I saw him, I catch a glimpse of that mischievous grin and a light in his brilliant, blue eyes that people have always noticed.  MausiGal and her dad somehow, within the mixed up particles of brain matter that he has, still connect.  He laughs.  

When I am sitting in the Swede mobile heading home, the tears.  I do not stop.  The sobbing where your nose starts to run.  My Irish skin, which I inherited from him, turns bright red.  

Forward.  I am truly blessed that right now, at this moment in my existence, I have those in my life who will move forward with me, to go into the unknown.  Step one.  Step two.  Step three.  

Love you all from the bottom of my heart, those who are on the journey with me.

xoxo MausiGal

Sammy Loves Sandi

My mother, Sandi, hates squirrels.  This fact has become quite well known, as she's put it out there on Facebook in various posts.  Why her detest of these cutest of rodents?

Her beloved gardens.  Sandi's gardens are her pride and joy, and with due reason.  When strangers pass her yard they ask, "Who does your gardening?"  It's her - all her.  My mother is the epitome of what can be accomplished when one takes their stress, frustrations, and loss of control and channel it into one their passions.

A relationship between mother and daughter can be tricky.  In films we see this dynamic duo portrayed with either extreme love and friendship or the height of hatred.  Sandi and I have gone through both.  I'll fully admit I haven't been the easiest hija to raise, with the idea of flying off to Finland for three months at the age of sixteen, and all sorts of other adventures I did to drive my mom to the point of extinction.  Having my brother and his friend bury me up to my neck in the sandbox in the back yard? Good times for us.  My mom? Not so much.

Years of appreciation and understanding of my mom have led me to see her the person she is - not the mother.  Sandi has a past, present, and future.  Her struggles with my father and his leukemia and Alzheimer's are always at the forefront, causing her to make sacrifices that she never could have imagined.  So often when thinking of mothers we consider them in relation to ourselves, as if the umbilical cord never detached and they owe us.  As children, our mothers are there for us; they're not human. Emotions? A life? Did they have one?  Are they people?  Coming to the realization of the strengths and struggles of my own mother has opened my mind.

Long Point by Lake Champlain - Years Past

Sandi and I are united through blood but also a bondage of mother and daughter.  I do know I somewhat torture her with my political rants, a lifestyle that consists of chaos, and snark that only I can deliver.  Over the years, though, she knows that this is MausiGal - complete with three dogs, two cats, three fish.  And I know she is the constant gardener, yelling at squirrels and banging on her kitchen window to scare them away, much like her father did years ago.  Sandi has also been here for me during the lows and the highs, and those flat lines in-between.

Mother's Day is not about the raising of children.  These twenty-four hours are meant as a reflection of the journey we have taken with the women in our life who have made us realize our greatest potential, the ability to grow, and the way to reflect and accept.

Sandi and I have the connection of Sammy the Squirrel, her "special friend" that visits her often.  Smile on this Mother's Day - and every day.  There are women out there who value you more than you could ever know.  And Mom - I am your biggest fan! xoxo MausiGal

Will I Die? Will I Fly?

I had the Blogger post of "Cancer Teaches."  That was really profound, wasn't it?

Yeah, and then on my first day of my radiation consult they found another lump.

"I've never known anyone going through chemo to get cancer again, but we'll still check it out," the doctor informed me.  An ultrasound.  A mammogram.  Six months from now, more of this.  The lump is there, and I can feel it.  Why didn't I feel it before? Seriously? Do you think I was doing breast exams while going through chemo? Do you check for cops when you've been pulled over for speeding?

My new mantra is, "Cancer Changes."  Yes.  Yes it does.  Lately I feel most at peace with my rescue dogs, Saul, Seal, and Chappy.  Each of them had to overcome horrendous conditions to survive, especially Chappy.  Above all? They needed to learn to trust after being abused, neglected, and left to die.

Die.

I wonder, how often, people realize that cancer patients of all sorts wonder if they'll die.  Of course it's the human condition that we all think of this.  Why would we not? But as I've said in the past, once one is diagnosed with a "situation," it hits you in the face that mortality is real.  It isn't the boogie man in the closet that stays there until you least expect it.  This boogie man showed up just as I got out of school.  Now the boogie man haunts me on a daily basis. I will be in the supermarket and cry about the thought I may not be around the see my sons marry, or have children.  That at the end of the day for seventh grade, because of my radiation treatments, I have started to forget names of students.  My energy level peaks around 1:30pm, and after that I am so exhausted I put on pajamas, despite the fact I want to do pilates, barre, and yoga.  I don't have a choice.  My body has decided for me.

I miss my kidlets like no other.  They are off, off, off!  I am so incredibly happy for them, and cannot wait to see them until we are all together on the most magnificent of lakes, probably months down the road.  My house is quiet, except for the squeak of Chappy's "Alien Toy."  The home that I once boasted I would keep for grandchildren now seems excessively big.

Crossroads.  Me.  Do I fly?  Or do I simply crawl and perish?

Here We Go KIDLETS!

The 802.  The Green Mountain State.  Where my love lies for so much of the year, even if I do pretty much only spend only four weeks out of fifty-two within the borders.

Lake Champlain.  How can you ignore it? A United States lake with its own monster and myths abound?  I grew up on this lake, each summer not only hearing tales, but being soothed to sleep by the sounds of the light waves against Long Point rocks.  We heard boats every now and then.  I speak to friends who summer on Lake Winni, and tell me of the ever present boats. Boats, boats, boats!  No, not on my beloved Lake Champlain.  Yes, we have our boats, but not to obscenity.  I always like to think that along the 802 there's some sort of gentleperson's agreement about boats and being kind. Am I naive?  Perhaps. 

In July I have quiet mornings on the lake.  I think about my year gone by, and what will be in the coming year.  The year for 2019?  This?  Truly difficult.  How can one define cancer?  I was comforted so many times by the images by the lake, but at the same time?

Cancer.

Cancer.

Up until recently, I truly did see myself as a badass against cancer.  I have all of my supporters (YOU!) to thank for that. Why? Honestly? I could never have thought of that on my own.  Although I had a few very rough days through chemo, you kept me going and kept me remembering how wonderful I was!

What happened?

You were still more than wonderful.  Gosh, I can never express this more than enough.  The cards.  The messages.  The gifts.  There are so many days where I would do is cry.  Why?  I felt I could never repay you or even find time for a decent thank you note.  Between getting kidlets for college, teaching, and radiation...I feel a failure.

But alas (gosh, that sounds so freakin' formal...), life changes and many times it changes for the better.  One kidlet is back at a Vermont college, and the other back at another.  What's my point?

You be you.  And ignore the haters.  Wherever they may be. Because in reality, they just kinda make you more and more like Taylor Swift.

That gal has her crapola together. Her lyrics? It's like middle school / high school / pregnancy on freakin' high drive:

"All the king's horses, all the king's men couldn't put me together again, 

'cause all of my enemies started out friends." 

So, there ya go.  Preaching from the heart.  Where am I going with this?  Bring it all back, MausiGal...

Kidlet is heading off again to his own adventure.  And I am letting him go.  But not without acknowledging all he has been through for the past few months.  Seeing his mom go through chemo  And severe chemo reactions.  Waking up at 5:00am with a hug to tell her she will always be loved and ok.  I am forever grateful for your care and understanding, especially at your young age.  I am sorry you had to go through this now -  so freakin' sorry you can never now. I hope it can help you somehow somewhere. 

Agreeing that her new rescue dog, a corgi German shepherd mix (no joke) that survived a head on car crash really is ok for her.  And that he is a cool dog, despite his metal plate in his leg and five screws. And drive him home from his pick up while you hold him, with his head on your lap, and cry that this dog finally knows he is safe...

Joking about memes and shirtless memes (you know the joke, kiddo).  

Knowing your sons - both of them - are both to change the world in ways that you just started.  You tried, to the best of your ability.  You would come home and cry that it wasn't enough. But you know what? You never realized that one day you would have two amazing sons that were there to fulfil every dream you wanted.  Both sons - near and far- giving you the most amazing support you could ever have, as you could only have it.  #blessed

Why?  It is NEVER because of you, Mausigal.  It is because you have two amazing sons who are off to change the world, even if its one person at a time.

In the supermarket.

In the classroom.

In the United Nations.

In the CIA.

Or in YOUR living room.

My sons are going to change YOUR lives.  And I hope you're ready for it. Why? Because I prepped them since they were born.

#bringtheword

#loveyouall

I Love You Said Emma

Today was to be my first day back at school after my long absence due to cancer / chemo / all sorts of crappy side effects.  However, New England weather had other plans and here I am, doing more planning at my computer.  I'm excited to return to the classroom!  Cannot wait!  My colleagues, my students, the fun!  Seriously, I do get energized from my time at my career.  There are days that are tough, but those only add to the fulfillment in the long run.

When I left school at the end of September it came pretty quickly.  I thought I was going to be the warrior who worked through cancer.  I returned only two weeks after my surgery, and was determined to be there despite my chemo.  Once again, life had other plans.  I remember the day my hair came out in clumps as I stood at my desk, seventh graders in the room.  What was I suppose to do with a bunch of hair in my hand?  I remember the look on a few kids' faces as I was there, mortified.  I just put it in a tissue, tossed it in the trash, called a colleague, and cried in the hall.  During that entire day my hair had been falling out continuously, but never in front of the kids.  They knew I had breast cancer; I had spoken to all my classes with either the nurse or their guidance counselor.  The reality, however, at that point was right in my hands.

Once I made my decision to take a medical leave, I decided to take a few things with me from my walls that touch my soul.  One of them is a drawing my niece did when she was younger.

This is my all-time favorite that Emma has done for me.  It's us, hanging out.  We are both rockin' pretty cool outfits, and of course have smiles.  Above all, "I love you said Emma."  I can be having a rough day and just need to look at this on the wall.  Everything changes.  Emma, a warrior in her own right at the age of 11.  Love you, too.

Vermont.  On Lake Champlain.  When my own kidlets were in middle school.  Before Dad had his serious issues.  Mom's smile.  Sunshine.  Love once again.

This makes me think of each and every summer.

And this.  My statement of teaching. 

Dreamers and disruptors.  Be different.  Take risks.  I don't know why I didn't leave this up to inspire my students to see it in my absence.  Perhaps I wanted to guide them while they take those risks?  To help them dream and disrupt. 

What was breath-taking, today, though, was when I opened up the folder to see these items that I will once again hang on my walls tomorrow, is there was a clump of my hair inside.  To see these strands of blonde was to be taken back to months before my journey really began.  I had no idea how my world and outlook would change in just two months.

And still...how much life will change as I move forward back into the classroom tomorrow.

Cancer There!

Me as a baldie!  

Sometimes, you need to embrace who are even when you may scare people.  But of course I'm talking about adults.  I'm not about ready to walk up to little children with my bald head and scream, "Boo!'  Baldness in women, I'm finding, is a unique thing.  Hence, I wear hats.  Dope hats.  And when needed? The wig!  Yes! Formal events call for the wig!

But hats? For me hats seem to be where it's at.  I feel free. And I've already talked about my love of Savers' hats!

Love is funny.  You never know where you'll find it. It may be in the guy that lives next door.  Or the co-worker you've been joking with for months.  Your friend from college that made you snort laugh over your chemistry notes.

Love isn't just the pseudo-romantic "I want to do you!" type.  It's the college roommate who jokes about the funny times.  Your sister-in-law who knows the family jokes. Your colleagues who remind you of how you of how you always throw the topic off topic.  And all of a sudden, the cancer seems like a side dish.  Kind of like limpy broccoli.

The strength i bring from from others is immense! I could write a book about it, and maybe I should!  From the many wonderful hats I received from Carol to the package from Cathy that made me smile for hours.  I had the coffee tonight!

At what point is one burnt out?  I don't know.  I am so thankful for all I have received.  I cannot say it enough.  And this is only 1/4 of what I have to say. #soblessed

"Did This Happen To Save My Life?"

"You know, Feronia, there are some days that I just want my life back so badly.  Then I try to think, "Did this happen to save my life?" "

Cancer teaches.  That was my last blog post, right? Oh so thoughtful.  But in the reality of it? Am I ready to tell you about how my scalp that looks like the planet Venus?

Probably not.  Or that my finger nails break with just picking up papers sometimes?  Or that I vomit with a piece of toast in the morning?  Two cups of coffee, my past love, now sends me into complete nausea? 

Today I cried in the bank safe deposit box room.  Why? I had something to leave to Kidlet A and Kidlet B in that box.  Yes, I'm sure I'll be ok.  But at the same time, have you ever had all your hair fall out - your legs, armpits, eyebrows?  Have you had people afraid to say the "C" word around you (and I'm not talking the other one, either!)?  Have you felt like this weird, special group, but at the same time detest the color pink with all your heart? Instead you'd rather be in all black, with a crossbow or a Darth Vader hand, heading dead-on at CANCER. 

I have received so many pink items, and I value them greatly.  They represent a sisterhood in strength.  But at the same time, after going into Dana Farber and seeing all those other people suffering from cancer, I feel such a need to reach out to all those people who need help.  Learn how to pronounce Esophageal Cancer.  Lymphoma.  Pancreatic.  Ready to wear all those ribbons?  The ribbons aren't just pink.  Lavender is for all cancers.  Please don't think I'm unappreciative.  I so am!  But CANCER!  It is everywhere.  And so many of us are fighting it.  We're not just wearing dank hats from Savers to look retro.  But this hat didn't come from Savers.  It came from Volvo.  You know me and Volvos.  Pride and Joy.  And Pikachu came from an amazing friend.  But I love Savers.  So there ya go.

So back to the title that I texted today, "Did this happen to save my life?"  I am a TypeA personality.  Not to make you vomit (sans chemo) but perhaps I was given this by G_d to stop and smell the roses, allegorically.  To realize that I was doing 95mph in a 55mph, and needed to slow down.  That saving the world should come second to saving myself.  Because, in reality, I cannot save anyone until I have helped me.  There ya go.  Did I say that twice?

Pulling out of the Market Basket parking lot one of my favorite songs came one - ""Saturday" by Fall Out Boy"  These lines.  Cry.

And I read about the afterlife

But I never really lived

Guess what, peeps? Me.  It's time for me to think about living.  Outside of a job.  Expectations of others.  And experiencing all there is for me to see.

Love you all,
MausiGal

Cancer Teaches

Going Home From Chemo #1

My original title of this post was going to be "The Retreat of the Snark."  Isn't that very military?  Or perhaps Renaissance? Maybe I'm getting too full of myself and am too much in my head?

June 17th.  Regular, planned mammogram on the last day of school.

Call backs.  June 20th.  Mammogram Part 2.  Biopsy.  World begins to turn.

Over the past few years I have tried to embrace my Type A personality so that I am not trying to control the planet, but embrace what comes at me.  I read back to my posts here in MausiGal, and see many times I did this with snark.  It's no surprise that I did joke with Kidlet A and B that my license plate was going to be SNARKY.  Give it to me!  Don't like my cookies because you don't like sugar? Snark!  Don't like the fact that I adore flip flops? Snark!

Snark.

Of course I'm totally off topic now and I google boojum and find this:

Boojum Mexican Burrito Bar

My mind starts thinking about how I can incorporate this into my "Comidas - Parte 2" lesson tomorrow.  To middle schoolers the word "Boojum" is just going to be way too funny.  How do I know? Because I think my mind is stuck at age twelve.

This is a good thing.

The snark is leaving.  I caught myself in the car the other day doing the Boston MausiGal Car Snark bit.  This involves the other person driving's...
1) Make of car
2) Speed of Driving
3) Use of cell phone (this is allowable snark - GET OFF THE ROAD and/or PULL OVER!)
4) Excessive avoidance of wee, little pot holes in a non-spring month in New England.  Seriously - I love the "avoid the pot hole" game to show my driving expertise, but a dead squirrel (sad face - means winter is coming soon!) in the road is not the same as a pot hole. You don't need to get five feet over for said dead animal / pot hole / shirt thrown out the window from night of college revelry (or perhaps Book Club Revelry.  I hear them Suburban Book Clubs GET DOWN!).

Cancer Teaches.

Yes.  For my Postcrossing status (Postcrossing Forum) I had "Cancer sucks."  Since I returned to school on Monday the true meaning of why I am going through this illness shines through.

Cancer Teaches.

Yet this may be only for me.   EACH PERSON HAS THEIR OWN CANCER JOURNEY!  Some people can do chemo, work out at the gym two days later, and then take a flight to Australia.  ¿Yo?  I don't want to document it publicly.  My recovery involved having Saul and Seal (rescue doggies!) close to my side in my bed, keeping my warm where I was in pain.  Baking on a few afternoons because I couldn't lie down or sit down because that would hurt so much.

The Neroli candle Kindergarten Artist Friend gave me.  I am hooked!

When I went into the Friends' Place at Dana Farber to choose a wig, I noticed they had a board with all sorts of bracelets to sell for different types of cancer.  Then it hit me.

• Breast Cancer
• Bone Cancer
• Pancreatic Cancer
• Esophageal Cancer
• Cervical Cancer
• Prostate Cancer
• Ovarian Cancer
• Skin Cancer (Melanoma)
• Testicular Cancer

And guess what? I have run out of room.  Because cancer is that one, little thingee that seems to find you when you're like, "I'm a snarky mama and I am GOLD!"  In my family with multiple illnesses and health conditions, I am the blesséd one.  Hit me up with more good genes!"

#epicfail

Or is it?

The anchor.  The symbol of hope. #deltagammaforlife

(from The Friends' Place in Dana Farber)

I teach my students that what you think is a failure is your superpower.  I actually tweeted about this yesterday.  I am trying to reframe this with cancer.  I know some of you are right now thinking, "Um, Mausigal? Put down the coffee and eat some salsa and chips."  But I mean it.

These past few weeks have shown me the power of friendship, community, and being an  EDUCATOR.  If you're reading my blog and you think, "Should I teach?" email me right now and I'll give you my phone number and we're going to talk!  My colleagues and students came through for me these past few weeks more than I can image.  Let's include the families, too.  I'm not trying to say that I'm some freakin' rock star who deserves adoration.  Cancer shows you that there are people in your realm who are kind.  Who want to share their stories.  Want to learn more.  Want to help others, even if doesn't have to do with cancer.  Who want to become better, empathetic people. That last line has stood out to me the most over the past two days in my work.  Never, ever put down students.  They are the most valuable resource we have on earth.

Family. Friends.  Colleagues.  Sorority sisters.  Students.

I am overwhelmed with the support I receive, and it has taught me this:

• Retreat the Snark.
• Life.  Too Short.
• DO GOOD
• Embrace the joy and share it with whomever you come into contact with!

The guy at the gas station.  The checkout clerk at Market Basket.  Your dog walker.  Your boss.  Your boss' boss.  The owner of your company via email.  The roommate from college twenty plus years ago.

Because everyone wants to be loved.  They may not respond or smile or look.  But you have given them a hope they so desperately need.

BECAUSE YOU ARE AMAZING.  YOU HAVE SUPERPOWERS!

Don't ever freakin' forget it!

I love you all from the bottom of my heart!

Xoxo Mausigal (and sorry this is so long and you probably had to go out and buy two venti lattes to read it!)

"My birthday should never be remembered..."

These were the words my grandfather spoke on 9/11/01.  I had called him from my home in Lowell, Massachusetts, making sure he was doing ok.  I had wrapped two packages for him the night before, and decorated the wrapping paper.  My twin kidlets, just a year old, loved visiting him to look for "monkeys under the bed."  This was a game we had.  At Grampy's house we had a small container of stuffed animals, and somehow Kidlets A and B thought there were monkeys under the bed.  This may root back to the story of "The Monkey in Berlin" from when my grandfather was stationed at Checkpoint Charlie after World War II, but that's for another time.

Here is a photo of Carroll Sr. and I from my wedding.  The quality is off, as it's a photo of a photo.  However, I was brought to tears as I noticed the "Photo Orb" next to me to the right. Yeah, I'm an X-Files sucker for the phenomenal.  I would love to think that orb appeared there, being my grandmother, Rita, to tell me everything will be ok with chemo on Thursday.  That she is here.  But do I even need to ask? Both she and my Grandfather Berg, and my Grandfather and Grandmother Morris, as well as everyone else in my DNA chain, are there.  They are the reason I jump in the car and drive to the 802, bake for hours at 3am on a weekday and enjoy it, stand in front of youngsters and inspire.  THIS is my DNA.  I was born to be, well, a sweet badass.  Heck, my grandmother's maiden name was Sweet!

Every 9/11 I think of my grandfather and the sadness he had in his voice when I told him I still wanted to stop by with his birthday gift, and to see the kidlets.  Yes, his words were, "My birthday should never be remembered on such a horrific day for our country."  Carroll Sr. was a veteran.  His history included multiple hardships that many today could probably not endure.  And no, I am not making him up to be a saint, because few of us are.  But his love for the United States and the freedoms we have here have made me remember to be thankful for all that I have.  A simple kid from Reading, Massachusetts, who went on to have his word displayed in the Air and Space Museum.  Whenever I go there and point it out to people I get so excited!  I hope I'm well enough to do it this year with my 8th graders, because they are awesome students.  My shoes are ready! 

If there is one thing my Grandfather Berg taught me (and he taught me so much!), it's never be a checkbox.  Keep learning.  Don't fit the mold that people want to put you in.  Break that box!  I hope I have done him proud!  Happiest of birthdays, Grampy.  The kidlets and I love you!

Love to all!
xoxo MausiGal