Saturday, March 16th was my sister's 61st birthday party at the Cabrellaro's club on Hill Top, and I got to be Cinderella for a night. Well, kind of. Instead of glass slippers I wore red slippers with about a three or four inch animal print wedge...yeah, I know...real funky cool. I could just barely walk in them.
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| Cinderella's slippers |
My trimmer figure fit nicely in some black jeans with a cute black tuxedo blouse accessorized with a ruby red necklace and matching bracelet. My now bald head was covered with a short and sassy Halle Berry wig. After a couple of very strong Tequila Sunrise I was Halle Berry. Although I'm all scar tissue with Swish cheese on the inside -- my doctor's description of my tumor 2 1/2 months into chemo -- I looked damn good on the outside. Walking kind of took all of my focus when making trips up the stairs to the ladies room to check my wig on occasion to make sure it hadn't shuffled while I was shuffling on the dance floor, and my determination to not fall and land on my face was my motivator throughout the long night. To be honest, it actually kept my mind off the fact that my energy level waned quite early in the evening and walking in Hermann Munster's shoes kept me from not focusing on that as well. I was even able to dance a few times and actually keep the beat and maintain my cool at the same time...yes...I did have a cool factor. I hadn't been to the Cab in almost thirty years --at a time in my life when I was young enough to own the energy and sass that came with youth, and could even lay claim to some seriously funky dance moves to songs like Cool and the Gang, James Brown and Michael Jackson. But that was then. Now, was a completely different story. I didn't even recognize most of the songs they played that night.
I needed that silly night, to feel like everybody else; a fun kind of crazy that could carry me through the next few months to my surgery and beyond. It was a nice evening out, spending time with my sister and friends, laughing and forgetting for a moment that there was anything more serious to focus on than relearning how to walk in cute fashionable shoes so high they were probably never intended for toes to be stuffed in. But I did it, and at midnight I managed to walk out of the club with dignity and both my slippers, with nothing left behind for the over-50 Prince Charmings that were leaning against the walls checking out the ladies, while trying unsuccessfully to effect a similar gangsta cool they had almost 30 years ago, while...you guessed it, still checking out the ladies.
When life changes to lemons on you, sometimes you have to work even harder to find those things that make you get up in the morning, that make you smile. And when you find them, or notice them again, because they're never far from us, it is so worth the effort it takes to find that special something(s).
My special somethings are pictures of my son's grown up and as little boys, my granddaughter -- who is often as silly as her Noni (that would be me), recalling silly conversations with my bro Kenny and how he'd make me laugh, or staying out late with people I care about, wearing ridiculously high shoes, having a good time, and not giving a damn about anything more serious than learning a dance called, The Wobble, and enjoying that moment, at that time.
"Cancer is not a death sentence, but rather it is a life sentence; it pushes one to live."
Marcia Smith
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