Ropes! Beautiful Ropes!


I spotted this rope in a bin at Home Depot. I had no idea such beautiful rope existed. I uploaded the photo into WordPress right away, and it sat for a year, waiting for inspiration beyond its mere beauty. I’ve been at the end of my rope waiting for an idea to come for a post.

Until last week.

Grandson Mazen reported to his mom that unlike preschool, at a summer camp they don’t have to hold onto a rope when they walk as a group down the hall.

Ah, I thought, lucky Mazen, feeling the independence of walking like the big boys do.

Then Kath added, “But I think he misses it. I think he likes holding onto the rope.”

Our world pushes independence. Women of a certain age are supposed to be brave, bold, empowered.

I felt some of that bravery as I awaited cancer surgery this time last year.

But maybe that’s because I had beautiful ropes to hold onto.

Let’s hear if for the ropes! Thank you one and all.


My Cancer Story: Moms and Apron Strings

Although I’ve cried some buckets since my cancer surgery in July (that story to come!), I never shed a tear before I went into the hospital.

In fact, my eyes only welled up with tears once. The morning after I received the diagnosis, I flew to Baltimore to visit my mom on a trip that had been planned for a month.

I stood at baggage claim. I want to tell Mom.

But I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to drag her through the worry of the surgery and the wait for the pathology report. She’d be too upset.

As soon as I walked into her apartment and the festivities began, I was fine. No way was I going to ruin the fun.

Apron strings. This experience taught me just how strong they are.

I did some digging around, and the expression is usually a negative one.

But not in this case. For me, the airport tears were just a lesson in love.

What about you?

Do you/did you share upsetting news with your mom?

The Fruit Apron:  My mom began collecting old things many years ago. The hand-stitched apron above hangs on a quilt rack in my guest room.

After the surgery, I did tell Mom. “I want to tell you a story,” I said, “and it’s got a happy ending.” She took it fairly well, all in all.