The Hills Are Alive

So, it's no secret to those around me that my brain suffered a little from the chemo. And I'm not just talking about the fact that I had to ask Nate what grade our son was in, while filling out forms at the beginning of the school year. Or that I had to ask our friend Danny to "do the math" for me to help me figure out how old same son is, just this past Sunday. But let's face it, while I'd be loathe to admit it to any sexist males, I did lose a few brain cells just giving birth twice.

Thus, these lapses in memory aren't as shocking as they might be if I hadn't given the pharmacy the wrong birthday for my daughter just three years ago. (It's true, I was so rattled when they told me the insurance had given them a different date, I had to look it up in her baby book when I got home, just to be sure who was right and who was wrong. And before you start yelling "early Alzheimer's" at me, I'll have you know many a mother has admitted similar events to me in private--and they shall remain nameless.)

But, back to the topic at hand, what was most disappointing to me about chemo affects was not the memory lapses, but my lack of creativity by the end of chemo. Believe it or not, at the beginning of summer I had visions of writing a book during treatment. (Ha! Can you hear the sound of my fellow chemo-survivors laughing uproariously at this thought?) But not only did typing make me dizzy, I simply had nothing to say.

Life wasn't as funny during the chemo fog. The mysteries of God's power weren't as intriguing. The art of filling a page with Times New Roman print just didn't appeal to me.

But over the last week of my life something has begun to change. Not only did my desire to write return (evidenced by last week's lengthy post), but I suddenly have all these creative thoughts spinning in my head, just dying to get out onto the page (or the web page as the case may be). And besides the toxins slowly leaving my body, I believe I have music to thank for this. With time to drive around and go places, I've had time to listen to music again (and I don't mean Hannah Montana). I mean poetic music that inspires thought on everything from aging to love to war to insecurity ... like John Mayer. Arguably, he is the lyrical genius of my generation. (Haters, just go with me on this one.)

So last week music began to help me get out of my daily "oh, I'm getting over chemo" vibe and it made my world a little bigger, and it was all culminated Friday night when I attended one of the funnest, most emotionally cathartic events I have ever been to ... the Sound of Music Sing-along at the Hollywood Bowl.

It involved watching the movie with 18,000 other people and singing along at the top of our lungs to every song. And, I mean, just look at Maria in this picture. I think that's exactly how my friends and I felt when we were done. It was just bliss. We heckled Rolf. We hissed at the Baroness Schraeder. We yelled at the Nazis, we cheered for Maria ... we even managed to sing along with the Reverend Mother, who is NOT easy to sing along with in that deep, deep operatic voice.

And ever since, I've just been dying to write. I have a creative bug again. The hills are alive and they are in full color.