A Paddling Love Story

A Paddling Love Story

Have you ever had someone come into your life and leave you so altered you wanted to write a great novel about it, paddle oceans, perhaps sing a poem from a mountain top, dance on main street, or build a pinwheel garden just to tell the world "hey, because of this person, I am not the same!"?

Whatever we do in our lives, everyone hopes to leave something behind from their time on earth. One of the most significant things we can leave behind ...is our story...or stories. If you were loved and altered by someone's story, how their lives touched you...it is a story worth telling.

Cancer sucks! There really isn't anything else to say about it, but that. I hope you don't mind my telling this story...it involves magical friendships, courage, victories, loss, wisdom, and lessons learned. It is about celebration of life at its best and most temporary, and of course, paddles, bubbles and pinwheels.

Paddling came into my life five years ago by the arm twisting of a close friend. Since, I can't swim well and don't much like the water overall, being on a very narrow tippy boat on the lake (or especially the ocean) is NOT where I prefer to be! It wasn't right away, but over time the sport of paddling grew on me and I fell in love with the unlikely.

Soon after came the arrival of four other women who felt the same way (with a lot less arm twisting), all with strong personalities, yet very different, contributing to a team whose whole was more than the sum of it's parts. One of those women was Jennifer Andrews. The first time we met, I raved about the sport to her. And here was this woman, who told me how much she loved Hawaii, and who loved the water, but I thought she was way too glamorous to ever join us. Jen came out the next day and never left until she couldn't join us any longer...!

She became our best friend and confidante, hours on the phone, funny stories over wine, we were never without her support, compassion, and uncensored humor. One year she gave us all an Easter basket (she loved holidays) full of forgotten childhood wonders...a candy necklace (remember those?), pinwheels, and bottles of bubbles! It reminded us to play, enjoy, and believe in the moment!

The six of us did everything together, growing as friends, each contributed something to the group that made us all better. The friendship was intense, and seemingly exclusive, we couldn't help it...we were on "borrowed time". That camaraderie afforded us success in races, success we would have never dreamed possible. A novice team from the desert? Competing on the ocean? All over 45, two of which were grandmothers, winning medals? Nonsense! But we did. In our first race together, the canoe seemed to just glide with the magic of teamwork, and every race after that just got better. We were full of ourselves, reveling in the moments and the love that was "sixasone". And...we thought we had forever to continue the magic. We had no idea it would end so soon.

When Jennifer was diagnosed with stage four cancer, a year later, our worlds were rocked to the very core. We found ourselves in a different kind of race and everything changed. It was a long tough fight for her, in which she complained little and still laughed and bossed us around when she came out. Being the sass, sparkle, and spunk to any occasion, she kept us uplifted instead of the other way around. We sought to encourage her with themed gifts which, we left on her doorstep when she returned from her long trips to the hospital. One time it was a super hero stuff, with individual homemade capes, bubbles, another time, a pinwheel garden outside her window. There was even a flat cardboard version of her that went to every race in her absence, lovingly known among all the teams, as Flat Jen!

In 2008 she asked us to "pinky swear" that when she was done with Chemo, we would all do the Rig Run in Santa Barbara with her. It was the dream of doing that race that got her through two months of radiation treatments in the Chicago winter. That summer, on a perfect May day in Southern California, the six of us paddling together again, all of us believing in miracles, she was the happiest, strongest, ever and paddled 12 miles! We didn't win a medal but of course no one cared, our prize was so much more.

As hard as we prayed, paddled, and wished for a miracle for her, we never got one. That last January we went to help her take down her Christmas decorations, all together in one room," just like old sixasone times", she said smiling. The laughter was bittersweet, somehow we all knew it was over and it was... we never saw her again.

Now, I wear her silver paddle around my neck along with the words Kinipela which is Jennifer in Hawaiian...she is never far from me! I miss her more than I can say! There is so much more I would like to tell, so many stories of how she changed us, but that will require pages still to be written. But this is what I want to say most...Jennifer's death taught me to live...the only thing about cancer that is worthwhile.

Most of us have been touched by this disease, or know someone who has, and have to find peace with it in our own way. It is a journey for those who live and die with it and those of us who walk beside them. Who teaches who? Who inspires who? Who is the most courageous? We are all courageous who have been touched by cancer, but none more than those who fight it within their bodies every day!

Jennifer changed us, she made us better. But we were able to give her a gift as well...two years of adventures that felt like a lifetime to all of us. She did things she never dreamed of, and had five best friends to celebrate life with, and that knowledge makes us all smile whenever we think of her.

In her memory, I created an event called Paddles and Pinwheels, please join us on the water, wearing a purple shirt (her favorite color...or pink...or lavender, and place a pinwheel on your canoe to honor someone you love... someone whose story altered your life. Let's celebrate the temporary, celebrate the sunshine on the lake, smile and laugh, celebrate life...with paddles in the water and spinning pinwheels in the wind! Wheee whee!

Thanks You for listening! Pam

What If?

What if

a note hanging in a tree

could change your life?

No really,

a little piece of random magic tied

to string bearing the words you

needed at that exact moment in time?

What if?

Would have not believed it myself

but two years later I see

the tendrils affects across my life,

of the Mabel Luhan Lodge note

I found in a tree in Taos.

To find myself saying shortly there after,

what if I CAN dance and did dance

and it was fun?

In which I joined friends

for the performance

of Thriller that fall and

everything transformed.

And took off on a rocket ride

of energy and wonder!

I began to look at everything

I had said 'no' to, 'couldn't, wouldn't

...nope not gonna try even!!!'

And wondered what if I saw this differently?

A large fan of words (obviously)

and affirmation cards,

I had been feeling the desire

for my own idea of wildly whimsical

cards forming

and the creative wheels starting to spin.

But for me I have learned

to trust the process

that the direction, the time, the design

will be revealed when it is right!

Good thing cause I had not a clue

how to begin

and although I have 200 plus poems

about the subject of life and growth

and becoming and believing

and blah blah blah...

they seemed too tired

and stiff for this project!

Or maybe I was! hmm?

Walking up to my rather large takes up

too much room

to park show truck and trailer unit

this fall in Tucson

I found a note on my wind shield wiper.

Never a good thing right?

Especially at an event where

city codes for parking

are impossible to understand

and in constant change!

"Okay," I thought, "this can't be good."

as I pulled it from my window and read it!

But it wasn't a bad note

rather a polite friendly

one saying they had boxed me in

and would move when I needed them to.

Hmm, what if a note on a

windshield was a NICE one,

something you wanted to read

and creating an energy shift

for just a moment

and if nothing else... a responsive grin?

That weekend,

I was have a "mopey popey" time.

Poor sales, too much uninteresting time

spent in a ten by ten space...

I wrote or lets say my pen

started to write line after line

starting with

What if, 'when pigs fly was today?' Look out!

This one made me laugh and on it went

until I had 57 of them numbered and

suddenly I was not glum anymore either.

I was actually feeling amazingly different!

What if indeed!

Naturally, I couldn't resist the temptation

to share some of these witty inspirations,

I wrote them on corners of notebook paper

and around the local neighborhood

I left them on cars.

No name, no website, just a random gift.

Not a fan of the Holidays,

the dread increasing as it grew closer,

I kept thinking of how I can change this?

Couldn't afford to adopt a family

and always do Toys for Tots and the food bank...

but something different was in order!

Something creative, clever and inexpensive.

What if notes in trees created

a difference somehow, some way.

Could it? Well I was certain it would for me but

that wasn't the total point.

So a week before Christmas I began

a What if Wishes Campaign!

Developing a design I sort of liked..

but after dispersing ten

handwritten ones in parks

and parking lots...

it was too much and I had to go to print!

The key was not to get caught or look back

or even return to see if they were still there,

AND not to expect any results!

Oh and not to tell my friends what I was up to...

but that didn't last very long,

I was too excited!

So twenty some notes

have been hung or placed!

I don't know if any of them

rocked anyones world but

doing this for me changed

the season into one

of magic and creative random

playful hope!

Although, I am certain, I was the subject for

some cursing the day we had the big storm

and the many people

from the Walmart parking lot

were not happy to see

a note flapping back and forth

with the wipers and rain!

Whoops!

The campaign is still in full gear!

I carry them in my car all the time now

and whenever it feels right, I leave one!

I suppose some will think its a nuisance

or ridiculous notion that

a mere note could offer

any valuable random insight.

But what if one note created

a ripple affect of change.

Why not try, I think!

And as a story teller and story collector

I hope to hear ONE of those story's someday.

So I added a cryptic signature of Piperain,

in the rare chance someone

WANTS to find me and report back!

What if it's YOU!

Pam Piper Rain

The Meaning of Make Believe

Make Believe!

these two words

have outlined my life...

as a child in Crayolas,

as an adult in markers!

Make Believe?

Is it a childhood term only or...?

What would it mean as an adult,

how would it be defined, lived,

acted out at mid age...?

How do we pretend?

well I am sure there are all sorts of ways

but I am not referring to the kind

that requires us to live off the grid...

or deceptively...

just silly and simple acts

of believing in the impossible,

the imaginative!

Didn't plan on researching this

but in retrospect

my past week was exactly

a game in make believe.

My leadership development class

met for the second time for

the dreaded and scheduled

public speaking session.

Oh, so very yuck!

And I didn't sleep at all

the night before.

When speech number one, didn't go well.

due to the uncontrollable shaking

which shows up in voice and hands!

This happen to everyone ...right?

A professional guest speaker

gave us some amazing tips, like using props,

colored markers to section our notes,

halved paper for less nervous rattling,

eye contact, eye contact, eye contact...

tho I would use most of the tips successfully

I knew eye contact

wasn't going to be one of them,

no matter how hard I tried.

"Speak on a childhood memory,

you have twenty minutes to prepare,

and two minutes to speak."

I wasn't the first to volunteer nor was I the last

(...John was.)

With colored notes in one hand

and an orange Trick or Treat bucket

which I eventually placed on my head, I began:

"We all have our favorite childhood age,

when we share of a memory...

but for some reason

I am always ten in mine,

I am sure I had to be other ages tho,

right?

Anyways, I had a great imagination

and although,

I grew up in Duluth Minnesota,

I thought it was Africa.

South Africa to be exact,

and I knew everything about it,

where the different animals lived,

the names of all the countries

and their capitals...why?

Because I also believed I was...black!

One spring I found

a leopard skin piece of fabric

in a thawing ditch.

Brushing it off

I swung it across my shoulders.

And it became a magical vest,

a warrior's vest

and I wore it everywhere.

My mom,

my very Scandinavian

and fashion conscious mom,

was dismayed!

Not only did she have a daughter

who was a tomboy and running around town

with pretend leopard skin vest on,

while chasing imaginary wild animals...

her daughter also believed... she was black!

Never really grew out of this.

I loved to make something simple

into something magical

and let it take me places!

When I was ten,

we had this old shelled out

wash machine in a back yard field.

This scrapped piece of metal

became my fantasy transport

as a covered wagon,

a dog sled attached to a toboggan

and one time a rocket ship.

My girlfriend and I decided

to send my brother and his friend

to the moon in it.

We tied a rope around it,

stuffed them inside

with a football helmet on and probably

a bucket like the one I am wearing now."

Its here I realize there is too much of an echo

inside the bucket and

and although my eye contact problem is solved

cause it hangs low hiding them..

I try to remove it but

the handle is caught on my chin

and I can't get it off!

So I leave it on!

Hmmm? Not really the original plan!

" Anyways, my brother and his friend

are beyond excited with promises to bring

back some milky ways

and say hi to the man in the moon for us.

We hoist and hoist...

being evidently really strong little girls

until they get to the crook in the tree,

the end of the rope and

in a silent stillness...they swing back and forth

with blank sad faces.

Looks of great disappointment times four.

To this day I am still not sure

IF I really believed we could get them

to the moon?

That anything was possible.

Cause when you are ten...anything IS possible.

So I wonder, what might I do if I still thought

like a ten yeard old?

What might I be able to do?

What might we all be able to do?"

End of speech..thank goodness

and the bucket was removed...with help!

It turned into a week of make believe.

Starting with pretending

to still be a competive athlete

and dreaming about wanting

and winning medals.

Not Olympic ones but... hey?

(See previous blog)

Of pretending to be able to dance

and sort of really dancing...

(and liking it,)

of being a zombie and a pirate and getting

to return to my "Farrah hair" of the seventies.

And I pretended to be an activist for a park

even carried a protest sign!

And of course had a make believe moment

of being a comedianne

with a bucket helmet and an audience!

When I talk about always being ten,

I BELIEVE it

and wouldn't live any other way!

Have you been ten yet today?

Pam Piper Rain

Older than Dirt and...

Its a week end of

"oh how I love this sport"

three medals, and two days

of wins, teamwork,

magic and silly friendship stuff

dorming it like wild college kids

and there is a thousand laughs

in the fun account

to feel very rich.

Hawaiianly charmed

and entertained

on a grassy hillside abundantly dotted

with reclining, dancing, drinking,

beautifully tattooed, smiling paddlers.

Our return here, marks five years

from our first race EVER!

Still can see us standing on the shoreline

naively novice in our big red bag shirts

that held rather than hid the smell of nerves.

We ran back and forth watching every turn

for tips, for clues

we had only discovered

the sport three months earlier

and we were, hmmm...

how should I say....terrible!

Without a coach or resident expert we

had learned

thru borrowed videos and books.

Even once simulating a way to dry paddle

using a picnic table and a cooler.

(Yeah, I know, odd to picture)

But for some reason

we were a crowd pleaser that day

coming in second

(don't get excited, out of two)

behind the intimidating Hawaiians.

Discovering immediately this was a sport

where teams helped other teams,

everyone friendly, good natured

and generous with information

and encouragement.

They LOVED us and still do it seems!

Charmed and seemingly pleased

to see us do well.

Is it because we are relatively new

or an unlikely collection

of older than average athletes

from the desert?

As much of a surprise to us,

as it is to them

when we claim firsts?

Or it it the new team shirts

with the cool logo

(a long ways from the red bag shirt days?)

No longer the nervous ones pacing

the shore line for our name to be called.

We are in the Silver Masters division now

(for women over 50)

or affectionately known as

"older than dirt."

Having earned this position for being

silver and seasoned! Finally!

We are kick back

casual, joking even before the race.

Getting around to figuring

out who will sit where

as we walk to our canoe.

Comfortable with the challenge

of dock entry

leaning left, one by one!

And we claim the water

as ours right away with a rolling start

and hold it with a fury

with clean technique and style,

Not worrying about the turn until

we get there, ready to do whatever

it takes to stay ahead and out

of the reed area we termed

"looking for Moses."

We do and we win.

I have found myself in seat one

as the stroker and

the water truly does belong to me

out in front in all ways

and its exhilarating, and thrilling

its my job, to get there and stay there

and it's...hard!

Very hard and grueling.

So, I try to get out of it for

the next couple of races

...and can't!

Seat one had always been

someone else's seat,

and I realized I had just been sitting

there waiting for someone else

to come and claim it,

so I could go back

to being a low keyed,

less responsibility, seat two again.

But what if this is my seat

and I claim it as such...

(no one else seems to want it either)

and train to be the best one

I can be and in better shape

for the job in the future?

Hmmm?

So what if we are "older than dirt"

and come from the desert?

We are winners and

a team to be reckoned with

and just like our first medal win

in Tempe five years ago when someone said

"and they are hot too"

It was heard again this past Saturday

as we claimed our over 50 hardware...

Better than the medal? Almost!

Looks like we must be

doing something right.

Oh, how I love this sport!

Pam Piper Rain