A Very Fine Day (Patricia Potter)

This is a perfect fall day in Memphis. The sun is shining, the temperatures are in the mid sixties, and the leaves are turning. My favorite season, even if it means an end to swimming.

It’s a particularly fine day because my friend, Lynn, now has hope. I’ve been feeling about as low as a snake’s belly since we first heard that she was ailing. Of course she has been feeling poorly for many months, but I didn’t realize exactly how much pain she was experiencing.

As our frequent readers know, Lynn and I drove up the California Coast just a few weeks ago. I knew she was in pain, but we both chalked it up to the blasted aftermath of shingles. Yet she didn’t let it limit our activities or the joy of traveling and seeing and experiencing California’s grand mountains and sea. I knew she was taking pain pills, cautiously, but even after traveling with her, I didn’t realize how bad it was until one night when I woke up and she was sitting upright in the bed, unable to lie down on her back or side.

I’ve never known a trooper like Lynn. It takes a great deal to get her down.
In fact it takes an earthquake.

And so her note to us several weeks ago was like being hit in the stomach with a sledge hammer.

We bonded during years on the board of Romance Writers of America. I met Lynn at a board meeting more than eight years ago. She was undergoing treatment for cancer and obviously in pain, but she still edited the Romance Writers Report, the organization’s magazine, and was one of the wisest members on the board. I soon learned she was one of those I should heed. So was Tara Quinn. We worked closely together for five years, and we became involved in each other’s lives. We saw each other through good years and bad ones. After one difficult board year, someone sent us a web cartoon. Penguins marched across the computer screen: one occasionally slapped down an errant one with its flipper. A penguin became our talisman, a symbol of solidarity. Three against the world. We were those penguins, slapping down irritants.

We have since visited one another in our home locales and met at various conferences. It’s always a momentous occasion we celebrate together – along with Tara’s Tim – and when apart we keep up with one another through the Broads.

So when I first received Lynn’s news, I was stunned. The only thing I could think to do was make toasted pecans. It’s my answer to every sorrow or disaster, along with every happy occasion. So I have made toasted pecans. And more pecans. Some should have arrived today. I have purchased tons of pecans which are ready to toast and send as needed.

And now we get such fine news that her illness is treatable. I know Lynn. If there’s the slightest chance, Lynn will win. She always beats the odds through sheer determination and vibrancy. The disease doesn’t have a chance.

There’s a western expression I love: “Now there’s a man I’d cross a river with.”
Change man to woman, and that’s Lynn. She’s a survivor. And a fighter. And a grand companion. Always has been. Always will be.

Now I can scrape my belly off the ground, smile again and breathe easier. I just don’t know what I’ll do with a ton of pecans.