Cousin Christie's Lemon Poppy Seed Bread

As some of you may recall, my sweet little cousins, Elly and Cami, were the brainchildren behind a bake sale fundraiser that my Utah County family threw for me this summer.

Cousin Christie (aka: The Hardest Working Woman I Know) was called in at the 11th hour and asked if she could bake bread.

And bake bread, she did. Roughly five or six dozen loaves. In one day. (I told you. She's super-human!)

And, I'm here to tell you.. I've had multiple bake sale customers talk to me about her poppy seed bread.

By all accounts, the lemon poppy seed bread was joyous to the soul and desirable above all other breads. (Yeah, so I just threw a little scriptural reference in there. Because I believe in likening the scriptures in all things. ... And also because I really have heard AMAZING things about this bread. ... Oh, right. And because I crack myself right up when I talk like a Mormon.)

Anyhoo...

Like I said, the bread was, basically, "most sweet, above all that anyone had before tasted" and "the greatest of all the gifts..."

So I thought I'd post the recipe here. You know, for the folks who've asked who made that bread - and how. And also for my own self, because I can't seem to keep track of a single piece of paper around here. (But, somehow, I can pull a recipe up on my phone in a matter of seconds. ... God bless the labels section of ye olde blog, because it gives me almost immediate access to all kinds of gems. Yea, even those gems that are precious above all.)

That said... without further ado (and before I get myself struck with lightening), I give you...

Cousin Christie's Poppy Seed Bread

1 lemon or yellow boxed cake mix
1 (3 oz) pkg instant lemon pudding mix
4 eggs
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cup water
2 Tab poppy seeds
3 Tab flour

Throw it all in a bowl. Beat with mixer for 3 minutes. *Bake at 350 in 2 regular loaf pans or 1 bundt pan for 40-50 minutes, until toothpick comes out cleanly.

*Foot note: I'm assuming these are greased pans, because this is basically a cake. Her instructions didn't specify the greasing of the pan... but you know me. I'm never one to shy away from extra butter. Anywhere, or on anything. I'd butter those bad boys up before I poured the batter in!

And now that the recipe has been revealed, I suggest that ye hold fast to the ingredients as they have been handed down from the house of Ball. Listen not to those jeering from the great and spacious house of "clean eating". Be ye not afraid of processed foods, for the people of Duncan Hines and Betty Crocker and Jello are a blessing in our busy lives. And thus we see that, at times, we must depart from the ways of whole foods and partake of the boxed mixes, that we might find joy.

Now, go forth. Bake. Be joyous, and share the fruits of thine labors with those whom ye love.

I love to laugh... long, and loud, and clear!

As anyone who's known me for, like, half a second knows... I love to laugh.

Hard.

And loud.

And often.

And one of my favorite, surefire, guaranteed, laugh-until-my-face-hurts things to do is go to Jester'Z Improv. I mean, I seriously love that place! I'm a huge fan of improv comedy, period. But I especially enjoy Jester'Z, because I know that I can take anyone with me... my mom, friends from work, my nine year-old nephew... and they'll love it as much as I do. Jester'Z does a live, original, 90 minute show. Every time. And they never disappoint.

I have always loved the people at Jester'Z, but now? ... Now, I love them even more.

The good people of Jester'Z are doing a Cancer Girl Benefit show.

That's right. You heard me... I'M HAVING A JESTER'Z FUNDRAISER! ... And I'm so excited that I can hardly stand it!

The date is September 23rd (it's a Tuesday). The time is 6:30-8:00. The location is the new Jester'Z theater at 1061 N. Dobson Rd. #114, Mesa, Az.

It will, as always, be a 90 minute, original, show. The cost is $13 per ticket (Jester'Z standard ticket cost). And 100% of the proceeds will benefit yours truly.

We're working on gathering donations for a silent auction (if you have any goods or services you'd like to put up on the block, let me know!), and are hoping to put a table up in the lobby to sell baked goods before/after the show. (Maybe some candied bacon? Go ahead and twist my arm...)

Click here to be directed to the site where you can buy tickets to the show. Please note that you can buy tickets in any quantity, from the comfort of your home or office, computer or phone. (You know me. I like to make it as easy as I can for you all to help a girl out...) All you need is an internet connection and a debit card, and you can make all of my dreams come true AND get a good hour and a half of laughs in the deal. (Oh, and a cupcake. Or some cookies. Or both.)

As always, I have nothing but love for all 13 of my original readers, as well as you fabulous people who have been drug here to my (crazy) little corner of the www from the book of faces.

Thank you for having an interest in my life, in my health... in, well... me. I appreciate, more than I can say, the sense of community that the cancer has given me. I have the very best support system in all of the world, and I'm grateful for every thing that every single one of you does for me. Please consider this particular fundraiser my gift to you. (Usually, I just ask ya'll to give me dollars. This time, you're getting a heck of a show in exchange for your donation.) There is nothing I would love more than to fill the studio with people near and dear to my heart... to have you laugh with me, as you're helping me.

The Bake Sale

Last week, I showed you some super cute pics of my little cousins and told you about how they were doing a bake sale fundraiser for me in Utah.

I so love those kids. And their moms. And their aunts. And basically, everyone else they're related to. (And their friends - the girls' friends, and their moms'/aunts' friends - because this bake sale was very much a community effort.)

I love people.

But I especially love these people:

On Thursday, Beth's kids and Julie's kids got together at Julie's house to practice their face-painting skills (some of Jule's girls can get a little morbid... we love it!) and bake carrot cake and peanut butter bars and other things that I can't remember (probably because I mostly coveted the carrot cake and peanut butter bars, so they stick in my mind better), while Lisa (aka: Anna) baked over 10 dozen cupcakes and Christie churned out approximately five dozen loaves of bread at her house.

(Sadly, I don't have pics of the loaves and loaves of bread at Christie's. But trust me, it happened.)

Saturday morning, everyone woke up early to frost the goods that were baked the day before, and... voila:

I had to do a close-up of the lavender cupcakes, because they made me cry. Just a little.

For those of you who I haven't had this conversation with... There is no "cancer ribbon color" for Liposarcoma. It's not a cancer that occurs often enough to have its own color recognition. But lavender is the color for ALL cancers. ... So, it makes me get a little teary when I see people using it. Cancer is such a horrible, awful thing. But... it unites people in a way that I don't think any other diagnosis does. And so, to me, lavender speaks to - and for - all of us whose lives have been affected by the cancer.

And here's a closer pic of the signage:

How cute is that sign? I love that the kids drew pictures to detail all of the things they were doing/selling at the fundraiser!

Beyond all of my AMAZING family who donated their time and talents (none of whom do I have actual pictures of... food and face painting pics of the kids, I have, but none of the actual women who made this happen), I also have totally awesome friends who attended said bake sale.

The first family on site, when they were still setting up:

Yeah, those are the Woods. Of Sunday dinner fame. I love them!

A friend I've had for my entire adult life and her sister who drove down from SLC:

Jenni and I worked together at the bank in Provo, and were instant friends pretty much her first day on the teller line. (She quoted Thoroughly Modern Millie. I quoted back. And a friendship that was mean to last through the ages was born.) Lisa was in high school at the time (that's right... she's not in high school anymore), so while she was also a CB-er, she came to the bank a little later in life. I love these women. They're some of my old vacation buddies (you know, from the old days). Central Bank Chicks Forever!

And my adopted sister-in-law, Kim, all the way from New Jersey! 

(Yes, Judy. It's a real place.)

Kim is Dean's sister (Dean of The First Family in Attendance... scroll up). I so love the Wood family! I tell them all the time that they are the reason I'm still single. (I'm pretty sure it would be impossible to find another family that I love as much as I love theirs, so it seems pointless to even try.)

Friends and neighbors of my cousins (also, cousins on their other side) came out to support them in helping me.

I'm telling you... I can't even say what it means to me to have the support of so many people, in so many places, in so many ways.

(Typing through tears now, fyi.)

The cancer is a horrible, awful, terrible thing. I hate what it does to my body, but... I love what it does to my life. The love that I feel is real. It is a tangible, moving force. I'm grateful to more people than I could ever possibly thank.

I'm lucky to have an army of people supporting me, from all corners of the world. And most of the generals in that army are people that I am related to.

Thank you, Cousins. I love you all more than I can say.

I love my cousins. The little ones, most of all.

Meet Elly (10) and Cami (12):

Elly and Cam wanted to do something to help their cousin with cancer (me), so they enlisted the help of their siblings, cousins, mothers, aunts and grandparents in putting together a bake sale, with proceeds to benefit yours truly.

Here's a sample of the menu/prices:

Aside: How cute is that girl holding a cancer ribbon that's shaped like a heart with the word "you" in the middle of it? I love her!

As you can see, these girls are selling baked goods for WAY CHEAP. And there will be face painting and helium balloons and loom bands who even knows what else! 

I'm telling you, it'll be fun for the whole family. If you're anywhere near Utah County this weekend, you should take your kids and head on over for a good time and a great cause! (I know, I just called myself a great cause. ... I, basically, have NO shame.)

Please, if you can... help these girls help me. They're my cousins' girls, but I couldn't love them more if they were my own. 

There's nothing I'd love more than to know that the girls had a fabulous turnout and were able to turn a profit, so they could KNOW that they made a difference. (Besides. They're adorable. You know you want to go, just to high five them for having the idea and then putting it into motion.)

Kimmie and her car washes...

As some of you old timers (yeah, that's what I call you kids who've been reading the blog for two years or more) may recall, a couple years ago, my amazing friend Kimmie threw a car wash fundraiser for me.

I so love her!

Since then, she and her family have moved to Washington and started a whole new life there - a life in which, I am sure, she is influencing people for good and making everyone she comes into contact with a happier, better, person.

My plea for help hit the www Saturday morning, and Saturday night, Kimmie's inbound plane hit the tarmac in Phoenix. She was coming to visit family in Arizona, but she texted to ask if she could organize another car wash for me while she was here. ... On vacation. 

Who plans and executes a service project while on vacation?

My friend Kimmie does!

She called a few mutual friends and the car wash commenced at 5:00 PM yesterday afternoon. Halfway through the first car getting washed, it became very apparent that this was like a game to the children who'd come with their mothers. 

While some of the kids worked, others held their homemade signs and screamed "CAR WASH FOR CANCER" at the top of their lungs to bring in business.

It was totally awesome!

My brother Kirk and and his family came, bringing both their cars - and all four children - to help in the cause.

Baby Monson (he's 2) figured out how to say my name. (Sort of. I'd type it, but there's no way to spell what he says when he means "Aunt Laurie". Ask me in person how it's done sometime and I'll show you. You'll be impressed. Also, amused.) ... He needed to be able to scream it at cars pulling out of the drive-thru, so he could bring in business.

I was able to be on site for about 90 minutes of what ended up being 2.5 hours of car washing.

It was awesome to see friends and family and complete and total strangers come together to donate time and hard-earned cash for a girl in need.

I love my life. I love the people IN my life. I'm so grateful for all of the opportunities I have been given to see the goodness in human nature, and experience the kindness of strangers. Life is good. ... Trust me, I should know.

Four years, five tattoos, and seven tumors ago...

I was just a girl named Laurie.

I was 35. Single. Lived alone. I was fiercely independent, yet super social. I dated a lot, but rarely got serious with anyone. I worked hard - made very little money - and somehow still found a way to save enough to take trips to Disneyland and Vegas with my girlfriends once or twice a year.

Then, in the spring of 2010, I started to cough. A lot.

I didn't think much of it at the time, because it was allergy season. But then the cough continued past the month of March. And in April, my stomach started to hurt. A lot. Like, I was always full. (We're talking "after Thanksgiving dinner" full.) So, I ate less. And I coughed more.

By May, I was tired.

So tired that I had a hard time standing long enough to cook dinner.

As I tried to eat less (I still felt full all the time), my stomach got bigger. And my cough got worse.

Memorial Day Weekend 2010, I was so tired - from all the coughing - that I could hardly move.

Finally, I scheduled an appointment with my primary care physician. ... And that's when they found my first tumor. (The cough? It was because I had a tumor that had adhered to five organs and was pushing on my left lung)

The CT performed prior to surgery showed a malignant tumor in my abdomen that was estimated at 10 lbs. When the tumor was removed, nearly three weeks later, it weighed in at 22.5 lbs.

In 2010, stats for Liposarcoma showed that this type of cancer typically appears in men between 45-65. My oncologists at the time weren't entirely sure how a woman, aged 35, had grown this type of tumor. As much as they couldn't say why this rare, typically "old man's cancer" had happened to me, they could tell me the odds of a recurrence would go down from 85% to 60% if I did radiation treatment. So, I let them tattoo my abdomen to mark my radiation field, and entered the complete and utter hell that was six weeks of radiation therapy. From my first treatment, the side effects set in: projectile vomiting, explosive diarrhea, constant nausea and exhaustion. I couldn't eat, and I couldn't move, but I still somehow lost 4-8 lbs every week of my treatments. By the end of the six weeks, I had visible burns on the left side of my stomach that were caused by radiation beams that had cooked me from the inside out. Nearly four years later, I still suffer the after-effects of heavy doses of radiation that went through my entire abdomen.

When I say radiation was hell, I mean it.

Post-radiation, my doctors explained that they wanted to scan me every 90 days to ensure that I didn't have any new growth. At the time, I thought they were being hyper-vigilant. I couldn't understand why they thought they really needed to watch me that closely, and I couldn't imagine how I was going to be able to afford even my 10% of the cost of a scan four times a year, but... they were the professionals, so I went along with their plan.

I had one clean scan.

In January 2011, I had a dime-sized tumor show up on my second CT. Following a biopsy that confirmed a Liposarcoma recurrence, surgery was scheduled. In March, seven weeks after the tumor was found - nine months after my first major surgery to have a malignant tumor removed - tumor #2 came out. In those seven weeks, that tumor had grown from roughly the size of a dime to that of a softball.

I had two clean scans in 2011.

In January of 2012, I had another dime-sized tumor show up on an MRI. It was at this point that my first oncologist realized that I was rapidly growing out of his comfort zone. My type of cancer is rare, and unlike anything he'd ever seen. He asked my permission to find me another oncologist, a sarcoma specialist, if possible, who would be better suited to help me. As much as I loved Dr. W and his fabulous bedside manner (he adored me, and would tell me all the time that I was "vibrant" ... what cancer patient's not going to love that kind of treatment?!), I acquiesced. We were lucky, in that the MD Anderson Cancer Center had recently opened in Arizona and had relocated Dr. H, a sarcoma specialist, from their Houston offices to the Gilbert location.  I met with my new doctors, Dr. H (oncologist) and Dr. G (surgeon) in February of 2012. After reviewing my medical history, the good doctors opted to watch that third tumor grow. As I've mentioned, it's a rare cancer. Not a lot is known about what causes my type of tumors, and since I had undergone two major, open, abdominal surgeries in the last 18 months, I agreed to let them watch #3 and see what it did.

In March of 2012, Dr. H and Dr. G ordered another MRI, to measure the growth of the tumor in those eight weeks. Shockingly (remember how quickly my second tumor had grown), the MRI measured only .2 cm growth in that time. The doctors opted to put me back on the 90 day scan schedule, and scheduled my next scan for the first week in June.

The June 2012 scan, surprisingly, showed tumor #3 relatively unchanged. Unfortunately, it also showed an entirely new, rather large, tumor sitting on top of my left kidney, crowding my spleen, attached to my colon. Surgery was scheduled immediately, and on June 21, 2012, I underwent surgery to correct a hernia and remove two Liposarcoma tumors, my left kidney, my spleen, 10 cm of my colon and 5 cm of my diaphragm. In addition to taking all the organs on the left side of my body, Dr. G also took as much of my retroperitoneum (the origination site of the first three tumors) as he safely could, and ran a flat edged tool against the inside of my muscle wall, in an attempt to scrape any remnants of cancer cells out of my body and prevent further recurrence. It was a worthy effort.

And we thought it had worked.

In June 2013, I celebrated the milestone of being one year cancer free. It was a wonderful, glorious, feeling.

At that time, my doctors opted to relax my scan schedule to every 6 months, rather than every 3.

In December 2013, my scan showed an approximate 5x5 cm hernia that was developing near my bellybutton, but was blessedly cancer-free.

18 months. ... 18 months, cancer-free.

June 2014 would have been two years.

Only... my June CT showed that I had a new tumor. Again, on the left side of my abdomen. But in a different place than any of my earlier tumors had popped up.

Surgery was scheduled, two weeks from the date of the CT. When my surgeon opened me up, he was met with more than one tumor; there were three.

The long and short of it is that while Dr. G took everything he saw, and did everything he could... the path report from my last surgery shows that there were positive margins on two of the tumors removed. (For more details on my last surgery, click here.)

Which means... he didn't get it all.

And so, here I am. Again. Growing cancer in my body.

As of now, the plan is to resume 90 day scans, beginning in October of this year. Depending on what they see, I'll either start chemo or prep to go out on another medical leave for surgery, as soon as 10 weeks from now. (My money is on chemo. Based on how far and wide my tumor growth pattern has spread, it would be incredibly difficult - and could risk my life - to open me up in the same manner for the fifth time.)

My work has been incredible. They've granted an unpaid medical leave (unpaid, because my short term disability insurance company sees any cancer-related claims as a pre-existing condition). I've been out for four weeks so far, and am planning a return to the bank at the end of the month. I'll work another month on restricted hours, and am hoping to move back to full-time at the beginning of September.

Here's the catch: any time I spend out of the office = time that I have no steady income flowing in. It's sad, but it's true.

I'm really good at living on the cheap. I've lived in the same 600 sq ft apartment for almost 9 years, and I drive a 2001 Dodge Neon. (That's right. With a tape deck. You know you're jealous.) I haven't gone on an actual go-somewhere-just-for-fun vacation since 2010.

And yet, I am broke.

And likely, both my health and my financial situation will get much, much, worse before they start to get better.

Which brings me to the point of this post: I need help.

I need financial help. And I need it badly enough that I am willing to go totally public with that plea.

For any of you who may be reading this and are in a position to contribute to The Cancer Girl Cause: there are options in ways to get funds to me. If you scroll up to the top of this page, there is a PayPal link that will allow you to deposit funds to my account online. There is also a benefit account at Wells Fargo in my name. A deposit can be made to the Wells Fargo account at any branch, nationwide. You will need to provide them with the spelling of my first and last name (L-a-u-r-i-e  E-v-a-n-s), the city and state I live in (Mesa, AZ) and my zip code (85201).

My promises to you, should you choose to contribute my cause: I will be eternally grateful, and I will only use your money for medical and/or living expenses incurred during the time that I am unable to work full time and earn my own dollars. (I won't buy shoes or clothes or jewelry or a purse or any other extraneous items with your money. That's a promise.)

If contributing financially isn't in the budget, I understand. Completely and totally, I understand. ... I also welcome good vibes, kind thoughts, prayers and positivity.

In advance, I have to say... thank you. 

Thank you for having given me your time, your thoughts, your energy and a measure of your faith and compassion. My life is blessed because of the people in it, both those on the front lines and those on the periphery.

Four years, five tattoos, and seven tumors later...

I am still a girl named Laurie, but I also call myself Cancer Girl.

I am 39. Single, and I live alone. I am fiercely independent. Every relationship in my life is valued, because my time and my energy are sacred. I still love people, but I am not as social as I used to be... because I simply cannot do all that I used to do. I work hard: in the workplace, at achieving balance (both metaphorical and literal, and if you've ever seen me in the first four weeks post-op, you know what I mean...), in building and maintaining relationships.

I may not have the financial security that I had five years ago, but what I do have is a wealth of experience that I wouldn't trade for the world.

I don't understand why this has happened to my body, but I do know that it is part of the plan for my life. I know there is a God, that He loves me as His daughter, that He will always give me the strength that I need to do what I have to do, and that He will ultimately heal me (however He so chooses).

I have a deep and abiding sense of gratitude for all that I have been given.

I may have the cancer, but I also have people in my life who love me. I am continually amazed at the strength and breadth of my support system. I know there is no greater gift than that of prayer. I know that love is the strongest, most unifying, force on Earth.

In the midst of my trials - in reality, because of my trials - I have been made aware that I have been given much. And I am grateful. For each and every one of you who have touched my life, who have taken the time to read this, for having shared in my story, I am grateful. Thank you, and I love you.

October 28

Tomorrow, my week long work reprieve is over.

Next year, I'm going to take a full week off work and do something fun and go somewhere beautiful. That's right, next year, I'm going to take an actual vacation. (No more of this taking time off to have surgery. I am OVER that work-release plan, in a big way!)

Don't get me wrong, I have been soooooo grateful that I'd planned this week off at the beginning of the year. And I am soooooo grateful that the bank let me keep this week that I had scheduled, even though I'd missed 8 weeks this summer on a medical leave. It has been a blessed relief, all week, to know that I had this time to heal without stress or worrying about work.

Seriously, I have been so (SO!) grateful - all week long - that I could nap when I needed to, alternately hold an ice pack or a heat pad to my face while it healed, and just hang out here in my cozy little apartment.

I love my apartment. I love my home. I do. I love it.

I love the view from my couch, both into my kitchen and out to the pool.

 

I love the red wall that my couch is up against. I love that as I lie on my couch, I can look up and see pictures of people that I love.

I enjoy spending time here, in the three rooms that I have to call my own. I have healed in this little apartment, in many ways, over the course of the past several years. I love my home.

I have always loved it here, but in the last several months, being in this specific corner of this apartment complex in Mesa, AZ - having been able to stay in my home - has meant the world to me.

When I found out, in January, that I had a new tumor, one of my very first thoughts was "Where will I live?". Beyond not having a treatment plan and not knowing if the bank would be able to give me a medical leave, I wasn't sure what was coming - or how in the world I was going to be able to afford it when it came. Over the past two years, I've had multiple friends and family members open their homes to me and offer to let me move in with them. I have been so grateful for the support system that I have, for the fact that there are people who would sacrifice a corner of their comfort, of their home, to help me. But I have always wanted to be here, among my things, in my tiny little apartment.

And I have been able to stay.

Thanks to so many of my friends and my family, and to a bunch of strangers - including the homeless man who emptied his pockets when my friend Kimmie told him about the girl they were doing a fundraiser for - I have been able to stay.

I've been able to stay in this little 600 sq ft apartment that I love so much, where I am surrounded by pictures and books and movies that I love. I have been able to sleep in my bed, in my room, where I get better rest than I do anywhere else on Earth. I have been able to cook in my tiny little galley kitchen, where you can't open the fridge and a drawer at the same time, lest they smack right into each other. I have had my own itty bitty bathtub with the crack down the middle and the lumpy carpet that I'm sure was never intended to last through seven years with one tenant. I have taken more naps on my couch in the last week - in the last several months - than I can count, and I have been grateful, every time I have woken up, to open my eyes and know that I am home.

This tiny little apartment, literally full to bursting with my things, has been a refuge and a safe haven in an otherwise stormy world.

I'm so grateful that it has been mine. I so enjoy it here.

Thank you, to everyone who has helped in any way this summer. Your generosity has allowed me to be where I wanted to be.

I love it here. I always have. But the love that people have shown me, in helping me find a way to manage what had seemed so unmanageable, has helped me love it even more.

I know that I quote her all the time, but Dorothy was right, "There is no place like home"; I'm so grateful for mine.

September 22

Okay, kids... It's that time again.

That's right. IT'S FUNDRAISER TIME!

My friend Christian is hosting a Scentsy Fundraiser for me. It will be open through the end of the month, so you have a week or so to peruse the Fall/Winter catalogue to your satisfaction before you need to make a decision. And don't you worry your pretty little head about how something will get to you. Christian and I may live in Arizona, but if you're reading this from the comfort of your cozy couch in the heart of Nebraskan farm country, you can go to her site and put in your address with your order, and in just a few days, you'll receive a little (or big) Scentsy box right there on your own sweet wrap-around porch.

Ahhhh... the joys of shopping online and then getting packages in the mail.

And shopping for a good cause (because we all know that I like to consider myself a good cause)? You just can't beat the feeling of having done something that will help someone else! (Also, it's just fun to get something seasonal and new in the mail!) Come on... You know you want to!

Click here to go right to her site.

You'll see that there are two parties open right now. Be sure to click the FBO - Laurie link so the credit for the orders will go to the fundraiser party.

Oh, gosh. There are SO MANY fun Fall/Halloween and Christmas things coming out right now!

And if you're not sure what you want, or if you're one of those weirdos who just can't stand to buy anything for yourself (I, clearly, don't understand this kind of selfless behavior), I'll give you an itemized wish list and you can make a purchase and put my address in the "deliver to" box.

You know me... Always doing what I can to make it easy for people to give me stuff I want.

How fun are these Halloweeny things? I love them!

The All Hallows Wrap:

Pumpkin:

Fright Night Plug-In:

Here's a fun sort of Fall-ish one...

Linden Silhouette



And then there are the Christmasy things...

Blizzard Plug-In:

How darling is that? I know that I have a special place in my heart for anything Snowflake-related, but still... You have to admit that's pretty darn adorable!

Bluster Plug-In

How sweet are those rosy little cheeks? I want to pinch them!

And then, there is....

Be still, my beating heart.

 Behold:

I am IN LOVE with this Joy to the World Silhouette!

I mean it. I love this one!

Seasonal scents I enjoy: Cinnamon Bear, Clove & Cinnamon, Central Park Pralines, Cozy Fireside, Honey Pear Cider, French Toast, Pumpkin Roll.

"Favorite" scents that I actually like (you'll notice that I have a definite preference for the spiced seasonal scents over the plain jane stuff that you can get all year round): Clean Breeze, Perfectly Pomegranate.

And there you have it. The link to Christian's page. A glowing endorsement for the cause that the fundraiser supports. (Just cracked myself up.) And a personalized guide through my favorite pieces listed in the Holiday Collection.

Buy up, folks. Buy. Up. ... The party will close on September 30th.

Ready... Set... SHOP!

July 20

It's that time again...

What time, you ask?

FUNDRAISER TIME!

Tomorrow morning my friend Kimmie is doing a charity car wash/bake sale to benefit my (and I hope your) favorite charity: ME

Please make an effort to come if you can...

When: SATURDAY, JULY 21st from 8am - 11am (or longer if there's a line.)

Where: McDONALD'S on SOUTHERN and McCLINTOCK (NW corner), in Tempe

$5 minimum donation

*As an added bonus, Kimmie has authorized me to advertise that she has some suh-weet car wash dance moves. The dance involves rolling up her both her shorts and sleeves as high as they will go and then holding the car wash sign in such a way that it covers the rest of body so she appears to be a dancing (naked) human car wash sign. You know you want to go check that out.

**This just in from Kimmie via Facebook: We are doing Laurie's car wash RAIN or SHINE tomorrow. Why would you want to get your car washed while it rains you might ask? Because you'll be helping a friend and also because I will drop to the ground and do the worm right there on the pavement for anyone who donates over ten dollars. You can't even imagine what I will do if you donate over $20. You'll just have to come and find out!


Between the promised performances and the fact that a McDonald's breakfast sandwich is mere 50 feet away, this is a car wash benefit that you do not want to miss!

Graphics courtesty of FranklinCircleChurch.org

July 4

Have I talked here before about my hometown and how totally awesome it is? ... Oh, I have? Well, I'm sorry, because you're going to have to hear it again. Brace yourself: My hometown is totally awesome!

I mean, A-W-E-S-O-M-E.

From the way that the baseball park is the center of the universe in the summertime (and this from a non-sporty girl who'd rather cut her own hair with sheep shears than watch a baseball game ... but I'll totally go to the ballpark with friends and get something from the concession stand ... because I heart SnoCones), to the Jennings Band and the firing of the anvil on the 4th of July, to the cashiers at the grocery stores who always remember my name (even though I haven't lived there in over 6 years).

From the sunsets, to the corn fields, to the irrigation water, to the smell of farm land...

To the people.

The people who gather around and support each other in times of trial and hardship.

Taylor is the best, and I could not be prouder to come from this tiny little town that takes care of its own.

Which brings me to the ultimate fundraiser that's being held in my honor this Saturday. ... And this, folks, is when you know you've hit the big time in my hometown. Because as awesome as a bake-sale in front of Bashas' is - and it really is pretty darn fantastic - a Navajo Taco benefit dinner  is like the Holy Grail of fundraisers in Taylor Town. (And I'm not just saying this because of my deep and abiding love of fried bread. ... Really, I'm not.)

The Navajo Taco Fundraiser

That's right. It's official. As we all know, I need help, and one of my favorite Taylor families has decided to do something about it. ... And because we all know that my favorite charity right now is ... uhh... Me, and that I have no qualms asking the general public (but esp friends from my hometown) for their hard-earned money, I've decided to help them publicize the upcoming event.

Katy Chee, Ruby Plumb and Velda Martin are the masterminds, cooks and beloved friends of mine who organized the fundraiser, and here are the details:

Date: Saturday, July 7th

Time: 11:30 AM - 7:30 PM

Location: Katy's house (500 E 12 N, Taylor)

Cost: $6 a plate, or $30 to purchase six plates to feed a family

They will be cooking in Katy's kitchen, and Navajo Tacos are available for pick-up (or delivery, within Taylor and/or Snowflake city limits) between 11:30 and 7:30 on Saturday. Walk-up purchases are welcomed, but pre-orders are appreciated, as that will help them gauge how many supplies they will need to purchase in preparation for The Big Day.

To pre-order, call: Ruby at 928-536-7469. If you're unable to reach Ruby, Katy will be available to take orders in the evenings after 5:00 at 928-229-0142.

Ruby has also hand-crafted a quilt that they'll be raffling off. Raffle tickets for the quilt are $1 apiece or you can get six tickets for $5. Tickets can be purchased at the time the Navajo Tacos are picked up, and the winner will be notified within 24 hours.

Note: If purchasing Navajo Tacos to feed your family of 11 isn't in the budget for you this weekend, but you still want to help or do something, do not fear. There are other, non-monetary, ways in which you can help/contribute. As mentioned above, the Navajo Tacos will be available for pick-up or delivery between 11:30 and 7:30 on Saturday. Delivery drivers are most certainly welcomed. Call Katy to make arrangements to help with deliveries, or anything else she might find herself in need of.

These women took it upon themselves to work themselves to the bone on Saturday in an effort to contribute to the Cancer Girl Cause. I have known them my whole life, and few and far between are the women in my life who are as Christlike, as self-less and as service-oriented as the Plumb girls are. I love them!

So, please... Please, help these sweet ladies help me. Be it through downing a plate (or three - I won't judge) of fried bread covered in beans and cheese and other goodness, in purchasing a raffle ticket, or in helping them by being support staff behind-the-scenes. Whatever you can do, however you can help... it will be appreciated.

In advance, I thank my loyal (and local to The White Mountains) readers for your help in getting the word out, and  your support of this fundraiser this weekend.

*Lest any of you sweet readers think that I cooked such a delicious looking Navajo Taco in my current state of weakness, purely to be able to take a picture and post a visual online (also, I don't want to be sued for using their image), I must disclaim: Picture of Navajo Taco courtesy of Taste of Home (http://www.tasteofhome.com/).

June 16

Those of you who know me well, know that I've been fighting cancer off and on for the last two years.

In the last week, I've learned that Cancer has found a new low and decided to truly fight dirty.  ... Little does that punk know how stubborn I am and that I will not let him take me down. So, in an effort to garner even more prayers and support, I'm going public. (I mean, beyond this little corner of the www.) That's right. Facebook. ... I put it on Facebook, people.

*Deep breath.*

What follows is a brief (well, as brief as I could make it...) summary of the last two years of my life, health wise, that was written for the benefit of those who are not one of the original 13 readers of this blog; but rather, someone who was sent here by a link or by a friend. If, after reading this post, you would like more information on me and my not-so-recent fight with the C word (and/or my love affair with all-things bacon), you're in luck. There are all kinds of long, newsy and semi-informative posts here for your reading enjoyment. ... Just scroll on down to the archive and you can go month by month, or you can do various searches by clicking on labels to the right.)

At the end of the summary, there are details of how you can help me. Right now. Today. ... If you're in a position to do so, and if you so choose.

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In June of 2010, I had my first tumor removed. My 22.5 lb tumor made a medical journal and a cancer conference here in the Phoenix area. (It was my first brush with celebrity. I was both horrified and proud at what my body had accomplished.) At the time, I was told that Liposarcoma was a rare type of cancer that typically occurred in men between 45 and 65. I followed my doctors' advice and went through 6 weeks of radiation (complete and utter hell, nausea and abdominal pain the likes of which I still can't think about without tears coming to my eyes) in an effort to decrease the likelihood of recurrence from 85% to 60%. As I was a 35 year old woman, and not a 45-65 year old man, it seemed that it was most likely a one-time fluke and I'd be fine. I mean, I'd had the horrific surgery. I'd suffered through radiation. I'd lived through the cancer (and had the little "I'm a Survivor" pin to prove it).  Between surgery and radiation, I lost four months of my life to cancer in 2010. I thought I was done, that that was that.

My doctors had decided on a really aggressive treatment plan. They wanted to do scans (MRI's and/or CT's) every 90 days to monitor me for re-growth. I thought they were crazy. I wondered how I'd be able to afford even my 10% of the cost of the scans. But, they were my doctors. And I believe in following doctor's orders, so I went along with them.

I had one clean scan.

In January of 2011, my second-ever quarterly scan showed new growth in my retroperitoneal tissue. They weren't sure if it was the same thing (how could it be, less than 6 months after radiation ended?), and thought maybe it was scar tissue. Maybe it was just an abnormal growth near my kidney. At the end of the day, my surgeon didn't want to cut me open unless he knew that it was cancer. I went in for a biopsy. (Some fool nurse started talking about my stringy tumor tissue during said biopsy. I almost threw up right on the table.) Results of the biopsy: Malignant Liposarcoma.

Surgery was scheduled for March 22. The tumor that measured just larger than a dime at the end of January was the size of a softball by the time it came out, seven weeks later. There was a lot controversy at the time over what my oncologist would do with me now. It was decided not to run me through chemo or other treatment, as new research had shown that Liposarcoma doesn't have a predictable response to traditional chemotherapy treatments. When I asked what the likelihood was for another recurrence, I was told that there wasn't a lot of data on Liposarcoma, so they couldn't really forecast the future for me, but felt comfortable in telling me that, with my post-radiation 60% chance of recurrence rate, and the fact that it had already recurred, I should be safe.

In June of 2011, I had surgery to correct/remove some cysts that had formed on my tailbone, due to forced inactivity during the recuperation time of both abdominal surgeries. (When they take my tumors, it's a major surgery.We're talking a 13 inch incision from my sternum to my pelvis. - I was lucky in my second surgery and they just cut from my sternum to what's left of my belly button.) During recovery, my only option is to lie, flat on my back, for weeks. I can offset that by sitting very carefully in my recliner, but since I can't lean to a side or sit forward at all, because I have no abdominal muscles, all my weight is on my bum. ... And thus, some serious tailbone issues were born.

Between the tumor and the pilonidal cyst surgeries, I was out on medical leave from March-September 2011. Not all of that was full-time leave, because I did go back on a part-time basis between and after my second surgery before I was cleared for full duty again. But still. I missed a lot of work last year.

I had two clean scans in 2011.

In January of 2012, I had an MRI reveal another, new, tumor. Again, in my retropertitoneal tissue. At this point, my existing oncologist knew that he needed to get me into the hands of a Liposarcoma specialist. While Dr. W was a great doctor, and I loved his bedside manner, I understood that I was turning out to be one of those patients that the man just didn't know what to do with. He searched far and wide for a doctor who'd seen what I have, and luckily, for me, he found one. He referred me to Dr. H at the MD Anderson Cancer Center and I've been there ever since. (And loving it a little, because Dr. H is single. And dreamy. And age-appropriate. ... Listen, if a girl has to have the cancer, she might as well also have an oncologist that she can crush on.)

I met my new doctors, Dr. H (oncologist) and Dr. G (surgeon) at MD Anderson in February. They explained that they'd reviewed my case history, and based on the last year of my life (and also, the size of the tumor), they wanted to hold off on surgery until the risk of surgery didn't outweigh the possible benefit. When the tumor was found in January, it was roughly the size of a dime. (Sound familiar? Think back to the tumor of 2011. It was also dime-shaped in the beginning.) Based on my growth patterns, they wanted to wait a few weeks and scan me again. My March MRI's showed a .2 centimeter (read: pretty much none at all) change in the size of the tumor. My next round of scans were scheduled 12 weeks out, for the first week in June.

Last Thursday, I went in for my quarterly scans. Friday, I got the results. The tumor from January is still pretty much unchanged. But the CT showed an entirely new tumor, on top of my left kidney - pushing up against my spleen and possibly touching my colon as well. Surgery is imminent. ... The surgeon had already set up a time and a date before I even got to my appointment on Friday. The threat to my kidney is real, and if this new little friend has gone from zero-to-grapefruit in three months, I really can't put this off, because who knows how many other organs this could impact? (My first tumor adhered to five organs before it was removed. Let's not repeat that, please and thank you.)

So, surgery is scheduled for the 21st. That's next Thursday. They'll take both tumors, my left kidney, my spleen and, very likely, a section of my colon. The incision will be the full 13 inches again. I'll be in the hospital for about a week, with all kinds of IV's and monitors checking not only the usual blood flow and surgical recovery rate, but also my kidney and colon functions. I'll leave the hospital in a wheelchair and come home to use a walker for at least 4 weeks, at which point I'll start learning how to walk on my own again. (I know, if you're over 18 months old - and I would assume everyone who's reading this is - it doesn't seem like walking's all that hard. But it's brutal without ANY ab control. Trust me, I know. I've done this before.)

My work has very graciously given me an 8 week medical leave, for which I am incredibly grateful. I haven't been with the company for a full year, but they found a way to help me keep both my job and my insurance benefits while I'm out. (I love these people!)

The hitch: it's an unpaid medical leave. As I haven't been covered under our group STD (Short Term Disability Insurance) policy for 12 months, I can't file a claim and receive any type of insurance payout. (My advice to you: don't ever get the cancer. It is the mother of all pre-existing conditions. Also, it's no fun. And it's expensive.)

I consider myself very fortunate to have been able to go through the last two years and come out of three surgeries, 6 weeks of radiation and roughly 8 months of time unworked, without having incurred any new debt. I have been blessed beyond measure, and I can't even make sense of how this hasn't financially buried me up to this point.

(Other than the obvious: I grew up poor (we thought dirt was a toy), so my entertainment expectations and living expenses are relatively low.)

But I'm headed into uncharted territory, folks. This surgery will take more out of me than any of the others that have gone before. (Literally. Because this time, I'm losing organs.) So, I can't be certain of the recovery process or time. There's a best-case-scenario estimate of 8 weeks recovery time until I can return, part-time, to work. I'm hopeful that will hold true, but, again... uncharted territory. (And I can't bring myself to think about, let alone talk about, worst-case scenario.) Let's just say that, for now, I'm looking at a minimum of two months without any income, and then two more part-time months, before I'll be back to my "normal" 9-5 life. There's a possiblity it could stretch into more than that, and beyond that, I'm looking ahead at routine medical maintenance that will continue to cost me thousands of dollars every year. For the rest of my life.

And I have nothing.

Wait... That's not true. I have all kinds of great stuff. Stacks of books to read and re-read. Scads of movies to watch and a Netflix streaming membership that I have just begun to explore. I have a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and faith in Him who will redeem me, and ultimately heal me (however He so chooses). I have a deep and abiding sense of gratitude for all that I have been given. I have people in my life who love me, and I'm amazed at the strength and breadth of my support system. .... I have so very, very much.

But financially, I have nothing.

I have spent everything I have ever saved. Ever. Every extra dollar I've made in the last two years has gone towards paying medical bills. And I have been very (VERY!) fortunate to have been in a position where I was able to pay them. ... Until now.

Enter, the point of this post:

Friends and family have been asking for weeks/months/years how they can help me get through this. My answer has always been the same: "Pray. Oh, and if you could find a cure for cancer, that would be great, too." It is the nature of the beast that most of what I have to go through, I have to go through alone. I can't share the physical discomfort of carrying a tumor heavier than newborn triplets. I can't disperse the pain of surgery so other people can help me carry the burden of having to heal from the inside out. I have to learn to walk again on my own. So much of what I have to do, I have to do.

But there is something that you can help with, if you're able, and so inclined.

A benefit account has been opened at Wells Fargo in my name. What this means is, anyone can walk into a Wells Fargo (nationwide) and make a deposit into the account. All you have to know is my first and last name (Laurie Evans) and the city I live in (Mesa, AZ). -- I would advise that you be specific to the spelling of my name when you go to the bank. I have confirmed with Wells Fargo that I am the only L-A-U-R-I-E Evans in Mesa, Az with an account; however, there are other accounts owned by women with similar names who live in my city.

All cash donations made through Wells Fargo will be anonymous. I'll never know dollar amounts or names, unless you choose to share that information with me yourself. (And if you do, I can promise you a big fat, thank you in at least seven different languages. Oh, and some tears of gratitude, too, if I know me and my crying ways.)

Or, if you'd prefer to donate from the comfort of your couch, rather than find your way to a Wells Fargo branch, there is also the handy-dandy "Cancer Girl Donation Center" PayPal button in the top right corner of the home page.

In advance, I want to thank my loyal readers (and anyone new, who may have found their way here from the Land of Facebook today). Thank you for having given me your time, your thoughts, your energy and a measure of your faith and compassion.

Please feel free to share this link, or the blog as a whole, with anyone you feel would be interested in the information that is here. The time for me to try to retain any sort of privacy has passed. Right now, I need the kind of help that only other people can give me, so I'm reaching out to my public (all 13 of the regulars who read this blog) and beyond, with faith in human kindness, trusting that people who know me (and maybe even people who don't) will be able to open their hearts and their pocketbooks and give a little (or, heck ... a lot!) to a single gal who's putting up one heck of a fight against cancer.