PicoBlog

My mom has stage four lung cancer. She was diagnosed four and a half years ago when the doctors said she had six months to live, if we were lucky. It’s her story not mine but she has had some rough patches, some good luck, some great doctors. She has defied the odds for which I am grateful, every single day. Her general attitude is that the cancer is really none of her business; the disease is going to do what it is going to do and she is going to live her life as long as she can.

But still, cancer takes its toll. There is no easy cancer treatment. The body fights this relentless invasion; the mind must persevere. Anytime my mom expresses an interest in food, which is not often, I pay close attention. She loves mille-feuille, a French dessert with layers of puff pastry filled with a custard cream. A few nights ago, I decided to try my hand at making this concoction. It was… laborious. There are many steps and techniques involved. It isn’t brain surgery, to be clear, but deliberate care is required. In the hands of a practiced pastry chef, mille-feuille is a beautiful dessert— a thousand delicate layers of crisp pastry and luxurious cream. I am not a practiced pastry chef but I acquitted myself well. My parents and my wife enjoyed the fruits of my labor.

Debbie and I hosted my family for the holidays this year. We had a nice Hanukkah and Christmas. We were joined by my parents, my brother and his wife, and two of our nieces who are eleven and thirteen, absolute delights. They talk non-stop. They fall asleep talking and wake up talking. Their phones are natural appendages and they seem to be in constant contact with their friends. They are in multiple group chats. There are all kinds of tween intrigues to which they are party. They love Stanley water bottles, Lululemon, and skin care which is bewildering because their skin will never be so dewy and perfect again. Leave it alone, girls! Just add water. They love Taylor Swift with fierce passion, and at night, they dance and sing Swift’s songs at the top of their lungs until they wear themselves out.

We learned so much from them over the course of a week. I took notes as they told me about things that ate and left no crumbs and what slayed or did not slay. I learned how sometimes, their peers are delulu. We talked about rizz which, mercifully, I did already know about. Language is always alive. And I am old. Sometimes, it was like they were speaking a foreign language because, really, they were. On Christmas morning, the girls tore open their presents and were so joyful—their energy was infectious. A balm. They still take pleasure in almost everything. They still carry unbridled optimism. They believe anything is possible. I want them to hold that belief forever.

Now, we are in the early days of a new year that has started out pretty rough and it’s that time when we reflect on the year that was. 2023 was… a long, complicated year, ups and downs, ups and downs.

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