Mar 1, 20134 min read

Cancer Changes The Way You Think . . . About Everything.

Cancer really does change the way you think. The way you see the world and your role in it.

At least, it has for me.

I’m no longer willing to let the little things drive me crazy . . . most of the time. (Ahem. shockingly, I’m still not perfect . .) I no longer assume that kissing my husband, hugging my kids or telling someone I love them, can wait until tomorrow.

Letting fear dictate what I will or will not try seems incredibly foolish now. It doesn’t mean I’m never afraid, I often am. I’m just not willing to let that stop my from trying . . . anything.

There are so many things I want to see, learn and do.

I may not like them, or even be particularly good at them. But that’s not going to keep me from trying. Not anymore.

I’ve got a sale coming up in April that my sister-in-law Leona and I are hosting along with a friend . I’m having a great time coming up with new products to sell. Will people buy them? I’m pretty sure they will. There’s no guarantee though . . . but, I’m willing to risk it.

I’m having a plant sale in May regardless of the uncertainties. If I can’t keep up with all that’s needed for a fabulous plant sale??? I’ll have a smaller plant sale . . . or call in friends and family to help.

I’m still taking my camera everywhere. I have so much to learn it boggles the mind. I might never do much more than take ‘nice’ pictures . . . but I’m willing to do the very best I can regardless.

The home I keep for my loved ones has become more precious. The food I cook more worthwhile.

The garden an expression of God’s majesty. My way of showing the world around me the beauty of His creation.

I’ve always loved to write. To tell stories. But I didn’t go to university. I don’t have a degree in English My grasp of the proper use of punctuation is tenuous at best. (Something you already know if your a regular reader . . .) Spell check is my dearest friend.

Writing and letting people know where I write or what I write is scary.

Very scary. The time has come to push past scary.

To change. To take blogging and maybe even story writing, seriously.

That means writing and telling people about my writing. Visiting and talking to other writers. (Scary stuff for an introvert people!) My first step?

Something big.

I’m revamping the blog. Updating the look and . . . and . . .

Giving it a new name!

When I started blogging five years ago it was to challenge myself to write something everyday for a year. I was a gardener. I wasn’t quite middle aged.

Diary of a middle aged gardener.

It was cute.

A few months ago my cousin Faith sent me a card in which she mentioned that her family knew me as the middle aged gardener. It gave me quite a shock.

I am a middle aged gardener!

Somehow it’s not so cute anymore . . .

I began tossing out ideas for new names. Most of them ridiculous.

Then Holly came up with’ A life of Whimsey’. Because, she said, it made her think of me.

Hmmmm. . .

Google the definition of whimsey . . . A quaint or fanciful quality. Yes, that sounds about right. Why else would I decide to use the alternate spelling of whimsy? Spell check is not my friend in this case!

As we speak, I have a lovely designer working madly on a new look for my blog. The hope is to have it in place before next Thursday.

Because that’s the next part of the plan. The super scary, don’t forget your inhaler part of the plan . . .

I’m going to a three day blog conference. By myself! To talk to strangers. Alone. . . . Thankfully, the one thing I have learned over these past months is that I am never alone.

Philippians 4:13

New International Version (NIV)

13 I can do all this through him who gives me strength.

In honor of all this change I felt it was time to update my picture. After all, the one on my sidebar was five years old and I would hate to be accused of false advertising!

Holly was my makeup artist, hairdresser and stylist. We had a plan. We headed to the dog park with Jada and a camera.

Jada stayed in the truck while Holly grabbed the camera and I headed for the nearest tree.

Now what?

“Do something mom!”

“Don’t put your hand on the tree for every shot!”

We didn’t have a plan . . .