My perfect date, I have always maintained, is a potent cocktail of music, cooking and a good Rioja. This waiting period between chemo #4 and #5 marks a rather poignant loss of my ability to fully enjoy all three.
My senses are so wrapped up in who I am it’s almost funny. I judge people based on their favourite smells and tastes. I cook entirely based on how food smells. I have been guilty of withholding judgement on a person’s whole worth until I have given them a long, inquisitive sniff. I hold on to articles of clothing that smell like people I love far longer than what would be deemed healthy, and flashes of smells can knock me over with emotion. The same can be said for music, which I’m fairly certain is much more commonplace. Music for me is ritualistic, though, and it plays very specific roles during particular activities. My cooking music is particularly sacred, and it didn’t occur to me until yesterday (when I was trying to get as smart as my ‘smart’ tv and played a sample of a song) that I hadn’t played my cooking music in forever, because I haven’t been in that sacred place in my kitchen in what now seems like eons. My senses are off – they are both over and under-whelmed by this chemotherapy business, and I am being therefore being distanced from the activities that I love so much. These are the little things that deserve a moment in the grief that cancer causes. I miss music. I miss the full experience of all of my senses. And while I recognize the value of being somewhat numb in this particular phase of the journey, every muddled bit of my being looks forward to listening to Ana Moura in my kitchen again, and feeling, and hearing, and tasting and smelling it all. It really is the little things. Cue up “Como o Tempo Corre”. Cheers.