As Thanksgiving Day 2015 approaches…

We're grateful, decades later, for being cancer-free, in decent health — and still in love

Black Friday's right around the corner but I couldn't care less.

Indeed, I, Woody Weingarten, may be the world's worst consumer/shopper.

Woody Weingarten and Nancy Fox — still in love.

Necessities are what I purchase. Luxuries are what I tend to leave for everyone else to buy.

That's because I have virtually everything I truly need (the Bentley I've always fantasized about notwithstanding to the contrary).

With Thanksgiving Day also staring me in the face once again, though, I can't help but ponder what heads the list of hundreds of things I'm grateful for — with the answer coming quickly: 

My wife, Nancy Fox, and I — despite having entered our geezerhoods — are cancer-free, comparatively healthy, still "an item" and still in love after nearly 30 years together.

In recent public appearances, I ended both short and long speeches with two brief excerpts from my VitalityPress book, "Rollercoaster: How a man can survive his partner's breast cancer." The book is aimed specifically at male caregivers but its messages clearly apply to both genders.

And the fragments act as reminders to both Nancy and me what we endured when she was diagnosed more than 20 years ago with breast cancer.

And that we've survived.

And thrived.

The initial excerpt is something I borrowed from my wife's diary. It was written after she'd been declared cured of the disease:

"I have considered what I want in my life. Peace, love harmony, an end to war throughout the world. Those desires have not changed. But now I want to pay more attention to Woody, be a better mother and daughter.

"I have allowed myself to befriend visualizations, crystals, vitamins, hands-on healing. I have prayed.

"I want this entry in my diary to be profound. I want to remember all the important things, to put them down for me and Woody and whoever to see. But I don't feel profound. I simply feel relieved, so glad it's over."

My excerpt is no less emotional. In fact, my eyes seem to water each time I read it:

"We can now offer greater understanding and kindness to each other — and to virtually everyone who touches our lives. We can now recognize it's not crucial what gender or age someone with a life-threatening disease is, and that both designated patient and anointed caregiver require nurturing.

"We can more regularly keep our priorities in order, strive for balance, unblock our spirituality and divert the million potential intrusions on our lives each week.

"The day we wed, I read [this] to my wife-to-be:

"Through all the nows and yet-to-comes, I pledge only this: to love you without reservations, as fully as the human condition will allow; to nurture our creative talents, so our individual and collective light may brighten a few shadowy corners of this dimension; and to cherish and retain, always, my glorious vision of us as soulmates…"

And then I inevitably add:

"Almost 30 years later, I haven't changed my mind — or my intent."

Turning New Year's Day into Thanksgiving

Author offers a tribute to all 'Rollercoaster' purchasers and to all readers of this blog

New Year's Eve fireworks.

As I, Woody Weingarten, relaxed at home in San Anselmo this morning, I realized I needed to turn New Year's Day into a copycat Thanksgiving — because I'm so grateful for so many people for so many things.

So…

First of all, I want to thank every buyer of my new VitalityPress book, "Rollercoaster: How a man can survive his partner's breast cancer."

And every reader of this blog.

And every individual who helped the blog and book (now available in hardcover, paperback and ebook formats through your favorite bookstore or Amazon) become a reality.

I also want to express my gratitude to the many members of BAIPA (the Bay Area Independent Publishers Association) who handed me significant tip after significant tip after significant tip over the past year.

Then there's the small army of encouragers — men and women, way beyond my extended family, who believed in my success even when my belief in myself was shaky.

"Rollercoaster," which aims to benefit both male caregivers and patients, isn't quite a best-seller yet.

But sales are growing slowly and steadily.

Am I at all worried? No. My potential audience is enormous.

According to The New York Times, there are 35 million caregivers in the United States. Other sources double that figure.

In theory at least, each one might be a future reader.

Moreover, I have yet to promote "Rollercoaster" to medical associations, hospitals and libraries.

And as several friends and aides keep reminding me, "When you think of how this book will succeed, visualize a marathon, not a sprint."

Caregiving author — surprise! — gives thanks

Writer's eyes mist up at end of a flawless day as he re-reads dedications in 'Rollercoaster'

Thanksgiving Day 2014 is gone. So's the bird. And the cranberries.

But the good feelings linger on.

The holiday started with my wife, Nancy Fox, and I in our hot tub splitting 20 minutes of spontaneity itemizing what we're grateful for.

We covered a lot of ground.

Although I'm sure we each could have gone on for at least another 20 minutes, we decided to stop at an emotional peak.

And only once did I feel a need to refer to this marking my partner's 20th year of being free of breast cancer (a subject I cover thoroughly in my new VitalityPress book, "Rollercoaster: How a man can survive his wife's breast cancer").

Midway through the day, we added to the warm 'n' fuzzy sensations.

We traveled to Whistlestop, a San Rafael facility that provides transportation, programs and meals for seniors, the disabled and the poor all through the year — not to mention a special lunch with all the trimmings on Turkey Day.

Nancy played background piano for 90 minutes.

Nancy Fox performs as Woody Weingarten
 reads song requests from audience
during Thanksgiving lunch. Photo by
Frankie Frost/Marin Independent Journal.

I'd checked with each diner and volunteer for his or her favorite tunes, then handed the lists to my wife. She easily rendered each one (because she miraculously retains thousands of tunes in her mind, and plays them all by ear).

Heads bob. Bodies that may otherwise be bent with pain sway comfortably. Toes tap.

And faces smile.

It's ecstasy for the two of us to be able give back this way each year.

And it was an unexpected pleasure to see our photo on the online cover page of the Marin Independent Journal, our local daily newspaper, accompanying its story of the meal.

Then, a family dinner for seven happily topped off a flawless Thanksgiving.

But my eyes misted as I appropriately ended the day re-reading the dedication to my book. I was again moved by my interactions with:

• Nancy, my soulmate, wife, friend and companion who supported "Rollercoaster" even when it crossed the line of intimacy and took forever to finish.

• Irving N. Weingarten,, my father-hero who up to his dying breath was convinced I
should write a book — though I suspect he would have preferred a less weighty volume.

• Matilda Weingarten, my mother whose immense strength I failed to see until her final years.

• Janis L. Brown and Mark D. Weingarten, my daughter and son, who consistently gave me love and admiration, even when I occasionally handed them inflexibility.

• Zachary Weingarten and Drew Brown, my grandsons, and Hannah Schifrin, my granddaughter, who have brought me pleasure upon joy upon delight.

• Laura Schifrin, Hannah's mom, who generously sanctioned tons of time — which meant gobs of fun — for me to spend with her effervescent kid.

• Marv Edelstein, Dan Goltz, Heinz Feldman, John Teasley and the other Marin Man to Man support group regulars and drop-ins who for decades endured my incessant chatter.

• Edward Marson, whose artistry is responsible for the graphic design of my book's covers; Larry Rosenberg, whose photo made me more pensive than ever; Alan Babbitt, whose back-cover shot lovingly captured Nancy and me lovingly staring at each other; and Wayne Heuring and Steve Cook for proofreading and copy-editing "Rollercoaster" and making me look at every word, especially a few tortured metaphors and similes.

• Charlie Durden, a friend I will always miss, who vanished from my life one day into the L.A. smog, and died.

• All those buddies, acquaintances, relatives and colleagues I haven't cited by name who
helped me and Nancy through the breast-cancer years (as well as after and before).

And, last but definitely not least, each and every caregiver and patient who's been forced to ride in a cancer rollercoaster.