In celebration of the fourth annual matchup between the Cavs and Warriors (a noted Hal vs. Max rivalry), and four years after my tumor diagnosis, Beyond Six Five: Anatomy of a Close Call, has been published.

It is the culmination of family and dear friends each contributing a very special part of it so that it can see the light of day. Thank you for this team effort.

I am enjoying the reviews from readers:

• I had a hard time putting it down; my husband had to remind me about dinner.
• Reading your book is like having an extended lunch and was wonderful to read.
• I wanted it to go on.
• We dips our lids.
• The whole book was my favorite part.
• Your story spoke to me in a very meaningful way.
• I felt like I was right there with you the whole time.
• I chuckled and teared up.
• I hope it is not the only book you write, but the only crisis you ever face.
• Most of all, of course, glad it was a Close Call.

A thank you phone call from my surgeon Dr. Maldini was a great surprise. He shared with me that he had authored a paper showing that complex surgeries at hospitals in Hawaii have outcomes similar to those from more noted medical centers. I’m pretty sure that I’m one of the statistics in his study. My famous pancreas.

Dr. Dale O’Brien, executive director of Pancreatica and a gracious source of information during my health research, wrote me that he is going to place my book among his medical books as a small treasure. That is a treasure to me.

Several readers were surprised that I am such a sports fan. I didn’t realize I was that subtle in my loyalty to all things purple.

A new chapter starts as I continue to be interested in the effects of surgery not only on one’s body, but the impact on the mind as well. Research into the decline of cognitive function after surgery is gaining some momentum, with a paper on Postoperative Cognitive Dysfunction to be delivered at a medical conference of Duke University anesthesiologists.

Wonder if the findings will be announced at Cameron Indoor Stadium.

A little over a month ago we received a surprise phone call from our dear friends Bease and Putt (known to the secular world as Karen and Warren) that they were going to be married in a week in Chicago. Hal and I surprised them by booking a flight and getting on a plane two days later so that we could be there for the wonderful ceremony and celebration, in the same church where Hal and I were married 33 years ago.

I wasn’t sure we should make such a last-minute trip, but thankfully Chuck convinced us that we should be there for special friends and a special occasion. Not only were we there for the lifetime experience of such great friends, but the trip also yielded more surprises.

We were able to get together with all eight of the Chicago Halvorson family, which is difficult to do even with advance planning given their busy schedules; our wonderful friends Blythe and Mark who travel all parts of the world were going to be in Chicago that weekend and we had a marvelous reunion at their lovely place overlooking Millennium Park; and we were able to orchestrate a stop in Seattle to have dinner with Chuck and Jenny, Max and Christine that resulted in an unplanned additional second day as well, which also enabled me to meet Christine’s terrific parents for the first time.

All in a period of less than seven days.

I was in the hospital for seven days two years ago, not nearly as fun although it did yield some fantastic results. I recently happened to be in the hospital building and took a quick visit to the floor where I had stayed. I retraced the steps that I walked from my room the first day after surgery. It was a pretty short 30 steps.

I must have looked suspicious walking aimlessly yet deliberately because Madelyn the charge nurse came up to me to see if I needed help or directions. When I sheepishly told her I was reliving my hospital stay, she smiled and proceeded to tell me that the length of the hallway was 150 feet, which was my longest distance walk before I was discharged. When I told her about my health experience, she said I had come a long way.

Great trips long and short. 

During our trip earlier this summer to Dallas, we had a very fun stopover in Vegas, my first solo trip after surgery to meet up with Hal, Chuck and Jenny. My muscle memory started off slowly as I totally forgot the seemingly routine concept of showing your identification at check in, and I had to fumble to find my picture ID to give to the gate agent.

When I arrived at McCarron Airport, I was greeted by an elderly airport staff member cordially asking arriving passengers if they needed help with directions in the terminal. I normally would not but actually did this time, as I needed to get to another terminal in the facility to find Hal and the kids.

The airport employee enthusiastically went through an explanation of a series of several airport areas I had to reach, the shuttle to look for along the way, and how to then get from the drop-off point to the terminal baggage claim. He was very cordial and I thought to myself, this is all nice but the directions are complicated, and I’ll never remember a word he said.

He then looked at me seriously and said that I needed to sing a song with him. Oh great. He proceeded to sing a jingle with only three words: “55, White Bus, Level 1.” They were the key words that would help me remember the landmarks of the gate exit number, shuttle route and terminal floor where I needed to go. He made me sing the words aloud with him. After a couple of practice times, sure enough I knew it by heart. Getting to the terminal destination was a breeze.

As I headed off to follow those catchy directions, he smiled knowing I would remember and his parting friendly words were, “Welcome to Las Vegas.”

Now that was a helpful welcome. Most of us not to mention other tourist bureaus could learn a lot from the cordial spirit of that man and the useful guidance that people really need at the time.

I’m a very trusting person…except when it comes to the conspiracy theories about the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in 1963. From the government to the Mob to alien forces, they could all be true, and I’ve read them all.

So it was that our trip to Dallas for nephew Mark’s wedding was not only a joyous event and a first-class party, but also a chance to check off my bucket list seeing up close and personal the Texas School Book Depository and Dealey Plaza. It was eery and impactful to experience the nuances of the area in person, and by the end of the book depository museum tour, I had Jenny and Christine looking suspiciously at the angles behind the grassy knoll.

It was an odd contrast between the joys of seeing family and celebrating Mark and Katie’s marriage, against the images of the city of downtown Dallas seared into the minds of a generation that were very young that fateful day.

When I took a business trip to Dallas in the early 1980’s, there were no signs or markers of the assassination in the downtown area. This time thanks to Chuck’s VIP Tours package our hotel room had a view of the book depository itself, and we had a window seat to take a cell phone audio tour of the block and buildings surrounding the plaza. Max and Christine couldn’t make it in time to hear the audio, but I pretty much memorized it and gave them all the highlights later.

Not much had really changed in terms of the buildings and the relationship of the places that marked the events and theories of that day more than 50 years ago. The city of Dallas has accepted its history while it tries to highlight other activities for visitors like Texas barbeque, Cowboys Stadium and the famous site where Mark and Katie said “I do.”

The kids were gracious in working their plans around the JFK museum, and Chuck was glad that the book depository wasn’t one of Hal’s boring library tour ideas after all. It was sharing the thoughts and ideas with family that really made it a meaningful event. As it is with all the sights and sounds of our lives.

White wall tires are a fad of the past, but they were ever-present when we were youngsters. Instead of the fancy hub cap designs of today, a painted ring of white around the inner circle of car tires were all the rage and a sign of status in the same way that all-black rims of the present are considered the way to go.

Hal painted a white wall for me this month. One day when I was backing my Volvo into the garage, which I have done daily for the past 20-plus years, I headed straight into a set of pressboard shelves along the edge of the garage and wiped them out, hitting the neighboring storage shelves as well and sending soup cans, cleaning supplies and paper goods careening across the garage floor. I got out of the car and had to laugh, what else could I do. Of course my tank Volvo was fine.

Hal cheerfully bought replacement shelves and when he removed the old ones, we saw that the walls were pretty dingy from wear and tear over the years, so he agreed to paint the section of the wall where the new shelves would go. As with most house projects, when you start one section it leads to another. By the time the project was done, he had surprised me by painting the entire section of wall behind the washer and dryer as well, and had cleaned the counter for the laundry hangers as well. He was tired and aching but I was happy.

I have never minded doing laundry, but a fresh coat of paint makes the area feel brand new, and has given me a new look at an old routine. Sometimes it’s the little moments and a great work of kindness that continue to remind us how good we have it.

I never learned to cook and have always been spoiled by Hal making my meals for more than 30 years now. When Chuck was young we bought him a play kitchen so that he could be like Dad. During the kids’ school days, if Hal was away for some reason, we would eat out for dinner or go to Granny’s.

Fortunately Chuck and Max have followed in Hal’s footsteps and they can both whip up dinner for themselves. Chuck does a lot of the cooking for he and Jenny, and I’m sure Max will dazzle Christine with creative dishes when they’re married. Or dishes to wash.

Parents always wonder what their kids will grow up to be and do. We were convinced that Chuck would join the military, as he loved GI Joe cartoons and toys and beamed as a kid when we found a military patch at the Army Navy Surplus store in Chicago that Aunty Bease sewed on his shirt. Max aspired to be a video game programmer and certainly had the credentials for it after endless hours with Nintendo Game Boy and Sega Genesis. Actually he still wants to do that.

Life’s adventures and career paths have led Chuck and Max to different cities and experiences in recent years, but with the start of grad school at U Dub for Max, the boys are now near each other in Seattle. They share laughs and jam sessions together and have even learned to share the basketball, being on the same pick-up team for the first time as opposed to trash talking each other for competitive family games.

I have an old Wahine basketball shirt that says, I do my cooking on the court. I’m sure Hal wishes I did my cooking in the kitchen. But we’re both glad that family time together works in locations near and far.

A few years ago fireworks in Hawaii were banned on New Year’s Eve, leaving the night quiet and pretty dull even for those of us who don’t like the loud bang of firecrackers. We didn’t need fireworks this year. Max provided the night’s excitement with his proposal and engagement to Christine! He popped the question, and we popped the champagne!

We can hardly wait to welcome Christine to the family, and we are happy for all the wedding planning excitement for the kids.

Max was calm and collected on the outside so I didn’t sense the proposal coming, but he said he was sure nervous on the inside.

I awaited the kids’ visit home for the holidays with a different kind of anticipation.

Six months ago when Chuck was home for a visit, he showed me the steps to learn how to dribble between my legs, a skill I had tried many times before in my life with dismal results and so a goal of mine since surgery.

The spirit was willing, but the talent was weak. Right before the kids were coming home there was still no progress. Hal took a video of me trying to dribble a brand new purple basketball Max had given me to hone my skills like the Wildcats, and I realized how lame my efforts looked. Surely I could do better than this.

I threw away all my excuses, forgot about the parts I could not do, tried not to over think it and just dropped the ball behind one leg with my left hand then guided it forward with my right. It worked!

On Christmas morning I was like a little kid waiting with anticipation to surprise dribble master Chuck with my success. It was a wonderful moment, and I’m sure Max thought I was John Shurna.

I remain amazed each day when I do my ball handling exercises that I can still do this. It was the culmination of building the strength and stamina to execute the move, as well as dribbling away my apprehension.

Life changes in ways we never know, and we can do things we never thought possible.

Once upon a time when we were very young, at least in our careers, Piia and Anne and I crossed paths professionally, and we have remained colleagues and more importantly friends over the years. Piia and I have shared many adventures and laughs for a very long time, and her support before and after surgery continues to strengthen me today. Anne is an inspiration to both of us for her for her heart, talent and toughness.

We see each other socially but rarely all together, and the three of us happened to attend the same luncheon recently. Life has taken us each in many directions since we first met, with experiences planned and not, and surely an appreciation for all that we have. It was great to be together, just a small moment in time, but one that seemed rather special to capture. Luckily my very talented graphics colleague Barry graciously took a photo for us. If I had tried a selfie, I am sure I would not be in the picture frame.

When Max was in college and their volleyball team was match point away from winning the national championship, one of my mom friends turned around and told us to stop and remember this moment. I am sure I would not forget it, but paying attention gave it added impact.

Here we are into the hectic season of the holidays. Every moment slowed down for me over the past year, physically as well as mentally. The goal was to get better and faster, and I have on both fronts. Now it is time to slow down, enjoy friends and family at holiday time and the blessings of capturing each day.

It’s that time of year when we think about turning the last pages on the current year and picking out new calendars. A few years ago my sister-in-law Beth created for my mom a great calendar of monthly montages of family photos. Granny loved it so much she insists that Beth make a new one each year, and lucky for the rest of us, we’re also on the distribution list. We never turn the pages to peek before the next month arrives. We are happily surprised every 30 days or so with memories of vacations, special dinners and everyday life.

Last year Max also gave me a Los Angeles Clippers calendar for my office that features a different player each month. January and February start out pretty well with a few good players, but by the late summer months all the no-names who have already been traded by the team are featured. Only in November and December do the NBA all-stars Blake Griffin and Chris Paul make their appearances.

Beth’s family calendars have no weak months, since of course each one of the Halvorson and Chuck family members are all-stars. They bring us year-long joy, laughter and pride, and they never go out of style. In fact Chuck has always set the stylin’ pace for the cousins. This month niece Natalie stepped up big time, being named the homecoming queen for her high school.

Now is the time of year when we think, where did the year go. The days have gone by at just about the right pace for our family. Each one is a chance to appreciate moments big and small and to not get ahead of ourselves too quickly. And to look forward to the next turn of the pages.

Seven days spent in the hospital last year were full ones, not so much because time went slowly, but in many ways because the activities were so intense. Working up to getting out of bed was a major effort many times a day, followed by increasing the length of walks down the hallway and eventually a welcome walk to the car to go home.

When nephew Royson started preschool this fall, every morning during the first week of school he asked his mom Kelsy how long was the day going to be. She reassured him it would be the just like the last day, same length, and that she or Papa or Nana would be there without fail to pick him up.

He cried each day of that first week to leave his parents or grandparents who dropped him off. Now he cries when he gets picked up because he enjoys school and his friends so much that he doesn’t want to leave.

Hal sent me flowers on the one-year anniversary of my surgery with a card that said, “Every day a treasure.” I keep that one handy. It’s the same 24-hour period as before, but sometimes it is good to stretch an hour or two appreciating what counts and who matters. It may not change the length of our day, but it changes the quality of the time. Just ask Royson.