Ripeness Is All

ONE LAST POST!!!!!!!!!

2007-10-07T15:28:00.000-04:00

Well, it let me sign in one last time, without getting the 'you have entered an email that does not exist' message. So I am referring you to:

MY NEW BLOG!!

This blog will remain (I hope) as the archive of my older posts. Hope you'll visit me on my new one!

May

I forgot to say...

2007-10-06T23:08:00.000-04:00

...that if I can, I'll come here one more time and tell you the address of the new blog. I'll also add it to my signature line in my emails, and post it on my various sites and lists, including my MyArtProfile page (bookmark it, the pages are fun to browse). Hope I'll see you again!

May
. . .

SETTING UP A NEW BLOG!

2007-10-06T22:48:00.000-04:00

. . .
Well...first Yahoo killed my mayterry @ sbcglobal.net address. I had to still sign in to the Google account that managed this blog with that address, however.

No problemo, right? (Somehow I have this feeling that that's not correct in Spanish. You get the idea, though...)

Yes. Problem. For a couple of weeks I use my old email address to sign in. Then this evening I try to sign in so I can post to this account, and I get this error message: "You have entered an email that does not exist". So I fooled around for about an hour and a half, and finally--somehow, I'm not sure how--got to my Blogger dashboard, whence one posts and makes other additions, deletions, and changes. I have the feeling that it's very iffy that I'll be able to access this blog for long.

I sent an email to Blogger support, and it was supposed to be copied to my new, functioning gmail address, which is msmayterry@gmail.com, and so far it hasn't shown up. So this blog may remain an archive for my past posts.

You'd think this would be a known bug, wouldn't you? But I couldn't find mention of it anywhere on Blogger's or Google's help pages, and I'm not going to waste another evening. So if by tomorrow I don't have a satisfactory answer to my question, I'll be working on a shiny new blog!

May
. . .

It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time...

2007-10-04T22:13:00.000-04:00

Blowup with my daughter at the psych hospital tonight. This may be the last time I ever see her.

Today was her 30th birthday.
. . .

And on and on...

2007-09-29T22:49:00.000-04:00

White Baneberry

Well, I've visited my daughter at the psychiatric hospital every evening, and it's hard to tell how she's doing. I know she's suffering, but she's not the only one who is bewildered at what is going on right now.

She's on Cymbalta, which is a serotonin and norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor similar to Effexor. She finds it activating, which makes sense. The patients are awakened at 6:00 a.m., so I guess her nocturnal schedule got turned around real fast. She has been talking about signing herself out of the hospital. I hope she doesn't.

Meanwhile, I take pictures, and notice the pain in my midsection. I need to let go.

Drift
. . .

I think I can talk about this tonight...

2007-09-26T21:23:00.000-04:00

. . .
Several days ago (I've really lost track of time), my daughter, who had recently sent me a very negative, shall we say, email about our relationship, suddenly gave me a call. She was very upset, and was asking all kinds of questions about my health, and had I been feeling ill or in pain, and made me promise not to drive that night. (It was late, so that was easy.)

This continued for a day or two, and I also spoke with her father, who had had similar calls from her. She was disoriented and her speech wasn't making much sense.

Then she disappeared. She didn't call me when she said she would, and the next day her father went to meet her, as they had planned, and she wasn't there. Just before the 24 hours were up that are required to file a missing persons report, her father found her at the local hospital's emergency room. She had been treated roughly by the police (jerks, I hate them), then taken by ambulance to the hospital. Monday evening, she was finally admitted to a psychiatric hospital.

I couldn't visit that night, but I went last night and tonight. The psychiatrist has suggested an antipsychotic, but she doesn't want one. She may be willing to take an antidepressant, which she definitely needs.

And so it goes, as someone once said. Despite pain and fear and loss, the asters continue to bloom. I, for one, accept it and am grateful.

Namaste,
May

. . .

Errata?

2007-09-26T00:03:00.000-04:00

. . .

DESPAIR

I had to put it up sometime or other. So...is it dada or nada?

May
. . .

More memories...

2007-09-20T22:08:00.000-04:00

. . .
Once, when my mother was watching a Jacques Cousteau special on TV, she turned to me and said, "It's kind of a shame that people like that have to die, isn't it? I mean, he has such an interesting life". I remember being rather speechless.

The truth is, I think, that my mother didn't think that people like her were entitled to expect much of anything from life. She didn't resent it; she simply accepted it, and if something she considered fortunate came her way, she looked at it as a gift. I think that's how she felt about her last job, at the concession aboard the Orient Point ferry. I think the ocean represented freedom to her, or maybe I'm just projecting my own feelings on her.

A few more ramdom memories:

When my son Adam was about seven, he walked in on a conversation between his sister and her father and me. Bizzy had read the phrase [to give someone] 'the third degree'. She wanted to know what 'the third degree' was. Adam stopped, looked at her in surprise, and said, "The Ph.D." How could you not know that?

I remember once when Bizzy was about three, she was riding next to me in her carseat (legal in those days), very quiet, which was somewhat unusual for her. She suddenly asked me in an agitated manner, "Mommy, how can there be a biggest number, 'cuz, there's always one more?" Her concept of numbers had obviously grown, since not too long before saying that, she had been riding in the back seat, and had told her father and me, "You and Daddy must be really old". "You think so?" "Yeah...you must be--NINE!!"

I remember old post office boxes, skating behind the mill, wearing snow pants under my dress to school, walking down to Harriet's Open Kitchen to buy paregoric (opium!) for my mother, scratching the trees to find the black birch so I could cut off a tiny branch to chew on, and dutifully taking my 25 cents to school each week to learn to save, only to have the account emptied periodically by my parents to pay some overdue bill. To give my mother credit, she did ask, but... I'm still no good at saving money.

Finally here's the piece I entered in the Hygienic Art Gallery's breast cancer show. I put a fairly high price on it, so I can convince myself that that's why it didn't sell.

It's called--can you guess? "Stage IV". It actually looked pretty respectable there among the other pieces.

Back soon,
May
. . .

Memories...light the corners of my mind...

2007-09-11T13:52:00.000-04:00

. . .
Unfortunately, there's a big black hole in the middle.

If I had a memory, I'd write my memoirs, but I think this blog will have to do.

I remember getting a perm every Christmas and Easter, unless I made a big stink. My hair was always as straight as a stick, dark brown with red highlights and fairly attractive. Back then, though, in the 50s when I was a little girl, curly was de rigueur. Never mind that I always had a mass of frizz on my head for a couple months until it wore off.

I remember the smell of my mother's oily red lipstick. I remember real oilcloth, which she used to buy at Kresge's to use as our kitchen table cover. It had a slight petroleum smell at first, but a drape you can't match anywhere else. And, like plastic, it could be wiped off with a cloth.

I remember my swing in the sugar maple off a front corner of the house. The tree broke in half in Hurricane Donna in 1960, so it had to be cut down. I missed the tree at least as much as the swing.

I remember being called fatty at school. One day, when another girl with buck teeth became the butt of jokes, I thought I'd join in the fun of teasing her, to see how it felt to be on that end. It didn't feel good, and I didn't do it again.

I remember riding into New London as my father drove my mother in to work for her 7:00 a.m. shift. Often, in the warm months, that would be when the fog would drift in off Long Island Sound to cover the city. I developed a love of fog that stays with me to this day.

I remember, when I was older, visiting my mother at the Hygienic Restaurant, where she worked as a waitress. It's now the Hygienic Art Gallery, thanks to a group that wanted to save some of the old buildings in New London. This week I'll be taking a new piece down to enter in their "In the Pink" (ugh) breast cancer show. You can see in the picture below how they painted over all the letters but "art" in the word restaurant in the neon sign. I'll post a pic of my entry soon.

I'm enjoying a beautiful rainy day. Hope yours is as wonderful as mine.

May

. . .

2007-09-07T21:47:00.000-04:00

. . .
. . . . Ode to a Slate Headstone

What was your life like,
you, bones, in the ground below
the broken gray headstone before me?

Were you kind or cruel?
Did you know yourself?
Did you run from demons
or surrender to the fear, the fight, the flame?

How much beauty
did your heart take in?
Was your life so hard
that the shapes of stars
and the turning hues of leaves
escaped you, running for their lives?

Did you love, and were you loved,
or were you eaten alive
by hate, regret, resentment
of your world?
Did you give or take,
just take, receiving nothing?

Had you power, or
were you powerless,
and which was worse?

And are you part, now, of a
universal breath,
or did you merely disappear
into the terrible, ice-borne wind
of soulless, never-ending death?
. . . . . . . . . . . .--May Terry, 2007
. . .

Haven't hit you with a meme for a long time, but...

2007-09-06T20:11:00.000-04:00

...this one was interesting. I scored the same on the top two, so they made me choose which was the "most true" for me: "I am a very creative person" or "I love animals". I chose the first, which I think is the reason I came out an artist rather than a shaman (ooooo!).

"You are an Artist Empath, one who creates their own reality and infuses the realities of others with your energy & emotions. You are poetic and sensitive. You turn your feelings into creations and share them with the world. Everything you touch turns to song and is freed by the color of your eyes. Your spirit dances with the winds and paints delight in the evening sky. (from the "Book of Storms" by Jad Alexander at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Empaths/)"

Artist

85%

Shaman

85%

Universal

80%

Healer

70%

Judge

70%

Traveler

55%

Fallen Angel

40%

Precog

25%

What Kind of Empath Are You?
created with QuizFarm.com

P.S. Looking at this the day after posting it, I realize how silly the written part seems, but the characterization percentages still hit me as right on.

May

Black and white blackback

2007-09-05T21:45:00.000-04:00

I was fooling around with my photo of the Greater Blackback Gull, tonight, and tried it in black and white:

You can see it in color by clicking here. I think I like the black and white better.

John is buying me an early birthday present of an umpteen bazillion dollar camera, a really good lens, and a book on how to use the camera. We talk openly about how he will 'inherit' it when I die, so it's really for both of us, but really what it's all about is that he's just the sweetest man in the world. I can't wait to try it. It's the Canon Rebel XTI, which is what my brother Jim, who is a professional photographer, uses. The lens will give me image stabilization, because I shake so without it my pictures would all be blurry. I can still hardly believe it's happening.

Next time you read my blog--thanks, honey...

May

Okay. I lied.

2007-09-04T21:16:00.000-04:00

. . .
I'm not really going to show you more of the images I took at the shore the other day. I'm going to show you some flowers. Well, one is a flower--some would say merely a weed--and one is a bunch of berries.

Queen Anne's Lace

Staghorn Sumac

I think it just goes to show you that you can find beauty anywhere, if you're willing to look--and give up your preconceptions. Both of these plants, in addition to being beautiful, have medicinal properties; some herbalists and naturopaths recommend the seed of Queen Anne's lace, also known as wild carrot, for women who do not wish to get pregnant. It's also used as a diuretic, for digestive difficulties, and for urinary tract stones or "gravel".

QAL is a relative of the cultivated carrot, and if you pull up the root and scratch it with your fingernail, you'll smell the strong carrot smell. Some say it's poisonous, but I used to nibble on the root when I was a kid, and I'm still here. A word of caution: if you find a plant that looks like QAL, but doesn't have the carrot smell, GET RID OF IT FAST. You may have either hemlock (the kind that killed Socrates), or water hemlock, which is equally poisonous.

Staghorn sumac reportedly makes a delicious lemonade-like drink, but I think I'll stick to regular sumac, though it's much harder to find here in Connecticut. The reason is that staghorn sumac's berries tend to stick to each other, and that makes an excellent place for insects to nest. If you don't mind a little bug juice in your lemonade, go for it. The plant was also used for its astringent properties, i.e., to lessen excessive bleeding or help diarrhea.

So just remember to stop and take a look at the wild plants around you as autumn approaches. And stop blaming goldenrod for your hay fever--goldenrod is insect pollinated! If you're having hay fever symptoms this September, it's most likely due to ragweed. Get one of those modern versions of neti pots at Brooks/Rite Aid; they help a lot.

And enjoy the beauty all around you!!

May
. . .

A minor adventure is better than none

2007-09-02T00:02:00.000-04:00

. . .

I thought I'd tell you more about John's and my little trip to New London last week to take some pictures of the lighthouse on Pequot Avenue. We pulled up and parked across the street, and we could see that there was a house right next to the lighthouse, with a 'No Trespassing' sign in the driveway. So we walked up the street a few yards, and found a couple of little stone stairs leading to an overgrown path. There was no sign there, so we figured we were all right. John stopped to take a leak, then we proceeded blithely to approach the lighthouse from more or less the western side.

The house appeared to be closed up, so we took a few pictures. There were large rocks over a small but exquisite stretch of beachfront on the harbor. I only wish I could have gotten some decent shots of that area, but we weren't in a good position to do that.

I decided to approach the lighthouse door, which appeared to be made of a dark metal, perhaps iron. When I was very close to it, musing about how I could get some decent pictures from so close, I noticed that the door opposite, to the house's porch, was open, and inside a dark, attractive woman with curly hair was sitting at a table reading a book. "Excuse me", I said, and the woman turned around. "Yes?" "Is this private property?" "Oh, yes, it is", she said, with a Jamaican accent. "Well, can we take some pictures of the lighthouse?" "Well, no, I don't think so", she replied. Simultaneously she turned back to her book and I turned back to the lighthouse, taking a few more shots while babbling about how I grew up the next town over, and didn't realize the lighthouse was now on private property. "Well, I don't really know anything about it", she murmured. I thanked her and waved John over. "Well, at least we got a few shots", I said as we walked out the way we came, "and you got to pee". The woman probably couldn't have cared less if we'd stayed there all afternoon, but if I'd been arrested I might have missed my chemo, so we decided to drive down to city pier and see what we could see there. I've already posted the Coast Guard Eagle and the blackback gull, and I'll pass some more of the pictures I got on when I post next. (The two lighthouse photos are on eBay right now; click here to see all my auctions.)

For now, goodnight!

May
. . .

Eagle & Gull

2007-08-29T00:10:00.000-04:00

. . .
John and I took a ride around New London yesterday. Here are a couple of the pictures I took on (and from) City Pier.

The top is of course the Coast Guard Barque Eagle, and on the bottom, what some would call a lesser bird, the "Greater Blackback Gull". I happen to love gulls, so I was thrilled this guy let me get close enough to take this picture.

It was a happy day.

May
. . .

Portland Cranberry Bog, late August

2007-08-25T00:10:00.000-04:00

New Poem

2007-08-24T21:19:00.000-04:00

. . .
TREES
. . .
Sycamores impart
small, sparse shadows
to grass and fields.
Leaves claim a space
that is not simply
a change in hue
or the absence of something.
. . .
All things bloom, bear fruit, and die:
millenial yews, Methuselah,
the self-important
and the poor in spirit.
Death of the giant yew is slow;
there is no single moment when one says,
'tis finished.
A tall and ancient beech wrinkles
like a woman who has seen much,
who holds her gains and losses
in her lines and folds of skin.
I call it wisdom.
. . .
Sometimes you hear the gray birch
hiss and moan against the hurricane,
bows bent to earth;
sometimes you see the willow tree
fall quickly, at the first hint
of the passing eye.
. . .
For me, I hold no wisdom,
except a few good changes
in a weary world.
And I'd rather hear a dozen fighting trees
Than the clang of money changing hands,
--any day.
. . .

Oh, Ned, dahling...

2007-08-14T22:07:00.000-04:00

. . .
From my PET/CTscan report: "No foci of abnormal FDG [the radioactive tracer] activity to indicate active malignancy".

My oldest brother, who is 17 years older than I am, left home shortly after I was born. One of the things I remember well about his visits home is that we would always do ouija. We never owned a board; we would arrange scrabble letters in a circle and each of us would put one or two fingers on an upside-down water glass, and wait, sometimes for quite a while, for it to move and spell something out.

One thing the board told me once was that I would marry someone named Ned. Nope...wait a minute...what do my breast cancer list friends call total remission? NED: No Evidence of Disease.

I married Ned!

May
. . .

2007-08-12T00:30:00.000-04:00

. . .
A Moment at Sunset

Thistles

. . .

Quinnehtukqut River Photographs

2007-08-09T00:59:00.000-04:00

The road goes ever on and on...

2007-08-06T22:20:00.000-04:00

. . .

John and I took our cameras down along the Connecticut River last night, under the Arrigoni Bridge that joins Portland and Middletown. The two pictures above are probably the best of the lot I took of the bridge. I also have a couple of the river that I'll put up eventually.

So, you might gather from my casual beginning that the news concerning my scans was good. It was indeed, though I spoke to someone in Dr. Schauer's office and only got a message from him, and they didn't completely jibe; however, there's no doubt that I am responding to the Navelbine, which is great. It's very easy to tolerate; Ritalin takes care of most of my fatigue, and the only other problem is a bit of lower GI trouble that is pretty easy to manage. Anyway, I'm happy!

John bought a bathing suit today, which means the next time we're not otherwise engaged and the weather's good we can go to the beach. I can't wait!

May
. . .

2007-08-01T22:14:00.000-04:00

. . .
April may be the cruelest month, but this July has definitely been the oddest.

Besides AT&T's line being busy and Brooks Pharmacy losing their decapitator (see Friday the 13th's post), I had some interesting experiences with the big cancer tests early this week.

Monday, I went to have a MUGA scan (fancy echocardiogram) and a brain MRI. With the MUGA, they just ask you to remove your bra and put your shirt back on. When I went to have the brain scan, the tech opened a little room for me, told me to take off everything and put on the cute little top and the cute little bottoms. I reminded him that I was having a brain scan. "New rule", he said.

Tuesday I had my PET/CT. I was practically insane by the time I got there, having endeavored for weeks to get someone to help me to get my blood sugar low enough that I could have the test (long technical explanation eliminated here). I succeeded, no thanks to the medical establishment. A nice lady greeted me at 8:45 a.m. at the hospital and brought me into a familiar room. She then asked me my date of birth, which is one of the things they often do to make sure they don't mix up patients. But when I said "11/14/51", she said, "Oh...and when was your last period?" By now I was sure either I or she was indeed insane. I burst out laughing and said, "Years". She looked at me and said, "There's a new rule".

This sounded familiar, but I still wasn't sure what was coming. Did they want me to take all my clothes off? No, the rule was that if you're a female, 55 and under, and it's been more than a month since you've had a period, they have to do a pregnancy test on you.

It was negative. Let's just hope the other tests are too. I hope to find out tomorrow.

May
. . .

What's that mean, anyway?

2007-07-27T20:20:00.000-04:00

. . .

If you've been to my blog before, you may have noticed a little icon called 'Sitemeter' on the left side. Sitemeter allows me to learn a few things about my blogging, such as where the reader may have found my blog, and sometimes what area of the country they're from, etc.

A surprising number of hits are from people who are searching on the phrase "ripeness is all". I wrote a little about my choice of this name for my blog in my very first post, to explain where the phrase comes from (Shakespeare's King Lear), and why I chose it for the title of my blog. I thought I'd write a little more tonight.

Uttered by Edgar in the play, the phrase follows the words "Men must endure their going forth, even as their coming hither". In other words, since death is inevitable, it is best to be prepared. (I'm not going to bring up the proverbial bus; I just ate.)

In the spring of 1988, my son, then seven, entered a psychiatric facility; my ex-husband and I had just separated; my daughter wouldn't speak to me unless forced to, as she blamed me for the divorce and was very angry with me about other things as well; I was living alone, though we had joint custody, since my son was institutionalized and my daughter refused to stay at my apartment; I was having severe anxiety and panic attacks; I had no job and no money. I had gone through numerous depressions with no support and little treatment. I had a lot of time on my hands, and I spent a lot of it bitterly lamenting the misery much of my life had been so far.

For whatever reason, a sort of theory of happiness formed itself in my head. The first thing I realized I'd lost was a basic level of contentment. Contentment, I felt, came from knowing what your 'job' in life was, and being able and allowed to do it. For most people, that job has little to do with their career, although it can. The true job of someone who becomes an M.D., for example, might be as a healer.

My job, at that point in my life, was to be a mother. My children were only 7 and 10. It seemed the harder I tried, however, the worse things got, and my own mental and physical health were rapidly deteriorating. In part, my job was taken from me, and in part, I chose to back away from it simply to survive.

The second level is what we normally mean when we use the term happiness--the feeling itself. Many in our culture assume that happiness comes from having and doing the things we want--owning things, taking trips, taking part in activities not all can afford, such as golf or skiing. In reality, as I learned during this time of great unhappiness, true happiness comes from seizing the moment--one bright red falling leaf through your tears; a child's sudden discovery of a new ability or a part of nature. The key here is that one can focus on the good in the moment, or the bad in the moment. It isn't always easy to focus on the good when the bad seems so overwhelming. But it's a habit of mind that can be practiced and developed.

The third aspect of happiness that I recognized at the time was joy. Joy comes from connection. I had put all my eggs in one basket--my nuclear family (my best friend, my mother, had died several years before)--and had no one else to connect with. I rediscovered connection, and joy, when I joined my first ACOA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) support group.

As things improved in my life, I stopped obsessing about what I had lost, and began to rebuild my life. Then alcohol took over, and I lost it all again.

When I finally got sober, and the spiritual foundation of my life began to improve, I realized there was another level to aspire to. This level I called ripeness. As an apple becomes juicy, red, and sweet as it matures, so we can become more fully human, or 'self-actualized', as Abraham Maslow put it--as we age, if we put the time and effort into it.

I suppose some people might aspire to 'ripening' themselves to get to heaven. That's not my reason, and I don't even think I can tell you what my reason is. I do feel, though, that my responsibility as a human being is twofold: first, to become the best person I can be, and second, to help others in the process. As I said in my first post, way back in December 2005, it's a bittersweet truth that we can be at our most ripe, our most fully human, as we approach death; likewise, the meditation upon death, and the joyful embracing of it, enriches our lives as nothing else can. This is what I am engaged in now.

Namaste,
May
. . .

Bizzy

2007-07-17T21:00:00.000-04:00

. . .
Here's a picture of my daughter Elizabeth. She got her nickname, Bizzy, because she was always busy, even before she could grasp with her hands--always intently watching everything around her. So we started calling her 'busy Beth', and the 'Bizzy' stuck, rather than the 'Beth'. She really likes it now. I think she looks beautiful in this picture.

She's holding Loki, who's the kitten she gave us. Loki is the trickster, the god of mischief in the Norse pantheon. He certainly did turn out to be mischievous. If we hear a crash at night, it's usually him.

I finished a digital piece last night, the first in a while. When the weather's this nice, I just want to take pictures! And I'm addicted to graveyards, as you may have noticed. New England just has so many cool ones.

Here's the piece, titled 'Spirit':

I'm not sure how well the colors show at this resolution; they're white, shades of black, and red. It's a manipulated fractal with a face drawn freehand in Photoshop.

Well, I hope you all had a good day. Namaste--

May
. . .

Cemetery and Japanese Garden pictures

2007-07-16T10:15:00.000-04:00

. . .
A couple more from the Episcopal Church cemetery. I call this one 'Decay'.

This one is called 'Children's Stone'. I know it's hard to see, but the children whose memorial this is died at the ages of 13 months, 22 days; and nine months. I don't recall Edwin's dates. It's worth remembering that many families lost several children to what were most likely bacterial infections when there were no antibiotics available to treat them. They must have suffered a great deal. This sculptor's style is unusual; s/he added the two garlands of flowers to the stone, which I find very poignant.

This one is called 'The Relict'. Okay, so what's a relict? A widow, obviously, but where did the word come from? According to Wikipedia:

"A relict was also an ancient term for a widow, but has come to be a generic or collective term for widows and widowers." Really? I've never heard the word outside of an old graveyard. Nice carving, anyway, don't you think?

And now, for a complete change of pace: my friend Maura picked me up yesterday and we went to a local plant nursery. I'd been there before, but not in the last two or three years. Apparently the owner had been busy building a small Japanese garden. Here's one picture I took:

It's a lovely little place.

Well, enough photos for today, I guess. Have a good Monday.

May
. . .

Back to taking pictures...

2007-07-14T22:18:00.000-04:00

. . .
How do you like the pictures of my son in the last post? In those two pics, he's digging a new garden for me.

I processed those today, having uploaded a bunch of photos to John's computer. As soon as my computer is also online, I'll post a couple of pictures I took of my daughter recently.

We drove to an Episcopal church with a graveyard behind today, and I got some neat photos. That's about as much exercise as I can get right now--I really did myself in moving. Here are a couple of pictures I took today; I'll post some more tomorrow.

I'm rather pathetic, I think. I love lens flare. Rather like a crow who'll pick up any bright and shiny thing.

I'm tired. Not nearly as tired (or sick) as I was during my primary chemo, though, and for that I'm grateful.

Hope you're enjoying your weekend!

May
. . .

Adam, working

2007-07-14T22:10:00.001-04:00

Well. I'm back.

2007-07-13T21:20:00.000-04:00

. . .
On the internet, that is.

AT&T screwed up, of course. They neglected to submit the order for the internet. The phone was hooked up here on the evening of July 3rd. We just got our DSL today.

You wouldn't believe the creative--and disparate--excuses we heard from different people. The "line was busy" is perhaps my favorite.

Anyway, I'm just a tad behind on everything, including my email and my eBay orders to be sent out. And I'm freakin' exhausted. Today was definitely a typical Friday the 13th. First I decided to put together one of those over-the-toilet shelf units, and even though I was carefully removing the pieces one by one, I managed to break one of the glass doors. So I guess I'll be getting creative with this piece of furniture...I'm thinking wire shapes with a few large-hole beads, that sort of thing, to fill the area where the door glass should be. Should be fun.

Feeling a little down, I decided to go out and do a few errands. I stopped to get my Jenuvia prescription at Brooks in Portland. I'm not registered there yet, since we used a private pharmacy back in Hebron, so I handed the pharmacy tech my Medicaid card and he handed me a form to fill out. At one point, the form asks you to specify whether you want child-proof caps or not. Since my youngest child is 27, I figured I wouldn't need them. Unfortunately, their 'decapitator' had disappeared. A decapitator is apparently a small device that somehow un-childproofs the kind of manufacturer's bottle that they just put the label on and give you as is. They never did locate it, so they insisted on putting the pills in one of their own vials--you know, the amber plastic things that most pharmacies use. If I had known, I would never have checked 'non-childproof'. And here I was thinking that some simple snafu would happen, such as my Medicaid card being rejected.

Supper was good. I made it myself.

John broke my special coffee mug today. He says he'll buy me whatever I want, even if it costs $100. So I'm thinking I'll go to eBay and search on 'mug', then have them sorted by 'highest priced first'. Doesn't that sound like fun?

July 6th was the 31st anniversary of the birth of my first baby, who only lived one day. I get crazy this time of year. But I'm back in Adam's good graces (my beautiful boy), and I got to sing happy birthday to him on July 9th.

Life is wonderful.

May
. . .

Just a quick stop-in to say...

2007-07-05T20:29:00.000-04:00

...when it rains it pours.

As some of you know, we bought a house about six weeks ago. Tomorrow is the move.

The guys who helped with one load blew us off this time. So it'll be just my son Adam and a friend of his. John's wiped and I'm worse.

All during May and into June, I kept wondering why I was so sleepy; it didn't seem to be related to the new chemo. Well, turns out my blood glucose had decided to take a trip out of our solar system. Then, just as I start to feel a little better (but by no means able to do a normal amount of packing), Flash, my oldest cat, went into kidney failure. Our dog Obie was also doing worse and worse. To make a long story short, we had Obie put down last week, and Flash got worse so quickly we actually used one of the emergency vets on Wednesday (can't wait to see the bill for that one). (I'm popping in here on Friday the 13th to say that Angel's comment made me realize I hadn't made myself clear on this post, that we had to have Flash put down as well. I've been internet-less for eight days now!!!) This morning was chemo, and all day yesterday was...um...Montezuma's revenge. Fortunately the house isn't being shown right away.

Send me good vibes, or, better yet, lots of money. Talk to you when we get our DSL back.

May

I AM THE WHEEL

2007-07-05T00:02:00.000-04:00

. . .
I am the wheel.

Something about me
takes the backside dancing
over bumps, and ruts, and even angry glass
from young and hopeless men.

I roll and watch the world go round,
as my own life spirals
right before my eyes.

Trailer trucks have nothing on me.

They see the gray of roads that kill
the once lush landscape of our fields and hills.
When they pass the ocean, barrels of oil
are all that fill their eyes.

I have something better.
I see the fetus, swirling in its mother’s womb;
I see the whorl of blooms that draw the drunken bees
and fill the earth with flowers and sugar.

I see the roots below the ground
where worms and beetles swarm to make us grass.
I see the whole.

I am the wheel.
. . .

The God Rock

2007-06-28T23:57:00.000-04:00

. . .
Just one person's opinion, I suppose.

I like it.
. . .

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road

2007-06-20T14:10:00.000-04:00

. . .
Zen stands on my chest. His long ginger-colored fur would wake me gently, if it were not for all the sensitive spots he manages to step on (partly on purpose, I suspect). Scar tissue in the right breast, fibrosis underneath, puzzling tenderness in the left breast, and residual soreness from the cancer and irradiation of my sternum. I reach up to pet him, to try to get him to lie down, but he wants both hands. I am too groggy to give them both for long, so he gives me a warning bite on the idle arm. It doesn't hurt at all. Fortunately, Mr. Cardinal begins his morning song right outside the window above my pillow, and Zen abandons me for the window sill. His energetic takeoff makes me wince, but at least now I can turn on my side and go back to sleep.

This is a time of great stress for John and me. I am on chemo again, and my diabetes is out of control, so the last thing I feel like doing is packing for our move. John is on a 24-hour heart monitor, so that his new electrophysiologist (a cardiologist who specializes in arrhythmias) can try to determine a way to treat his atrial fibrillation. And then there's a big megillah I won't talk about here, having to do with his family, something that has made me entirely lose faith in the press, and brought back all my seething hatred for the Department of Corrections, or, as my son always calls it, the Department of Corruption.

Despite my crankiness, I am looking forward to tomorrow's Midsummer ritual. It looks like we'll have 10 to 15 people, or maybe even more! I really need this, so I'm very pleased that it looks like even the weather will cooperate.

I also managed to get another photo done, and I think it came out really well.

It actually has four watchers on eBay, so I'm hoping it will sell.

May your day bring you everything you need.

May
. . .

Four New Photos

2007-06-15T00:23:00.001-04:00

. . .

The Tired Goatherd

Lucky Number

Keep Out

Cross with Lichens

Enjoy the miracle,
May
. . .

American Values

2007-06-13T19:25:00.000-04:00

I'm wondering what happened to freedom of speech, when those of us who don't approve of the war in Iraq have to keep our mouths shut to avoid being called traitors.

I'm wondering what happened to the concept that you are innocent until proven guilty, when Adam Gault and Ann Murphy have been thoroughly crucified in the press and by numerous ordinary citizens within a week of the breaking of the sensationalist story of the police finding a missing girl at their house.

I'm wondering what happened to the 8th Amendment to the Constitution, when prisoners like my son are underfed, beaten up, had medication and medical treatment withheld, and it's not considered cruel and unusual punishment.

I'm wondering what happened to freedom of religion, e.g., the blatant refusal for so long of the U.S. Government to provide a headstone with the pagan symbol, the pentacle (which stands for earth, air, fire, water, and spirit), for a soldier who died defending his country in Iraq, while allowing the symbols for Eckankar, founded in 1965; Bahai, which is based on the the belief that "the world’s religions represent stages in the revelation of God’s will and purpose for humanity" (ha! bet most Christians'd get their backs up at that!), Tenrikyo and several other panentheistic Shinto-related religions; the United Church for Religious Science; the Church of World Messianity, whose "key concept is Johrei, claimed to be a method of channeling divine light into the body of another for the purposes of healing"; Mormonism, which just leaves me downright speechless (though I'd love to get a hold of some of that underwear); and even atheism, whose symbol is an atom. (At least that problem has been solved, after a huge flap.)

And I'm wondering how anyone can still call the United States the "greatest country in the world" when our refusal to sign on to the Kyoto protocol may spell doom for our beautiful blue planet.

I'm finding it really, really hard to be "proud to be an American" at this particular time.

May
. . .

2007-06-09T16:29:00.001-04:00

. . .
Well! The good news is that my oncologist thinks there may be some very good reasons why my liver enzymes continue to go up. The bad news is, one of the reasons he thinks it may be happening is that my blood sugar is hovering around 300. My response when the rather startled nurse showed me the labs was, "Holy shit". Not very original, perhaps, but certainly sincere.

I continue to live as if I'm going to continue to live for a year or two more. We just bought the cutest little hutch, which will fit against the thick wall between the kitchen and living room in the new house. The door opening is pretty wide, so I don't think it will make it inconvenient to get from one room to the other. The hutch we have now is too big, and I also hate it. So I'm pleased with this particular outcome.

I don't have much profound to say right now (like you care, right?). I'm having a lot of fun preparing for the Midsummer ritual on the 21st. I may have to add a lot of coffee to my Ritalin to get through it, but it really should be a blast. I'm hoping John will feel like videotaping it, as long as the faeries don't mind.

It's a beautiful, cool, rainy weekend, and I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am.

May
. . .

2007-06-06T12:40:00.000-04:00

Aha! Well, Alycia, serves you right for checking in with that last comment. You've been tagged! I need seven unusual or little-known random facts about you, then you're supposed to tag seven other bloggers.

Today is the second meeting of my guru Pat's Crones group on the subject of Death & Dying. I am the resident dying person. I really need this--need to talk about it, need to hear others' thoughts about it. Besides, we do potluck, so I get to eat stuff that pains John when I eat it in front of him.

Ain't life grand. I'm looking forward to reading Alycia's seven facts. They should be awesome.

May

Well, I've been tagged!

2007-06-05T17:14:00.000-04:00

I don't know why, but I love these things. I love reading unusual tidbits about people--we are all so different and complex! So thank you Katey, and thank you for your very kind compliment on my art piece in the previous blogpost.

Okay, this time I'm to list seven random facts about myself, then tag others so they can do the same thing. I'm not sure I know seven bloggers, but I'll do the best I can.

1. I was born on a full moon.
2. I have two Irish style polkas published in a book called "The Complete Book of Clawhammer Banjo".
3. I was elected to Phi Beta Kappa--twice, under two different names!! (I must be really smart, dontcha think?)
4. I have read the Bible, Don Quixote, and War & Peace all the way through.
5. I was pronounced clinically dead at the age of six months due to anaphylactic shock from a hornet sting. An epinephrine injection in my heart, in the ambulance, brought me back.
6. I have had one out-of-body experience.
7. I once bought the same book three times. And yes, it was that good. And no, I'm not lying about the Phi whatsis whatsis...never mind.

Are you disappointed? Were you hoping for "true confessions"? Sorry, I'm somewhat boring in that regard.

Okay, Katey, now I have to find seven others--I might have a prayer of finding a few eBay art group members who haven't already been tagged. Thanks a lot! Just kidding ;>) The one I'm starting with is a friend named Carrie, then I'll start looking around.

May

Love Leaving

2007-06-02T14:00:00.000-04:00

. . .
Here are an old poem and a new digital collage on similar themes.

MIGRATION

Love, when it leaves
is like a bird flown south
for the winter.

You know it is somewhere--
trembling with life
clinging to some luscious vine or sapling
while you are left with
vacant branches
in the songless skies.

Love, when it leaves
is like the fleeing monarch.
love congregates somewhere--
myriad beating wings in dense moist green
so distant
from your own arid heart.

May
. . .

Marje

2007-05-30T19:16:00.001-04:00

. . .
In April, a woman I had met at the Boston breast cancer email list (bclist) get-together, Marje Scott, wrote to the list that she was having some issues with recently diagnosed brain metastases, and would be entering a hospice in Worksop, UK, for some specialized care. She said she'd keep the list up-to-date (from the hospice), and she implied that she expected to go home.

A couple of weeks ago, I emailed her and heard nothing back, so I wrote to the bcmets list asking if anyone had responded. No one replied. So I wrote to the bclist and asked if anyone there had heard from her. Over the past couple days, one of our UK members took the trouble to call around, and finally was able to call the hospice. Marje passed away on May 2nd.

She called herself "Scott the Scot", and her signature lines were:

Lang May Ye're Lum Reek.
May your roof never fa' in, and the people inside never fa' oot!

She did a video of John's and my handfasting at the Boston gathering, and kindly gave it to us. Unfortunately, the only picture I can find of her is from the back, but I will say that she looked much younger than she was, and had beautiful red hair.

I'll close with this poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins.

Spring and Fall, to a Young Child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

For you, Marje,
May
. . .

Dead Terrys and an experimental poem

2007-05-29T00:06:00.000-04:00

. . .
John and I went up to the Enfield Street Cemetery today. I had heard that the Terry family was big in Enfield, but the last I knew, my ancestor was an orphan who was adopted by one of the Terrys, with the assumption that they were uncle and nephew, but no documented proof. Apparently that was either wrong or has changed. My father, Arthur Booth Terry, according to Ancestor.com, is a direct descendant of Stephen Terry, who came from Wiltshire, England, and worked with the Peases, Abbeys, and Olmsteds to found Enfield. (That may be only vaguely correct, but whaddaya want, it's 1:00 a.m.)

Today Enfield vies for the title of armpit of New England, and is best (or worst) remembered as the site where Jonathan Edwards preached his famous sermon, 'Sinner in the Hands of an Angry God'. That notwithstanding, it contains many dead Terrys, many of them Revolutionary War soldiers, with very cool gravestones. (The Penelope Terry Abbey chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution maintains the cemetery.) I have yet to fix most of them (the photos, not the gravestones or, Goddess forbid, the Terrys) in Photoshop, but since I know you're holding your breath, here is the stone of one Benjamin Terry, who died in 1773.

More, of course, to come.

I was reading on my main breast cancer list today, where one member talked about a workshop she had recently attended. One of the exercises was to write the words 'MY INNER HEALER' vertically down a page, and write a poem with the words' initial letters as the start of each line. I decided to try it, and this is what I came up with:

May is glorious month, May is

Year that breaks to tiny, glistening moments, shining now as then.
. . .

I walk by water side

Near where the cormorants fish, and diving terns collide.

Now and again I feel you there,

Earth's liquid womb and grave,

Returning, yes, returning, deep and wide.
. . .

How do I find You, Mother? Where, and when?

Earth gives the answer: die.

All must, in body

Lie in dust. Yet every living cell becomes

Earth's body, giving life in fruit and flower--

Reward enough for me, sweet by and by.

I thought this all sort of came together today, Memorial Day, although I can't swear that it isn't just chemo brain hitting me for all it's worth. Anyway, goodnight, everyone. I love you all.

May
. . .

2007-05-25T12:52:00.000-04:00

. . .
I found out yesterday, at my treatment, that two of my liver enzymes are elevated. One is the SGPT (also known as ALT or ALAT); according to my internet research, that can actually be caused by the chemo I'm on.

The other one, LDH, is caused by cell destruction. Maybe that's tumor cells (among other liver cells?) dying too? Either that, or I've had a myocardial infarction. Heh.

I have to go visit my guru soon, so this post will be short. I'll put up the latest digital collage I did, and one poem.

This is a 4x4 inch piece called 'Sydney'. The portrait is a vintage photo, and the rest is done with my photos.

The poem is one I wrote maybe seven or eight years ago.

Ken

Pale Ken
of the hollow eyes
has no life left
in his liver.

He is poised
back against the wall
of his world
without windows
waiting for the phone
to ring.

It will be
the Angel of Death
calling collect--

one last coy slap
to the hopeless face--

one
final
affectionate
arrow
from the quiver.
. . .

Not the best poem I ever wrote, but could probably be reworked.

Well, folks, moving's exhausting, especially when you're on chemo. Wish me luck.

Namaste,
May

. . .

2007-05-23T00:47:00.000-04:00

Hey, youtube video three is out. Agate will be thrilled to know she's now a star. Here it is: http://youtube.com/watch?v=2iyGms_a5eU

Fun stuff. :=p

2007-05-22T19:05:00.000-04:00

. . .
I need something to read. There are no unread memoirs in the house.

I suppose I could read a novel, but I've lost faith in made-up stories.

I never thought I'd say such a thing. After all, I was an English major. And not one of those, 'ho, hum, I don't have a clue what to major in, I guess English is as good as anything else, and after all, it's easy' types of English major, either. Oh, no--I was obsessed, in love with literature, and I took every English course I could fit into my schedule. And I suppose it might have been easy to average a C+ or even a B-, but I really worked, and beat myself up every time I got less than an A.

There are good novels, of course, but I find that they're too infrequent to make me want to waste precious time searching for them. If there was someone who knew the kind of thing I was looking for, who would tell me what to read, I'd do it.

Besides, I have to buy the damn books. I compulsively procrastinate when it comes to returning library books, so libraries aren't an option for me.

John and I have been packing, mostly books, since they can go to the new house right away. Cathy and Pat are fine with us moving boxes into what I call the mud rooms, two glass-walled rooms in the back on the lower level (the house is built into a hillside, so the door is at grade level). In fact, if the two high school kids that Rhea, one of the oncology nurses at the Gray Cancer Center, referred us to actually show up, we'll be moving a 17-foot-truck's worth of stuff this Saturday. John and I are in such good shape right now, too. I went to my regular doctor's office today with a cough, fever and horrendous sore throat, and found out I have bronchitis. John had a very long atrial fibrillation attack today that really knocked him for a loop. But we are, as I always say, hanging in.

This past weekend John and I went to Caprilands, an old herb farm run for a long time by an old witch, the late, great Adelma Simmons. A nattily dressed fellow with a button that said 'Coventry Jaguar Club', probably her son, came out to ask if we needed any help, after we had browsed around in the 'gift shop' (nobody in there) and on the grounds for about an hour. When he came out, we were busy adoring the little lady below. He informed us her name was 'Agate', and the colors you see below, although the picture is obviously altered in Photoshop, are her actual colors--shades of bluish-purple and slightly reddish-tan--ergo, 'Agate'. I've never seen colors quite like these on a kitty.

Another bonus to the cleaning and clearing out when you're moving is all the stuff you find, some of which you didn't remember you had. I actually found more poems, mostly rather odd or...um...primitive. The one below was actually published in a 2002 date book called 'The Goddess in Each of Us'. It's called (surprise) Goddess' Song.

In and around the onyx cowrie
you will find Me.
Follow the silver spiral
of the chambered nautilus;

Rest, yielding,
in the soft belly
of the sunset clam.

Gain land
with the low-flown cormorant,
drying its wings
on tidal rock;

Fly high
with the terns and petrels.
On their wings
you are sure
to find Me.

It was a beautiful day here on Mother Earth. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

May
. . .

I've been better...

2007-05-11T22:16:00.000-04:00

Last night, after tossing and turning until after 3:00 a.m., I decided to take some pain medication.

I've done this several times over the past few weeks. I'll need to talk to my oncologist to try to figure out where the pain is coming from. My midsection hurts all the way around; my spine hurts, especially the lower thoracic spine; and my entire body aches in a way I can't really describe; it's not any one thing--I have joint pain, and muscle pain, and something that feels like nerve pain. In any case, I have a fairly high pain tolerance, but have felt it necessary several times to take narcotic painkillers left over from past visits to the dentist.

I do try to avoid taking the pills. Usually I get up and sit at the computer for a while, hoping that will distract me. Last night I surprised poor John on the potty, by walking in the bathroom and turning on the lights at about 2:45, camera in hand. But finally I did take the pills and went back to bed.

I fell asleep for a while, but then awoke with an awareness that there was some very acidic stuff sitting along the entire length of my esophagus. Unfortunately, I inhaled. My bronchi did not like what I inhaled, and I started to cough, which of course brought on more inhaling followed by more coughing, etc. I got up and tried to put out the fire with cool water, and finally took some baking soda in water. It was horrible.

I spent today feeling sick. I went to see my primary care physician, who suggested increasing my Nexium, and purchasing a bed wedge to reduce the GERD (gastroesophageal reflux disorder) symptoms. So I went to get a wedge, and picked up a cervical pillow while I was at it. I think they'll improve my sleep a lot.

Navelbine, the chemo I'm on now, can cause nausea and diarrhea or constipation, but is not particularly known for causing or worsening other gastric symptoms, such as reflux. Rapidly worsening liver metastases certainly could cause those symptoms. On the other hand, taking the narcotic with water, then lying down, may not have been the smartest thing to do. I guess I'll just have to wait until I see Dr. Schauer on Thursday to try to sort some of this out.

Wasn't that a cheery post?

May

YouTube Video

2007-05-08T23:50:00.000-04:00

. . .
There's a woman named Deborah who's been putting a lot of eBay artists' work on YouTube videos. If you'd like to see one with mine in it, click here:

Mother's Day Video

Hope you enjoy.

May
. . .

You're going to be fine, just fine...

2007-05-06T22:37:00.000-04:00

. . .
The subject of how others relate to us after our diagnosis is a recurring topic on my bcmets list for women with Stage IV breast cancer. Many women report losing friends, even best friends, very suddenly upon being diagnosed, presumably because those people simply can no longer handle the friendship, whether out of fear, or because they find it depressing, or because the woman with breast cancer can no longer be a companion in the fun things they like to do. Many say really inconsiderate things, or act like nothing is wrong; some imply that it's not as bad as you're making it out to be. Lynn wrote yesterday:

"Well, what are people expected to say? What would sound best? When I feel touchy about a topic, it seems it's a no-win situation for friends and acquaintances. Can we agree on a list of phrases that aren't offensive?"

I sent a reply to the list saying that I sometimes deal with the issue by saying to people, look, I know it's hard to know what to say. I just want you to feel comfortable talking about whatever you want to talk about. Anything people ask honestly, and out of love or friendship, I take in the spirit it was intended. As I said before, I do find it irritating when they start chirping about miracles; "they do happen, and why not to you?" (I had written in a previous email to this list that when people start talking about miracles, I've started to say you're right, miracles do happen, and I'm not giving up, but the odds are still 200 to one.) I know most people are just trying to find something positive to say. I'm usually the one who changes the subject and says, so how's your new job? how're the kids? But sometimes I wish I could just hand something like this to people:

Hello there, friend! Long time no see! Yes, I'm still May, and I still have incurable cancer, even though I "look so good" and have done so well so far! I just want to let you know that it's okay just to say, how are you doing these days? and to respond to my questions about your own life--even with (god forbid) complaints of a minor nature. If you forget that my problems are probably equally as difficult as yours and bitch too much, you don't suddenly have to gasp, blanch and stammer, oh, my god, I'm so sorry, my problems are nothing like...etc.

It really is okay to use the word "cancer" (there, there, no hyperventilating, now), and if I tell you things that imply that I might be getting closer to succumbing to this disease, it's not necessary for you to deny it. If--and only if--you want to, you can ask if there's anything you can do for me, or tell me to call if I'd just like to talk. I would prefer to hear neither about Lance Armstrong nor about your brother's wife's aunt, who died an agonizing death over a period of six weeks (never mind that that was in 1941, when palliative care was non-existent). You can talk about your vacations and things, just don't go on and on about how you've planned to visit a different European/Asian/South American/African country each year after your husband takes early retirement next year at age 52.

The last thing I want to hear is about really strange cures, such as a witch doctor pouring a strange liquid over your uncle's head in a remote village in Central America, and thereupon seeing his brain tumor rise into the skies in a puff of smoke, or an online prayer chain that saved the life of some adorable child in remote Appalachia. I don't want to hear about noni juice, colloidal silver, Essiac, or the miracle cure the government is hiding from the public, either. Offer me a Starbucks coffee instead.

May
. . .

Moving...and changing...

2007-05-05T22:39:00.000-04:00

. . .
My friend Sue W. replied to my email about moving to a new house by saying, how could I go through it again? She hates moving.

Well, I don't enjoy it much myself, but John has promised that he'll use paid labor to do most of it, so I hope we'll get through it in relative comfort.

The fact is, it's where I want to die. In this house, I feel somewhat trapped; it's nice, but I can't just go out and sit on the deck or in the backyard and feel serene. I've enjoyed it here, planting my little herb garden, and walking up to see the animals at the farm, but I've never felt that kind of peace here. The sound of the rushing water, the view of the trees coming up from the brook below, the screened porch from which I can watch the birds at the feeders--they all make the Portland house feel totally different. I think the meetings I've had with Pat there, learning what she has to teach, and feeling her loving support, have something to do with it as well.

'Let me go, boys,
.Let me go, boys
.Let me go down in the mud
.Where the rivers all run dry.'

May

This sweet and merry month of May

2007-05-02T19:24:00.000-04:00

. . .
The grass is green, the trees have buds, and I'm a happy camper.

John and I have done a bit of work outside (John much more than I, of course) to prepare for selling this place. I've decided it would be eminently fair for me to transplant some of my herbs and artemisias to Portland, and replace them with pretty flowers. My lungwort is in bloom and is gorgeous, and also cost me $12.00. I can take some of the sweet woodruff, lemon balm, chocolate mint and spearmint, all of which are spreading like crazy. Several of the artemisias are spreading as well. I'm definitely bringing my wormwood, since most people don't like it anyway. I'll plant some petunias, and the hummingbirds will come to welcome the new owners to the house.

I got a nice surprise Monday when this arrived in the mail:

Well over a year ago I posted on a mail art website that I'd love to receive postcards regarding breast cancer, and in return I'd post them on my blog. I received one in April of '06:

http://mayisripening.blogspot.com/2006/04/bc-postcard-has-arrived.html

To my great surprise, one year later, this one arrived. I think it's absolutely wonderful. Thank you, Danielle! I only hope you have no personal experience with breast cancer yourself.

I have my second Navelbine treatment tomorrow, which is John's birthday. What a great thing to do on your birthday, huh? Take your lover to chemo! But I have given him a model airplane, which is what he wanted, and I also have another surprise for him, which I'll photograph when he opens it, and post a picture here.

Those of you in the northern hemisphere: enjoy this beautiful month!

May
. . .

Finally! Click here to read about 'chemo brain'

2007-04-29T17:01:00.000-04:00

. . .
I hope the link in the title of this post works. It should lead you to a New York Times article on 'chemo brain', a term that refers to the cognitive deficits that frustrate women and men during and shortly after chemotherapy--and long after, for some like me.

"Um, John, can you...um...open the...um...cupboard and give me a...um..." I wave my hands, sometimes drawing a shape in the air to indicate the object I'm looking for. Sometimes I describe it: "You know, the thing you use to wipe your mouth when you eat". "You mean napkin?" John asks. Duh. I feel like a non-verbal species of primate.

"It'll come back", my shrink said. Well, apparently not for all. The chemo I had for my primary finished up almost three years ago, and it's not back yet. If the new chemo I just started makes it worse, I may just join a convent.

Did I tell you about my new chemo? I was supposed to start an oral chemo called Xeloda (capecitabine), which is a form of 5-FU--I kid you not, that's the real name--and I had done a lot of research to see what I could do to minimize the dreaded hand/foot syndrome (palmar-plantar erythrodysesthesia--see, I must still have some brain cells; I did all that without looking it up), which would have meant I couldn't walk, hike, or beachcomb this summer. But when I went to my appointment with my onc on Thursday the 26th, he had obviously been thinking...he knew how disheartened I was about possibly being immobile all spring and summer, and he suggested that we go with a chemo called Navelbine (vinorelbine, a vinca alkaloid extracted from the Madagascar periwinkle), which most women would not want to do first, since it's an infusion, but the thought of which made me ecstatically happy! I started it that day, along with a 'premed' of good ol' compazine to prevent nausea. I came home with a scrip, but didn't need to use any more! My only side effect was being ready for bed a little earlier that night.

Please, please, please let it work! We are moving (yes, it's sudden) to a gorgeous place in Portland (CT) with a 70-foot ravine down to a beautiful brook behind the house. It has not only a deck, but a screened-in porch, complete with kitty door from the master bedroom, and a beautiful knotty pine living room. We hadn't planned to move, but (boss) Cathy and her partner (guru/therapist) Pat are moving to a condo to save money and so that Cathy can be near her aging parents. I feel bad for them, but the place is gorgeous!! I have told them to feel free to come over any time, whether we're home or not. I hope they take me seriously. I know that Pat will see me through the dying process, anyway.

One photo to end with: this was taken at Harkness in Waterford on Earth Day.

. . .

Well, the word is out...

2007-04-23T20:21:00.000-04:00

I heard from my oncologist around 5 p.m. today, and there's good news and bad news.

The good news is that the tumor in my sternum is most likely completely eradicated.

The bad news is that I have a small tumor in my liver.

The bad news is more bad than the good news is good, if you get my drift. The prognosis for bone metastases only is much better than for soft tissue mets, i.e., spread to (most likely) liver or lungs.

It's not the news I was hoping I would get, but I guess I don't get to choose.

I see my oncologist again on Thursday for my regular Herceptin treatment. As we discussed today, he will most likely give me a prescription then for an oral chemo called Xeloda, which is a fairly effective chemo without causing major side effects. It has this weird one called palmar plantar erythrodysesthesia, aka hand/foot syndrome. One explanation I read said that Xeloda causes thinning of the capillary walls, so that any place that has friction applied to it, such as the hands and feet, can chap, peel, get sore, and bleed. Another site said that the irritation is caused by the chemo drug leaking out of the capillaries and damaging the surrounding tissue. Whatever. It's recommended that you use lotions constantly, and, of course, avoid friction...which would mean no hiking or beachcombing. I mentioned this to my oncologist, and he said they'd work with me to minimize side effects. So I guess I'll start that this Friday.

Everyone dies. I just don't want to do it right now.

May

Fear

2007-04-22T23:53:00.000-04:00

. . .
Back in my post of March 31, I noted that one of the eBay art groups I belong to, CaaT (Complimentary Art and Things) is suggesting a weekly posting topic for its members. I posted then on the topic of the week, organization, then promptly forgot about it.

The topic for this week is fear, an apropos one for me: tomorrow I should hear from my oncologist about what last Thursday's PET/CT showed.

I have a fear of showing fear, I think. I want to prove myself as courageous as my mother was when she found out she had an incurable cancer. I do feel fear. I think a fear of death is a visceral, and probably universal, human feeling. When I think about it, I know there is nothing to be afraid of. On the other hand, I do, realistically I think, fear dying--that I will have pain, or be alone; that I will be unable to have any control over what is happening to me, or express my needs and be helped by those around me.

A friend asked me yesterday how I cope with knowing, not knowing, waiting...I told her that waiting for test results, for example, in years past, would have me in uncontrollable anxiety...but that somehow, I have learned to let go. What I truly believe and know to happen after death I find comforting...I will become part of my beloved Gaia, the earth mother, and return to what I was before.

These are some of the chants that move me.

Ancient Mother, I Hear You Calling
Ancient Mother, I Hear Your Song
Ancient Mother, I Hear Your Laughter
Ancient Mother, I Taste Your Tears
*****
The Ocean Is The Beginning Of The Earth.
The Ocean Is The Beginning Of The Earth.
All Life Comes From The Sea.
All Life Comes From The Sea.
*****
We All Come From The Goddess
And To Her We Shall Return
Like A Drop Of Rain
Flowing To The Ocean
*****
All over the world, the waters are breaking (repeat)
Everywhere, everywhere, the waters are breaking
And so return, return, return
Return to the Mother
*****
Where there's fear there's power, passion is the healer
Desire cracks open the gate -
If you're ready it'll take you through
But nothing lasts forever, time is the destroyer,
The wheel turns again and again
Watch out, it'll take you through.

But nothing dies forever, Nature is the renewer,
The wheel turns again and again -
If you're ready it'll take you through.

Sometimes, there's no there there

2007-04-19T23:30:00.000-04:00

. . .
Since I did spend some time this evening playing with the photos I took today in the cemetery, I thought I'd post these before I head for beddie bye.

John and I had driven all around the graveyard, stopping here and there to take pictures, and were just about to leave when we saw the vault below built into a small rise near one of the exit roads.

I took about seven or eight pictures of it--it was too perfect not to want to get a bunch of shots. I did this one with the 'cyanotype' feature on my camera, then added a pink gradient sky. I also took some in 'sepia' mode which really look like old photos, and a couple in regular color mode.

I noticed the black square in the door, which turned out to be an actual hole through it. Cool!! What do you suppose are in there--dead people, or what?! So I set my camera on the 'night' setting, stuck it an inch or two in the hole, and took a couple pictures. Then, with pounding heart and dilating pupils and--oh, never mind. Anyway, when I looked at the shots, this is what I saw:

Nothin'.

What up with that, dude??!?!

More photos tomorrow, folks. Goodnight.

May
. . .

Today

2007-04-19T20:57:00.000-04:00

. . .
Today, John and I went up to Hartford Hospital so that I could have the first PET/CT since my radiation to the sternum. Thank you, John, for driving, and for being with me, and for taking me to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts afterward, so I could get some coffee and start to feel human again.

The sun being out, it occurred to me after we arrived home and had a little food that I could go out and take pictures! No matter what the scan results are, I'm still living and spring is actually coming! So we headed off to the cemetery in Willimantic, and the tracks behind it.

Most of the pictures are pretty overexposed, but I'm going to play with them in Photoshop to see what I can salvage. In the meantime, enjoy this one picture of John.

. . .

Feelings, nothing more than: feelings

2007-04-17T23:15:00.000-04:00

Feelings, whoa-oh-oh, feelings...

Just love that song. My ex used to sing:

Feelings: just like orange peelings

If you've forgotten the tune, check this out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjhp_0IrR1Q

Anyway, the damn things are a pain in the ass.

The shootings at Virginia Tech are awful. Being told by the techs at Hartford Hospital that I can take my Metformin before my PET/CT on Thursday, when I know damn well I can't, pisses me off. The fact that Ann McAllister, whom I met at the breast cancer list's annual get-together in Boston in October 2005, is now really sick, after being in complete remission for well over two years, freaks me out. The fact that Cathy, whom I've known for years and who is now DNEC's executive director (and my therapist's--scuze me, guru's--partner) has some very weird symptoms involving her uterus really worries me. The fact that Carrie seems very depressed and isn't talking to anyone about it--but instead is preparing to get married--worries me. The fact that Obie, our blind, deaf black lab is now 15 and a half and shows no sign of dropping dead though he smells like he already is, ticks me off...partly because I know it's bad karma for me to wish he'd just go to sleep so John and I can go off for a few mini-trips before I drop dead too. It sort of ticks me off, in fact, that he may outlive me. The fact that I really have no clue how my kids are doing worries me. Those are feelings, and I don't like them very much.

I will say, though, that I actually cried a couple of times over the past couple days. Clinical depression notwithstanding, I remember with fond nostalgia the years when I cried nearly every day. No sinus headaches, no knots in my stomach, no exploding head. Goddamn, goddamn, 'tis why I am goddamn, so 'gainst the winter's balm (if you don't know the song, remember: Google is your friend).

All right. One new piece of art to balance out this whine.

Water
. . .

Thoughts of death

2007-04-13T23:28:00.000-04:00

. . .
I hope this doesn't sound...um...conceited, I guess, is the word I want...but I do think my photography and digital collages are improving.

For one thing, I'm getting to know how to use Photoshop a lot better. When I look back at my older collages, they look rather crude to me--not bad, just sort of naive. As I relax with both the photography and the way I put images together, I guess I am, more and more, giving myself permission to express myself freely, rather than copying other people's techniques, to create what I think others will approve.

I've been in one of these moods lately--you'll see what I mean when you look at these images.

Dust to Dust

Them That Sleep

These collages are both made from pictures I took myself--I didn't have to rely on any stock images for them. The first one has a photo of a deer skeleton that John and I found behind the Semel factory in Amston. (The original's not blurry.) The statues in the two collages come from two different cemeteries; the one in "Them That Sleep" is not in the graveyard pictured in the background.

I suppose I think more and more about death these days. If you had told me ten years ago that I could have lived so serenely as I am living now with a diagnosis of terminal cancer, I would not have believed you. Next week I have my PET/CT scan to see how effective the radiation to my sternum was, and, of course, to see if I have other metastases. Of course I hope I'm okay, but I'll just accept what comes. I'll be upset if there's spread, especially if it's significant, and then I'll get over it.

This is how I think things should be. Americans think death is a terrible thing, when it's simply the natural thing. The Life Extension Foundation, which sells all manner of supplements that supposedly extend life, has posited, apparently, that humans might be able to live 500 years, under ideal circumstances. Is that a good thing? Where would all the new little humans fit? How would there be enough food and fuel to go around? Why can we not stop thinking that we are the pinnacle and perfection of God's plan?

I comfort myself with thinking that, perhaps, someday we shall evolve.

May
. . .

Abandoned Service Station

2007-04-09T23:32:00.000-04:00

. . .

Entryway Ceiling

Door

Electrical Fixture

Storage Room

Patches of Sunshine

. . .

I may be slow, but I'm learning...

2007-04-05T20:31:00.000-04:00

. . .
A kind soul on Urban Exploration Resource clued me in to the 'rule of thirds', which says that if you locate a central feature of your photo on one of the crosses on a grid like the one below, your photo will be much more interesting than if you just center it.

He tells me that 99.99% of the time, he doesn't crop his photos--he composes them properly when he takes the picture--but since the Semel Smokestack photo I took already existed, I decided to play with it to see if just following that rule would actually improve the photo. Below is what I came up with:

The original is in the post dated March 31. You can judge for yourself, but I think this one is better. So now, when I'm editing my pictures in Photoshop, I copy the grid above and paste it on the photo to see if a central feature does indeed fall on one of the crosses. Someday I may learn to compose them a bit better, but for now cropping will have to do.

Some I seem to have composed well by instinct or accident. In my next post I'll post a photo of crocuses that is obviously 'photoshopped', but which more or less followed the rule when I shot it.

I need a small book on the basics of photo composition, I think. The trouble is, there aren't any such books, that I can find, anyway. They're all huge and either hopelessly complicated or too simplistic (one said, if the sun comes out suddenly after a rain, look for a rainbow because they make good pictures), and all of them contain things that are not pertinent. I don't want all the technical details; I just want to learn how to take a decent, reasonably aesthetically pleasing photo.

One of the guys at UER said my photos were okay...just don't go around calling myself a photographer. A woman wrote in to ask what his definition of 'photographer' was--and was it from a regular dictionary or the Holier-Than-Thou dictionary? Seems to me that a person who takes photographs is...well, you know.

After I post my crocus thing on eBay, I'll put it up here. You're welcome to click on the link on the left to my eBay auctions...and of course, to purchase it, if you like :>) I come cheap.

May

More pics

2007-04-02T00:33:00.000-04:00

. . .

Supplication

Monument

. . .

Bloggers' Group on CaaT

2007-03-31T22:21:00.000-04:00

. . .
One of the eBay groups I belong to, Complementary Art and Things (CaaT) has formed a group that is planning to all post on one theme per week. Something to focus on is always helpful for me, so I thought I'd join them.

Unfortunately, this week's theme is organization...uh oh. I'd go take a picture of my "studio", but I have no liability insurance...besides, I wouldn't want to cause harm to my friends.

When I was working, my office often looked like my studio. The odd thing was, I usually knew how to find anything in it. Most of my time was spent out at coalitions, meetings, etc., so I didn't have much motivation to clean up.

Now though, what with middle age, and menopause, and chemo brain on top of all that, I'm lost in that so-called studio, and many of my art supplies are in hiding under piles of...other art supplies. Gotta clean it! Gotta!

This is the latest of the photography I seem to be obsessed with these past couple of weeks.

Semel Smokestack

Tree Yoga

Snow Crocus

As I've mentioned before, the reason I never picked up a camera until a few months ago is that I have three older brothers, all professional photographers (although one has apparently sold all his equipment and is no longer doing it). It felt like a set-up, ya know? Now that I'm doing it (and having an absolute blast), part of me is kicking myself for waiting so long. But part of me is so happy to have these new things to be doing, in these last years of my life, as I ripen...

Namaste,
May

. . .

Belted Galloways in Early Spring

2007-03-28T19:47:00.001-04:00

Dawn

2007-03-26T23:39:00.000-04:00

. . .

. . .

Vertigo...

2007-03-26T21:04:00.000-04:00

. . .
One day, probably around 1985, when we were all living happily ever after in Hanover, I decided to go pick up the kids at school instead of having them take the bus. This was usually a good idea anyway, since Adam was a target of extreme cruelty, and Bizzy was his protector, a tough job for a kid not yet ten.

It was a pretty day, fall or spring (I don't remember), and when I rounded a corner on the curvy road that led to the school, I came upon a small work horse trotting down the yellow line. Not having much experience with horses, I just informed the principal when I got to the school. He dove for the phone, mumbling, uh-oh, looks like the Sweats' horse got out again (Sweat? that's a real name?). I got to add it to my repertoire of stories, along with the one about the guy whose vision improved on a prescription of 20 joints per week. (Some other time.)

Most of the time, when I think about death, I think of it from a distance, as if I get to tell that story, too. In fact, I think I'm managing the last years of my life with conscious attention to making it a good story. I think I'll succeed, too.

May
. . .

Good news and just news

2007-03-21T23:17:00.000-04:00

. . .

Illumination

I was thrilled and, quite honestly, rather astonished, to receive an email today telling me that all three of the pieces I entered in the Hygienic Art Gallery's second annual juried show had been accepted. I had some hopes of the one assemblage piece, but really didn't think the two digital collages would make it.

The show opens this Saturday, from 7:00 to 10:00 p.m. at the Gallery, which is on State Street in New London, Connecticut. I really am a little blown away. I hope I have the energy to be there for a while.

The energy part: I've been getting increasingly more tired, ever since the radiation to the sternum. I also have a vague sensation that feels like shortness of breath, and I'm wondering if, despite the 'intensity modulated' type of radiation that was used (to bring the intense uptake up closer to the surface of my chest, rather than underneath the sternum, where my heart is), I may have suffered some heart damage. I went to my shrink today, and told him I'm exhausted during the day even if I sleep at night, and that I'm tachycardic, with a resting pulse of 100-125. So he cut my antidepressant down to the pre-Stage IV level, and gave me some samples of Provigil to try. Hopefully that will help.

The picture in this post is of one of my Quan Yin statues. Quan Yin, "She who hears the cries of the world", is the Buddhist Bodhisattva of Compassion, and in the folk tradition, the Goddess of Mercy. I love her. The lights on the background are from my playing with the camera on the night of the recent eclipse of the moon.

I'm still having fun!
May
. . .

Fun with Photoshop

2007-03-20T17:58:00.000-04:00

. . .The Gathering Storm

Moon From the Street

These are alterations of a couple of photos I took of the mill on Route 85 in Amston. I think they came out good. The moon, actually, is from another photo I took in daylight. I wouldn't call it a digital collage, though; just a 'digitally altered photo'.

I entered three pieces in the Hygienic Art Gallery's juried show. Apparently they were swamped with entries, though, so I'm not holding my breath. It was just something I needed to do.
. . .

Factory Series

2007-03-13T23:52:00.000-04:00

Progress

Graffiti

Smoking Area

Made For You And Me

. . .

Two more pictures

2007-03-13T23:45:00.001-04:00

. . .

Smokestack

Steel Skeleton

. . .

Click here to see my 'MyArtProfile' site

2007-03-13T23:22:00.000-04:00

. . .
Mill Against the Sky

Mill Window

I've been having so much fun at the MyArtProfile website. I've been spending literally hours some days browsing the different artists' pages.

I've also been taking a lot of pictures, with my (ahem) not professional quality camera. One artist on the site, who has posted some really cool pictures, uses his cell phone camera. Maybe it's a sort of dada thing to do.

Anyway, I'm posting some of them here on the blog, but if you get a chance, check out the site too.
. . .

The 'Reason is Everything' Delusion

2007-03-11T17:12:00.000-04:00

John has been reading 'The God Delusion' by Richard Dawkins. I'm looking forward to reading it when he finishes, if he ever does; he tends to read about four pages a night.

I was half listening last night when he was watching a youtube video featuring Dawkins lecturing and reading from the book. This morning he was talking about the book, and one of the things he said was that, instead of church or religion per se, all we really need is a moral compass.

If that's Dawkins' main point--or if all he has to tell us is that religion is illogical, irrational, and not fact-based and, in fact, has caused tremendous pain and harm over the centuries--then he's missed the boat. I'll reserve judgment, of course, until I've read his book. But if Dawkins hasn't read and digested Joseph Campbell, then I don't expect that he'll hit on the real issues.

Humans are spiritual beings. I have memories from a very young age, of feeling that God was all around me, and in everything. My teens were a constant struggle to find and understand meaning and method in the universe. When I was 18, I could no longer accept the condemnation of all my Jewish, or Buddhist, or agnostic friends to eternal hell, and declared myself a devout non-Christian. It was a short step from that to what I thought of as total atheism.

The fact is, I did not want a divinity like that to exist, or to be my supreme principle. When I found paganism, I felt like I'd come home.

But I don't want to go into all that. My point is just to say that criticism of religion based on its historical connection with terrible crimes, or its lack of basis in fact, miss the point. Most members of organized religions are conveniently able to ignore their faith's checkered history. More important, what arguments decrying religion's irrationality miss is that reason is only half of the human apprehension of the universe and our place in it.

The other half is our intuitive experience of something called 'mystery', for lack of a better term. Human beings have the ability to experience things that are unprovable and irrational, such as paradox. The unrest inside us that comes from gnosis, a very strong conviction that, for example, death and life, joy and pain, love and hate, are the same things, make us yearn for a place or situation where we can entertain these inexplicable and unprovable ideas and feelings in safety and relative comfort, and, moreover, to absolutely celebrate them! Of course, it's critical that we allow others to celebrate in their own ways; to visualize the divine in their own ways; to walk their paths in their own ways. But religion is not irrelevant, and I don't believe it ever will be.

May

By the way...

2007-03-06T14:22:00.000-05:00

...no matter what I do, Blogger is putting all different fonts, of all different sizes, in my posts. I'm practicing letting go.

Anima Sola

2007-03-06T13:26:00.000-05:00

. . .

Long Lost Poem

2007-03-06T13:01:00.000-05:00

Actually, that's a lie.

When I started this blog, I posted my good poems first. The most recent are the ones that barely escaped the round file.

This one I didn't think worth printing. But in the interest of candidness, I'm going to print it anyway.

NECESSARY REGRETS

I
have
a
mystery
in
mind.

it is shut up tight, key turned firmly in the lock,
between my dead mother
and my dying father.

I see a child who longs to play the violin,
in mind-felt melodies that sound unceasing,
orchestrated by the heart;
she is safe
as dense green woods would have her,
or fog that sleeps along the water's edge.

Now see the child is grown.
Her father dies alone
in a sterile nursing home;
receives a few reluctant visitors,
abusing them all, old dog that he is.
The ghost of old regrets, long past, forgiven,
fades surely in the memory of
her mother's firm sweet smile
in the face of death.

I
have
another
mystery
in
mind:

this one lies weeping
between the first innocent falling
and the last lost love.

And many other mysteries:
the children I have lost
and the hints of return;
the music that played itself out
and the becoming
of these words.
. . .

Late night ramblings

2007-03-05T01:12:00.000-05:00

At any given time, there is a poem, piece of music, work of art, or sometimes something else altogether, that seems miraculous to me, something that seems to connect with the divine that underlies all things.

More and more frequently, it is a song, usually something from a clearly lowbrow tradition. Here is one.

If I Should Fall From Grace With God
By Shane MacGowan (1987)

If I should fall from grace with god
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sod
But the angels won't receive me

Let me go boys
Let me go boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

This land was always ours
Was the proud land of our fathers
It belongs to us and them
Not to any of the others

Let them go boys
Let them go boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

Bury me at sea
Where no murdered ghost can haunt me
If I rock upon the waves
No corpse can lie upon me

It's coming up three boys
Keeps coming up three boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

If I should fall from grace with god
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sod
And still the angels won't receive me

Let me go boys
Let me go boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

In one of my favorite poems, T.S. Eliot saw it a bit differently: "What is this face, less clear and clearer/The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger--/Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye/Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet/Under sleep, where all the waters meet." But the place is the same.

This weekend, John and I went to a wonderful place called Grayville Falls, only ten or so minutes from our house. We saw nature's geometry:

and this amazing bird:

...and many other amazing things. Whatever our view of spirit, or deity, or even cosmic law is, the one thing that is clear to me is that the moment when I go down to become part of my beloved Mother Earth, whether the rivers meet or run dry, is the moment I live for.

Namaste,
May

If you're a Shakespeare fan...

2007-02-24T22:20:00.000-05:00

...then click on the title of this post to check out this episode of "Cat Head Theatre".

A bargain at any price...

2007-02-24T20:33:00.000-05:00

...but all you really need to buy this precious--what is it? I don't think they call it a relict...well, anyway, it's an image of the Virgin Mary...on a stovetop, and you can get it for a mere $30K. Just click on the title of this post, and it'll take you right to her.

Apparently this couple went to clean their stove one morning, and there she was, in the indentation in the tray where the burner grate rests. Who expects to find the Holy Mother pooling in the grease on their stove? This couple was apparently quite taken aback, and immediately resolved to find a proper home for their stovetop by putting it on eBay at what is clearly a very reasonable price. Moreover, to demonstrate their spiritual motivations, they promise to put the profits (over and above the cost of a new stove, which is considerable) into "something meaningful", such as their upcoming wedding. How can you resist?

Go now. Listen to your heart. Our Lady of the Stovetop Grate Pan is calling. Put in your bid, and make it good. There'll be some scalpers at this auction.

Book Meme

2007-02-22T17:15:00.000-05:00

I found a 'meme' on a Blogspot blog called 'Faith and Theology'. The author created this one himself, after being introduced to the idea of the meme, which originated in Richard Dawkins' book, "The Selfish Gene", as a 'unit of cultural transmission' or some such definition. In practical terms, it's a list of questions or directions that gets passed around and evolves over time. I've seen lists of various favorite things; tests to determine what playing card, animal, romantic type, etc., you are; geeky, Hollywood, silly, snobby, poetry, and word memes. One girl's blog has a meme list of words that always look misspelled to her.

Anyway, I liked this one. Although it is on a clearly Christian blog, and most of the answers posted in the comments section appear to involve people trying to impress each other with their knowledge of arcane writings, the questions themselves are fun to answer, and will make you think. I've added a few categories of my own.

1. One book that changed your life: Myths to Live By, Joseph Campbell

2. One book that you’ve read more than once: Holy the Firm, Annie Dillard

3. One book you’d want on a desert island: Egyptian Book of the Dead, Wallis Budge translation

4. One book that made you laugh: Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris

5. One book that made you cry: The Diary of Anne Frank

6. One book that you wish had been written: We're Only Human, anonymous quotes by fallible people (this is the one I put on the Christian blog, but I'd like to add: Grow Up, Dammit, by anyone who's been through sufficient pain to know what they're asking)

7. One book that you wish had never been written: An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith (I never read this, I just hate his economic philosophy and what it did to destroy any social conscience the U.S. may have developed)

8. One book you’re currently reading: The Secret Life of Bees, Sue Monk Kidd

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read: Beloved, Toni Morrison (God, I feel so guilty, I haven't done that yet!!)

10. One book you think everyone should read: Sabbath Poems, Wendell Berry

11. One book I wish I'd written: Memoirs

12. Now tag five people.

I don't know how to do that linking back thing, so I'll just send this to some bloggers I know. Feel free to list your own here, in the comments section, or copy and paste into your own blog/email.

May

Rating my life

2007-02-19T15:18:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I can't resist these things. I found this on another person's blog. They're kind of funny; for example, this one, like many, still doesn't have a slot for living with someone in a long-term relationship; you're either married, single, widowed, or divorced. Still, they're kind of interesting to do.

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	5
Mind:	5.2
Body:	4.5
Spirit:	7.1
Friends/Family:	4.7
Love:	5.4
Finance:	5.9
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Various blogs

2007-02-15T01:08:00.000-05:00

Plastic surgery. The cute boy in my trig class. Anti-aging formulas. Maseratis. How well my wife, Barb, cooks. How to make a lot of money through sensible investments. Women in skimpy but not really pornographic outfits. Minor league baseball. The quest for meaning, which apparently includes wedding packages that include the false eyelashes. Neo-Calvinism. Teen angst and bad (if heartfelt) poetry. Liberalism. Conservatism. Fundamentalist Christianity. Up and coming stars. Washed up stars. How to send Halloween party invitations. Cute children. Homely children whose parents (very fortunately) think they're cute. Hockey goalies. Travel diaries. Asian girls who desperately want to be cool in some ill-defined American way. Transcendant art by people who seem too stupid to create it. The preponderance of irony in quite a few bloggers' lives. Teenagers who hate their skin. People who check in to note that they have nothing to say. Life in New Jersey. Nerdy information technology stuff. Guys who want to sleep with stars. Resources for the microtonal composer. The infestation of polite society by child molesters. Songs to work out to. Logrolling. Hurtling toward thirty. Using a blog to serve the Lord. Private consultations with a witch doctor. Parrots. Wooden porch railings and the superiority thereof. The amazing chameleon.

Hey, if you can't find the answer to your existential questions in one of these, you got a problem, dude.

Short Poem

2007-02-13T22:09:00.000-05:00

. . .
Meditation in the Night
. . .
Night heron brings me these words:
. . .
The birthright of the human is
a broken heart.
. . .
Be glad;
accept your fate.
There is no grace or promise
in any other state.
. . .

Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial...

2007-02-12T23:13:00.000-05:00

My skin is finally healing. The blisters peeled off, one by one, and revealed new skin underneath. It was very tender, but healthy. Occasionally I bleed. But I think I'm past the worst of it.

I called the Hygienic Art Gallery on Saturday because I couldn't remember when we were supposed to pick our pieces up. I spoke to Jim Stidfole, who told me that he'd called everyone whose piece sold, and I should come down on Sunday to get mine. When I got there, the piece wasn't where I'd hung it up. It turned out that it had sold about an hour before we got there! I'm thrilled. It sold for $100, which means I get $70 for it and the gallery gets $30. Makes me feel like less of an impostor. I might even have the courage to enter their second annual juried show in March.

"For what it's worth, it was worth all the while..."

I'm still depressed about my kids. But I did all I could do, by saying I was sorry for what I had done to hurt them. I'm not going to let them abuse me; nor do I subscribe to my daughter's theory that that's the only way they'll heal. They need to deal with their own stuff, and I'll deal with mine. It's very hard to think that I may have seen them for the last time in my life. But I have to accept it. And I hope this doesn't come back to haunt them later, but I don't actually think that will happen. They didn't seem to care how I was doing--all the while saying that I was the self-centered one. And when I tried to give to them in the present, they saw it as manipulation, rather than my just trying to do what I could now, since I'm only human and can't change the past. Perhaps they're partly right. I would have done anything to have some kind of relationship with them. Anything, that is, except admit to being my daughter's perception of me.

I shouldn't actually include Adam in this. He thinks he makes his own decisions, but he's led by his sister's ideas and opinions. I think he is naturally more forgiving than she is, but she pumps him up, and since he's also naturally volatile, that gets him in a pretty emotional state. I wonder if she thinks she's doing him a favor.

I really am sorry for the ways in which I hurt them. Most of it was out of my own screwed-up emotional state. But I can't change that. All I can do is try to be better.

Two Digital Collages

2007-02-09T21:41:00.000-05:00

Rather different, these two. The first is called "Vision of Culture", and the second is "Crow in Winter".
. . .

2007-02-09T21:17:00.000-05:00

HOORAY! I can access my blog again.

Blogger is switching everyone over to their new version, which involves their new contract with Google. So I finally decided to do it, then couldn't access it. Went back and forth with emails, then tried to sign in from John's computer. He uses Firefox, rather than IE. It worked. So I just downloaded Firefox, and I'm good to go.

It's amazing to me how much I missed being able to come here when I wanted. I've gone for a month without blogging, but the past few days I really wanted to be here, and wasn't able to. And just writing wouldn't do it; I needed to write here. Even if only six people have been here over the past year.

I am healing, finally. It was a full three weeks before I felt genuinely better. I'm still tired, but the burn is finally looking better. New skin is appearing under where the blisters are washing away. It itches horribly, but at least there's a light at the end of the tunnel.

I've been terribly depressed. I miss my kids. But they're probably never going to forgive me for being who I am, and I have no choice but to accept that. I'm trying to just keep going, working now 10-15 hours per week at DNEC. They want me to keep going for several months, maybe for one day per week, which is great with me. I get a little extra money, and my spenddown goes away. But mostly it keeps me from sticking my head under the pillow and leaving it there.

At the right is my latest tarot card, 'The Hermit'. It got a bid the first day I listed it, which was pretty exciting. I'm also working on a sort of folk art painting of a woman's face, which is really fun. In my next post, I'll put up pictures of a couple more digital collages I finished over the past couple of days.

Only 39 days until Spring.

May

And on a more cheerful note...

2007-02-05T20:50:00.000-05:00

I read at the Hygienic Art Gallery's poetry night on February 3rd. John had had atrial fibrillation every night for four or five nights, so he didn't feel up to going, but Carrie and Shawn came, and another colleague/friend, Susan Zimmerman, was also there. Carrie took a couple of photos of me; you can see one here.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .

And I'm finally remembering to post a picture of the collage I did for the show. It's called "Handle With Care". (The pic's a tiny bit blurry; it was dark in there!) In the picture of me reading, you can see a sampling of the wide variety (in type and quality) of art at this truly populist show. Carrie's has already been purchased. I don't know whether she's posted a pic to her blog, but you can get there from here; just click on "Carrie" under contributors on the left, which will bring you to her profile page, then click on "preciousblogger" to go to her blog.

And last, but not least, is a picture of our new kitty, Loki. He's very mischievous (which is why we named him Loki, after the Norse trickster god) and has very long legs. He's a sweetie.

So, life goes on. May it continue to do so.

Don't look if you're squeamish

2007-02-05T20:36:00.000-05:00

Well, my burn continued to get worse for two full weeks after the end of radiation. I wasn't anticipating that. I had a lot of pain, and when I saw Dr. Schauer for my regular infusion on February 1st (two weeks to the day after the last rad treatment), I asked him to prescribe something for me. I'd been using old stuff from dentists, and I wasn't sure I should be taking four-year-old oxycodone. I only used it once after that, though.

Dr. Schauer said he thought the extreme burn was because my skin was so sensitive. I showed it to the oncology nurses when I went in to get my infusions, and they called Terry, the head nurse in the radiation oncology unit, over to look at it. She brought me some gel dressings to use for about a week. Apparently, the new thinking is that you keep the wound moist, rather than dry. The dressings are rather a pain to keep plastered to my chest, but they do make it feel better. I'm starting to itch a fair amount, so I guess that's a sign I'm healing.

That being said, here's a pic John took of the burn sometime over the weekend. It seems hard to believe this is about 16 days after the end of the treatment.

Poem called "Choices"

2007-01-28T14:55:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd already posted this, but I went looking for it, and hadn't. It's one of the few poems I've written in the past year.

......Choices

...
Stare
into the blank universe
Shout
I don’t deserve this
Watch
the indifferent molecules
shrug, move on

...
Look
into the book called history
Cultivate
nostalgia for a past that’s not your own
Lie
about it

...
Take
a cup of wonder
Drink it,
deep and cold
Thank
whatever’s there (or not)

...
Choose.

Another poem (this time, a new one)

2007-01-25T17:31:00.000-05:00

. . .

The Scene Painters' Brainstorm

. . .

Aubergine is the color of

dusk, falling out of night.

. . .

Titanium white, the hint of

stars that float around us

as we walk among

the squalid scene we call

the world.

. . .

Cobalt blue can be

our treasures,

buried, hidden

in the secret place we hurry to

when we are burned, and weary,

walking in our shoes.

. . .

Cadmium red could be

the poison, mixed with blood,

to stanch our wounds

(must be careful, or we lose

our leading lady, leading man).

. . .

But how to paint the door?

It must be clear, and black, and bright.

Ask the director.

She is focused on the vision of this play

we call our life.

. . .

Haiku (off the cuff)

2007-01-24T01:29:00.000-05:00

. . .
I'm old. I know now
Attitude's not certitude.
I admit defeat.
. . .

THE VISITATION

2007-01-22T23:58:00.000-05:00

Credo

2007-01-21T20:23:00.000-05:00

John and I were eating leftover Chinese tonight, and I decided to open one of the fortune cookies our favorite restaurant supplies in such abundance. We don't eat them, because they taste like cardboard, but we love the sound our black lab Obie makes when he chews them.

John's fortune read, "Where there is no vision, the people perish". As Dave Barry would say, I am not making this up. We were thinking of sending it to Dubya.

Mine read, "You are surrounded by fortune hunters". Do you think they're trying to get their hands on my disability check?

I went digging through musty boxes in the basement family room this evening, looking for some music to scan for digital collage backgrounds. While I was there, I found this long-lost poem that I must have written at least ten years ago.

CREDO

...

this is the meaning of life.

...

you awake this foggy morning

put on first one sock,

then the other

...

tie your shoes in that peculiar, backwards way.

...

you go out.

...

and when the hump-backed lady

with the cherry rouge

knocks askew the pyramid of Kleenex

in the corner store that serves that stinking coffee--

...

you will help.

...

build the boxes

very carefully

into rows

...

dust her glasses that have fallen to the floor

and straighten out the earpiece.

...

and when she leans to thank you with her whiskey breath

...

you will see she knows

you are both pilgrims

dying, but not waning

in the self-same skies and ways.

~~~

It's almost over...

2007-01-17T22:15:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry if this picture offends you, but if this is your idea of porn, you need to get a life, or perhaps a clue.

I gave in and bought a camera, a Nikon Coolpix S10, which is for regular people like me, rather than professional photographers like my brothers. That works for me.

Anyway, I tried it out today, after swearing a lot trying to move that little tiny button that goes in four directions around in the menus to set it up. This picture (the real person, not the smiley--that's much more representative of my drawing) is one of my first efforts.

It was very yellow and weird until I played with it in Photoshop. Also, my shirt looked like we hadn't cleaned our bathroom mirror in twenty years, when in fact it's only been about ten. Anyway, this is my chest, 19 days into my 20 days of radiation for the tumor in my sternum. This is much better than when I had radiation for the primary cancer; my skin broke down then, and was all gooey. I had to do saline soaks. This is just like a bad sunburn. The only other symptom is that I'm tired, but not so tired it couldn't be explained by the fact that I have Stage IV breast cancer and refuse to accept it, and so take jobs like working as a temporary executive director of an agency that was on the verge of disappearing from the planet.

Not really. I accept it. Even if I do have to post these goofy things sometimes to chase away irrational feelings like, "I wish I didn't have cancer". You can probably understand those feelings, though, can't you?

Just wondering...

2007-01-15T21:50:00.000-05:00

I don't usually talk much about politics, but...

Does Joe Lieberman want to be the next Republican president? What do you think?

Breathing fire

2007-01-14T22:12:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to figure out why they call it Dragon.

I'm referring to Dragon NaturallySpeaking, a new program I'm trying to learn to work with. I'm using it right now to dictate the words to this blog entry. It feels a little weird.

I'd really like to write my memoirs. Or something remotely resembling memoirs; I guess you can't have memoirs without a memory. And memory is something I'm very short on these days.

I'm sure 25 years of drinking didn't help me, but what finally did the deed was a combination of menopause, chemo, and the complete elimination of every molecule of estrogen in my body by the medication Arimidex. Oh, well. What we humans will do just to stay alive.

I remember my brother Jim asking me once, did I remember the time Dad chased us around with knives? I said no, I must have been too young. He said, "No, it was one weekend I came home on leave. Don't you remember I had to bang on the windows to get you to open the front door?" I was at least twelve or thirteen when my brother was in the service. And yet I have no recollection whatsoever of the experience.

I'd love to be able to describe the years when my children were little; it would probably be at least a little cathartic. But I'd have to remember them to do that--the years, not my children. The good news, I guess, is that my defenses are pretty strong.

The past couple of months have been absolutely wonderful for me. I've been able to reconnect with my children, one of the things I really wanted to be able to do before I die. I honestly didn't think it was possible. And yet it's happened. I wish I could freeze this moment in time, just to make sure no rift happens in the future. But I can't. I just have to go with the flow.

And try to make them believe that I love them, that I've always loved them.

Words are like fire. Maybe that's what the dragon is all about.

Logos

2007-01-13T17:10:00.000-05:00

Pope Benedict XVI, when he was still Cardinal Ratzinger, stated: "From the beginning, Christianity has understood itself as the religion of the Logos, as the religion according to reason." Start from the beginning and tell the story of Jesus' life, then step back and judge how reasonable it sounds.

A virgin was impregnated by a holy spirit, in the form of a dove, and she gave birth to a child, whom she called (as instructed) Jesus. When Jesus grew up, he did a lot of pretty impressive miracles, such as raising people from the dead after they had already "begun to stink". Like Lazarus, Jesus too rose from the dead after three days in the grave, and probably could have used a shower himself. He appeared to his disciples, then sort of disappeared again, once or twice, as I recall (it's been a while since I read this stuff), and was eventually taken up bodily into heaven, which is of course in the sky. Does that sound rational to you?

Christianity, at its worst, is false logic and the pretense of reason. The savior myth is common; read about Krishna, Zarathustra, and Mithras, for example. The archetypal concepts in their stories include being raised from the dead, being born of a virgin, ascending to heaven, and being the son of God. We are expected to believe, however, that the story of Jesus is the only one that's literally true.

At Christianity's best, it is one of the mystery traditions. Jesus, who, in my opinion, is not who he is portrayed to be by modern Christianity, told us, "Ye must be born again". Being born again is not recognizing that you're a sinner, and if you want to go to heaven, you'd better join the church. It is a mystical experience that involves a painful change at the deepest levels of one's being. We shortchange ourselves if we simply accept the common interpretation of this and the rest of Jesus' teachings.

Another of Jesus' teachings that I like is, "whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it". Jesus was a guru, a leader for his disciples, and he understood that they needed him to follow if their spiritual journey was to make sense. But he could just as easily have said "whosoever will lose his life shall find it". Losing oneself is part of the process of being born again.

One of the few things I remember from my Greek class in college is the phrase that opens the Gospel of John: "En arch hn o logos" (which looks a bit different in Greek letters, which won't publish here). In the beginning was the Word. "Logos", in Greek philosophy, was understood to mean the inherent principle of cosmic order. John knew that God was the inherent order of the universe. Conversely, the inherent order of the universe--in all its various manifestations--is God.

Mystical, not logical. And as true as anything our hearts can know.

Hot and bothered

2007-01-10T17:38:00.000-05:00

This is my son, Adam, on a hot day in the desert. He seems to be withstanding the heat pretty well. I've titled this collage "Desert Journey".
.
I've done 14 of 20 radiation treatments to the sternum so far. I'm tired and a little cranky, and I'm getting quite a sunburn, but other than that it's been a piece of cake.

Did I say cranky? Perhaps surly is a better word, with a decided bias toward murderous. Don't worry, though, I'm good at keeping that sort of thing under wraps.

John and various friends have been going out of their way to give me rides to the cancer center. I feel guilty, since I know of course I "could" and therefore "should" do it myself and not bother others. Do you by any chance have a knife on you?

DNEC has hired a new executive director (hooray!!!) who will be starting January 22nd. If this radiation works and I'm in decent shape for a while, I want to get back to doing more art, and maybe write a book (she said casually). No, really. I'm thinking about purchasing the Dragon Naturally Speaking software and dictating some stuff. Perhaps someday an alien civilization will use it for their course in 21st century Earthen English. That's my specialty.

Well, I'm babbling boringly, which is something I swore I'd never do on this blog, so I'm going to stop now. I mostly just wanted to post the new collage. Enjoy that summery weather we're having.

I'm brave, or so they tell me

2007-01-05T21:04:00.000-05:00

People often tell me that they think I'm so brave, and that if they were diagnosed with Stage IV cancer, they don't think they could cope. I keep telling them that they could and would, since there's little else to be done. I'd rather keep living than stick my head under the pillow.

Once in a while, though, something gets to me. Though I've been asking people to drive me to my radiation treatments most days, because I know I'll get exhausted at the end if I don't, I drove myself today. Just as I was about to make a right turn into the parking lot at the Gray Cancer Center, an SUV bearing the Hartford Hospital Security logo screeched across the entrance, blocking the way. A little man jumped out and furiously waved on the car in front of me, which proceeded meekly forward. I pushed the button to lower my passenger side window. When the guy saw me lean to the right to speak to him, he began to wave in an exaggerated manner, and yelled, "Not unless you have a medical emergency".

Well, this ticked me off just a bit, and I started to reply, when he seemed to get really enraged, and yelled, "Do you have a medical emergency?" I said, "No, but I have to go there!" He waved his arm to a spot on the side of the road and growled, "Just park there".

When I got out, there were a few gawkers around, but nothing really to explain the reason for the class one alert. So when I got inside I asked someone at the reception desk what was going on. She told me someone had had a seizure in the parking lot.

Now, keep in mind that this is a hospital. Surely they've had visits from people with epilepsy from time to time. And the parking lot that was summarily closed is where people with cancer, some of them close to death, are dropped off to enter the place where they have the treatments that keep them alive. No, surprisingly enough, I was not there to read the magazines, and though the wonderful people in the radiation department often provide homemade baked goods for us, if I had my choice, I'd just visit a local bakery to satisfy my sugar cravings.

I was homicidally furious. The hospital CEO will be receiving a letter.

All of this just to make the point that, yes, I cope. But don't leave the cover off the toothpaste tube, or you'll have to face my wrath.

Have a happy, scrappy, new year...

2007-01-01T14:44:00.000-05:00

Just feeling silly, I suppose.

I grew up at the end of a little road off route 156 in Waterford, which is the road that branches off shore route 1 and continues along the shoreline while route 1 branches a little inland.

The road was (still is) called 'B Lane'. It didn't merit a real name, I guess.

About a half mile long, the road climbs slowly to a dead end, which is where our house was. The road was dirt until I was about six or seven, which made it a decent place to sled. It was a sad day when they paved it, since that meant they also plowed it. The kids who liked hot rods were happy, I guess.

My parents' house was one room and had a dirt floor when they moved in shortly after marrying. They partitioned the room to make a tiny bedroom and an all-purpose room, and put in a floor. Eventually they added a room off the first bedroom, where all three of my brothers slept. I slept there too, though my oldest brother's departure shortly after I was born (he's seventeen years older than I am) made it somewhat less cramped. When I got to be about four, I think, another addition was built on the other side, off the all-purpose room. I vaguely remember it being built. So then we had a living room and I had my own bedroom. The total square footage of the place couldn't have been 600 sq. ft.

My childhood friend Pat and I went up there this fall. It felt very strange; I kept getting a sort of deja vu-like feeling, which is a little weird considering that I was hardly absent a day from the place until I was over 20 years old.

Neither Pat's nor my house is still standing. It looks a bit less like little Appalachia, though it's certainly not an upscale area.

I'd give anything to go back into the woods behind where my house used to be. When I was a child, I spent a lot of time back there, playing in the tiny stream that ran close to the woods' edge, or reading with my back propped against one of the boulders the last ice age's glacier had kindly left for me.

Sometimes I would get quiet, knowing that someone was there. The presence didn't feel menacing; I just knew I had to respect it. We used to find arrowheads there and in the back yard, and after a while, I became convinced that the spirits I felt surrounding me were the natives who had left those stone bits behind.

I dream about B Lane sometimes. They almost connected another road from the other edge of the woods to it, back when my mother was home dying of colon cancer, but ledge kept them from completing that project. I'm glad.

Good morning! Surprise!

2006-12-20T20:51:00.000-05:00

The phone rang early this morning as I was getting ready for work. It was the manager of the radiation oncology department at the Gray Cancer Center.

I just missed the call, but the message on our answering machine was, "Hi! This is Sue calling from the Radiation Oncology Department. We're ready to start your treatment. We can start today. Can you come in?"

No! No! I need time to prepare! Psychologically, I mean! Besides, John has a toothache and has to go to the dentist!! I can't do this all by myself!! I want my mommy!!!

So, I went to Connecticut Valley Hospital for the holiday meeting of the Keep the Promise Coalition, where I got a small award for entering a card in their 'cards for legislators' contest (that was nice), went home to do some work on the computer, then drove to Hartford and had my first radiation treatment. I'm scheduled for 20, rather than the 25 that Dr. Bertsch, the radiation oncologist, had first proposed. I saw her briefly today, and she said something about how this was the only way she could figure out how to do it without damaging my heart and lungs. Of course, I wasn't prepared to respond, but I'll have to ask: are you trying to say, you wish you could treat it more aggressively, but can't? I suppose, actually, that that's always the conundrum...how to kill the cancer cells without killing the patient.

I have my regular treatment tomorrow, and the radiation department will "squeeze me in" after my appointment with Dr. Schauer, while I'm waiting for the Herceptin to come down from the hospital pharmacy. I'll ask Dr. Schauer my questions. Pat, who is sort of my guru, is meeting me at the hospital, and will stay for the treatment. She wants to meet my oncologist, and see what the whole scene is like. She has committed to seeing me through this whole process--the process of dying, I mean.

A little poem for you, from the wonderful, wonderful Wendell Berry.

...For the Future

...

Planting trees early in spring,
we make a place for birds to sing

in time to come. How do we know?

They are singing here now.

There is no other guarantee

that singing will ever be.

...

Wishing you great blessings 'on the eve of the holy night'. Tomorrow, at 7:22 p.m. EST, the light is reborn!

...

May

Tattoos and other fine things

2006-12-13T18:49:00.000-05:00

I got a new tattoo today.

I had a CT scan to plan for the attack on the tumor in my sternum this afternoon. The radiation techs told me that they were going to try to use the five little tattoos I got for radiation to the breast--they're used to precisely aim the x-ray beam--but after they did the scan they decided they needed one more. So now I have six little indigo dots on my chest. And one beautiful vine twining around my right wrist.

I should have asked them to do my eyebrows. They never grew in quite right after chemo.

I expect to hear from Dr. Bertsch toward the end of next week. I have a Herceptin treatment with Dr. Schauer, my medical oncologist, on the 21st (the Solstice, birth of the light!), and he'll probably have talked with her about the plan for radiotherapy. Treatment will probably start right after Christmas, or perhaps they'll have to wait until after New Year's. I imagine the schedule gets tight with people taking time off around the holidays. Anyway, I'll keep posting.

Real life

2006-12-11T19:30:00.000-05:00

So, I was on my way to have my body buffed, my nails airbrushed, my feet dipped, my lip waxed, my eyelashes tinted, my brows threaded, my skin exfoliated, my ears candled, and my hair extended when real life intervened.

Darn, darn real life.

It was fun writing that first sentence. It's quite true, though, that I never cease to be amazed at the creative ways in which human beings can waste money, and, more important by far, time.

I was a pretty teenager, after having been a homely child in all my younger years. I enjoyed the attention that being attractive got me, but I never made the mistake of thinking that either the physical attractiveness or the consequent attention meant anything.

This Sunday I will lead the Brooklyn Unitarian Universalist Society's Solstice service for the fifth year. The theme will be paradox.

I don't talk about this much, because it tends to be perceived as a sort of "holier than thou" stance, but about eighteen years ago I had what I came to regard as a mystical experience. It's difficult to explain, but I suddenly--and for a period of months after--"knew" the unity of opposites. Not as "joy in pain", or even just "death as necessary to life", or that kind of thing. In a moment of gnosis, I saw opposites as the same thing.

I wish I could have that knowing back. Intellectually, of course, I can experience yin and yang, but I want to know the circle again. We all need to know, truly know, that we are the seed of our own death. Life gains so much more meaning if we come to that understanding. And so I am left, again, with "ripeness": the moment of perfection is the moment of death.

That's me in the corner...

2006-12-07T20:20:00.000-05:00

Wow! I guess it's been a really long time since I posted.

A huge number of things have happened since then. The biggest is that I had my PET/CT scan, just four months after the last one this time, and it seems the tumor in my sternum is growing.

Of course, I knew this would happen, but I was hoping there'd be more stable time. The good news, however, is that since I started treatment at Hartford Hospital in April of '05, they have acquired a new technology called "intensity modulated" radiotherapy. The reason I couldn't have radiation before is that the older technology would have caused major heart damage, since my heart is right behind the tumor area. With the new technology, the radiation oncologist says she should be able to limit or altogether avoid exposing the heart to radiation.

I have a CT scan scheduled for December 13 to measure the parameters of the tumor. After that, there will be a few appointments to plan the "attack", and I'll probably begin radiation toward the end of this month.

Treatment will be daily for five weeks, which is problematic, especially since the hospital is 35 minutes in the opposite direction from where I work. But I've told the agency board my situation, and they've been very supportive. My concern is that they don't really understand what's at stake if I can't do all my hours. But I'll just have to do the best I can.

So I had a little pity party today. It's the first time I've cried since the doctor told me the news on November 28. So I probably needed to do that.

On another note, above are a couple of pieces I've done recently. The dark one is a sort of 'holiday' piece which will go up on eBay tomorrow night, as well as being part of a collaborative poster created by my Art Squared eBay group. The part that's supposed to look like a group of city buildings is actually a fractal graphic; I've been having fun with a free program called Xaos. The red one is called "I Am Woman", and features, among others, Annie Oakley with a better pair of legs, Angela Davis on a Wanted poster, and me, down in the lower left corner, losing my religion, I guess.

But I always get it back.

Brand new Tarot cards

2006-11-04T21:18:00.000-05:00

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These are cards I haven't tried to sell, ones I've been working on specifically for the Hygienic Art Gallery Holiday Show. (FYI, they don't have to be holiday-themed--just small format and under $150 in price.) I would welcome constructive criticism of these. I'm not sure they're actually finished...

So whaddaya think?

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